6 Controlled Demolition

Mateo's Pov

The bolt slid home with a final, metallic *clunk* that sealed the room in a temporary silence. 

Outside, the world was a muffled, distant thing, but inside, the only thing louder than the quiet was the frantic pounding on the other side of the door.

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

Each impact vibrated through the polished wood, but I didn't hurry. 

I took a slow, measured breath, as the scent of old leather and my own expensive cologne filled my lungs.

My fingers found the cold brass of the lock, forcing a click with a twist.

The door swung inward, and there stood the security head, Clint. 

Our eyes locked. His eyes were wide, a little wild from the chase. 

Mine, I knew, was the flat, calm grey of a winter sea before a storm. 

For a single, suspended second, the only sound was our shared breath in the doorway.

“She just left.” The ghost of a smile touched my lips.

Clint’s head snapped towards the men crowding the space behind him, atop shadows dancing in the poor light. "She's not here!" he barked. 

"Don't let that bitch escape if you all want to stay alive! Go, go, *go*!"

A stampede of hurried footsteps, a jangle of equipment, and then they were gone, as the noises continued to fade. 

Clint turned back, stepped fully inside, and closed the door, shutting us in. The shift in his posture was immediate, and the aggressive hunter was gone, replaced by a soldier at attention.

"Sorry, Boss," Smoothening over the gravel in his voice with respect, he gave a short, sharp bow of his head. "Didn't realize you were in here."

My hands were folded behind my back, and slowly, I raised my right hand, flicking my index finger in a casual, almost bored gesture. "Hey, Clint."

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Help me smash some stuff."

A slow smirk spread across his scarred face, creeping one eyebrow upward. "You sure, Boss?" he focused his gaze on me, as dark amusement began to glitter in his eyes. "I won't hold back."

"The more realistic it sounds, the better."

I turned, grabbed the high-backed chair beside the empty bunk, and with a grunt of effort, I swung it sideways. 

It screamed through the air before exploding against the wall, forming a gunshot sound of splintering wood. 

A leg ricocheted off a side table, sending a ceramic vase spinning to the floor in a shower of porcelain shards.

Clint didn't need another invitation. He reached for an old and rusty heavy glass bulb, yanked the cord from the wall, and with a practiced motion, hurled it down onto the cold marble floor. 

The crash was spectacular, as a thousand crystalline teeth skittered across the stone, catching the dim light.

I widened my palm, forming the universal sign for him to stop. 

The sudden silence that fell was deafening, ringing with the aftermath of our violence. I could smell the ozone from the broken wiring and the faint, dusty scent of shattered porcelain.

Slowly, I walked to the window I had bolted shut just minutes before. I didn't look out. I just listened. And there it was—the soft, shaky scuff of a heel on the gravel path below, hurriedly moving away. 

I let the faint smile return, this time letting it linger.

"Hey, Clint."

"Boss?"

"I expect the husband's... or rather, the *ex*-husband's family will blame me for this mess." I finally turned from the window, with a fluid movement as I walked towards him. "So, I'll have your work doubled up after they put me behind bars."

He gently rubbed the thick, raised scar that cut through his eyebrow, an old habit of his when he was thinking. "Soo... what would you have me do, Boss?"

"Not much," I stopped just a few feet from him. 

The air between us was thick with the unspoken. "Just make sure the main gate is opened when she's about to ride past."

His eyes narrowed a fraction. "You... want me to let her escape?"

"Of course," The words came out soft. "But don't do anything after that. Your men, and her furious ex-husband, will be right on her tail…. Let them chase her."

A slow understanding dawned on his face after he let out a single, sharp nod. "As you wish, Boss."

I took a deep breath, tasting dust from the air. "Now go."

He left without another word, closing the door softly behind him, leaving me alone in the wreckage of my own design. I stood there for a few minutes, just breathing in the silence.

Finally, I walked out, crunching my shoes on a piece of glass near the door, and headed right out the main entrance to where my car was parked.

I was about to open the driver's door when I felt it… a shift in the atmosphere and the soft, deliberate crunch of gravel underfoot. Not one set of footsteps. Not two.

Three.

I turned around, loosening my body as a fresh, cold wave of adrenaline washed through me.

The car door clicked shut behind me, forming a soft, final sound in the tense night air. I took two deliberate steps forward, crunching the gravel under my shoes as the trio stood before me.

"Sire Dhaval," I halted.

The old man was a monument to weathered privilege. He slammed his golden walking stick down on the cobblestones, forcing an unnaturally loud crack meant to intimidate. 

His gnarled hand, speckled with age, tightened around the stick while the other clutched at the well-trimmed grey beard on his chin, a nervous habit he probably thought looked regal.

"I asked for your help in solving a problem," he seethed through a rumbling voice. "And all you did was multiply the problems."

He stepped forward, and the two men flanking him mirrored the movement. They were shadows in dark uniforms, their presence screamed ‘official business,’ but their posture screamed ‘muscle.’ 

The air grew thick, smelling of cold night, expensive cologne, and the faint, metallic scent of impending violence.

"I'll ask you this just once, Mr. Mateo," Old man Dhaval dragged the words out, letting each one hang in the air. "Who sent you?"

I let a slow, easy smile touch my lips, planting both hands deep into my trouser pockets. "Sire," I tilted my head. "You approached me."

A vein throbbed in his temple. "I see you're not in the mood to speak." 

He shut his eyes for a moment. Then turned his head slightly. "Grab him."

The bigger of the two uniforms moved. And the way he walked towards me... Damn. He was a mountain of a man, all coiled aggression and bad intentions, and obviously itching for a fight as he popped the knuckles of one massive hand, then the other. 

He rolled his shoulders and stretched his long, giraffe-like neck, forcing out audible pops from his bones. Honestly..., all of these… just for the brutal joy of bending someone until they broke.