by Patti Larsen
Emme grumbles something Reid chooses not to hear. She and Nathan go off to be alone while Drew sighs softly. “Sorry, Reid,” he says. “I guess she’s been a hunter too long to trust anyone very much.”
“I don’t blame her,” Reid says. And he doesn’t. “I just hope your faith in me isn’t misguided after all.” He’s feeling the weight of responsibility all of a sudden and he doesn’t like how it smothers him.
No one says a word. Probably because they are hoping the same thing.
They spend the rest of the night dozing in and out, as though none of them feels comfortable being asleep for long. By the time morning comes, Reid is ready to act.
It’s not until dark comes again, however, that Syracuse gives him the chance. By then Reid has had a shower in a rundown stall, been given jeans and a sweatshirt to replace his hunter’s uniform and has eaten enough pizza, good this time, to make him sick of it.
Cole bundles himself up in his hoodie and grins at Reid. “Well,” he says. “Looks like you got something right after all.”
Reid cuffs the boy on the back of the head very gently just before he smells the familiar sweet scent of cigar smoke.
He marches toward the guards, not waiting for his friends, coming face-to-face with the fat man as he steps between the soldiers watching over them.
Syracuse is smiling. “You’re up.”
Time to kill.
***
Reid bypasses the busy line and makes his way to the alley beside the club. He is grateful to be out of the bright neon light, his ears already aching from the pounding of the bass coming from inside. He leaves the laughter and drunken conversations behind him as he rounds the corner into the dark.
Marcus steps from the shadows, his feet grinding over glass. Reid doesn’t have to look up. They were careful to make sure the one bulb that lights the alley is broken a few hours before it got dark. Part of a plan they are getting accustomed to.
This is their third night hunting, their fifth target and Reid is getting tired of it. Still, he has a job to do, the messier the better. This has to get Dr. Lund’s attention or he’s wasting his time.
The lock on the back door is weak. One stiff wrench and the bolt shears off in the slot. The bouncer on the other side has one second to register he’s no longer alone before Marcus’s fist meets his chin and he’s down and out.
Reid pulls the door shut, his hyper hearing overwhelmed by the surging beat coming from the dance floor. They are in the back hallway, lit with red light, black curtains drawn over the exits. Marcus makes sure the bouncer is unconscious before the two of them hurry down the hall toward the black wooden door at the end.
Another lock, another jerk of inhuman strength, two bouncers this time. One manages to get his gun out but not fast enough. They fall as easily as the one at the back door. Reid and Marcus leave them there, a crumpled pile of gym-fed muscle and designer black clothing and make their way up the flight of stairs to the top floor.
The office is all in black from the carpet to the walls and furniture, only accented in deep red. The blend is so perfect it takes Reid a moment to spot the man they’ve come for, his clothing matching the décor.
“Who the hell…” He is on his feet, hand reaching for the desk and presumably a weapon when Marcus leaps over the top and takes him down. Reid circles the desk, watches as Marcus twists the man’s head sideways in a sharp motion before jerking upward. The snap is crystal clear as the man’s vertebra separate from each other, killing him instantly.
“This is too easy,” Marcus mutters. “All of it.” He kicks the corpse before looking up at Reid. “Your turn.”
Reid nods, grim. He knows what that means.
He pulls the body into the middle of the floor and jerks a knife out of the back of his jeans. He hates this part, they both do, but it’s the only way they have to alert Dr. Lund that they are hunting.
Reid slashes three slices, all parallel, across the man’s neck. Then his chest. Finally, he guts the corpse, pulling out the entrails and digging free his heart and liver. He longs to eat them but his stomach is rolling at the same time, the two sides of him at constant war with each other.
“Done.” He steps back. Snarls. “This is getting us nowhere.” The sudden truth of it makes him furious. He looks down at his blood soaked hands, the gory knife in his grip. “That bastard is just using us. Isn’t he?”
Marcus doesn’t say anything.
