Old Wounds (Chance Assassin Book 4)
Page 21
Silva
It had been weeks since Miko told him of Simon's involvement, but only as he read Silva's confession did Frank realize how deep down he was holding onto the slimmest possibility that it somehow wasn't true. He tossed the letter back into the hole.
Vincent sighed and jumped in to retrieve it, rolling his eyes as he climbed out again and shoved it back into the envelope to be burned. “You gonna open the box?”
Frank begrudgingly knocked the lid off the top, right into the hole. Vincent glared at him, then his gaze softened as he looked down. Following his eyes, Frank turned to the box. In it was the copy of Candide, stained with Frank's blood, and the antique pistol Frank had been carrying that night. Littered throughout the box like it was truly buried treasure, were several women's rings. The rings Charlie had pawned, that led Silva's men straight to them.
“What does it mean?” Vincent asked, going for the gun.
“It means Silva didn't lie to me, he just didn't tell me the truth.”
“I swear I'll divorce you if you start with this cryptic Silva shit.”
“Charlie told Silva who I was when they abducted him. Told them about my father. Then Silva asked Simon about me. It wasn't the other way around.” Frank set several of the rings on his mother's grave, and slipped the last one onto Vincent's finger. “It means everything happens for a reason.”
“Do you regret bashing his head in?”
“Nope.”
“Do you still feel guilty?”
Frank considered this, looking down into the empty grave. From a very young age, he'd tried to control death. To protect those he cared about from it. To wield it as his weapon. But the guilt he felt, present in his life as much as death, had never come from the latter. He killed without remorse. He lost with nothing but. Frank had failed to save his mother, failed Maggie and Gideon. He hadn't failed Silva. Silva hadn't failed him. “No,” he said, and he meant it. “I regret breaking my promise to you.”
“I forgive you,” Vincent said magnanimously. “It's better that you did it, even if I would've done it better.”
Frank shook his head. “How do you do it? How are you so confident with everything, you just...” He reached to wipe Vincent's face, a somehow glamorous smudge of dirt from digging up Silva's treasure.
“I'm vain.”
“It's more than that. You're fearless.”
“I see myself the way you see me. I'm perfect because you are.” Vincent twirled the new ring on his finger. A world apart, a lifetime apart, and the ring fit. Perfectly. “What do I have to be afraid of? You're right here.”
“Nothing.” Frank huffed a laugh. “Absolutely nothing.”
“This is a good memory of England.”
“The best memory.” Ignoring the dirt, Frank kissed Vincent's hand. “You know what?”
“You're gonna fill the hole?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
“I want to go to Dover. Take the ferry home.”
Vincent cocked his head and looked him up and down as if genuinely doubting his sanity for the very first time. “Are you really in the best place mentally to make that kind of decision?”
“Yes,” Frank said, “I think I am.”
Chapter Forty-Six
There was no fear showing on Frank's face as he stared out across the choppy water of the English Channel, but it was evident in his hands, tightly gripping the paint chipped railing that he hadn't released since setting foot on the ferry. His arm was hooked through mine and he swayed almost imperceptibly, as if it could've been caused by the waves.
France was already visible on the horizon, England forgotten behind us. We hadn't left the bow, hadn't moved from that spot. We might never have even turned around if not for Finnochios.
I remembered the word from that Italian mob guy Frank and I assassinated when I was seventeen. A gay slur now muttered by the snickering assholes to our right. I glanced up at Frank to check if he'd heard it, and if the subsequent all aboard bloodbath would paint the white cliffs of Dover red.
He was still facing the waves but his grip had tightened on the railing, and he closed his eyes for just a moment, the ferry rocking him back and forth as he leaned in closer to me. “You want to get this?” he asked. Communicating in words rather than unpredictable violent outbursts was a pretty clear indication that we'd arrive at our destination without incident. At least, without uncontrolled incident.
“I got this.” I gave my gayest twirl and leveled a glare at them. “You talkin' to me? Are you talkin' to me?” They looked at each other and walked away without taking their eyes off us. And even though I knew it was from Frank standing behind me being scary rather than my Taxi Driver impression, I loudly said, “That's what I thought!”
Frank smiled when I turned back around as if he'd been standing there innocently the entire time.
After adjusting my hair, I reclaimed his arm. “I sure showed them.”
“Yes you did, my big badass superassassin.”
“Little, and international,” I corrected.
“My little badass international superassassin.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly to make sure he got my title right.
“What do you say we find the bathroom in this joint?” I gave him a suggestive wink. “Make some good memories.”
Frank hesitatingly released the railing, one finger at a time. Then he took a deep breath of salty sea air and slipped his hand into mine. “Lead the way, V.”
Acknowledgements
When I started writing Chance Assassin I never imagined I’d finish it, then didn’t think I’d actually publish, and I certainly didn’t anticipate the type of response I received from readers. Now, four book in at the end of the series, all I can say is how much I appreciate everyone who’s come on the journey with me and loved these characters like I do. Many of you reached out to me directly, to share your experiences with the books and let me know you were looking forward to the next one, and even just to say that you hadn’t heard from me for awhile and hoped I was well. Words cannot express how much it means to me to hear from readers. I’ve been struggling a bit during this process and you all kept me going.
Many of the names listed here are familiar to those who’ve followed the series: Steph, my alpha reader, who’s the first to tell me if something is garbage or assure me it isn’t, to laugh about working smarter not harder in the goriest way imaginable, and to help me determine when there’d be more blood than that; Jennifer, who kept checking on me and was always available to beta and reread my work; Lisa T, who asked for an ARC before I even knew what that meant and has been supportive of me ever since; Grace, no relation, who kindly offered to do any heavy lifting; Kaesha for giving me a new beginning; and last but not least Hazel, for being as sweet as Georgia peach pie. With ice cream.
About the Author
Nicole Castle was raised in New Mexico. She now lives in Oregon. Anyone looking to contact her can find her on Facebook or at Goodreads.com. Thank you for reading.
Also by Nicole Castle
The Chance Assassin Series
Chance Assassin: A Story of Love, Luck, and Murder
Les Recidivists
The Inauspicious List
Old Wounds
The Mako Shark series
The Consequence of High Caliber
The Result of a Straight Razor
The Mercy of the Mako Shark