The key turns in the lock, and the door opens. Our eyes meet.

For a few seconds we stare at each other; his face a picture of disbelief, while my own is one of amusement.

This is going to be fun.

His eyes travel down to the gun in my hand, which is aimed directly at his heart. I look pointedly from the gun to the door, my message clear. He closes it.

“How did you get in here?” he stammers, a slick sheen of sweat spreading across his forehead. “How did you get past security?”

I smile, shrug. “I couldn’t possibly tell you…”

My gun still trained on him, I rise to my feet and begin to walk around the room. His beady eyes follow my every movement, and his hands twitch restlessly by his side.

“Sit.”

I point to the chair that I have just vacated. He obeys without hesitation.

“Who - who are you?”

I secretly applaud his attempt at confidence and bravery. Not many men would dare challenge me when facing the end of a barrel.

The seconds and silence stretch on as I refuse to answer him. My heart is beating erratically, revelling in his palpable discomfort. I smile at him coquettishly.

“I don’t think that’s really important, Derek,” I whisper, bracing my hands on either side of the chair’s arms, leaning over into his face.

He flinches. Whether this is from my proximity or the use of his name, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s both.

A thrill of satisfaction runs through me. This is just too easy.

“I’m sorry that we’ve had to meet like this,” I continue, pulling away, deliberately stepping on his toes with the heel of my boot. Hard. “Another time, another place, who knows, we could have had something magical.”

I continue to grind down on his foot through his shoe. Derek bites down on his lip, eyes watering. I press down harder, determined to hear him whimper, determined to hear him suffer. He continues to resist.

I lift my foot up, and he gasps in relief. Before he has time to recover though, I slam my heel down again feeling more than hearing the snap of bone.

Derek opens his mouth to scream, but I quickly silence him with a heavy blow to his stomach, winding him.

“Sorry,” I whisper in his ear as he heaves, desperate to catch his breath. “I slipped.”

The head butt catches me unawares, and I reel backwards as I hear the unmistakable crunch of my nose breaking. Warm blood drips down my chin.

Bastard.

In the few seconds it has taken for me to focus, my captive has tried to launch himself at the door. I lunge for him, dragging him to the ground with a heavy thud, and smashing his head into the floor.

“Nice try, Derek,” I hiss, pulling him back up and flinging him across the room.

I am no longer amused. It is time to end this, once and for all.

Derek lies spread eagled on the floor, chest heaving, trying to push himself back up. Blood pours from his mouth, which he spits out at my feet.

I leer over him, face twisted up in a snarl. Without further ado, I lift the gun to his head and draw back the safety catch.

“Walter Livingstone sends his regards.”

I pull the trigger.