Page 49 of Hurt

Elijah knelt and fisted the man’s hair, lifting and turning his head. He could see the man’s pallid expression.

“I’ve got an endless supply of blades and patience. Can you say the same? Tell me what I want to know, and we can do this like civilized men.”

The man jerked a couple times and began to struggle to breathe. Elijah ripped his face mask off to see foam pouring from the man’s mouth. His eyes were vacant, and he stopped breathing.

Jamie appeared behind him. “Didn’t know you did poison.”

“I don’t,” Elijah grunted as he pulled the knife from the man’s spine. There was almost no blood at the scene. “He must have had a cyanide capsule.”

“Well, fuck me sideways,” Jamie said with two eyebrows raised. “When did the Vega Cabal get so sophisticated?”

Elijah rolled the man over and ripped his shirt. The Vega Cabals’ ugly brand was scorched into the dead man’s chest.

“Get pictures of these assholes. Then let’s clean up and get out of here.”

Jamie pulled out his phone and flashed Elijah a finger gun. “Time to take a selfie.”

Back at the Weavers estate, Elijah had calmed his racing heart. Thanks to the Weavers cleaning crew, the congressman’s office would be completely spotless. There was no trace that they had been there. The Vega bodies would be rotting in the desert, picked apart by whatever scavenger happened upon their flesh. It was all neat and tidy.

Jamie grabbed Elijah’s hand. “Hey.”

In the hallway outside Wallace’s office, they were speaking in hushed tones. Portraits of past Weavers glared down at them. Those painted stares always made Elijah nervous. Unconsciously he sucked in his gut and straightened his back every time he walked past.

“What?” Elijah asked, rubbing his wrist. It was swollen from one of his blocks. Not broken, but it was tender.

“Are you okay?”

It was always concerning when Jamie was serious. Sometimes, Elijah forgot just what an observant person he was. Hiding behind a shield of jocularity, it was easy to dismiss his partner as an idiot. But he was far from it.

“Yes. It’s just a sprain.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and leaned up against the wall. They were still wearing their tactical gear. He leveled a cool look at Elijah.

“Because I give a shit about your wrist.”

“Language,” Elijah hissed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jamie ran his tongue over a canine as he examined Elijah. “You’re not zen, Elijah.” He shrugged in an overly casual way. Jamie was playing cool, but Elijah could tell he was being genuine.

“Normally, you’re steady. You’re like the Weaver compass. Whenever I get lost, I look at you and always find my way home.”

Elijah blinked in the face of his honesty. Jamie was never so eloquent. He knew his friend cared about him—they had grown up together, but to hear him say it like this was staggering.

“I just…need to re-prioritize myself. Focus on what’s important.”

Jamie’s intense, prolonged eye contact was too much. Elijah found himself looking away.

“For the smartest person I know, you’re really a giant idiot.” He pushed himself off the wall and slung an arm around Elijah’s neck.

“You need less of this.” He poked Elijah in the head. “And more of this.” Jamie slapped the right side of Elijah’s chest.

He raised an eyebrow. “My pectoral muscle?”

“Oh, right.” He amended his slap, changing to the left side. “This. Heart.”

Elijah laughed and ruffled Jamie’s hair.

“You did good,” Wallace said as he looked over the photos the assassins took.