Worth the Price

by Angelique Voisen

  For a couple of seconds, he stared at the note, speechless. Fuck it. He knew this would happen. Last night was a one-time thing, but still, part of him hoped Frank would see last night as a game-changer.

  “There you go again, deluding yourself,” he muttered.

  Patches licked at his hand, looking concerned.

  “You’re all I have,” he told Patches.

  The dog let out a bark and wiggled in his arms. He released Patches, numbed when Patches padded to the two bowls and sat in front of them.

  “You’re still hungry, or you miss Frank?” He looked around the kitchen for something Patches could eat. Lex peered inside a brown paper bag that wasn’t there the night before. His breath caught in his throat. Dog food. What the hell? Frank had time to get that and write the goddamn note?

  Opening one can, he poured it on one of the bowls and sat on the floor, watching Patches eat. “It’s just going to be us from now on again.”

  Why did the words give him dread?

  He wished Frank never entered his life in the first place.

  “I’m so stupid.”

  Patches gave him a look, before returning to his bowl. Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes. Lex hastily wiped them away. He sat on the floor for a long time, before making up his mind. If Frank wanted him to be gone, so be it.

  He showered quickly, borrowed more clothes with a mind to burn them once he got home. With Patches in his arms, he exited the place. He expected the alarms to go off the moment he crossed the front door.

  Nothing happened. Did Frank turn them off or were the sensors something the killer made up?

  “Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.

  He left the building in a damn foul mood. Deciding some fresh air would do him some good, he walked back to his place. Patches walked a couple of paces ahead. Finally in his neighborhood, a few passersby stopped to rub Patches’s head, nodding to him.

  Lex recognized some faces, but couldn’t put a name to any of them. Being socially awkward by nature, he gave up trying to get to know others long ago. Maybe he should change that. Look at what kind of guys he attracted. Before Frank, most of his dates lost interest halfway through a date. They thought he wasn’t worth sticking around for.

  In the end, Frank turned out to be the same.

  With a heavy sigh, Lex reached his building and entered the lift. Once they reached his floor, Lex walked to his unit, frowning when Patches halted, teeth bared and ears flat.

  Patches had never shown aggression before.

  “What’s wrong, bud? Come on. Let’s order takeout and plop in front of the TV. I could go for a pint of Rocky Road too. I’ll promise to share.”

  Patches let out an unfriendly bark.

  “Patches, I’m not in the mood.” Lex slid his key into the door, looking over his shoulder. Patches ran at him like he predicted, but the Corgi went past him and right inside. He heard a thud a second later. Concerned, Lex shut the door behind him.

  Why was the apartment so dark? Did Frank draw the curtains?

  Spotting the outline of Patches on the carpet, he grew alarmed. Patches wasn’t alone. Standing to the left of his dog was a stranger, entirely clad in black. His back hit the front door.

  “What did you do to Patches?” he demanded, hand on the doorknob.

  “You should be more worried about yourself, little man.”

  He spotted the rise and fall of Patches tiny chest. Okay, his dog was alive, but what about him?

  Shit.

  The man stepped into his line of sight. Frank might have passed for a well-dressed businessman, but this stranger never would. Under the rumpled gray suit was a honed body. A large horizontal scar bisected the left side of the guy’s face. More scars crisscrossed his neck. Twin hunting knives glinted from large hands, and Lex had a feeling this man knew how to use them.

  Fear slithered down his spine. His breaths came out short. Lex’s inhaler was within easy reach, but he didn’t need to worry about a panic attack. This guy would gut him before his fingers closed over his inhaler. Unlike Frank, this man meant him real harm. Lex could see it in the stranger’s eyes. The man ran his tongue over strangely razor-sharp teeth.

  Lex turned the knob and ran for his life, but he didn’t get far. Reaching the elevator, he jabbed at the down button. This is taking too long. Find another exit. He sprinted for the emergency stairwell. A second later, something hit the square of his back.

