The Selfless Gene

Chapter 7

The Intern stirs in his king-sized bed, a little groggy. He turns around to hug his other half but the smell isn't right. It's the prostitute he hired again, and not his fiance. There, in Henry Rockingham's spot, laid the same woman he'd hired on or off for the last month. He snaps awake and grimaces at the sight, moving to get out of bed when she turns to him.

"Morning gorgeous."

He looks at her with an expression that doesn't try to hide his disdain, his disappointment in himself.

"Do you want eggs or a proper breakfast?" She lifts the duvet to reveal her naked body. When the Intern doesn't reply, she switches back to her professional tone. "You've still got an hour on the clock, and being that last night wasn't a go, you'll be full of it this morning."

"Please, leave. I'm done." The Intern withdraws into himself, her tone, bordering on the edge of familiarity, unsettling him as if pressing on a deep bruise.

"Get dressed and get out."

"OK, don't be so rude. Manners, sir, don't cost fuck all."

"Unlike you."

The prostitute is sitting up now, breasts bare.

"Hey, don't get up in my face because you're some limp dick."

"Be grateful for another night off and get the fuck out. Money's in the usual place."

She turns to grab her clothes, with a hurt "Fine." 

She's upset after seeing him for a few weeks and not being taken advantage of. The thought that it was something wrong in her kindled emotions she ran from. She thought she saw a tender kindness in him, imprinting a misguided empathy onto the situation. Noticing a picture of her client with The General, she softens her tone but keeps it sharp and wicked.

"I get it, your old boyfriend left you. That's why your cock is dead wood." 

 "What the fuck did you say?" He sees her looking at the picture. "You fucking whore!"

She slaps him. 

"Fuck you, fag.""You sound like my ex wife." 

The Intern's arrogance takes root.

"Or is it that you're a paedo like this old man here. All this kindness and deep down.."

What was a second seemed like an eternity in his mind. Balanced consideration would have seen the innocence in her comment, that it wasn't personal. But his mind spiralled; she'd triggered something deep seated, and he flipped into military mode. 

How dare she. I'm the most powerful person on the planet, leading the richest organisation there is. Fuck her. She's getting too close. Judging my pictures, my life. She can't be allowed to know what we've been doing She'd ruin everything. The whole plan. Wait, maybe she's a plant. Infiltrating me so he can take everything from me. Fuck him. Fuck her. I'm in charge. 

Instinctively he grabs a second century African wood carving and smacks her head with it. One heavy blow knocks her down, her head smashing down on the wood floor. She's almost still. There's a slight muscle twitch and a light rise on her chest from some shallow, desperate breathing.

The Intern looks over her, a predator eyeing injured prey. He has complete power over her now. Nothing can touch him, he is master of the world. He's Lohikaarme's chosen heir. Her head sits in a pool of blood leaning to one side. Her arms splay out at random positions, her legs open. The Intern looks down at her, his eyes fixed on her naked form. He begins to tingle and throb. His absolute power makes him grow hard. He sniffs her body and bites in different areas. His beastly movements break her skin and blood fills his mouth. He stands over her and pleasures himself, marking her in the most primal way. Her breath shallower and light, her consciousness still silenced. He gets up, wipes his hand clean with the duvet and sits on the side of his bed. 

The Intern sighs, scratches his head and looks down disappointed in himself. Not again. He picks up his phone, making the call while putting on the same black silk dressing gown that Henry Rockingham once wore. 

"Clean up now."

It's a quick demand, without emotion. He lobs his phone onto a bedroom chair as two security men, dressed in black, almost immediately come and begin wrapping the body in plastic. They place a chemically wet flannel hard over her nose and mouth until the breathing stops. In the same uniform, the black mark of Rockingham sewn into the chest, another man begins cleaning and stripping the room so no trace of his crime remains. The Intern doesn't turn to look at them. He focuses back on his grand plan. 

Moving to the lounge of his inherited penthouse abode, leaving behind his mess, he grabs hold of a frame. Him and his fiance stand laughing, an action shot in front of an Alaskan waterfall. In gloved hands and a woolly hat, Isabella looks back at him in complete happiness.