First thing's first: This is an excerpt from the middle of my novel, so things might not make sense. I'm worried about wording for the most part, though.
Los Angeles was the last place Christopher wanted to be. He should have been on his flight back to Toronto. He should have been meeting with his sister and the rest of his team. Instead, he was in a car being carried off from the airport with his arms behind his back and a gun pointed at his head. Could he get away? Yeah, he thought so. Would he get away was a better question, he thought.
He couldn’t see outside the tinted windows. Nor could he see past the men who were holding him. But that didn’t really matter. He sighed and closed his eyes. Clara had better have a reason for dragging me there like this, he thought. It took them twenty minutes for them to arrive at their destination. It was twenty minutes of sitting in virtual silence, thinking about what Clara Bellandi had in store for him. He didn’t like using her new name. Christopher had to remind himself that Clara was a blood relation somehow. She was so much different from his mother...
The car door opened and Christopher felt himself being pulled out by his arms. The two men were still guarding him, but the gun was now hidden. One of the men took off the handcuffs. Christopher looked up at the building. It was small and the bricks were covered in dirt. He read the signs lining the dirty windows. He was being taken to a bar? Brilliant.
“Don’t try to run,” he said into Christopher’s ear. “Follow us and act normal, is that understood?” He almost groaned. Clara hadn’t told her soldiers who he was, did she? He would have to ask her later. Until then, he’ll deal with the idiots first.
“Of course it’s understood,” he snapped. God, how many times has he been in that exact situation?
“Good, now come.” The man opened the door to the bar and Christopher was led inside.
Christopher grimaced at the smell of alcohol and cigarettes. He wasn’t in the mood for exposure to second-hand smoke. He sighed. Then again, he wasn’t really in the mood for anything. The plane ride back had been long enough. And now... He had no clue what Clara wanted. Whatever it is, he thought, it had better be something worth my while. I need rest.
The two men were ahead of him now. They walked past the drunks and the waitresses and into a corridor that led off to the back room. One of the waitresses, a tall woman with long dark brown hair and a willowy figure, caught Christopher’s eye and smiled. He ignored her. He wasn’t looking for a girlfriend. Or even someone to spend the night with. He followed the men into the back room.
The room, as he had previously thought, was actually a corridor that lead to the basement. He kept his breathing and heartbeat as calm as he could, but was surprised by the effort it took. He was scared. Why the hell was he scared?
The men led him down another corridor and Christopher found himself thinking about what he’d have to do if things went wrong. The basement was a maze of corridors. He told himself to stop. Don’t think about that. If he had to, he’d use his powers if anything went wrong. He sighed and closed his eyes.
The walls changed from a dark and dim grey to a fading burgundy. The entire hall had just opened up to a large room with several chairs and a desk off to the side. Clara Bellandi stood waiting for Christopher at the other end of the room. “Christopher!” she exclaimed, arms wide to greet him. He narrowed his eyes and took a step back. “You look tired. I assume men didn’t take very good care of you? They’re very reliable at getting someone where I need them to be. But they’re forceful.” She looked past Christopher and waved her hand. The two men turned with a nod and left. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you here.”
“Really now, my dear aunt,” said Christopher, tilting his head mockingly. “Do you realise you sound incredibly clichéd?”
She frowned. “I don’t see why that would matter.” She sat down on one of the chairs and crossed her legs. “But I’ll get to the point. Take a seat.”
Christopher shook his head. “I’m standing.”
“Fine,” she sighed. “Do you know what your grandfather was?”
“We’ve gone over this, Clara. He was a godfather in Sicily. He moved and took over a mafia family in Montreal. And you decided to bring it here – to Los Angeles.”
“Then you would know that I have an entire mafia family under my control. And that I’ll have to choose a successor.”
“So?” Christopher was getting frustrated. Did he really have to be here for this? The answer seemed simple to him. “Choose one of your captains,” he suggested, “one of your capos. Surely, there’s someone you trust enough to take over after you.”
“That’s exactly my problem, Christopher.” His heart sank. Dear God, no. “I don’t trust anyone. And since your sister isn’t suited for this line of work...”
“No,” he replied. “No way in hell am I taking over for you.” How could he? He wasn’t the type of person to run the mafia.
Clara looked disappointed. “Why not? I thought you’d enjoy it. From what I’ve heard about you, Christopher, you seem perfectly suited.”
He took a step back and shook his head “No. I said no.” He couldn’t run the mafia. Extortion wasn’t something he did.
She frowned. “No? Do you have a reason for that? Or is it that you can’t lead an entire mob of coldblooded killers?”
“Of course I have a reason,” snapped Christopher. “I don’t plan on falling into the organised crime ring.”
