“I’m glad to see you, brother,” he said carefully, eyeing her like she was going to jump over the table and kill him at any moment.
“You wanted to see me. I came.” Vincent raised his hands like it was obvious.
“Are you going to ask how I am? I was hurt.”
“No. I can see how you are, and I’ve been kept updated on your recovery. I’m not here to play games.”
“Than why did you come?” A tiny bit of rage in his voice. It wasn’t normal for him, but she could assume that prison had changed him.
“To say goodbye, and that your fun little game with the WMC failed.”
She grinned, and that caused her old master to glare at her.
“Failed?” he snapped. “Damn it. I wish anyone brought me any fucking news in this place.”
Now she was uncomfortable. That wasn’t a normal Axel. He was a model prisoner. He would have had people bringing him news every step of the way. And he didn’t deny it was him. He failed and he had no idea.
“Well, there you have it.” Vincent tilted his head, considering his brother through narrow eyes. She just watched the interaction, wondering what other out of character shit Axel was going to do. He was a different man than the one she used to know. “I won’t be coming back. I’m here to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye? I don’t think they’ll execute me for a long time. You’ll be back.” Axel grinned and it felt off-kilter to her.
“I’m getting pardoned in a few days. There’s no reason for any of us to come back.” It was the first and only thing she had planned to say here. “You failed because Vincent, the team, and I fucking stopped you. They think for the effort, I deserve to walk away. Thanks for the opportunity.”
“You were supposed to DIE!” he roared, slamming his hands down on the metal table, breaking the chains that held him to it.
It bent. Not a dent. It bent.
She jumped up and pulled Vincent back with her, glaring at the table. Axel was never that strong. She wasn’t that strong. No one she knew was that…
“Where is he?” she asked softly, looking back into the olive green eyes. They were wide, looking at his hands like he’d just made a terrible mistake.
“Sawyer…” Vincent sounded far away and stunned.
“We never found Missy’s body,” she snarled.
Axel gave them a twisted, angry sneer. “And you never will,” he purred. “Not a body, anyway.”
“WHERE IS HE?” she roared. “MISSY! WHERE IS HE?”
Missy just laughed, throwing ‘Axel’s’ head back in the process. It was an insane laugh, a hysterical one. She shifted back into her normal form, still laughing as Vincent dragged Sawyer out of the room.
“WHERE IS HE?” she screamed, trying to keep diving for the doppelganger that haunted her.
“Oh my god,” Vincent gasped, yanking her fully out of the room as guards ran in to grab the mad doppelganger, who just kept laughing. “How…That’s why he didn’t know…Because no one is going to report those things to a minion. He’s…”
“He’s free,” she snarled, glaring at the door to the room.
James was dead because Axel played a game with the WMC, behind the scenes, pulling the strings of people’s emotions.
She knew what her future held. In every variation of it, it involved him.
34
Vincent
Two days later, Vincent was numb. Not always. He had moments of anger and fear. He had moments of overwhelming sadness every time he thought about James.
But mostly, he was numb - because he shut it all down.
He had to drag Sawyer out of the prison that day. The next thing he knew, he was being interviewed and interviewing others, trying to figure out if it was true.
And it was. It was all true. Axel wasn’t in the prison. He was free, somewhere out there, playing his games quietly.
It felt like everything he had ever worked for was slipping between his fingers. Vincent couldn’t believe it, even with the whole story lined up in front of him on the table in James’ condo.
He’d put it together easily enough. Axel had been in prison, until he was jumped and injured. From there, someone had helped get Missy in and Axel out.
Just a simple exchange.
Sawyer had helped him further. They had to give Axel a similar scar to Missy’s, the one on the neck. Not hard to do, but it meant whoever was involved in the jump was a part of the conspiracy as well.
“It never ends,” he mumbled. “It never fucking ends.” This trip had been conspiracy after conspiracy. Starting from an angry IMPO agent who outed Sawyer, to assassins, the WMC, and finally to Axel, which had even more to it. Prison guards, Missy.
He was putting the pieces together already, little bits, but he knew he was behind. He was weeks behind. Axel had been injured a month before. Vincent closed his eyes. Was it a full month or three weeks? He didn’t remember. He would need to make a better timeline, something on paper. Normally he could remember these sorts of things, but there was too much and he was too close to it.
“Vincent,” Elijah called. “Are you ready to go?”
“I am,” he answered. “Everyone else?”
“Yeah. They all headed down to our rides already. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” He was lying. He was far from fine, but his emotional turmoil wasn’t important. He needed to be focused. “How are you? You shouldn’t be walking around.”
“It hurts, but I’m not going to be wheeled into this. I’m going to stand on my own feet for this.”
