Page 116 of Hurt

He did not sign up for fieldwork.

“Stop fidgeting, O Face,” Jamie’s tinny voice came over the mic in his ear. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

“Yeah, you know, the thought of you watching me through the scope of your sniper rifle doesn’t instill me with confidence.”

“Don’t worry, the safety is—oh, now it’s on.”

Jamie was posted on the roof of the building across from the address Grant had given them. According to the guy, this was the home of Tony’s mistress. He came to see her every Thursday afternoon like clockwork. His loyalty was as admirable as his punctuality.

Tony ‘The Tonka’ Vega was an older man, probably in his forties. The man still possessed a youthful vigor, and he was built like a brick. Known for his wicked blows, he had a powerful hit that could rival even that of Roland. There were rumors, mostly substantiated, that he could punch someone in the chest so hard he stopped their hearts. Owen was inclined to believe it.

No one knew much of his back story. It was as if one day he appeared as the right hand of Gerard Vega. Eventually, he moved to working for the youngest, and arguably the slimiest, of the Vegas as a personal bodyguard. His loyalty was unquestionable—he even changed his last name to Vega. Owen wasn’t sure if it was out of fealty or a pathetic attempt to accrue power with the famous name. Either way, Tony was not the kind of man to be trifled with.

Despite the sunny weather, the streets were covered in the shade from the large buildings on either side of the road. This was a nice part of town. Mostly suburban apartments and offices, it was quiet. The kind of place a student like Owen would like to live. The kind of place that people like Tonka Tony stuck out like a sore thumb. The residents who inhabited these buildings didn’t carry guns and knives or know what the inside of a man looked like when flipped inside out. A civilized kind of place.

Owen felt weird about this. Not only because he was supposed to be as far from the business end of Jamie’s gun as possible, but because he was acting on information from a dead man. Just a few hours ago, that guy had been walking and talking. Now he was just another dead body rotting in the desert. Nothing but a buffet for the beetles and the buzzards.

The thought made him shiver.

“All right, it’s the apartment building on your right.”

“Oh really, is it? Is that how addresses work?” Owen snapped. His nerves were fraying, and he wanted to be literally anywhere else.

What if he gets caught? Or this guy remembers his face? He was a Vega! And not just any Vega, but one who voluntarily hung out with Ezra and Asher. There’s no way he wasn’t a sadistic fuck just like them.

Twisting the little plastic piece off the end of his hoodie ties, he hugged the wall of the building and slowed his steps.

Tony was talking to a much smaller woman on the sidewalk just outside the front door of the apartment building. His broad shoulders cast a shadow on the sidewalk.

“He looks like the kind of guy who would unironically say fudge instead of fuck.”

“Shut up,” Owen ground out.

The bug in his pocket was a small disk of black plastic. Technically, he could stick it to any part of Tony’s person. Or even his car. But it had to remain hidden until they could track him back to the Catacombs.

He would have to time his attempt perfectly.

Loitering against the wall, he tried to affect a disinterested stance. Just another average hoodlum in a hoodie thinking about smoking marijuana and defacing public property. Nothing to worry about.

Tony said goodbye to the woman and began walking toward him. Owen tried to relax, but he was finding it hard to breathe. Was he imagining it, or did the ground shake with the man’s long strides?

Owen had no idea why everyone called him Tonka. He could only assume it had something to do with the fact that he was built like a truck, and it sounded similar to his name. The man washulking.His broad acne-scarred face was expressionless, and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his long coat. Thick salt and pepper hair was gelled back into a helmet on his head. His sophisticated style belied his savage nature.

He peeled the paper backing off the adhesive and tested the sticky side. It felt like it would hold.

Jamie had wanted some kind of hand signal, but Owen refused to mimic giving a blowjob on a public street. Instead, he tapped the comm twice.

Not even a second later, a bullet whizzed past Tony and embedded itself into the brick behind him.

The man had fast reactions for his size. He ducked low and twisted to see where the bullet went, ostensibly to discern the trajectory. Owen felt his sphincter tightening as he forced himself off the wall.

“Hey, Mister!” His voice cracked like a prepubescent boy as he shouted. Launching himself off the wall, he hit Tony with far more force than he intended. They fell to the asphalt in a tangle of limbs. Owen’s head struck Tony’s iron shoulder, and he saw stars.

The man snarled and tried to shove Owen off, but his fear had made all the joints in his arms and legs lock. He clung to Tony like a tree frog, tucking his face against the dark wool coat he was wearing.

“Get off me!” He swore, rolling on the ground and trying to dislodge the young man.

“Someone is shooting!” Owen cried out pitifully, eyes squeezed shut.