His Amour

Chapter 8.

Arnaud POV

I stand in front of the basement, the barrel of the gun placed firmly in my palm. My vexed façade once again back. No sympathy what so ever for the ones that betrayed me. That have set me up for failure; whether or not it was on purpose or by accident. I haven't held sympathy for any since my mother departing from my life. So, why the hell should I care now?

Last night I had slept exceptionally well, no ghosts of my mothers time with me, haunting my dreams. No replays of my fathers death. No, nothing. I tried so damn hard to figure out why. To understand- though complaining is nowhere on my list- why I slept so well.

"Sir, are you coming?" One of the guards by the door ask. Flushing red when I send him a death glare.

"I will come when I see fit. She is going nowhere, afterall. So, patience is your best bet, as of right now," I say, my voice holding power and a deathly tone.

Taking off my tux jacket, leaving nothing but my red vest on. I chose not to wear my white gloves. I chose not to wear them, because when I fire two bullets into Helina's skull and watch her loose conscious before me, I want her blood on my hands. Both literally and figuratively. I want her to know that her betraying me is nothing but a mere set off from my original plans. That she only hurt herself in the end. That her betrayal act was only childish and weak minded.

My anger boiling to the point where if I was to walk into the basement right now, I'd probably rip her head off. I start to pace in small circles, trying to even my breathing. Clenching and unclenching my hands. Occasionally, running a hand through my hair. The curls swept across my forehead. The pain in my elbow slowly ebbing away. Almost, to an extent that I can barely feel it.

I close my eyes and shake my hands out one more time, before opening the door to the basement. Helinas back is facing towards me, her hands are tied firmly onto the back of the chair, alongside her ankles. Her hair has been cut short against her will, of course. I slam the door and feed into her petrified jump. She cranes her neck, in a hopeless attempt to see who has entered the room.

I slowly walk to her, watching her limbs shake out of her being scared. Her skin a sickly pale color, possibly from the smell of the room. A smell that I had gotten accustomed to. The amazingly, inviting smell of death.

"Helina Ingyes, I would have never thought that i'd see you this way. A sheet wrapped around your naked body and your confidence drained completely, like your blood will be. Soon, only if you beg," I say, dragging the tip of the gun down the side of her neck.

Her breathing has grown shallower and it's almost as if I can here the beat of her heart. Tears falling down her face.

"I have no idea what I did," She mules, an animalistic sound escaping past her chapped lips.

"Don't play dumb with me. You obviously told the French where we were goin-" I begin, my temper flaring.

"The French?! Arnaud, are you not thinking clearly or did you leave your brain in the bed this morning, along with your common sense," She yells, at me.

She yells at me. She fucking yells at me! Helina Ingye just yelled at me!

Before she has time to flinch or prepare herself, I smack her in the face with the back of my hand. The sound radiating and bouncing against the walls in the basement.

"Do you not know who you are talking to?! Keep in mind that your life is in the palms of my hands!" I roar, balling my fist at my side. Stopping myself from hurting her any longer.

The place where I slapped her has gone red and blood is slowly dripping from it. The diamond of my Mafia rings indent now a deep cut on her face. Her eyes water but no tears escape.