“We’re doing his dirty work.” Reid tosses the knife to the floor. The hell with DNA. His is probably screwed up so badly from the dust no one would be able to identify him anyway. Even if they could catch him. “This has nothing to do with Lund. We’ve wasted three days doing this crap for him. And it’s my fault.’
“So what do we do about it?” Marcus retrieves the knife, cleans it on the dead man’s shirt and folds it up, putting it in his pocket. “We knew what we were getting into. We have no other choice. Or do we?”
Reid goes to the private bathroom to wash the man’s blood from his hands. Even the glossy tile is black. His hands shake as the water runs over them. How could he have gotten them into this? And where has his remorse gone? It’s lost to him, taking his humanity with it.
Time to change their circumstances and worry about his willingness to kill later. Reid wipes his hands, turns to see Marcus watching him.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”
By the time they reach the street, Reid has made his decision. “We need to move on and the man is holding us back. It’s time to kill Syracuse.”
Marcus nods. “I’m in.”
No need to discuss it further. They retreat down the street to the waiting SUV and the soldiers driving it. Reid climbs in the front seat, Marcus in the back. The moment the doors swing shut, Reid turns on the driver and pounds his fist into the man’s face. A sharp crack from the back seat tells Reid Marcus has done his job as well. There is a wet, sickening sound before the knife, freshly bloody again, is passed over the seat.
Reid slices open the man’s jugular and reaches across, opening the door. The body falls out onto the pavement with a wet smack. Reid slides sideways into the driver’s seat while Marcus hops up to sit beside him.
The engine hums to life as they head for the warehouse to finish the job they started.
***
Chapter Seventeen
Lucy is sure she is doing the right thing. Positive of it. That’s why she’s so nervous, why her stomach is twisted into knots and her heart is pounding so loud she’s certain the woman across from her can hear it.
She was surprised when Kirstin reached out to her. But it made sense once the doctor explained the situation. How only Lucy had the power to pay Syracuse back for his betrayal.
He practically threw her to the wolves after Reid showed up that night in their room.
“You’re lucky I didn’t let him kill you.” He had grunted as he pulled away from her followed by a backhand that would leave a mark. “Get up and go scream like a good girl.”
She hates him so much and has since she met him. Despises his heavy, sweating body on top of her, the way he treats her like trash after. Lucy has no illusions. She knows what she is and refuses to apologize for it. Or feel bad about her brother. Reid is tough, she told him so.
And he’s on his own.
By the time Dr. Lund sent her a message at the salon where she was getting her nails done, passed to her by a quiet Vietnamese girl with perfect bow lips Lucy envies, her hate is a cancer, eating her up inside. But that’s okay. Because the carefully worded message gave her hope.
Our mutual enemy makes us friends. Meet me and all will be taken care of.
Nothing more but an address, scrawled in dark purple ink smelling of grapes.
Now she sits here, in her flawless pink suit and matching heels, her chocolate brown designer bag a beautiful accent to the outfit, the lace of her bra just visible over the lip of her jacket. Lucy had her hair done too. Her makeup. She needs to look he
r best.
It matters.
“You’re sure this is the place?” Kirstin’s amber eyes are fixed on the map Lucy handed her. “This warehouse?”
Lucy nods. Clears her throat when her voice won’t work the first time. She's pleased the slight shaking in her manicured hands doesn’t show up in her voice. “Absolutely. I’ve been there myself, saw them. He has them under guard, but your people shouldn’t have much trouble. There are only a dozen or so watching them.”
Kirstin’s smile is both lovely and terrifying. “Very well done, my dear.” She gestures to the tall, uniformed man beside her. He slides a black briefcase toward Lucy. “My compliments.”
Lucy stands with haste, grabs the handle, straightens. Her long blonde hair swings over her shoulder. She loves the weight of it, how it feels freshly done, the artificial curls so springy. She smiles at Kirstin, feeling her fear fade to contempt. The woman is obviously nuts.
