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This was important.

It must be done right.

The bullet left the end of the rifle with a sharp crack.

The shooter felt the faint delay in blood, in breath, in broken bones, in pain.

Then, as satisfying as an orgasm, a visible red mist plumed upward, the same instant the projectile hit the target.

The shooter watched, fascinated, as the body fell.

The man who’d been standing close to the target prior to the impact continued to stand there without moving. Through the scope, his face appeared frozen, likely in shock, blood speckling his cheeks and mouth and nose and forehead, eyes stretched so wide they barely looked human. The shooter realigned the rifle.

For the second one, the delay must be shorter.

This would be the tricky one.

The other male’s immediate, instinctive reaction could go a number of different ways.

For the same reason, the shooter couldn’t wait. On the other end of the long rifle’s sight, the second man’s mouth fell open in numb shock.

Paralysis. Good.

That would probably last another few seconds.

The shooter adjusted the rifle the barest amount for a slight change in the wind.

The rifle let out a second sharp report.

Smoke drifted from the barrel’s end.

The second shot misted out even further, maybe from the slight difference in angle. A significant chunk of that target’s skull broke off, flying wide and landing in the lit swimming pool along with part of his brain. The body collapsed before the man standing there managed to break out of the shocked, silent scream of seeing his companion murdered right in front of him.

Heat pooled in the gut of the shooter.

It was good work.

And now another chapter was done.

Three down.

Four more to go.

Jem blinked, then turned his head.

Had he heard something?

Was he imagining he’d heard a distant shot in the wind?

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, fighting off the remnants of his jetlag. He checked the time on his phone, and gritted his teeth. His eyes scanned through the list of messages and calls he’d missed already, and his jaw clenched harder.

“Fuck.” Jem muttered it under his breath.

He should have called Nick.

He should have called Black, too, given he was on the job, but at the absolute, rock-bottomleast,he should have called his mate at least once. He was being cruel. It wasn’t intentional, butthat didn’t really matter when it came down to it, did it? He’d never even told Nick he was fine with him keeping the dog.

He knew better. He knew it would hurt Nick to leave like he did, yet he’d done it anyway.