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HUNTER

T he hunt’s fucking on, and my lungs are betraying me. Thirty-five, chain-smoking and chasing monsters twice my age - it’s a bad fucking joke, and I’m the punchline.

Both my age and my lungs are against me. As well as time, I’m so tempted to throw up right now. What’s making me sick is not putting the pieces of the puzzle together sooner. Maybe Jamie’s right, he said it the other day.

“When are you going to retire? Maybe you’re too old to be a hunter.”

Shit, does a hunter really retire?

It’s like telling someone who was in the Marine’s that they're an ex-marine. It’s in their blood even after they leave.

What the fuck would I do, if I didn’t hunt?

If I’m not hunting, then I’m nothing. A man like me doesn’t get peace - we get demons and a long list of regrets.

I could sit on a beach all day in Mexico whilst drinking tequilas. An option which doesn’t appeal when I’m being distracted from the real task. One girl. One girl who is going to be ripped apart by suits and secrets.

“Fuck!” I blurt out to a bunch of tourists who are running to either see a live video or they’re going to make one. Either way, they are not concentrating on where they are going, because some of them are either on a natural high, because they’re in Time square or they are drug high. Either way, they’re in my fucking way.

Fucking tourists, they come here to see the magic of the lights, it’s only lights I feel like screaming at them. They must have seen them a thousand times on social media, but then Noah pointed out, it is one thing seeing something secondary and another experiencing it yourself. But then they’re not experiencing anything, because most of them are taking photos and selfies and will probably never look at them again once they get back home.

I entered the address Noah gave me into my phone's GPS; it estimated a fifteen-minute drive.

Why the fuck am I walking? Why did I leave my car so far away?

Fuck!

Fifteen minutes if I was in my car and thirty, because I’m not.

It was so unprofessional of me, and that’s another thing I don’t do unprofessional.

I don’t have a boss, which means everyone reports to me. So, it’s crucial I don’t fuck this up, which I’m doing right now.

“You there?” Noah's voice cracks in my ear - too raw, too young. I hate hearing fear in him. He wasn’t built for this. I built him into it.

I forgot I put the earpiece in. At first I was jogging, then I started sprinting which soon turned into a power walk, before I had to stop for a rest. Not once, but three times.

“Yeah.”

“But I don’t see you,” Noah says. I can hear the nervousness in his voice.

I have to stop once again, even if I’m only thirty minutes from getting there.

“What do you mean, you don’t see me? What the fuck are you doing here man? You didn’t call backup?”

Backup means the other professional trained special agents I work with, and they don’t include Noah. Everyone knows about this operation and Noah not calling back up will only lead to one thing, walking into a minefield with both eyes shut.

“You should have called them. You know what is going down, we need all hands on deck. I can’t do this alone. These men are powerful and they have security. Trained security.”

“I know. I know. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Bullshit!

Noah said he wanted to be in the field with me, and I’ve been promising him I'd think about it for weeks. He knows me well enough to know, when I say I’m thinking about something, it means no.

It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I shouldn’t have led him on like this, but there’s only one thing to do. Have it out with him and explain we need help.

“Where are you?”

“Behind you!” He says as he taps me on the shoulder, scaring the crap out of me.

I hit him on the shoulder, hard enough for it to hurt him, but not hard enough to do some real damage, which I’m tempted to do right now, because he shouldn’t have crept on me. Not now, not ever.

“Jesus, Noah,” I hiss. “You wanna get shot? Don’t ever sneak up on me again. Ever.”

A passerby hurries along, and it annoys me, because we shouldn’t be attracting any attention. Clearly, he heard me, when I warned Noah about nearly shooting him. I can see the fear in his eyes. I’ve seen it in so many men over time.

I’m tempted to say something else, but I need to keep it shut. Part of me is tempted to smoke, but the way I’m heaving and sweating as if I’m a sinner in church, the last thing I should even think about is smoking ever again, because I’m so out of shape.

He nods, and all I can see are his eyes bouncing up and down as he continues nodding while we walk together.

“A guy went to the door, rang the bell. Then they entered and I assume they surveyed the house, to check for foul play.”

I nod my head. Even if I didn’t want him in the field, that piece of information is useful and no doubt, he said a guy went in, but hasn’t come out, which means he’s still checking the place out.

“This means we still have time to call the team. It’s not too late,” I say.

He doesn’t nod, but stands frozen, as if I said something wrong.

“We need to keep moving.”

“The car is parked across the street. Let’s go,” Noah says. I follow suit, and at the same time, I send a message to the team.

Noah hands me the drone's remote—one he's placed in a nearby tree to monitor the house. Good thinking. Usually, we use one; he's a step ahead of me. I smile, like a proud dad.