  Not a bullet. Agony didn’t course across his body. Oh no. This guy had a different plan in mind. He lost control of his limbs, and even just opening his mouth to let out a cry was impossible. His vision wobbled. The next thing Lex knew, he tasted the ground. The assassin stood in front of him, sheathing his knives.

  “You and I are going to have some fun before dear old Frankie arrives.”

  ****

  Severing the bonds between Lex and he—no matter how short-lived—was the best decision he ever made.

  Frank wondered how many times he needed to think that to fully convince himself. Some part of him hoped that when he returned from the Organization Headquarters uptown, Lex would still be there.

  That would make the perfect picture, wouldn’t it? He could imagine Lex pissed, arms crossed, ready to tangle with words the moment he walked thorough his front door. Turning the key to his apartment, he expected Patches to greet him.

  The place was empty, his note left into a crumpled ball on the dining table. The two bowls he left for Patches were washed and drying near the sink. There was an opened can of dog food in the trash. A glutton for punishment, Frank checked the apartment, just in case Lex was playing hide-and-seek. He found one of his shirts and sweat pants missing. The shower still smelled faintly of his soap and shampoo, items Lex no doubt used.

  Frank leaned against the door of the bathroom, shutting his eyes.

  Last night, while watching Lex fall asleep, he made a decision. Lex didn’t belong to his world. The longer Lex remained with him, the more Lex would be in trouble. He checked in with the Organization, pretending to scout for jobs and check his ranking. Frank strolled in, expecting guns to be drawn or to be taken away silently and put in one of the Organization’s numerous interrogation chambers.

  Nothing happened. He was given the same job offers. Wicked’s number of kills was closing on his, but he no longer cared about that stuff.

  He headed home, hoping in some way Lex would stick around. Convince him to leave this life behind and start a new one. Together.

  A future with Lex certainly sounded plausible last night, when Lex opened all his barriers and let him in. By now, the marks Frank left behind wouldn’t have faded.

  He could check on Lex, just to make sure Lex had gotten home safe.

  A bark of laughter emerged from his lips.

  “What’s wrong with me? I should be happy I’m not screwed,” he whispered to himself.

  The best thing to do was sit tight. Maybe consider another job. Eventually, Lex would slip from his mind, except he didn’t want to forget. Grabbing his coat and keys, he headed back outside.

  Frank would be quick. Once he was certain Lex was in his apartment, he would disappear. Lex would never see him again. Despite living in the same city, life would go on. A day would come that they might see each other on the street and Lex wouldn’t even blink an eye.

  It wasn’t too late. Frank could still amend his wrongs, but what would happen? He supposed he could retire; find some other line of work. As long as former assassins kept the Organization’s secrets, they would need to go through a check now and then. They would eventually be left alone though, free to live out their lives.

  Before meeting Lex, Frank took solace in finding a purpose in life. He might not enjoy killing like Wicked, but everyone had a job to do. Frank might not be one of the good guys, but he never really gave a fuck he was slowly turning into a monster so he could pay the bills… until now.

  He could change for Lex.

  Frank didn’t need to make a
decision now. Deciding to keep things low-key, he took the subway to Lex’s neighborhood. Like the night before when he retrieved Patches, he kept to the corners and took the stairs in the back. He considered spying from the opposite building, but decided he wanted to talk to Lex in person.

  Lex certainly deserved it, especially after what Frank put him through.

  Besides, there was no immediate danger. If the Organization knew about Lex, they would have eliminated Lex and him both without hesitation. Quiet and efficient was the motto of the Organization.

  Reaching Lex’s unit, he was about to knock on the door when he noticed the lopsided welcome mat. The door wasn’t locked. Alarmed, he reached for the gun tucked inside his belt. Turning the safety off, he pressed his ear towards the door, listening for any sounds of life.

  Chapter Nine

  Frank heard nothing at first. His heart sunk. Could he be wrong about the Organization? Some part of his mind told him this wasn’t their way of doing things. A professional cleaner wouldn’t have left any out of place detail behind.

  They’d make sure everything looked exactly how Lex would have left the place. If someone, like a friend or nosy neighbor would report Lex missing, the local authorities would come to the conclusion Lex left. No body would be found.