“One more thing.” The doctor is on her feet, circling the desk, coming to stand in front of Lucy. “If you’ve lied to me, as your brother has done, I will hunt you down and gut you myself.” She toys with a polished lock of Lucy’s hair. “Are we clear?” A sharp jerk draws a cry of pain from her lipsticked mouth.
“Yes,” Lucy says, tears standing in her eyes. “I’m not lying.”
“And your brother?” Kirstin yanks again. “He is there?”
“I told you, I saw him.”
“What about you, my dear?” Kirstin drops the lock of hair. “Are you sure you don’t want to witness their downfall?”
Lucy just wants out. She’s never been bloodthirsty, just selfish.
“No thanks,” she whispers. “I’m off to sunnier shores.”
Kirstin steps back, smiles again. “Good for you. We’re done here, then. Commander, if you would show the lady out.”
He does. All the way to her car. She is ready for it, prepared for the attack that never comes, the shot in the back she’s sure will happen at any moment. Then she is safe behind the wheel, the engine purring to life and she is driving away.
It takes three blocks before she knows she is free. Lucy laughs away her tension, tosses her hair in the wind the speed of her driving makes and heads for the mansion.
Only one job left to do.
She is sick of Syracuse, of his abuse. Of being treated like a dumb bimbo who doesn’t know any better. So what he found her stripping in a local club in backwater Arizona. She has plans, had big ones then, too. He’s just a stepping-stone to her real life.
Kind of like Reid. A means to an end.
She feels a momentary twinge of guilt. Kirstin will kill Syracuse, Lucy is positive of that. Chances are the crackpot will also kill Reid. But he’s as much as told her he’s going to kill her, so she shoves the regret aside in favor of self-preservation.
Mom and Dad always treated Reid like he was some golden child, gave him everything he wanted while she got the dumb girl end of the stick. She’s happy they are dead. She likes that it’s just her.
Now and forever.
It’s dark by the time she gets back. There’s only the two guards waiting when she pulls up to the gate and neither gives her a hard time, though they both look out the elevated booth down into her cleavage as she drives by.
Let them. She’s happy for the distraction.
Inside the house, she goes immediately upstairs to the bedroom and the fake Rembrandt on the far wall. She knows it’s fake because she put it there. The real one is in the trunk of her car along with a few other paintings, what jewelry she isn’t wearing and the black briefcase full of money.
She swings the frame aside and examines the safe. Lucy’s been watching Syracuse for weeks, picking up a number here and there until she finally has them all. She chuckles to herself. Men are so stupid.
A simple code entry and she’s dumping the contents into her designer bag. She doesn’t count it because the amount is irrelevant. She also has the code to one of his offshore accounts. She’ll empty it when she gets where she is going.
First things first. She spots the bag of dust in the back of the safe and hesitates before taking it, too. Not that she plans on dosing herself. But it won’t hurt to have a bit of leverage just in case.
Last is the pearl-handled revolver he keeps there. He told Lucy it was his first wife’s. A fat lot of good it did her. Syracuse had her drowned in the pool, made it look like an accident. Maybe if the stupid bitch learned not to trust him, she’d have been carrying that night and Syracuse would be the dead one.
Lucy plans to put it to good use.
She’s so absorbed in her task she fails to hear the whisper of the bedroom door swinging wide. It’s not until she turns, full bag in hand, that she realizes Syracuse is standing there, watching her.
It could have been bad. Should have been. But he is gaping at her, like he can’t understand what she’s doing, and before she knows it she’s pulling out the gun, cocking the hammer back and pulling the trigger.
The sound of the shot fills the room, the stench of gunpowder making her gag. Syracuse staggers, gurgles a choking sound, thick lips opening and closing as he clutches his chest. There is a small bloom of red where his hand goes, spreading out over his white shirt and down over his wide belly. He falls to his knees as her index finger closes over the trigger again and fires a second shot into his forehead.
