The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,18

hates weakness in others.

I don’t… I exploit it.

“Now, I’ll let Mr. Silvanov say a few words,” Alistair finishes his speech.

I step forward and give a smile. “Thank you.”

A ripple of indefinable energy flies around the room. That moment when people relax a touch because you smile and don’t shoot lightning bolts out of your eyes or point at them shouting, “You’re fired.”

My reputation proceeds me, and it helps to be thought of as an utter bastard, so I let it stand, then disarm them completely when they meet me. Not because I care what they think of me, but because if people warm to you, they tend to open up, and I like to talk to the employees of the companies I’m buying and find out the truth.

I’m not a sociopath. I have the tests to prove it, carried out by the Russian army. I am, however, high on the scale. As is Andrius, my friend, fellow ex-Spetsnaz fighter, and now, an ex-hitman for the Bratva. Our scores were uncannily similar, which might be why we always fought so well together. The Russian army liked their special forces to have a slice of sociopath in them, but full sociopaths? Those without any empathy at all? They were weeded out. The trick with emotions is being able to control them, and that includes anger.

My view is that those who bluster, brag, and shout the most are empty suits when it comes right down to it. If you need to scream and shout at people to get them in line, you’re doing something wrong. I can bring someone to their fucking knees if I really want to with a few well-placed words and a look. I don’t need to raise my voice.

In my early days of pushing my way up through the ranks, I’m sure it helped that I look like a boxer not a businessman. Being tall, broad, and having a face that I’ve been told is downright unfriendly when I’m not smiling, helps intimidate people before I open my mouth.

I always make sure that, unlike many of my competitors, I know my stuff. I head into every meeting prepared to the hilt, which makes this morning an anomaly because I’ve been distracted.

By a girl with a mouth like sin and the eyes of an angel. A girl I want to take and mold from the wannabe sinner she looked like at the weekend, into the real thing. God, the things I’d do with her.

Dragging my mind from the gutter, I look around the room and begin to talk. I go through the usual shit. Telling them not to worry, that yes, there will be some job losses but nothing major, and that most people in this room are protected.

“Those who aren’t protected,” I finish, “are the mid-level and team managers amongst you, but the severance package is generous enough to keep you going for many months, and none of you will struggle to get a job having this place on your resume.”

What I say is true—they will be fine, and can easily get a job somewhere they can put their astonishing mediocrity to work.

Nervous laughter rings around the room at my words.

I smile again. It’s fake, a muscle reflex. Most of the time I feel as if I’m wearing a mask and going through the motions of pretending to be someone who gives a remote shit. Maybe after Yulia died, I went from being a part-time sociopath to the real thing? Who knows? Maybe, if the military tested me now, they’d run a mile. “I know this is all a shock, but I’d rather be upfront and honest,” I say, trying to put extra sincerity into my tone. “It’s the only way to be fair. After this meeting, Margaret and I will start talking to the game designers and IT consultants one-on-one. We need to get a feel of how things are from your end. After all, you are the ones in the trenches, correct? The ones who know the ins and outs of the day-to-day issues with the company.”

A murmur of voices starts. Alistair holds his hands in the air, and they quieten.

I won’t only be talking to the hot shots; no, I’ll talk to everyone, right down to the cleaners. Always do. It always amazes me how fucked our society is. Cleaners are the most important people in any organization. Without them the workplace is filthy, dirty, and dangerous. Yet they are paid fuck all and talked about

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