  He heard it then—a muffled sound.

  Frank pushed his way in, entire body tensing up when he saw who was waiting for him in the living room.

  He silently took it all in. Lex had been strapped to a living room chair, bound in rope and gagged. Standing over Lex, polishing a long hunting knife, was Wicked.

  “Good of you to join us, Frank. Lock the door behind you.”

  Frank obeyed, silently assessing Lex for injuries. There were shallow cuts across Lex’s arms and a spidery one on his left cheek. The sight of Lex’s blood drawn pissed the hell out of Frank.

  “I didn’t realize the Organization would send you. Killing a target messily when you have the time is fine, but an immediate threat like him? You’re getting soft, Wicked,” Frank said. Good thing his voice sounded even, just like his usual self. Inside, he was a storm of emotions. Fear of Wicked slicing Lex’s throat held him back from butchering the smirking bastard.

  Wicked snorted. “You’re the one losing your edge, Frank. The Organization didn’t send me. I did this little investigation on my own. I saw you that night, thought you were about your normal business.”

  Frank tightened his jaw. Fuck. Of course. He’d been careless, distracted by what to do with Lex, he’d never thought of Wicked tailing him. If there was one good thing about this, it was the fact Wicked was insane.

  A good assassin would instantly report to the Organization about a rule breaker. Wicked was too obsessed with winning to care about proper procedures.

  “You want me, Wicked? Here I am. Let Lex go,” he said firmly.

  “Why would I do that? He’s my leverage and your weakness.”

  “If you want to hurt someone, hurt me.”

  Wicked’s grin widened. “Look at you, the great Frank Wolfe, pleading for the life of some nobody.”

  “Lex is a better man than you or me.”

  Lex’s eyes widened at that. Frank’s mind raced. Part of him wished he could tell Lex everything would be fine. He wasn’t leaving this apartment until Wicked’s blood was on his hands. It didn’t matter if he died in the process. He was going to right his wrongs, whatever it took.

  “Whatever. You disgust me, Frank. I thought you were some slicked-ass killer, that emotions can’t touch you.” Wicked sneered.

  “Better than someone who enjoys torture far too much.”

  “Even standing there like a deer caught in the headlights, you still think you’re better than me?” Wicked snapped. The other killer stopped polishing his knife. Frank noticed Wicked’s knife hand start to shake, but Wicked was still too close to Lex for his liking.

  He’d seen the other man kill before. One swipe and Lex’s pulse would start to beat. No, Wicked wouldn’t go for a fast kill. The best he could do was to distract Wicked, turned Wicked’s attention solely on him.

  What he told Wicked was the truth. A murderer’s life ceased to matter the moment guys like him and Wicked took their first life for profit. Lex didn’t change him overnight. Frank always knew he’d pay for his sins sooner or later. He was guilty as they came. In Lex, he saw his ticket to redemption. If he didn’t make it to the finish line so he could live another day with Lex, so be it. He did his best.

  “I don’t think. I know.” Frank prowled the edge of the room.

  “Don’t move,” Wicked said in an agitated voice. One trembling hand raised the blade against Lex’s neck again.

  “Or what? If you kill Lex, it wouldn’t prove anything, only the fact you’re a coward. Using a hostage to get the upper hand? Please. Only losers do that.”

  Wicked took a step towards him, face red with rage. “Fucking say that again.”

  “I’ll say it as many times as you want, Wicked. You’ve always been a second-rate killer. You think your thirst for blood is an asset. It isn’t.”

  “Your bleeding heart isn’t either.”

  “We’ll see.” Frank drew out his pistol, pulling on the trigger.

  Wicked expected that, dodging away at the last second. With a snarl, Wicked took out his blades, spinning them, completely forgetting Lex. With some luck, the neighbors would hear the gunshots and call the police. They wouldn’t be able to do much against two men who killed for a living. Frank was hoping by the end of their fifteen-minute response time, it would all be over.

