by Logan Ryles
The thought ripped through his heart like a bullet. It was true—all Banks had ever cared about was who he could be to her. She never cared about his real name, his occupation, his paycheck, or the chaos that accompanied their every encounter. She only cared about who he was and the way he made her feel. Maybe he made her feel safe, too. Maybe he felt like home to her in the way she felt like home to him. It was such a simple, beautiful thing, and he shattered it right in front of her face.
Reed retraced his memories back to that moment on the bank of the lake with Oliver Enfield dying at his feet. Mitchell Holiday, only a few yards away, was also gasping on his last breaths. The rain beat down from overhead as Banks stared at him, heartbroken, her tears mixing with rain as she dropped the shotgun and turned away. In that moment, his whole world had collapsed.
I failed her. I crushed all the trust and faith she ever gave me.
He stood up, swallowing back the fear that overwhelmed his body, then took a step toward the edge, his hands held at his sides and fingers clenched.
She believed in me, and I proved her wrong. I’ve never been good. I’ve never been a home for anyone.
The valley floor opened up beneath him as his toes approached the edge. He could see hundreds of feet down the cliff face, into the belly of the gorge.
What am I fighting for? Oliver is dead. Who cares whether Salvador isn’t? I don’t deserve to be alive.
The wind beat at his shirt, plastering it back over his torn and marred chest. His feet were glued to the stone, as though he were no longer in control of his legs. He focused on each muscle group, commanding them one at a time. Lifting his toes, he inched his foot forward until it overhung the cliff. He stared down to the rocks below and imagined the next step: leaning forward, opening his hands, and letting go of his will to live.
So close. I can’t avenge you, Kelly. I’m not strong enough. I’m too broken.
He saw Kelly’s sharp features and imagined her in the fire, slowly burning alive as her home caved in around her. He pictured her that first day in Monaco, her face obscured by the mask as she broke into the Ferrari. He heard her sassy, snapping voice again. “Let’s roll, kid. We’re in this together now.”
“Hey, man. You okay?”
The voice ripped through his mind, shattering the memory. His eyes snapped open, and he turned to his left. The photographer stood feet away, his face twisted into a concerned frown. Farther down the cliff, the young couple, still in each other’s arms, stared in semi-panic.
Reed stepped away from the ridge, shoved his hands into his pockets, and brushed past the photographer. “I’m fine.”
The mountain steps strained his legs as he fought his way back up the trail and to the parking lot. By the time he slid into the Camaro, his breath came in short gasps, and sweat dripped from his forehead. He wasn’t out of shape, but he ached from the perpetual abuse of the past month.
He set his hands on the wheel and returned to that memory, there in the cottage in the middle of rural France. “We’re in this together.”
Kelly didn’t abandon him when he stood in that French garage, dripping blood, and chased by an army of cops. She didn’t abandon him beside the train tracks in Atlanta when he lay with an unconscious Banks in his arms, only moments from impending death. She didn’t even leave him when he intruded on her perfect suburban life and asked her to watch Baxter—a favor that cost her life. She never let him down, never cut him loose, even when she should have. He wouldn’t let her down now. He would wage war until her death was avenged and her enemies joined her in the ashes. Then, and only then, he would die.
Ten
Even though Reed had never been to Chattanooga’s riverfront before, there was something altogether calming about the gentle breeze that churned off the dark water and whistled over the dockside. The Tennessee river wound in graceful curves through the heart of the old city on its long journey south, leaving ample room for riverfront next to a downtown park. A large paddle cruiser rested at anchor with the name Southern Belle scrolled over the front in large, decorative letters. Just next to the boat, a metal, grated pier shot out over the river.
The sun had long ago set over the mountains, leaving Chattanooga dark and quiet as cars faded from the streets and the business district fell asleep. After spending a few hours sitting in the hotel room staring at his feet, Reed decided to venture down to the water’s edge before popping a sleeping pill. He resented the idea of taking any drug that would alter his state of mind, but it was now close to midnight, and he felt too exhausted and too frustrated with insomnia to argue. Maybe the fresh air would help.
