Immortal Stonekeeper

Chapter 1: All In A Night's Work

This is hands down the worst date I've ever had.

The man sank to his knees, doubled over in pain. He raised his hands in a pathetic attempt to plead for his life but only earned himself another solid blow to the gut. The pain did not register this time, but the shock certainly did.

"I... I like what y-you've done with... your hair, Miss Harred." He coughed like a fifty year old chain smoker three puffs away from lung cancer. "Centre parting, really suits that mafia vibe you've got going."

The sound of heels clacking against the wooden floorboard was the only warning he had before a fresh pain shot through his scalp. He cracked a defiant pained smile at the woman holding onto his black hair. She grinned back at him with a malicious look on her face. He was doing a poor job acting like it did not hurt, and she was clearly enjoying his dismal performance.

"Mister Jonathan Warner, I'm beginning to think you don't know how many lives you have." The woman's voice was dripping with sadism, a perfect complement to her straight blonde hair, narrow looking eyes, and dark makeup. Pretty much everything about her screamed mafia, right down to the mole in her cheek that twitched ever so slightly in annoyance.

"I showed you goodwill, even personally invited you to dinner. And how did you repay me? By skulking around in our drug factory, the one area I specifically told you not to enter."

She let go of him and waved a hand. Jonathan looked up in fear as the giant of a man beside him choked him with his unblinking stare. He stretched out a hand that was easily larger than his face and slammed him onto a table. Jonathan grunted in pain as the sandalwood pressed against the side of his face.

"Easy, Clara." A soothing, dignified voice drifted into Jonathan's ears. "We don't want the trouble of cleaning up the blood of an informant now, do we? Let me take over."

There was an uneasy pause.

"Yes, father."

Jonathan could have sworn he had heard the slightest sense of resentment in her voice, but this was no time to ponder about their family drama. He felt the pressure on his head ease as he slumped back to the floor. Jonathan looked up into the sunken eyes of the mafia boss squatting in front of him. There was a strange sense of authority exuding from him, one that came with years of hard life and wisdom. And yet, he looked oddly young for someone his supposed age.

Clean living, I suppose.

"One of the best informants in the city, caught like a mere rat in a cellar. Seems you have lost your touch, Warner. Or haven't you?"

"Must be my age catching up with me," Jonathan said lamely, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible. "Got a little tired from scurrying around all the time."

The mafia boss looked at him intently, before turning to his daughter. He signalled to his men to guard her as she stared at him in confusion.

"Take her away. Use the helicopters."

Clara shook the men off in protest. "No! Why won't you involve me? I'm not leaving, father! I'm more than competent enough to-"

"Take. Her. Away." He repeated himself, with a lot more urgency in his voice this time. The men froze, conflicted between their two bosses.

"NOW!" he boomed. Jonathan flinched at the sudden outburst as movement increased around him, scrambling to drag a struggling Clara away.

Sod it! How did he know?

"Come in, Anya. They're escaping. Come in now. Hurry!" Jonathan whispered urgently into his wired microphone.

"What did you say?" The man beside him looked at him suspiciously, pulling out a barely concealed gun.