Page 33 of Breathe (Genesis: Savage Warriors #1)

“D oesn’t the age difference bother you?” Rip asked him.

That was out of the fucking blue, but Real rolled with it.

“No,” he said gruffly.

“Why not?”

A soft snort escaped him. “Because I like Azrael.”

He kept his voice low as they moved through the compound. Stone took the lead with Rip in the middle, and he protecting their flank.

They had already cleared several rooms on the east side and were on their way through and entered the north part of the estate.

The place was huge, and they didn’t have the exact plans, so at times they were walking almost blind. The plans they did have were old, and it was clear that Micky had added onto the structure.

It was slow going.

“Don’t you like Boston?” Real smirked, tossing the question at Rip.

He stepped over a body lying in the hallway and crouched to touch the man’s throat and found no pulse.

Rip cleared his throat as he waited. “He’s not legal, plus he’s been through some tough shit.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to be careful. With their background, that could be a potential for disaster,” Real said, gesturing to move, and Stone took up the lead again.

Real had worried about the same thing with Azrael, and when he had brought it up last week, the conversation had been…interesting.

“What?” Azrael had frowned at him.

“What you’ve been through being raised by those assholes has impacted you, to not think so is…naive,” Real said, rubbing a hand at the back of his own neck.

The corner of Azrael’s mouth twitched upward. “I wasn’t raised by those assholes. I, we… were raised by drug addicted parents. I wasn’t taken by Solomon until I was sixteen.”

Real had heard some of those facts in snatches of conversation between the twins at Dave’s place, but he sat through it again.

He wanted to hear it all from Azrael. The young assassin talked about his childhood from as far back as he could remember.

The twins had been raised by meth addicted parents living on food stamps in lower income housing in Long Beach, California.

There had been a constant string of dealers coming in and out of the house through the years. The boys wore tattered clothes, food was scarce, and they never had any friends come over to the crappy apartment.

“Are they still alive?” Real asked.

“I don’t know and I don’t want to know.”

“Then you don’t have to.” At that point, he had pulled Azrael into his arms and taken him off the ranch to the closest town for pizza. It wasn’t the most nutritious meal, but Azrael loved the pepperoni and sausage.

It was at that moment when he realized that he would do anything for the young assassin, and as he thought back over the past few years, it dawned on him that it had always been like that. From the moment Azrael had yelled at him on the streets of San Bernardino, Real had fallen.

It had just taken them a while to get there because Azrael hadn’t been legal, and Real was a man of honor. It still made him nervous, but he had to trust that Azrael would figure life out and he would be there to help him.

Azrael would never need to suffer again if he had anything to say about it.

Real followed Rip, and they came to the end of a hallway and turned to the left, taking the stairs downward.

It was at that point they reached an archway that led to another section downstairs, and Stone paused at the side of the entrance, staying hidden.

Real and Rip moved into position behind Stone and waited.

Voices came from within the room. There was no mistaking the sounds of weapons being readied.

The clanking of automatic rifles being tossed on the table and the jamming of clips into handguns.

He knew those sounds as well as he knew the sound of his own breathing.

He’d lived with those sounds in the military.

This was going to be a fucking battle.

And they could no longer wait.

Stone gave the signal, coming to the same realization as him. If they waited any longer, then whoever was gearing up would take those weapons and send bullets into the team.

At Stone’s signal, Real and Rip slipped past him and stepped into the room.

“Put your guns down,” Real ordered in a loud and authoritative voice. It boomed throughout the room.

Stone took in the number of people…it was a lot, and they didn’t want to surrender. Instead, they opened fire, and everyone, perps included, dove for cover.

That was fine with Stone, his specialty was moving through the dark. Like Real and Rip, there wasn’t a perp on earth who was a match to their skills. Unless it was another assassin. Then they might have problems, but thugs that worked for a child molester were not going to be a problem.

Real shot out the lights, and because this part of the house was underground, there were no windows.

That left only the light coming in via the hallway.

It was enough for him to see as the room plunged into darkness.

They were at a disadvantage because the perps knew the layout and they did not, but they had an edge.

Genesis worked in the darkness.

The soft snicks of silencers going off and the clash of knives hitting swept through the room. Real, Rip, and Stone worked together. With Stone on his left and Rip on his right, Real cleaved his way through the perps as they came up at them through the darkness.

Sounds of grunting, gasping, and gagging plus the smell of piss and blood filled the air. Real jabbed his knife into one man’s leg and put a bullet in the guy’s head before moving on.

On either side of him, Stone and Rip worked the same. Although Rip seemed to prefer his knives and Stone his gun, Real preferred both.

It became clear in moments that there were far more perps than appeared. Stone’s eyes adjusted further, and he noticed a far door had opened.

A faint light trickled through from the new entrance, and more of Micky’s men poured into the room.

“Send backup,” Real murmured through the comms, along with their coordinates.

“Copy. We’re working our way to you as fast as we can. Whoever is closest get the fuck there now!” Viper ordered.

Real understood Viper’s worry. If Genesis said to send backup, then shit was hitting the fan and with the number of perps coming at them, Real started to worry for the three of them.

Around that time, Real got a weird sensation in his gut, but shook it off. He didn’t have time to assess his feelings as he cleaved and shot his way through the oncoming men.

It wasn’t until he heard a body thump to the floor behind him that he spun around and realized what the feeling in his gut actually was.

Azrael stood behind him, blades dripping with blood in both hands, and a dead perp at his feet.

The young assassin had been so stealthy, so fucking quiet, Real hadn’t even heard him. The perp had been quiet also, so that meant they were dealing with assassins. It made sense because Tanis and Solomon both had ties to assassins, and Titus was Tanis’ brother.

Stepping over the dead body, Azrael brushed against his arm on his way past, and Real realized a second thing, Azrael was not alone. Freedom and Boston were with him.

All the YA were dressed in black with hooded beanies and armed to the teeth.

Real wanted to pull Azrael to him and kiss him, but he settled for quickly gripping the back of the younger man’s neck and then letting him go. He had to trust that Azrael could take care of himself.

He just saved your life, Real silently reminded himself. Azrael brushed one gloved hand down his arm and bicep before moving ahead of him in the darkness.

Real felt the younger man’s touch in his soul.

He didn’t repeat the words stay safe , because they had already been said.

Now, he just continued his work.

This time it was different, he and Azrael worked like a well-oiled machine. They didn’t only face forward, but they spun, like dancers in the night.

When Azrael sliced, Real put bullets in perps, and they would spin and do the same to any they came across.

The young assassins were fucking good and it took only a few moments for Real to realize that. These boys might have been thrown into this way of life without a choice, but they fucking owned it. They were skilled, lethal, and swept through the room without fear.

It was amazing to watch.