Page 51

I’m amazed sometimes, at how, even through a gag in their mouth and a gun to their head, some people are simply incapable of shutting the fuck up. Alastor prefers to talk. He said he got bored easily, but I’m sure he just enjoys listening to himself speak, since no one else could tolerate his company.

I’d wanted to gag him the second Samara left. His voice is nasally and grating to my ears. I’d rather listen to Bane drone on than have to deal with his high-pitched squeaking, but I can’t cut out his tongue yet. Not until Samara returns with Arik and Helena. I’d hate for them to miss it.

No, I gagged him after five minutes or so, and he’s spent every second since mumbling through it in an effort to get me to take it off. It’s enough to block out the words he’s trying to say but the grating voice is still there, maybe even amplified by the cloth stuffed down his throat. It’s a shame he didn’t choke on it.

His silence turns me back to him, and there’s a smirk on his face. I glance back out to the barren construction zone, crossing my arms as I wait for the three to pop out through the woods nearby.

Then my phone pings. Samara.

F: I’ve got Arik. Helena is in trouble. Are you safe?

I answer her before putting my phone away. There’s not much damage Alastor can cause in his state, although his constant mumbling might make me kill him before they get back, but I’d hardly call that a loss.

I’d make sure to film it for Helena.

There’s a pang of guilt in me—an unsettling feeling deep in my chest at the thought of Helena needing help, and it nags at my legs to pull me in that direction, to kill Alastor now and help her…but they want him alive.

Aggravation boils in my chest. I hate feeling stuck, especially when Helena needs me. Our goodbye felt solemn, and that unease in my gut hasn’t left. It’s only gotten stronger.

I should’ve said more to her before she left. I should’ve said that I felt—I don’t know—something for her. It’s warm, but it’s not hot like anger. It’s…pleasant. Disgustingly pleasant. Being around her makes me want to do oddly selfless things like wash her hair and tell her she’s pretty and run into a burning building to make sure she’s okay. Even when I was eating her out during the interrogation, I can’t fully convince myself it was for my benefit. Not anymore.

Maybe, I’m coming down with something. Some type of illness that Helena’s infected me with, making me think about nothing but her. I’ve always killed and moved on. I’ve never gotten attached to anyone but Arik. Even Samara had to pull her own weight, and I only kept Helena around because she begged me to keep her safe, because I’m responsible for John’s death.

Now, it feels almost second nature to want to do things for her—sick things like watch her while she sleeps and make sure she gets enough to eat and drink.

I hate the feeling, and I hate that I actually enjoy it.

Helena’s a poison—an infection in my veins and clouding my judgment so much that I don’t hear that Alastor’s removed the gag from his mouth until he calls my name for the third time.

“You zone out a lot less when you were with us, you know,” Alastor chides.

I sigh, picking up the cloth from the floor. “Say something useful this time. If you start spouting bullshit again, I’ll gag you with your teeth.”

“I remember your first day in the field,” he continues like he didn’t hear me. “You practically pissed yourself when you received your first contract. It wasn’t even the worst, just a simple suicide. Light work, really.”

I wrap the gag around his face, but he keeps talking, speaking about my contracts like he’s nostalgic.

“Is this how you want to end this, Silas? In a grave?” He shakes the gag away just enough so his words are clear. “You may not like it, but we don’t have a lot of differences. After everything we gave you, we thought you’d be grateful for the freedom you had. We saved you from going to prison.”

I grit my teeth. Is that what he thinks? In all of his delusions and brainwashing, he really thinks he saved me? I spent my entire life devoted to my family and my religion. Our neighborhood was dedicated to it, and we celebrated holidays as a community, and still, seven white supremacists decided that my family was a perfect target to crucify.

I couldn’t stop them. I was too busy doing useless things like earning my sociology degree and being awarded for my research on the connection between a higher intelligence and a predilection for violence. No, I had to work my way up the social ladder, drinking with politicians I killed later for being abhorrent members of society, all the while my father was being strung up on a cross and set on fire.

I learned two very important lessons: help is only given to those who benefit the police and government, and it’s much easier to track down a group of neo-nazis when you have their faces on camera.

My father would’ve forgiven them. I am not my father.

They never found the bodies. I saw to that personally and so did my mother, and then the second I went back to the group of socialites, I was on a radar I didn’t know existed, and Alastor told me it was either me or my mother.

I should’ve killed him where he stood, hidden her before they took me to prison. That would’ve been the smart thing to do.

That’s exactly why personal attachments can get you killed.

Alastor is still droning on when I come out of the haze, going on like he’s giving a speech. “You were one of our best contractors. One of our leadership candidates. Bane idolized you, and you want to throw that away over a petty argument?”

“I wanted to rip out each individual bone from you and your brother’s bodies the moment you said hello to me,” I spit. “This never started from a ‘petty argument’. The only reason you were never sent to Brownstone is because your grandiose delusions kept you stupid enough to realize that I was never there by choice. If you wanted a second chance, that was twelve years and two million murders ago.” I move beside him, resting my gun under his chin. “But by all means, beg for your life.”