The fat man collapses forward, face-first into the plush cream carpet and falls still. Only then does one of his boys rush in. Her trusty gun takes care of him too. She admires the weapon with a little smile. Who knew she was such a good shot?
She strips off Syracuse’s rings in a flash, fishing out his wallet as a voice calls out from downstairs.
The second guard she catches on the staircase, putting a bullet through his throat. She rushes past him, avoiding the blood shooting from his neck. It wouldn’t do to get any on her favorite suit. Then she is out the door and behind the wheel, her bag beside her on the seat. She struggles to close it and finally settles for draping her favorite pink scarf over it to conceal the contents.
The guards at the gate don’t notice a thing. She waves at them as she leaves, humming to herself. This couldn’t have gone better. Syracuse is dead, Reid will be soon and she’s rich beyond her wildest dreams.
She sings along to the radio as she drives away into the darkness.
***
Chapter Eighteen
Reid slows the SUV just outside the entrance to the warehouse where the rest of his pack waits.
Something is wrong. There are no guards outside, no vehicles. Syracuse usually waits for them to report, but the man’s car is missing. Reid shuts off the headlights and pulls over.
“What are you thinking?” Marcus peers across Reid into the dark parking lot.
“I wish I knew.”
“Let me check it out.” The seat belt buzzes its way back into place when Marcus hits the button, but Reid stops him before he can open the door.
“Together.”
Reid turns off the ignition. The engine ticks softly as the two of them climb out and circle the fence that edges the yard. The chain link is achingly familiar, but this one is old and cold, and the gate is wide open.
The closer they get, the more paranoid Reid is feeling until he is vibrating from it. Marcus looks just as tense, a silent snarl twisting his face, shoulders hunched forward as he walks without sound on his rubber soles.
The side door they always use is unlocked, pale light shining under it.
“We could just run,” Reid says.
Marcus’s grimace turns into a grin. “As if. After you.”
Reid feels the butt of a gun against his side the moment he steps through the door.
“Take it easy,” a voice says. “Just keep moving and no one gets hurt tonight.”
He risks a glance at Marcus, sees his friend raise his hands in the air and does the same.
“Move.” The muzzle digs into his ribs, shoving him forward. Reid obeys the comma
nd, taking it nice and slow.
He’s only a few feet into the bay when he understands. Not Dr. Lund’s forces. Nor are they Syracuse’s men. He catches sight of Rhymer and his mercenaries on their knees, hands behind their heads, under guard against the far wall. Reid resists the urge to flip the commander off and grin at him.
Instead he focuses on the new threat in front of him. If the shift of power isn’t enough to keep his attention, the look of the man who stands waiting for him in the light of the overhead bulb fills in the rest of the picture. How odd this formally uniformed officer chose the exact spot Syracuse always used.
Reid comes to a halt in front of the man, taking in the bristling white mustache and buzz cut, the cold green eyes, the medals on his chest. Regular military.
“Where is your employer?” The man’s voice is soft and deep, like old velvet.
“Which one?” Reid isn’t trying to be flip. But he’s been under so many hands the last little while he’s almost lost.
The officer nods once as if understanding. “I’m General Compton Aberdeen. You must be Reid. And Marcus.”
Both nod. How does he know their names? Of course. This is the general Syracuse told Reid about. But why is he just showing up now?
“I’m referring to John Syracuse. We understand this is his property.”
Reid shrugs. “We were wondering the same thing. He’s usually here when we get back.”
“From where, exactly?” The general’s voice is harder, less kind.
“From killing the men he tells us to.” Reid doesn’t see a reason to candy coat it. Aberdeen probably knows already.
The general looks startled but not surprised, confirming it. “You admit to murder?”
“You’re going to kill us anyway,” Marcus says. “What’s the use in lying about it?”
“Maybe if the military weren’t so greedy to make super soldiers,” Reid says, “we’d still be ordinary kids, General. But we’re not. And I’m done playing games.”