Judas in slik
1136 Words
The night stretched long and sleepless.
Rain whispered against the windows of Anton Kray’s safe-house office, a steady rhythm that matched the heartbeat of a city built on blood and secrets.
Alice stood at the door, palms clammy, her breath unsteady. She’d been standing there for ten minutes, rehearsing what to say.
Every word could be the wrong one.
Inside, Anton sat at his desk, one hand around a glass of whiskey, the other tracing the barrel of his gun, a habit of thought. His eyes were tired, red at the edges from nights of no sleep.
When she finally knocked, his voice came low and sharp.
“Come in.”
Alice stepped inside, clutching the edge of her cardigan.
Anton didn’t look up. “If you’re here about dinner, tell the kitchen to”
“It’s not that,” she cut in softly. “It’s about Miranda.”
His head lifted, slowly, his gaze narrowing. “What about her?”
Alice hesitated. The silence between them was like glass, fragile, dangerous.
“I overheard her earlier,” she said. “She was on the phone in the corridor. I think… she was talking to someone about you.”
Anton’s eyes darkened. “What exactly did you hear?”
“She said something about the docks,” Alice whispered. “She said, ‘He won’t see it coming this time.’ And then she mentioned a man’s name.”
The room went still.
Anton’s jaw tightened as he set his drink down, the glass clinking softly against the desk.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Alice said quickly. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But she sounded like she was warning someone.”
Anton stood, his height swallowing the room, and pressed a button on the desk.
Within seconds, two guards entered.
“Bring Miranda. Now.”
The men nodded and left.
Anton walked to the window, his reflection fractured in the rain-specked glass. His mind spun like a storm filled with betrayal, suspicion, fury.
Alice stayed still, watching him. His silence was worse than shouting.
When the guards returned, they shoved Miranda into the room, a tall, slender woman with sharp eyes and a face too calm for what was coming.
Anton turned to her.
“You’ve been busy tonight,” he said quietly.
Miranda frowned, confused. “Sir?”
“You made a call. To Viktor Mikhail.”
Her face went pale. “What? No, I didn’t, I was on the phone with….”she didn’t complete her statement
Anton nodded to his men. “Search her room.”
The guards left again, boots echoing down the marble hall. The silence that followed was suffocating.
Miranda looked from Anton to Alice. “What’s happening?”
Anton didn’t answer. His eyes were cold, assessing.
“You’ve been with me five years,” he said. “You’ve seen what happens to traitors. So before they come back, tell me the truth.”
Her voice trembled. “I haven’t done anything! You know me, Anton. I would never”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.
The door burst open again, the guards dragging in a stack of envelopes.
“Found these in her drawer, boss.”
Anton’s gaze fell on the papers. He snatched one and tore it open. His eyes scanned the words,
Shipments confirmed. Anton unaware. Strike at dawn.
Another letter. Another betrayal.
Each one signed with a delicate, looping M.
Miranda’s voice broke into panic. “Those aren’t mine! I don’t know where those came from! Someone must’ve put them there”
Anton raised a hand in silence.
His men stepped back.
Frederick walked in from the hallway, drawn by the noise.
“What’s going on?”
Anton’s voice was low, dangerous. “I found my rat.”
Frederick’s eyes flicked from Miranda to the letters, then to Alice, who stood frozen near the desk.
He said nothing, but a faint smirk tugged at the edge of his lips.
Miranda saw it. “You,” she hissed. “You did this! You planted those”
“Enough,” Anton cut her off.
He stepped closer until he stood face-to-face with her.
“Five years, Miranda. You handled my accounts, my meetings, my secrets. You think I wouldn’t notice?”
Tears streamed down her face. “Anton, please, you have to believe me. I would never”
The gun appeared in his hand as if it had always been there.
The barrel pressed against her forehead.
“Anton, wait!” Alice shouted, stepping forward. “She might be telling the truth! Please, you don’t know”
He turned to her, eyes blazing. “You don’t speak for me.”
Alice froze, the sting of his words cutting deeper than fear.
Miranda sobbed, trembling. “I swear to you, I didn’t do it! Please, Anton, I”
The sound of the gunshot shattered the room.
The echo bounced off the marble, ringing in Alice’s ears as Miranda’s body hit the floor.
Blood spread across the white tiles, stark against the gold trim.
Anton stood over her, breathing hard. The gun still smoking in his hand.
Alice covered her mouth, shaking.
“Why, why did you do that?”
“She was a traitor,” Anton said quietly.
“But what if she wasn’t?” Alice whispered.
Anton’s eyes flicked to her, something in them faltering for a second before hardening again.
“Then she should’ve been smarter.”
He turned away, motioning for his men to clean the mess.
Frederick watched from the doorway, expression unreadable, hands in his pockets.
As the guards dragged Miranda’s lifeless body out, he spoke softly.
“Efficient, as always.”
Anton didn’t answer.
But Frederick’s eyes lingered on Alice, her pale face, her trembling hands. There was something in that look, something cold and knowing.
He gave her a small, mocking smile before walking out.
That night, the mansion was quiet again, too quiet.
Alice lay awake, staring at the ceiling, Miranda’s scream still echoing in her ears.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the letters. The handwriting. The way they appeared too perfectly placed.
She didn’t know who to fear more, Anton, or whoever had framed Miranda.
Somewhere down the hall, Anton sat alone in his office, staring at the empty whiskey glass.
He replayed every detail, the letters, the look in Miranda’s eyes before she died.
He’d seen guilt before. That hadn’t been guilt.
He rubbed his face with both hands.
If Miranda was innocent… then who was it?
His mind flickered between the only two people close enough to know his secrets, Frederick, his brother in arms, and Alice, the woman who had somehow found her way under his skin.
He poured another drink.
For the first time, the liquor didn’t burn. It just taste
- Writer