He studies me, unbothered by the weapon under his jaw. “Sometimes the ends justify the means. You of all people would know that.”

My fist connects with his face before I think it through. A tooth falls in his lap, trailing the line of blood back to his mouth as he groans. One down.

“You want to keep talking? I’ll pull them out by hand.”

He shuts up, only for a moment.

“I’m getting real tired of people like you justifying genocide and murder for profit,” I growl. “You’ve made our lives a living hell, and that’s nowhere close to what any of your targets had to suffer. They were innocent. Every single one. You blew up a city to make a fucking point, and you burned a school full of children to send a message.”

Alastor’s eyes glint. “Wasn’t the first time we’ve used a child to send a message.”

I freeze, a cold wave of nausea washing over me.

“Poor Samuel Fischer,” he mocks. “‘Silas. Help me, Silas. Please.’”

I don’t remember closing the distance between us, don’t remember lunging, but when I come to, Alastor is beneath me, face swollen, teeth broken, my hands around his throat.

“Say it again!” I shout, squeezing harder. “Say his fucking name again!”

Alastor grunts, struggling under my weight. “That’s why, isn’t it?” he gasps. “Because of him? You didn’t care about revenge for what happened to you or your contracts. It was always about your brother. Is that what you want—for me to beg?” He turns his chin up at me, his bloody mouth cracking as he forces it out. “You want me to say I’m sorry? Well, fine. I’m sor—”

I squeeze harder, feeling bones shift under my hands. “Finish that sentence and that’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

The sound of his collarbone breaking should satisfy me, but it doesn’t. Not even close. “You’re not allowed to ask for forgiveness. He was a child!”

Alastor gasps, coughing through his pain.

“I’ve always admired you, Silas,” he groans. “Bane saw it long before I did. Your strength. Your anger. When you’re pushed to your limits, we can see what you’re capable of. That’s why Bane chose you—you were bred for it. Your family is your weakness, and we liberated you from it. Your brother. Your dad. Your mother.”

The words hit me like ice water, horror knotting in my gut.

He smiles in response, showing off the remaining bloody teeth. “I wonder what she would think if she saw you like this.”

No. He’s lying.

He simply laughs at the disgust on my face, taking in my pain with a sly smile. “You didn’t think you’d be able to hide her from us forever, did you?”

I fall back, leaning on my heels as thoughts spiral in my head. They couldn’t have found her. I made sure she was safe. I took her away from this. I faked her death. He’s lying, he has to be—

Alastor’s knee slams into my gut, and I hit the ground hard, confusion clouding my vision as he stands over me, cuffs broken.

“You should control your temper, Silas,” he sneers, flashing the broken cuffs in front of me. “You could break something.”

I lunge at him, driving my fist into his body over and over again. Teeth fall out and blood spills from the places where my ring collides with his face. I don’t care what Arik wanted. It’s me or him now, and Alastor overstayed his welcome.

I drive my foot into his chest, throwing him back against the wall, but he tucks out from under me before I can retrieve my gun and yanks my scarf around my neck, pulling it tight.

I grunt from the force, stumbling and gagging before I find the knot of the fabric and pry it from my windpipe.

Alastor advances, stamping the cloth into the dirt as he lunges at me, but this time, I duck out of the way and slam my gun into his knee.

“Fuck!” A scream erupts from Alastor as his knee is jammed out of socket with a sick crack, forcing him to the ground as he clutches it in pain.

I wish I felt Arik’s satisfaction at his pain or Helena’s rage, or even Samara’s cruel fascination. All I feel is a void. A cold, endless void. I’m looking at the man who single-handedly murdered my entire family, ran my life into the ground and sought the genocide of an entire country for profit…and I feel nothing. I see a contract that needs to be carried out—the only one I will happily take care of myself.

I drag my gun off the ground, the nose of the rifle leaving a line in the dirt as I step back to take aim at him. One down. One to go. Acacia is dead.

A rumble shakes the already rocky foundation, roaring louder and louder and when Alastor grins, I leap out of the way, narrowly missing the bulldozer as it crashes into the building.

Dozens of contractors swarm in behind it, gunfire erupting as I duck out of the south exit, leaving Alastor behind and weaving through the nearby buildings until I take shelter behind a metal beam.

“Find him! Now!” Alastor’s voice booms throughout the construction site and the contractor’s spread out, the sounds of guns and armor clanking as they quickly sweep through them.

I need to get to Arik. There’s not enough bullets to run or to stand my ground. The bastard set us up. We never should’ve gone off on our own.

I run, leaping over crates and bodies and taking off towards the woods, towards Arik and Helena.

The adrenaline in my veins is now a knot in my throat, and I can feel that dreaded familiar panic clawing up to my voice in a scream that I force down even as my phone loses signal.

I pat down my jacket, feeling for the flare inside my pockets. Arik can’t be far. With any luck, the police would see it first, but an audience would be just as effective as Arik and Helena.

I ignite it on my sleeve and it comes to life in a blaze of red. I wave it up high and I finally let loose the screams that’s been building in my throat.