  The other man came at him, knives pointed at him. He saw his death in Wicked’s eyes. Frank killed without emotion. This time, he would end Wicked’s life with pleasure. Even if Wicked somehow lived through this, the other assassin wouldn’t stop hunting Lex as long as Lex drew breath.

  They clashed. Wicked closed in, but Frank kept his distance. He never left home without one revolver and at least two knives, but he knew Wicked was an expert in hand-to-hand combat. He, on the other hand, was barely decent.

  He fired off his shots carefully. One lodged itself in Wicked’s shoulder. Nearing Lex, he kicked at the chair, toppling it over and dropping one of his knives.

  “Take cover,” he hissed at Lex.

  “You’re dead,” Wicked yelled.

  Running out of ammo, Frank tossed his gun aside. They were a whirlwind of speed and blades. With only one blade to defend himself, Frank was at a disadvantage. He danced his way to the kitchen, keeping an eye on Lex.

  To his relief, Lex had worked his way out of the ropes and was crawling for cover. Somewhere, Patches was barking. Noisy dog and gunshots. Surely, the combination would draw notice, even if it were in the middle of the day.

  He plucked one of the knives sitting on the counter and silently assessed the damage. Tiny cuts covered him, but no serious injuries.

  Wicked chuckled. “You’re going to kill me with a kitchen knife?”

  “Yep.” That angered Wicked, just like he predicted. Wicked came at him, blades flashing. Frank barely managed to fend off Wicked’s barrage of slashes. The other assassin didn’t see his left arm rising, but it was a feint. Frank drew a line across Wicked’s forearm, only to see Wicked’s other hand rising, the hilt of the other killer’s knife sticking into his ribs. Grunting, he shoved the other man away.

  “I’m going to gut you and then your boyfriend,” Wicked hissed. Frank’s back hit the fridge. Dropping the kitchen knife, he clutched at the new wound, gritting against the pain.

  “Try again, sucker,” Lex’s voice came out of nowhere.

  Over Wicked’s left shoulder, Frank saw Lex, wielding a frying pan. Metal hit bone. Lex didn’t stop. Swinging the pan, he caught Wicked on the right side of his head, then the left. Growling, Wicked spun. Frank used that opportunity to sink his own blade into the side of Wicked’s neck.

  It was a direct hit. Blood spurted. Wicked faltered, dropping both blades, before sliding to the floor.


  Lex stared at him, face pale, still clutching at the frying man.

  “Is he,” Lex hesitated, “…dead?”

  “Thanks to you.” Frank slumped against the fringe and fumbled for his phone.

  “What are you doing?” Lex cried. “Stop moving.”

  “I need to make a call to the Organization.” It hurt to speak. Lex ran up to him and helped him find his phone. “Speed dial five.”

  “Will they help you?” Lex asked, putting the receiver to Frank’s ear.

  “I didn’t expect to survive.” Frank would explain later. Right now, only the Organization could help. He was already spinning a story in his head. Fuck this, but he wanted to live. Minutes ago, he hoped the local authorities would race to Lex’s location because he anticipated losing to Wicked.

  Frank wasn’t aware of sliding to the floor. Red stained his shirt. Someone from the other line picked up.

  “Emergency code 744,” he said.

  “Please wait while we connect your call,” replied a crisp voice.

  “What’s your emergency?” came a man’s voice.

  “Another assassin attacked my lover out of the blue. I need medical assistance. Shots were fired. Anticipate the cops.”

  “Roger that. I’m sending other operatives your way. Hang tight.”

  The operator ended the call.

  “Frank, what was that code? You lied,” Lex said worriedly. Lex had retrieved a first-aid kit from somewhere and helped apply pressure to his wound.

  “I told you I’ll get us out of this, didn’t I?” Frank said, faintly.

  Shit. His vision swirled. Pain streaked from the wound on his ribs. The knife hilt was still sticking out, but extracting it would make it worse. He only hoped the Organization wouldn’t take one look at the mess he made and decide they wanted a clean slate.

  Frank looked down to see Lex curling their fingers together. How warm and nice. Even if he died, Lex was still alive. That was enough. With a smile on his lips, he fell unconscious.

  Chapter Ten