Adrenaline

Chapter 2

The Silver Academy was a place for shadows to come to rest, a sanctuary for those who chose to live in the dark, a void in an otherwise surveilled world. The Academy is where the best come to be better, to be the elite.

Those who pass the course are set for life; granted access to a constant stream of high-profile clients willing to pay an extortionate sum to rid themselves of anyone who proves to be a stain on their fragile facade.

"It looks... rich." Alec whistles under his breath, locking the car behind him twice before shimmying the handle; protecting his baby's safety.

The driveway appeared crammed full with expensive cars, none carrying the burden of a license plate. Everyone who resided within these walls was a ghost, tangible, dangerous, and utterly elusive.

Taking the steps two at a time, Alec tries desperately to get Peters blood out of his white shirt. It had been a mistake on his behalf, who knowingly wears white to a murder?

"Are you ready for this?" Stopping as we reach the front door, I notice the lack of security, no cameras, no guards, not even a lock. There's likely no need; this is the last house I'd be breaking into.

As Alec lifts his t-shirt towards the light above the porch, it's only a moment before he gives up completely, letting the smudged red spread through the fibres of his shirt as I consider my answer.

If I wasn't ready for this, what else did I have?

I craved the risk. The small spike of adrenaline where everything was left suspended on a pendulum between life and death.

"Of course. Are you?" Lifting my chin, I mentally curse his height. Alec was a mere three minutes older, yet his genetics had given him the gift of towering over his younger sister as a constant reminder as to who came first.

"You're good with staying here and not at home?" Blinking, I acknowledge the swift manoeuvre he'd done to let my question remain unanswered. Neither of us were ready for this; our home was the sole link left that I had to our parents, the only thing that gave us a shred of normalcy. Still, to give up our places here would be suicide. We were past the point of reintegrating into society, past the point of a family, of lovers and date nights and walking the dog.

We're adrift, lost at see, and we've finally found a flare.

"Sei la mia casa." I shrug with trained nonchalance before Alec grips onto my shoulders and pulls me into his chest, close enough for me to hear his heart hammering against his ribcage, pounding and desperate to escape.

Turning to the door, Alec knocks with newfound determination and I feel my hands instinctively curl into a fist, my thumb running along the tips of fingers.

"You're my home too."

***

Following the dull sound of voices and muffled footsteps it doesn't take us long to stroll into the main hall, three ornate chandeliers dangling from antique beams. A large tapestry drapes over the furthest wall, detailing the silhouette of two intricate dragons, entwined by the tail.

Dragging my attention back to the busy lobby, I take a mental note of every door, stairwell and face, committing each available exit route to memory. We were here now, but that didn't mean we planned to stay.

Fifteen pairs of eyes return my pragmatic evaluation, undoubtedly noticing our bloodied boots and Alec's filthy shirt. There's no judgment, merely unhindered, possibly bemused observance.

Thirteen men and two women, each armed with their weapon of choice. A persons defence was always telling; those with guns tended to be strategic, craving the satisfaction of a job well done rather than the process itself. Knives and daggers - a personal preference of mine - usually gave the impression of a individual who enjoyed the act, performing on a violent stage, risking it all to get their hand dirty and their fingernails bloody. Poison had fallen in popularity; nowadays there were too many variables, too many antidotes and chances of survival for the method to be truly fail-safe. Anyone who administered poison to get their kill and receive their payment rarely seemed to get any enjoyment from watching the mark die, occasionally watching from afar to ensure their job was done.