Sneak Peak: David and Steele (Patreon)

Here's a little sneak peak at the last of the scenes I've added to break up the long conversation between David's three keepers in part two.  It fleshes out the encounter between David and Jeremiah Steele that triggered the whole story.

I'll be giving it a final once-over and hopefully have the whole Interlude finally finished by next week!

***

In frame, two men.

The first, a face intimately familiar to the world having graced countless “Man of the Year” magazine covers, labelled ‘saviour’, ‘genius’, ‘disruptor’, ‘the most powerful man alive’—a strong-jawed, sculpted face, aquiline nose and deep-set, penetrating eyes burning under a famously bald head. He stood tall with utter disregard over the body at his feet, blood pooling across the bare concrete floor. Steele stood shirtless, dark-skinned and broad-chested; his suit trousers were dark grey and tailored, shoes shiny and black; and at his side he held a compact and nasty-looking gun.

Opposite him stood David Saunders. It was difficult to reconcile the man on the screen with Cindy Bellamy. Short, especially juxtaposed with Steele, but compact and wiry, whip-like and ruggedly handsome despite his disheveled appearance. Dark hair tousled and his clothes were stained with grease and grime, shirt haphazardly untucked and trousers torn, but he carried himself with an arrogance that matched that of the man opposite.

He also held a gun. It was pointed at Jeremiah Steele.

“Drop it,” he ordered.

The audio quality was good, as befitted the next-gen mobile that captured the video. The phone had clearly been propped up somewhere to catch the action.

If Steele was surprised, he concealed it well. He seemed to assess the man opposite, the way he held the weapon and the confidence of his grip.

“I know you,” he said, the man’s voice betraying no fear. “David, is it?” He considered for a second. “Yes. David Saunders.”

His name, more than anything, seemed to take him by surprise, though the gun didn’t stray from its target. “Yeah,” he said. “We met once.”

“Delhi office.” Steele nodded once. “And your name’s passed my desk a few times. Rapid riser. Someone to watch for. Potential.” He cocked his head to one side. “Perhaps I should have watched more closely.”

“Whatever.” David twitched the gun. “Drop it.”

“And if I ref—”

A single shot rang out.

David smiled. Steele returned the smile without humour and slowly knelt next to the body at his feet. Even at this distance, the gruesome details were visible, the blown-out skull and gore mingled with blood. He placed the gun on the floor and slowly returned to his feet.

“What do you want?” Jeremiah Steele asked.

“You know, that’s a really good question,” David said, stalking closer. He kept the gun trained on the other man and his steps were light and swift, cat-like as he closed the distance. “A really fucking good question.”

“Why are you here, David?”

“I was fucking your P.A., Jeremiah.” David grinned. “Dipping my wick in the corporate wax, so to speak.” He was close now to Jeremiah, in his face, and the camera’s software automatically zoomed in to keep the two in frame. Up close, David’s gaze burned with fevered intensity, an incandescent joy to counter the barely restrained rage simmering behind Steele’s eyes. “Came up for a little fresh air. Heard a noise. Saw—”

For the first time, Steele’s impassive demeanour wavered. “What did you see?”

“I saw….” David’s grin grew. “I saw what I saw, Jeremiah.”

“You saw nothing,” Jeremiah hissed. For the first time fear brought a tremor to his voice. “Nothing.”

There was a sound off screen—unclear, perhaps of something falling over. Maybe a startled cry. Jeremiah twitched towards the noise.

With savage speed and strength, David slammed his fist into Jeremiah’s stomach. The larger man doubled over and dropped to the floor on all fours.

“You’re a sick fuck, you know that, Steele?” David spat and lashed out with his foot, catching the man in the ribs. Silently, the man rocked over onto his side. “So fucking full of yourself, huh? Feel powerful when you shot that guy?” David stepped closed. His fist took Steele in the side of the head with an audible thud. “Feeling tough now?” And again, and again—on the third hit, David pulled back and Steele collapsed to the floor. “Fucking bastard.”

There was a long silence broken only by the whistling of wind and from somewhere off screen, the flap of plastic sheeting. Eventually, Steele stirred. He took in deep, wheezing breath and glared up at his attacker from his position next to the corpse. “You’re a dead man, Mr Saunders.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” David answered, before deftly flipping the pistol in his hand and slamming the butt across Steele’s temple. The larger man crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

David knelt next to him for a long moment. Eventually, he shook his head. “What the fuck am I doing?” he muttered, before standing and dusting himself down. With a loud sigh, he walked towards the camera and collected his phone.

The video skewed wildly, taking in a wash of walls and ceilings, and then ended.