The pier’s metal grate squeaked beneath him. The river water lapped gently against the pilings, reminding him of the days when his father would load up the family in his old 1969 Camaro, and the three of them would drive five hours to the beach for the weekend. The waves lapped against the piers in Panama City much the same way, but the air didn’t smell of fish and oil. It smelled of salt and sun and all things summer.
At the end of the pier, five flag poles stood bolted to the railing, with American flags snapping in the wind at the top of each one. As Reed approached, he made out the shape of small, steel plaques fixed to the railings next to each pole, and recognized the familiar outline of the Marine Corps symbol engraved at the top of the nearest plaque.
He clicked on his flashlight. A simple memorandum was etched into the steel next to the Eagle, Globe and Anchor:
LET US NEVER FORGET . . . THIS IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF LCPL WELLS, WHO PROUDLY SERVED, PROTECTED OUR COUNTRY, AND GAVE HIS LIFE TO OUR COMMUNITY ON JULY 16, 2015.
A weight descended over Reed’s chest, and he stepped back from the plaque. He bowed his head, breathing in the musty air of the river.
I should’ve died. None of this would’ve ever happened if I had fallen and Lance Corporal Wells had come home. He deserved to come home. He was a hero.
He swallowed back the guilt and straightened his back, then lifted his hand to his brow in a stiff salute toward the flags. The Stars and Stripes flipped in the wind, hanging as eternal guardians of the fallen. Somehow, he didn’t feel worthy of saluting that flag. He didn’t feel worthy of standing next to the plaques and remembering the fallen. Yet, at the same time, he couldn’t walk away without the salute.
“Wow. You’re still a patriot.”
Reed instantly recognized the sharp tone and inflection, and even before he turned around, he was already reaching for the revolver strapped under his jacket.
The man they called The Wolf stood only inches behind him, his lips lifted into a grin as his fingers twirled around a long, plastic-coated choke wire. Before Reed could wrap his hand around the grip of the weapon, The Wolf stepped forward and flicked the wire with an expert twitch of his fingers. It glided through the air and encircled Reed’s head, cutting into the back of his neck and pulling him off-balance in an instant. He fell forward with a grunt and clattered onto the grating, struggling to roll over as The Wolf landed on his back. An iron kneecap crashed down between Reed’s shoulder blades just as the wire slid beneath his chin and then tightened around his windpipe.
It all happened in mere seconds. Reed’s world blurred as the grating cut into his chest. He choked and flailed with both arms, but the wire cut deeper into his neck, sealing off his throat.
“Seriously.” The Wolf spoke without a hint of exertion in his tone. “If I had been through half the shit you’ve endured, I’d hate this country.”
Reed kicked out with both legs, twisting and wriggling from beneath the weight bearing down on his back, but he couldn’t break free or reach his attacker. The deadlock was perfect—enough to keep him planted on his chest while his thundering heart consumed what precious oxygen remained in his lungs.
“All right, my dude. You have to die now. Don’t be so dramatic about it.”
The words sounded from the far edges of Reed’s consciousness. He wrapped his fingers around the grate and desperately attempted a
pushup to dislodge his attacker. It was beyond futile—the weight on his back and the wire around his neck immobilized his core reflexes.
No way am I dying on this pier.
Reed pushed his head down with all the strength he could muster, digging the wire farther into his neck, but forcing The Wolf to lean forward. Then he shot his head back as hard and fast as he could, momentarily dislodging the choke wire from his throat and allowing him a sip of air.
It was enough.
Reed shoved down with his right arm and wrenched his shoulders to the left. The knee slipped from the middle of his spine, and The Wolf toppled to the left, colliding with the grate as Reed slipped out of the choke wire. Torrents of vertigo sent Reed rocking back on his heels as he clawed at his jacket, searching for the revolver. The Wolf was already on his feet, spinning the long choke wire at the end of his fingers as he grinned and stepped toward Reed.