This. Sawyer’s pardon. The WMC and Thompson had decided on no public ceremony, just the Council, Thompson, and the team, with her, watching her be granted her freedom from prosecution over her past crimes. Well, legally. The public saw her as a hero now, most of them, but there would always be some that only saw the killer.
“I understand.” He grabbed his coat and threw it on as they walked out of the condo. After the funeral tomorrow, he had a meeting with Thompson over James’ will.
When they got downstairs, he went to her side, but she didn’t acknowledge him. She barely acknowledged anyone. From James’ death straight into Axel’s freedom.
He was rocked by it too, but he had something to focus on. He needed to focus or he would break. He wondered what was going on in her head. Her freedom on the back of all of this. He desperately wanted to know.
They drove in silence to the WMC building and were escorted inside without any issue. Thompson waited for them outside the main chamber. He shook all their hands, congratulating them.
Pleasantries none of them cared about.
Once inside, Vincent and the team flanked her as she was directed to stand in the center of the chamber. There was no smile on her face. No inclination of how she felt in any way, just a blank, ready face.
He had a feeling he knew why. She was about to be free, certainly, but Axel was also free. She would be a part of the effort to catch him. It wasn’t something to be excited about.
“Today, we’ve asked you all here to witness the pardon of Sawyer Cambrie Matthews from her past crimes as a criminal assassin under the moniker, Shadow.” It was one of the Councilmen that Vincent had no experience with. “However, due to recent information, we cannot grant this at the current time.”
Vincent let that hit him like a blow.
Everything that happened. All of them that had been hurt and bled. James had died. And they wouldn’t give her the pardon?
“And why is that?” she asked softly, looking up. “Say it out loud for the class, please.”
“We can’t justify letting you walk free while Antonio ‘Axel’ Castello does.” The Councilman shifted uncomfortably, looking away from them.
“You fucking promised!” Zander yelled. “Let go of me, Quinn! They fucking promised!”
“And what am I supposed to do about this?” she asked. He could hear the small quiver in her voice, but he figured only the team would. It was so small, so buried underneath
her cold mask.
“He was sentenced to death.”
“Say it,” she demanded.
Vincent shook his head.
No. Not this. This couldn’t be the thing standing between her and her future. She deserved so much better than this.
“Find him, catch him, and execute him, and you’ll get your pardon…Shadow.”
35
Axel
Axel continued to shave in the mirror, staring at his scarred face. The things he had to do to get what he wanted. He would have been angry about it, but really, they were just the cost of his intelligence. He was smarter than all of them, and those were just a necessary evil to prove it.
“Sir,” Felix called softly from the other side of the door. “Our source brought me news.”
“Let me guess. They are sending her and Vincent, along with the rest of his little friends after me.”
“Yes sir.”
He figured. When the Triad failed to kill her and let the Councilman push them into mistakes, he knew it would come to this.
That was fine.
“I am almost amazed at her resilience,” he murmured, then rinsed his face. He patted it down with a towel and smiled at himself. The scars almost looked good. They certainly didn’t change how women treated him, and they made others fear him even more.
“Axel…” Felix hadn’t left.
“Yes?” He was always kinder to Felix than the others. He liked the quiet young man. They were of similar age, but Felix seemed much younger. He was also loyal, and that was Axel’s favorite quality in any person who had it.
“Missy has agreed to do as you asked since her reveal.”
That was one problem taken care of.
“Does she know that I won’t be visiting her?”
“Yes sir.”
Good. He wasn’t in the mood for it.
“Thank you for the foresight to bring her back, Felix. Have I said that to you recently?”
“Yes, Axel, you have, but thank you. Anything for our future.”
“Yes, our future.” He walked out of the bathroom and smiled patiently. “There’s a couple things we need to get out of the way, but we have time.”
“Sir, if I can be so bold…”
“Say what’s on your mind.” Nothing Felix ever said was offensive to him. If anything, the Magi with necromancy was too passive for him on occasion.
“I’m glad to see you back in your prime. You seem more focused than you were before…Before the incident in Atlanta. You seem more like you were when…she…worked for you.”
Axel grinned. Yes. He felt focused. He felt like he could see his goals again and he knew how to play the slow game again.
Prison and his loss in Atlanta had reminded him of his best quality, one he’d thrown aside for his vendetta and anger at the bitch.
Patience.
A Night of Redemption
The Redemption Saga
Copyright © 2019 by Kristen Banet
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Overcome those who would see you fail.
Those who don’t know you.
Those who do.
Even yourself.
Don’t give up hope.
You are brave.
You are strong.
You are not alone.
1
Sawyer
It was sunny that day. At odds with the mood, the sun made people squint as it tried to warm up the cold December day and glared off the fresh snow. It made Christmas decorations around the city seem to shine and glow.
It made the city seem beautiful.
She would have enjoyed it if it weren’t the day it was. If there wasn’t a shadow over her heart. If it didn’t feel like somehow she’d gotten dragged into an eternal night with no chance for a dawn.
