Syndicate Stories

Warning: Mainly violence. If you don't like blood dismemberment, you might not want to continue.


Chapter 1

Mikhail looked around at the black and red color scheme of the penthouse and took a moment to admire the view of the skyscrapers from the bay windows before looking back down at the naked body of the woman he had been having sex with. She was dead now, draped across black futon and red pillows in the center of the room, sheets haphazardly tangled around her legs and his own.

Even in death she was an amazingly lovely woman, artfully sprawled on her back in a way conceived to entice men by displaying her slim body and pert breasts. Her long black hair splayed over the pillows and pale skin taking on the tinge of color from the red lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The cold of death had yet to set in, and for a moment Mikhail could pretend the red-black splatter covering her chest and stomach, her face and neck, was some decoration or tattoo instead of the blood from when he slit her pretty, slender throat in one stroke.

Mikhail looked down at the bloody knife balanced on his thigh and at his hands, covered with sweat and cum and blood and closed his eyes.

At the age of seven he knew his life would never be normal. He could still see the fateful moment when his mother kissed him on the forehead and told him to be a good boy, then allowed her husband to strangle her to death under the kitchen table while her son watched.

“Orders from the syndicate,” was all his father said when he was done and his wife lay limp on the ground. Three men came less than an hour later and collected the corpse, cutting her up and stuffing her in three different bags. The next day his father told him that it was all a dream, that his mother ran off with some man and was not coming back. Mikhail’s mind chose to believe that, before more orders came from the syndicate when he was sixteen and his father pulled him out of bed in the dead of night and forced him into the car. They drove for some time until they came to an office building and his father dragged him up to an office with seven strange men that all turned to look at him with predatory looks as his father spoke: “I hear Logan needs a new boy. Just so happens I have one.”

That was four long years ago. Mikhail had not heard or seen his father since the day he was given into the syndicate’s service, and he did not care if he ever saw the man again.

Mikhail opened his eyes and looked down at the dead woman again, taking the knife off his thigh and running the tip along the unbreathing body as if it were an extension of his fingers. This was by order of the syndicate as well. Silence the whore that had been selling their secrets, was the order he had been given when he woke up. It was not his first kill, it was not even in the first dozen murders he had committed. However, it was the first time he had been given such explicit orders on how to finish off his target, to seduce the mark and finish her off in the throes of passion.

Letting out a breath he set the knife down on the woman’s chest. The cleaners would be arriving soon to deal with the body and the gore and he knew he ought to wash the blood off and get dressed, but he could not bring himself to turn away from the woman’s body. It was a regulation silencing, but the manner it was done and his involvement was definitely because he managed to upset Logan again.

It was intended to be punishment for him as much as it was for her, and it was damned effective.

The door of the apartment opened and closed with a click and Mikhail’s body tensed, but there were no screams of horror or demands for him to hold his position and put his hands up, which meant it was not another client or law enforcement. No one moved to begin scrubbing the blood away for dispose of the body, which meant it was not the cleaners either. Footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as the person, there was only one, moved toward him and then stopped. There was the familiar sound of a lighter being used as the room filled with the scent of cigar smoke and a voice Mikhail knew too well began speaking to him.

“Nice job, kid,” Logan said. Mikahil could imagine him standing there in his three hundred dollar suit with the cigar hanging from his lips, but he did not turn to look at the man.

“It was done as the syndicate ordered, sir,” he replied softly.

“I can see that,” was the response as silence settled over the room for a moment and Logan puffed out a breath of expensive smoke. “Tell me, who owns you, Mikhail?”

“The syndicate, sir,” he answered.

“Yes, but specifically,” Logan prompted.

“You, sir.” Mikhail clenched one hand in the sheets still entangling his legs.

“Good, and what are you to me?” Logan continued.

“Your silencer,” Mikhail said, still unwilling to look away from the woman’s body as he heard Logan take another step toward him.

“True, but not the answer I was looking for. What else are you to me?” he asked, and Mikhail could almost hear the sadistic smirk in his voice.

“Your whore,” he virtually spat, knowing it would only get him into more trouble and not really caring. He was rewarded with a heavy hand fisting in the hair at the nape of his neck and dragging him to his feet, pulling his head back at an uncomfortable angle as he was forced to look up at the other man.

“I don’t like that word. Who taught you such language?” Logan said, the smoke wafting passed Mikhail’s ear as he took the cigar out of his mouth with his free hand. “Let’s try again. What are you do to me?”

“Your slut, sir,” Mikhail answered proper this time.

“Yes?”

“Your cock slut, sir,” Mikhail managed to force through his grit teeth.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Logan said, throwing Mikhail back down to the ground so that he nearly fell on the dead woman. “Remember your place, kid. Or next time you’ll be fucking the corpse.”

Mikhail could not help the shudder that shook his body. He would kill himself before that happened. There was an intense painful, heat on his shoulder blade and he bit his lip to keep from crying out as Logan ground out his cigar.

“Get dressed. The cleaners will be here soon,” Logan said as remnants of the cigar fell to the ground. “The car is out front, be down in ten minutes or I send the cops up to get you.”

Mikhail grit his teeth at the threat. He was strictly forbidden from fighting if he ever got caught, it was easier for the syndicate to get a docile victim out of lockup, which meant Logan was threatening a night of prison sex if he did not hurry.

“Yes, sir,” Mikhail said, giving the woman a last look as he got to his feet.

“Such a good boy,” Logan said with a laugh as he walked out of the apartment, leaving Mikhail alone to wash off.

Mikhail looked around for his clothes, strewn about in no order and reminded himself that this was his life and had been for the last four years. Whether he wanted it or not, he was in the syndicate and there was only one way to leave that life. He reached up and touched the newest of Logan’s cigar burns on his shoulder and closed his eyes just a moment. Much as he hated it, there were some things that he could not help but enjoy.

TBC...

[Want more about Mikhail, Logan, and the syndicate? Review please.]