“Arik!” I scream into the woods. “Arik, I’m here–”

A gunshot rings out. The flare slips from my hand as a bullet through the center of my hand, blasting off the bone and the ink of my tattoos adorned on my wrists.

A boot crushes out the flame, Alastor standing above me with a scowl on his face. “I don’t think so.”

I double over, cradling my mangled hand. The searing pain is enough to muddle my thoughts and chip away at my indifference. I can’t think up any coherent retort besides screaming in pain. I can’t stop the pained groan as I fall onto my side, crawling back as he steps towards me, reaching for my empty gun.

He’s on me before I even get close and he stomps on my mangled hand, shouting above my screams of pain.

“Who are you calling to save you?” he scoffs. “Your boyfriend? Your toy? They’re dead.” He grinds his foot into my hand when I try to wrench it from his grip. “You’ve been off your leash for far too long, Silas. You still don’t realize what you are. We are your family, not them.”

Sweat beads down my temples and I meet his gaze through a red blur. “Not…your dog.”

He shakes his head, almost pityingly. “We gave you a purpose. A life. You’re nothing without someone to handle you. You got lucky by stealing one of ours, but he’s expendable. You’re not.”

I spit blood at his feet. “They’ll come.”

Alastor sighs, shaking his head as if I’m a child.

“You have too much faith in them.” He nods, and his contractors close in, dragging me to the courtyard between the buildings. I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from shouting back. It wouldn’t do any good, and I can’t shoot without my hand. I need to buy time.

Arik won’t be far. He’s just a few minutes down the road. Samara will have the car. They’ll come.

Alastor drones on, pacing in front of me. “Thanks to your little toy, we are scrambling for contractors to deal with you.”

I laugh weakly, looking up at him through the blood and dirt staining my face. “That’s my girl.”

Alastor sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Silas, I never shared my brother’s sentiment that contractors were expendable. It’s needlessly difficult to train a dog and expensive to get rid of the bad ones.”

“Guess you should’ve thought a little harder about sending all of your men to their deaths in Austria.” I laugh, the motion causing a jolt of pain to turn it into a groan.

Worth it.

“Did you really think they’d be able to kill us after all that?” I ask him.

He pauses, giving me a smug look. It creates a pit in my gut—a rock that’s weighing me down worse than the pain. Alastor never looks at people like that.

“For someone with an IQ of 185, you’re painfully stupid.” Alastor leans down to me, speaking directly in my ear so I don’t miss his words. “This was never about killing you.”

I freeze, staring at him like I hadn’t heard him correctly.

“What?”

The contractors haul me to my feet, one gripping either arm and dragging me further into the complex while Alastor leads.

“The best thing my brother ever did was take some fucking advice,” he says. “If an avalanche couldn’t kill you, our contractors certainly can’t. As stupid as your handler is, he’s shown an annoying amount of persistence. We can’t kill him.” He stops abruptly, turning to face me with a narrowed glance. “You can.”

That rock sinks into my chest and I feel all the color drain from my face.

No…he can’t.

But then I see the beginnings of a helicopter hidden behind the wreckage of the plane we’d fallen, and all the panic in me surges to a new level.

I rip my hand from their grip, screaming as I drive the mangled fist into their faces. But it’s enough to get them off me and I take off in a sprint. They’re behind me, screaming and guns firing but I don’t bother hiding or playing it safe.

I won’t go back. I won’t. They can’t take me.

Images of that horrible place are flashing in my mind. Me, Sammy screaming for help while I’m stuck in that box, when they keep me in that room with those bright lights, telling me what I am before charging me full of electricity.

No. I won’t go back.

I rip out my phone, frantically dialing Arik. It finally dials, only to go ring out and go to voicemail.

No, no, no.

“Arik!” I scream into the phone. “They set us up! They were waiting for Samara to leave. They’re going to—”

Alastor knocks into me, slamming his gun against my temple before I reach the trees. I collapse just before I reach the creek and my phone scatters several feet away.

I groan, soft cries falling from my lips as I try desperately to reach it. Boots appear in my line of vision and Alastor picks it up, slipping the phone inside his pocket.

“Kill me,” I mutter.

Alastor shakes his hand, wrenching my head up with a fist in my hair.

“I’m sorry, Silas…but this vengeance mission needs to come to an end.”

More hands haul me to my feet, carrying me as I fall limp against them. Black dots my vision, and I can only see the traces of red dripping from my hand as they drag me back to the helicopter.

Arik…

I mouth his name as I’m strapped into the helicopter, belts covering my arms and legs, and a muzzle wrapping around my face.

Alastor glances at me for a single moment, the last bit of hope I have being crushed by his smile.

“Welcome back, Silas.” He pats my shoulder, calling over to the driver. “Relay a message to Bane. Tell him we’re on route to Brownstone.”

The helicopter whirs to life and all I can see are the spinning blades above me as it takes off. They’ll come for me. Arik and Helena weren’t far. Samara is with them. They’ll find me. Arik will find me. They will save me.

They will find me.