Page 9 of The Hitman

Chapter Six

Jaxon

I wait for my contact on the roof of an abandoned meat-packing plant off Halsted, just south of the old Union Stockyards. The building reeks of rust, grease, and ghosts, and the air carries an icy chill.

My Death Bringers, the twin Glocks holstered at my waist, are heavy with the weight of their final mission. We’re going to drag Dimitri Volkov’s soul straight to the devil’s door tonight.

The stairwell door creaks open, and though I heard him approach five minutes ago, I at least try to act surprised.

“Remi,” I say smoothly.

My old friend smirks. “You’ve lost weight. Retirement making you soft, Reaper?”

I chuckle at the nickname I never asked for, but wore like a badge of honor, then shake my head.

“Not many successfully retire from Blackwell,” I muse. “Might as well enjoy it.”

“Fucking brag about it, why don’t you.”

He grins as he steps into the dim light, but there’s a darkness beneath his eyes. Like he’s exhausted or dying—or both.

“You know Carmine still talks about you.” He cocks a brow. “Think he’s still upset that you’re the one who got away.”

Carmine Vale is a ghost in fine tailoring. He’s sharp, calculating, and never seen without at least two guards flanking him. He built the Syndicate from blood and bone, and he doesn’t take kindly to loopholes in his otherwise tight-knit contracts.

“I’m sure he is,” I say.

The only way out of Blackwell is to complete the enormous amount of contracts on your head when you’re sworn in. It’s a prison by design, made to keep you serving until you’re no longer of use to them, or you die.

As for me, I was assigned five hundred souls to reap.

Just one year ago, I walked away a free man with every one of them signed, sealed, delivered.

It was supposed to be an impossible task, but they underestimated my drive to rid our society of the worst it has to offer. According to Blackwell’s law, if a hitman achieves his or her marks, the Syndicate owes them a single favor—no limits.

That’s exactly how I ended up contacting Remi several weeks ago. And while Carmine might not like owing his hitmen any goddamn thing, when The Reaper calls, you answer.

I approach with caution. Remi was the closest thing I had to a best friend before I stepped away from the job. Before he started running logistics for Blackwell, we were hitmen together, and I’ve saved his ass nearly as many times as he’s saved mine.

But even friends can put a knife in your back if you’re not careful.

“This is his place?” I quickly memorize the address on the slip of paper he hands me before stuffing it in my pocket.

“That’s it.”

I interrogated a couple of stragglers from Volkov’s crew last week, but it ended in a bloody disaster and left me with little hope of actually tracking him down. Thanks to Remi and the Syndicate, though, I’ve finally got that asshole right where I want him.

I nod, eager to get going. “Give Carmine my thanks.”

Remi shifts, rubbing the back of his head before flicking his eyes back to me. “I’m sorry about what happened to Isa. That bastard Volkov and his men… They’re heartless.”

I nearly scoff at the irony. “It makes sense. I killed his brother.”

“Alexei Volkov deserved what came for him,” he says, and he’s right.

Someone had to put a stop to his sex trafficking empire, and I was the only hitman they had who actually accomplished the task.

“Thanks.”

“You bet.” He turns for the door to the stairwell, and before he leaves, he says, “Stay safe, Knight.”

Relief courses through me after we part ways, and at the forefront of my thoughts is Callie.

Her giggles, her quick wit, her relentless challenging.

I’m excited to finish this job and get home to her.

To finish what we started the night she danced her way around my heart.

To dare to dream for more in my life than bloodshed and hiding.

My motorcycle rumbles to life as I prepare to head toward what will be the final chapter.

I didn’t want to lie to Callie about Isabella, but I had to stretch the finer details. Especially because I couldn’t bear to tell her that it was my fault Dimitri Volkov tried to kill my sister in the first place.

When Isa mentioned working for Nathan Hale—a respected venture capitalist known for funding clean energy startups and sitting on half a dozen philanthropic boards—I did something I never did, and na?vely took his reputation at face value instead of checking his background like I should’ve.