“Sawyer, we need to get inside.” A steady palm ran over her back, but the voice was shaking. Just a little. Just a tiny bit that made it obvious the man wasn’t ready for this.
Sawyer nodded. It was time.
As she walked into the chapel, she felt a bead of unease form in her chest. She’d never been to a funeral before. She certainly hadn’t thought there would be one she had to attend this trip to New York.
Assassins, corrupt politicians, fire, and blood. Those, she expected. She hadn’t expected to be saying goodbye to a man who gave her a chance. Not once, but twice.
“I barely knew him,” she mumbled to herself, hoping it would help deaden the grief.
“It’s okay,” Jasper told her softly, leading her further down the center aisle.
They found the rest of the team in the front row, reserved for family. Apparently James didn’t have any, so his will had said the team was his family. She was positive he wrote it long before she joined, but it still touched her.
She had barely ever seen him, hardly knew him, but she could feel how deeply and genuinely he cared for the guys. And that’s what made it all hurt so bad. They were reeling, cracking under the weight of not having him anymore.
She sat down next to Zander, Jasper taking the spot on her other side. At the end of their row, Quinn was with Elijah, who was still wheelchair-bound from his injuries. He could use crutches for short times, but none of them wanted to take the chance with how long this would be. Vincent sat next to Thompson, towards the main aisle. He was expected to get up and say a few words during the affair.
It was quiet. Considering the hundreds of people in the chapel, it was so quiet. Not even the sound of anyone crying. No, the chapel was full of hardened IMPO agents, politicians, and soldiers.
It broke her heart a little more.
She had barely known him, but he’d only had his work. He’d only had the guys and Thompson, who she’d learned was an old teammate of his. He’d only had her, too, in a strange way. Her interactions with the men who answered to him peppered their history, giving them an invisible connection.
Sawyer would have thought it was her fault. Again, a game, assassins, and somewhere in the background, Axel. Again, a dead body. But this time, blame was the furthest thing from her mind. As music began to play, serene and gentle, something angry curled in her chest. No, this wasn’t her fault. This wasn’t Vincent’s fault, or Thompson’s. It wasn’t D’Angelo’s. It wasn’t even Naseem’s, though Sawyer considered making it his fault several times over the last few days.
This was Axel’s fault.
Just his name brought a rush of extreme hate that she hadn’t known she was capable of. It happened every time his name came up. A rage that boiled and bubbled and festered would rise in her chest, as if it had always been there.
“Sawyer,” Jasper whispered harshly in her ear.
She pushed it down, the rage and hate. Now wasn’t the time for her fury. She hadn’t noticed how cold it had gotten around her until it began to warm up again. Whispers were breaking out around her. The men of her team, the ones who filled her heart with every breath they took, were staring at her patiently. They knew. They had dealt with this for a few days now.
Ever since the WMC laid down their last order to her, the rage would boil up to the surface. Kill Axel. Become the executioner and deliver the justice the WMC had sentenced. There was no reason to catch him again. His life was forfeit.
Be the assassin they all knew she was. Assassinate the man who made her what she was.
She had known it was coming the moment she’d come to terms with him having escaped. Nothing prepared her for the feelings the orde
r had given her.
“Sorry.” She looked down at her hands, tucked in her lap, hoping she didn’t lose it again. Not today. Not during this. Her rage could come tomorrow.
“It’s okay,” Zander mumbled, taking her hand and holding it tightly. Jasper took her other arm, tucking it into his. Lifelines, grounding her, bringing her back to the present.
They understood.
A priest began to talk shortly after that, silencing everyone’s whispers. They hadn’t been all about her. Some whispered how much they wished they knew James better. Some had whispered about the placement of the team and Thompson, wondering where James’ family was. Some just missed him.
The priest quoted scripture of a dozen religions, even some things not from any religion. Just well-written passages from books that moved people, probably ones chosen by Vincent or Thompson. Magi weren’t a religious group. With magic, they all found it somewhat difficult to fall into one belief or faith like non-Magi. Because of that, she knew the funeral was probably strange to any non-Magi in the room. She’d never been to a funeral, but she knew this was normal for her people.
The priest, thankfully, didn’t act uncomfortable with the strange reading he’d probably been asked to do. She stared at him in deep thought, trying to ignore the lamenting words of grief. The longer she stared, the more she realized he was probably a Magi as well. It would make sense.
She didn’t know why she was even thinking about that. Maybe it was avoidance of why they were there, why she was sitting in the front row for a funeral.
Finally, Director Thompson was called up. She nearly jumped, not expecting him to stand up. Everything had been so still until that moment.
He wasn’t crying. Stony-faced, he stared down at the paper he put on the podium, and she had a feeling he’d grieved privately. Now he just needed to get through this.
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