“You’re not too far off.” Clara laced her fingers together and looked Christopher in the eyes. “Unless you’re not the killer I’ve been told you are.”
“It depends on what you’ve been told.”
“So you can’t kill? Are you too much a coward?”
Christopher narrowed his eyes. “Bull shit. Of course I can kill.”
Clara smiled. “Prove it.” She waved a hand and the two men came back in the room. He hadn’t even noticed they were there. How long had they been listening?
“If you want me to kill your men, I’ll do that happily.”
“Actually, Christopher, I suggest you take a look at what they’re carrying.” He turned around and saw, for the first time, the woman with a bag over her head. She had her hands tied behind her back.
“You want me to kill the woman,” he said with no emotion.
“Why not?” The men dropped the woman and pulled off the bag. Christopher recognised her immediately. Lexi Lawrence. From when he had read Clara’s mind for the first time. Lexi was older now, maybe ten years older. But she still had the same face, the same eyes. Lexi looked tired, if not scared. As if she were crying.
Clara dismissed the men and they walked out without a word. “You can kill her, I assume? Unless you’ve been lying to yourself all these years.” Lexi’s eyes widened.
Christopher smiled and reached into the pocket in the back of his jacket, pulling out his knife. “I’ve not been lying,” he said, twirling the knife in his hand. He stepped forward and leaned down, staring Lexi in the eyes. “Hello darling.” He smiled darkly and brought the knife to the soft flesh of her abdomen. She cried out in pain and lurched forward. Christopher stepped out of the way. He hadn’t stabbed her too far. It wasn’t enough to kill her. But he wasn’t finished.
Ignoring the blood, he stepped around her and brought the knife down on Lexi’s back, carving around her shoulder blade. She instinctively jerked back and stifled a cry. Blood pooled around her. Christopher’s hand was red and sticky. He didn’t care. Instead, he stood over Lexi -- still grinning -- as she bled over the carpeted floor. She turned over, groaning. Christopher pulled her up by her arm and stabbed her again, horizontally, letting the blood stain his shirt. She screamed and grabbed her stomach.
“Bastard,” she sneered, looking at Christopher with pleading eyes.
He smiled and pulled her up by her hair. He raised the bloody knife, tracing the outline of her neck and chin. “Don’t worry, darling,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re not going to die. Yet.” Just as he was about to slit her throat, he heard a click and felt something metallic against the side of his head.
“Put her down and drop the knife.” The smile on Christopher’s face faded and he dropped Lexi and his knife.
“Well, look at this!” Clara’s voice almost made Christopher jump. He had forgotten about her. “Xander Harle! Aren’t you grown up now?”
“Shut up, Sweete,” said a voice from behind Christopher. He turned around slowly and for the second time that day, Christopher saw someone from Clara’s memories. Xander still had the same dark eyes and brown hair. But there was something else he recognised. Xander was the man from the meeting with MI6.
Xander’s eyes widened. “You...” He didn’t even get a chance to finish his sentence. Christopher panicked.
“You’re not going to shoot me. Put the gun down. And you’re going to stay where you are. Don’t follow me.” Controlling Xander’s mind was the only thing he could do with a gun to his head. Xander looked at him with a curious look and lowered the gun. Christopher sighed. He was out of trouble for now.
“You’re Christopher Blanche,” Xander sneered. “I didn’t know CSIS hired murderers now. Killing members of your own organisation are you?”
Christopher raised an eyebrow. “Lexi Lawrence is an American. She doesn’t work for CSIS.”
“You’re wrong there, Christopher,” called Clara. “My dear Lexi here—“ she gestured to Lexi who lay on the ground, “has been working for CSIS for quite some time. Haven’t you?” Lexi spat some blood onto the floor beside her.
“Oh my God, Lexi,” breathed Xander. He dropped to his knees and pulled Lexi up to him. “I’ll get you some help.”
“How kind of you,” muttered Christopher, rolling his eyes. “But I must be off.” He turned around and headed for the exit.
“You better watch out, Blanche,” he heard Xander’s voice from behind him. “Because the next time I see you, I’ll be staring down on you through my scope with the barrel pointed at your heart. And the only way you’ll survive is if you pray to God that I miss.”
Christopher let the threat sink in. Just brilliant. Now he has an assassin on his trail, he thought. He shook his head and left the bar
Outside, he was greeted by honking cars and gridlock. He had cleaned his hands in the bar restroom and the only signs of blood were on his shirt and pants. Christopher took out his cell phone and checked the time. Quarter to six. He sighed. I guess I’ll be staying the night in Los Angeles, he thought. He looked at his phone, trying to remember the phone number for the hotel he stayed at the last time he was at the city and dialled it. The penthouse suite would be ready for him once he arrived.
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