Turns out, he was one of Volkov’s guys, and no matter how hard I’ve tried to keep her and Leo safe from my past, he connected the dots, anyway. Which means I need to end this before another woman I care about gets caught in the crosshairs.

Fuck. Maybe Remi was right… I have gone soft.

Just the thought of seeing Callie again fills my empty chest with hope. This feeling I have when I’m around her is new. Something that, because of my past, I’ve never allowed myself to open to, and it’s terrifying. But if I were to take a chance on more with any woman, it’d be her.

I circle through beat down neighborhoods and rusty corner stores, blending in with the night while I search the perimeter for any of Volkov’s men who might be waiting to ambush me.

Once I’m sure I’m not being followed, I carefully climb the fire escape outside a decrepit apartment complex.

“Not the mansion I expected for a drug lord,” I murmur, but then, Volkov wouldn’t waste money on luxury homes if he was sure he wouldn’t be here for long.

He’s in Chicago on business, and that business is me .

With my back flush against the building, I silently unclip my Death Bringers. From the window, I can see the place is dark and strangely empty.

I shift for a closer look.

Two coffee mugs and a laptop sit atop a small table in the living area. There’s a blanket on the floor, discarded without care, and the microwave is open, but there’s no sign of movement inside.

I check above and below once more before trying the window.

It won’t give, so I sift through my gear in the small pack around my waist. With a little force, I manage to wedge my lock pick under the flimsy wood frame, create a gap, and break the seal.

When no alarms sound, and no one comes rushing through the room, I slip inside.

The scent of stale coffee and cigars permeates the air. My heart thumps wildly as I walk through each room, twins at the ready. I scan every inch of the place for cameras, trip wires, and microphones, but after ten minutes of scrounging around this shithole, I’m forced to face the truth.

Volkov’s not here.

“Fuck,” I grit before holstering my Glocks and grabbing the laptop.

I sit on the couch with barely restrained anger simmering under my skin. A USB drive encrypted with hacking software does its thing while I run my thumb across my lip in thought.

The coffee mugs are still warm to the touch, which means the asshole was here. I just missed him.

There are no mistakes in the Syndicate. Clearly, they weren’t wrong about Volkov’s location, so what the fuck happened, and why does it look like he up and bolted?

The screen illuminates the darkness, and I get to work.

I sift through countless files, the ones most easily unencrypted, while others are full of unspeakable photos I wish I could bleach from my brain.

I pause when I find a file on Nate and the shell companies attached to his name.

The surveillance notes I stumble across next aren’t just on him, but on Isa.

My eyes scan faster than my mind can process. They were tracking her—something I already knew, thanks to the Remi’s help in locating Volkov—but the mouse stills over a folder within Isa’s file labeled Knight .

Stomach knotting, I open it. Inside are documents with my aliases, old photos, timestamps on sightings of me within the last six months, and the last record, my current address that no one, especially not Volkov, should have.

I scroll past the floor plan of my penthouse, going cold when I see Leo’s name and the school I pulled him from. Icy dread coats my insides when I back out of the file and right click on it.

Last accessed: 22 minutes ago

“Fuck,” I breathe.

Volkov’s heading for Callie and Leo.

I’m on my feet, the laptop left open on the table as adrenaline forces my system into autopilot. I’m already out the window and back on the fire escape before my pulse catches up.

My hands glide down the railing and my boots hit the ground with enough force to rattle my bones, but I don’t care. I’d break every one of them just to get to Leo and Callie before Volkov does.

The bike roars to life and I swerve in and out of cars and buildings while trying her cell.

“Pick up, Callie. Please, pick up.”

My heart’s in overdrive when the third call goes unanswered. I weave through the city like death’s hot on my heels. My life flashes through my mind. Every kill, every soul I’ve taken.

I rev the engine, pushing harder, faster.

I won’t add two more to the list.