“Montgomery, you’re just too good at staying alive.”
Reed grabbed the gun by the end of the handle and tried to jerk it free of the holster, but it caught on the retention strap and refused to budge. He ducked a sweeping kick from The Wolf and dove toward the flags. His attacker followed, spinning the wire around his head like a lasso. Reed saw the choke wire coming toward him only an instant before it arced toward his head, and he stuck his arm up to shield himself from the noose.
The wire closed around his wrist, biting into his skin as The Wolf jerked backward. Reed grabbed the flag pole and yanked back, pulling on the wire and digging his toes into the metal grating.
The Wolf stumbled forward, the grin fading from his lips as Reed twisted, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted him over the rail. With one massive heave, Reed propelled the flailing assassin past the flags and over the railing. Metal screeched against metal as The Wolf plummeted toward the water, still clutching his end of the choke wire.
Oh shit.
The choke wire snapped tightly around Reed’s wrist, and before he could regain his hold of the flagpole or dig his toes into the grate, The Wolf’s full weight descended on his shoulder and snatched him forward, over the rail, and into midair beyond.
Both men crashed into the icy water. The wire jerked against Reed’s wrist, pulling him deeper into the murk as his unseen enemy thrashed in the darkness somewhere nearby. His lungs throbbed, still starved for air, and he impulsively gulped down river water. Everything was black and cold, saturating his jacket and sinking straight into his bones.
The surface of the river broke over his face just in time to keep his lungs from collapsing on themselves. Reed sucked in a massive gulp of air and choked on the water. The wire felt limp on his wrist now, and as he surveyed the surface of the water, he couldn’t see The Wolf. Everything was eerily still next to the panicked chaos in Reed’s mind. Nobody stood on the pier overhead, and no shouts of shock or offered assistance came from the riverbank. Only the wind filled his ringing ears, further numbing his chalky skin.
Where is he?
Fear overtook Reed’s desire for blood, and he began to kick toward the shore. Mud closed over his boots only moments later, and he hauled himself onto the bank. Dry grass crumbled under his face as he fell forward, still panting for air. The water lapped at his ankles, and the wire still hung in a tangle around his wrist.
Picking himself up, Reed unwound the wire from his arm and flung it to the ground, then clawed at his jacket as he turned back to the lake. The comforting rubber grip of the revolver filled his hand, and he pried it free of the holster. All four inches of the massive barrel swung out, and Reed directed the muzzle toward the river. The water remained calm, with small ripples dancing against the shore as the river flowed slowly passed.
Did he drown? No way.
Reed lowered the revolver and caught sight of something glimmering in the water twenty yards away. He leaned forward and squinted in the darkness, trying to making out the shape as it drifted closer to the shore. Trash? A body?
It’s a stick.
The thought cleared his tired mind at the same moment a kneecap collided with his lower back. The revolver flew from his hand as the choke wire flashed over his eyes and clipped his chin before closing around his throat. Reed fell forward onto the bank, his chest crashing into the dirt as the full weight of his assailant descended on his back, and then his face was forced into the shallow water. The noose closed off his windpipe, cinching down so hard this time he imagined it slicing into his skin. Everything turned dark, and his eyes filled with dirty river water as his arms flailed against the shore.
There was no moving this time—no dislodging the killer perched on his back, jerking away at the wire. From the back of his mind flashed distorted memories of prison. He saw Blazer—his first assassination on behalf of Oliver Enfield—from the far side of the prison fence. He heard his own voice as he lured his prey close to the fence, and then encircled the wire around Blazer’s throat. He heard his victim cry out and struggle even as Reed snatched the wire back and twisted, slicing into his throat.
And this is how it ends.
The wire bit deeper into Reed’s throat, and his windpipe closed off completely. The water covered his face, choking him, and the last tinges of panic faded from his body as his life continued to flash before him: his father, his mother, Baxter, Kelly . . . and Banks. Her face gleamed in his mind before the shadows engulfed him. A fading beep echoed in his mind, matching his slowing heart rate and slipping away into the far reaches of his consciousness. Then his entire body went limp.
