Page 29 of Hurt

Stepping out onto the platform, his green eyes narrowed as the man flipped up his hood. Elijah smiled. He did know exactly where the cameras were. His own hands shoved into his pockets, he forced himself to walk slow and leisurely. His straight hair was messy, strands falling loose around his face to help obscure his face. Not that he needed to worry about it—the bus station cameras were older than he was, with the picture quality to match.

Moving out of the way for a stroller, he grimaced at the smell of exhaust and diesel coming from the bus that had just pulled in. Its air brakes hissed, and he felt the heat coming off its engine. The double doors shrieked open.

Elijah found his attention wavering. He glanced away from his target to the man who had just stepped off the bus.

He was shading his face with a hand to his eyes, glancing around at the signage to see where he was. The man looked younger than Elijah, but not by much. He was short and slight, although you couldn’t tell by the way he carried himself. One hip jutted out with a leather messenger bag resting on it. He was wearing a pair of battered ripped jeans and an old pair of yellow hightops. His flannel shirt was open and fluttering in the warm breeze.

When he lowered his hand, Elijah could see he had a soft face—a delicate, upturned nose and rosy pinky lips set in a small frown. Bronzed eyes matched his hair—brassy and catching the afternoon sun in its upswept tips.

He blinked once and briefly met Elijah’s eyes before the second passenger pushed past. It was a large guy wearing a leather studded jacket.

The smaller guy flipped him the bird. “Hey! Watch where you’re going.”

He paused and turned around. “What did you say to me?”

Skinny guy stepped up to him. His head only came up to the taller man’s chest. “Why don’t you clean the wax from your ears so you can hear me.” Without hesitation, he got into the man’s space. “I said: Watch where you’re going, you rude fuck waffle.”

Irritation flared on the taller man’s face, he scoffed. “Or what?”

The kid’s nostrils flared. “Or I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass that you’ll be shitting shoelaces for the next year.”

There was a moment of tension, and Elijah found his hand lingering toward his closest blade. He could have it embedded in the taller man’s skull within seconds.

They stared at each other for a long moment. The short kid didn’t flinch or attempt to shorten the distance between their heights. Finally, the man backed off, waving a hand as if he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the situation anymore.

He didn’t look back at Elijah, just shouldered his bag a little higher before moving through the crowd. Despite his size, the crowds moved away from him, like he had a presence about him.

Elijah was completely frozen, watching after him. After he garnered some strange looks, he realized he was grinning like an idiot.

He was beautiful.

With the diesel exhaust in the air and the bright way his eyes flashed, Elijah had been completely spellbound by him. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, the foremost being that he wanted to meet him, he wanted to know his name, wanted to hear what he sounded like when he laughed. Could he smile with those pouty lips? His cheeks looked soft—would he have dimples?

There were a thousand emotions in those eyes, and he felt no need to hide any of them. It was something Elijah couldn’t relate to, and he so wanted to see those eyes looking back at him. Even for a moment.

The PA system kicked on, and there was an announcement. Elijah realized where he was. For a moment, he had completely forgotten the mission. Panic set in, and he jogged forward, looking around for the Vega spy. He had been so completely engrossed with that beautiful boy he had completely forgotten why he had come here in the first place.

Running around the corner, he made it to the lockers. The place was empty. Voices and the noises from traffic could be heard distantly. Elijah moved around the lockers, checking every aisle to be sure he was alone. Once he knew the place was clear, he went to the locker he had seen the guy using before.

A small padlock was hanging from the latch. Removing his lockpicks, Elijah began wriggling the lock open. It would be faster to break it, but he needed to do this subtly. The Vega Cabal couldn’t know that the Weavers had this information. Not yet.

The lock clicked and dropped open. Pocketing the lock pick, he was pulling it free when someone came around the corner and almost ran into him.

The Vega Spy.

They shared a look before the man lurched forward to attack Elijah. Stumbling backward, he lifted his arms and took two blows meant for his head. Ducking down, he dodged a punch that sent the Vega spy off balance and was able to kick his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a thud and decided to run.

He made it two steps before an elegant knife zinged past him, embedding in the wall right beside his head. Panicking, he skidded to a halt, and Elijah caught up to him. Bashing his head against the wall, the man slumped, dazed. Holding him steady, he drove a stiletto blade into his ear. It met little resistance, and the man immediately fell to the ground, dead.

Pulling the knife from his head, Elijah glanced around and made sure no one had seen. They were still in the dead zone for the cameras. Retrieving his knives, he cursed himself.

He had made a terrible error.

His attention had drifted, and because of it, he failed his mission. Guilt clawed at him, and he kicked the lockers. How could this happen?

Ripping the locker open, he withdrew the envelope and hid it in the waistband of his pants. All pretense of subtlety was gone now. The Vegas would know their man was dead, but they might not know who was responsible. Not yet. Using his sleeve, he wiped down the locker.

Blood covered his hands, and he stared down at them.