Page 23

The following night…

Angeles National Forest, YA house.

“S omeone’s outside,” Rebel said from his spot near the window.

The curtains were drawn, but a sliver of light from the floodlight out in the front area could be seen cutting through the darkness.

“Who?” Boston asked, his curly dark-haired head lifted from where his eyes had been glued on his cell phone.

“It’s probably Rip. I overheard Stone and Dave talking about Rip keeping watch,” Azrael murmured and settled in the recliner near the couch. He didn’t use the leg rest, instead, he crisscrossed his legs on the cushion.

“So…they know about YA?” Beck asked, looking up from the laptop he had sitting on the kitchen table.

“It sounds like it?” Azrael frowned. “I also found out that this house is owned by Dave.”

“What?” Beck looked confused. “How did you find that out?”

“Again, I overheard them,” Azrael said with a shrug.

“Of course you did,” Rebel snorted, his eyes still on the small opening of the curtain.

“It’s my specialty,” Azrael smirked, and Beck snorted a laugh.

“Chances are, if Dave rented you this house, then there’s no maybe about it. He knows about YA,” Beck said.

“Why are they keeping it secret that they know?” Boston asked. The boy had pulled a throw blanket over his lap, his dark curls in disarray, his hands always moving with that nervous energy.

“That is the question…” Rebel murmured.

“I know why,” Azrael admitted, shaking his long hair back over one shoulder, he shifted in the recliner.

All eyes turned on him.

“I talked about it when I was living at Dave’s place. I talked about Rebel and I starting a group that could help find young assassins in this business,” Azrael admitted.

“So why didn’t they offer to help?” Rebel asked.

“Because I told them when or if it ever happened that I wanted to do it on my own,” he said.

“But you involved us,” Boston pointed out.

“Yeah, because you’re young people. They aren’t. And if anyone can get through to any young assassins we find, it will be us,” Azrael said.

“True…” Rebel nodded. “So what… they have been helping us behind the scenes?”

“It’s more than likely,” Azrael said,

Rebel turned back to his lookout spot.

Beck snorted. “It sounds just like something Dave would do. Let us think we are in control, but we’re not.”

“I don’t think he’s like that.” Azrael shrugged. “I think Dave just wants us to succeed.”

“It’s not Rip,” Rebel murmured.

“What?” Azrael was caught off guard at the topic change.

“It’s not Rip outside, the guy is smaller,” Rebel said, lifting the silencer from where it rested on a nearby table.

Boston bounced off the sofa just as Azrael was up and Beck came around the kitchen table.

“Rebel and I will go out and see who it is,” Azrael told Beck.

“What about me?” Boston tucked away two blades.

“You stay inside,” Rebel ordered.

“No fucking way,” Boston snapped.

“Then stay behind me,” Azrael told Boston.

They were the same size, so hopefully Boston would go unnoticed. Rebel grimaced, and they collectively headed to the back bedroom that faced East before climbing out the window.

Azrael slipped out first, the cold snapped at him through his long-sleeved t-shirt and black pants that were too thin for the weather.

His fingers itched for a weapon, and he pulled his blade with one hand and the small pocket pistol he’d picked out of Dave’s arsenal.

“I’ll take Boston around to the right, and you go that way to flank them,” Azrael told Rebel.

“You guys are ridiculous,” a young voice said from nearby.

Collectively, they turned and confronted the small figure of a young man, more like a teenager.

The floodlight from the house lit the surrounding area, and it was plain to see the boy seemed off.

The fact that the kid was pointing a gun at them had Azrael putting Boston slightly behind him.

“Who are you?” Azrael asked. He didn’t lower his gun nor his knife.

“You should know, you were scoping out my house Saturday.”

“ You’re Freedom?” Boston asked, his shock evident.

“That’s what I call myself.”

Azrael studied the kid, and another thing registered besides the nine-millimeter handgun pointed at them.

And that was the fact that Freedom was not twenty-one years old. The kid had to be way younger than that.

“Your profile says you’re twenty-one,” Boston blurted.

“Profile?” A puzzled frown etched between Freedom’s brows.

The boy was fucking adorable with bright blue eyes, a slender build, and wavy blond curls falling into his eyes.

“The one on the dark net,” Rebel said, moving away from Azrael.

“Oh…” Freedom pursed his lips, unable to point the gun at both of them when Rebel stepped away.

Freedom shifted the gun back and forth from one to the other. “If you needed someone dead, you should have just left a message on the board and not stalked my house.”

“That’s not why we were there,” Azrael said and then squinted. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen, but that won’t keep me from getting the job done,” Freedom said, hefting the gun and waggling it a bit as he aimed it back and forth between them.

“It should,” Azrael said.

“You look the same age as me.” Freedom gave a derisive sneer.

“I’m nineteen, he’s eighteen,” Azrael murmured, pointing to Rebel. “We’re assassins.”

Rebel leaped across the distance at Freedom just as Azrael’s words ended.

“No!” Azrael shouted, but it was too late.

Rebel pounced on the skinny blond, and they both went crashing to the ground.

The gun fired.