Eleven
Reed’s ears hovered only half an inch over the water, allowing him to hear the distant electronic chirp. Beep. Beep. Beep.
The wire fell away from his throat, and the weight fell off his back. His windpipe opened, but he was too weak to lift his face from the water. Only the darkness and the outline of Banks’s fading features filled his mind.
Fingers closed around the collar of his jacket, and with a massive jerk, he was pulled out of the water and hurled onto the bank. His shoulders collided with the hard-packed earth, and water shot out of his throat as he gasped for air. The sky swirled overhead, twisting stars into streaks of lights that unleashed unprecedented surges of vertigo and nausea though his body. Reed coughed and spluttered on more river water, then felt concentrated pressure on the middle of his chest. He couldn’t see the source of the weight, but felt his ribs constrict and expand as the pressure increased, then alleviated.
Reed choked up more water, then sucked in a full breath of air. It whistled through his ragged and bruised throat, and his vision began to clear.
“Fuck!” He coughed and fell over on his side. Black boots thumped against the ground only a few feet away, and the electronic beeping was suddenly silenced. Reed clawed his way into a sitting position and searched for the revolver as he rolled away from the boots.
“It’s right here, dude.”
The Wolf’s voice sounded strained and breathless, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. Reed rolled toward him and clenched his fingers into a fist, already raising his arms to defend himself.
Ten feet away, his assailant dripped with water and stared down at Reed. The choke wire dangled from his left hand, and Reed’s massive .500 Magnum revolver hung from his right, but neither weapon was raised, and he made no move to assault Reed.
The Wolf curled the wire around his fingers, then twisted his neck until it popped. “Dude, you’re one tough cookie. I’ll give you that. Let the record state that I would have killed you.”
Reed blinked back the water in his eyes. His throat hurt like hell, bruised and crushed by the weight of the wire, but his mind cleared as vital oxygen surged back into his brain.
“Why didn’t you?” It was a stupid, pointless question, really. And yet the most obvious.
The Wolf ran a hand through his short hair, forcing the water out. His bright eyes glinted in the moonlight, a hint of mischief shining behind them.
“It’s midnight, dude. Didn’t you hear my wat
ch go off? I never kill people after business hours.”
Reed sank his fingers into the sod, still fighting off the last traces of vertigo as he tried to compute what he had just heard. Nothing made sense, and he tried to stand up.
“Well, I don’t have business hours, so hand me that fu—”
“Don’t curse.” The Wolf lifted the revolver and wagged the muzzle toward Reed. “Or I might be inclined to reconsider my rules. And no, you’re not getting this back. Just because I’m not going to kill you right now doesn’t mean I’m going to allow you to kill me.”
Reed stumbled to his feet. “Who the hell—”
“Uh-uh.”
The muzzle of the revolver twitched again. Reed stumbled, almost collapsing as the world tilted beneath him. He vomited into the grass, a mixture of beer and bile splashing over his boots. His throat stung like hell.
“I see you’ve been eating well.” There was more than a little derision in The Wolf’s voice. Almost condescension.
Reed spat vomit from his mouth and straightened. “You listen here, you cheap shi—”
The hammer of the revolver clicked back, and the gaping barrel leveled over Reed’s chest. The Wolf raised both eyebrows, and Reed sucked in a lungful of air. Stillness filled the space between them, and for a moment, Reed thought he would press the trigger. He could envision the blast of fire as the weapon belched thunder and hurled a thumb-sized chunk of lead straight through his heart.
The Wolf tilted his head and smirked, then lowered the hammer of the revolver and shoved it into his coat pocket.
“Kicking butt really awakens the munchies,” he said. “I’m famished. By the look of it, you could use some sustenance yourself.”
Reed frowned and relaxed his clenched fists. The Wolf kicked the mud off his shoes, and then started up the hillside toward the city, two hundred yards away.