They’re not doing a quick check of the house, this operation is a lot deeper than I envisaged as I can see security guards not only standing across from the house, but a couple of people walking down the street too. They’re all part of the operation for whoever is going to go into the house, but it isn’t just one person. The girl will be lucky if she makes it out alive at this rate, because with the amount of money which went into her aunt’s account, I have a feeling there will be a few, and they’re not paying those amounts for one night of some sexy fucked up sex. No, they’re paying for some fucked up shit.

Now they’re scanning the house with ultra light to ensure there’s no foul play. This operation is a lot bigger than Noah and I. Usually, when the predators turn up, they go to the door of their victims and just press the bell or get in through the back door. This operation has security staff to check out the joint. This is bigger than Noah and me, and I need to think about how to deal with it carefully.

“Drive!” I snap as a wave of panic takes over me.

“Where?” Noah asks.

He has his hand on the wheel, but he's hesitating now. It's one thing to say you want to be in the field and part of the action, but it's another to be in it. I bet he's regretting not calling the team and getting everyone on board. I don't have time to babysit his ass right now.

“Anywhere quite close to the house! Now!”

“ W hat’s happening at the house?” Noah asks, once we’re a couple of blocks from the house.

My eyes are closed as Noah drives. I just need a plan. I ignored his question as I got on the phone to one of my guys.

“They’re scanning the house from top to bottom. We need an entry and obviously it’s not going to be the front door,” I say to Frank on the phone.

“Shit Hunter. You should have given us more time. We could have rented a house next door, or done some kind of surveillance. We may have to forget tonight and just do that. These things take time. We can’t just jump in there!”

Why not?

“Come to the hideout tomorrow and we will discuss a plan.”

I hang up, not giving him a chance to respond.

“What’s up? What did Frank say?” Noah asks.

I turn to face Noah as he parks the car.

“Something’s really wrong,” I say, not beating around the bush. I’ve been honest with Noah nearly all the time, but between Jamie’s fucked up behavior, and Frank stalling. I don’t get it. The two guys I expected to jump up on this case, are running scared.

“What?”

I have this all wrong, the only person I can trust is Noah.

“Frank’s running scared. I need to find a way into the house. We have to do this tonight,” I say.

Noah is staring at me with a look of determination.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Noah says as he raises an eyebrow.

The only light is the street lights, but his expression is clear. He’s thinking about his mom and we can’t do anything but focus on the task at hand at the moment. He’s thinking about trust. The one person he should have trusted more than anyone in the world, was his mom and she sold his body as if she was hocking old jewelry - casual, calculated, and already letting go.

“What is the Doc’s angle on this? Why is she doing it?” I ask. It’s as if it’s all falling into place. I’m starting to piece the right parts of the puzzle together.

“Her husband went missing in military action a few years ago, and she’s convinced that he’s still out there, because they never found his body.”

“Out where?” I ask.

“Afghanistan. She has paid a whole heap of money for a fucking team to find him.”

There’s no excuse to be part of the children trafficking ring, just for one man. He ain’t God, and besides I’m sure there are other ways to find money to find her husband. She can’t justify and say her husband’s life is worth more than kids.

“Anyway, what are we doing? We’re just sitting here, and I want a smoke,” he says.

Shit, Noah’s more addicted than me, but then I can feel as much as he didn’t want the team involved and wanted to be out in the field, maybe he’s not feeling it as much as he did before, because it is too close to home. It’s as if being in the field has brought back too many memories for him all in a flash.

The more you get sucked into this sick world, the more you can lose your sanity at times, so I don’t blame Noah.

“This is a tough job. I need you to be about to shoot to kill on site. I didn’t want to get you involved. Once you have someone's blood on your hands, there is no turning back. I never wanted that for you.”

I know one thing for sure, once you kill a man, there’s no turning back. It stains your soul and rips out your heart, leaving you dark and empty inside. Something you just can’t get back, no matter how hard you try.

I turn to face him. His Adam’s apple goes up and down, and I can tell that he’s thinking about it, and it makes sense if he wants out.

I’m sitting with my heart pounding and mind spiraling, trying to figure out what the fuck to do next, when there’s a tap on the window. I flinch. Slowly, I roll it down. I can’t believe my eyes, who’s outside the car.

“Frank?” I ask.

“Shit, Frank you’re the guy who surveilled the house. What the fuck are you doing here?” Noah asks, as if he now dawns on him it was Frank that he saw earlier.

More to the point, how did Frank know we were parked on this street? Are we an open target?

“No time for that. You need to use your brother’s badge and get in there. Shit, is about to go down,” Frank says.

Frank knows no one knows about Jamie, apart from him. Even Noah doesn’t know my secret.

“Brother?” Noah asks.

I ignore Noah and then jump out of the car to face Frank. If anyone should be retiring, it is him. He’s closer to sixty than I am, but even with his strict health regime, he confessed a couple of weeks ago that every part of his body aches. Unlike before.

“He still doesn’t know?” Frank asks as I motion for us to get away from prying ears and eyes. So, we move away from the car.

“Whose involved, Frank?” I avoid the question.

“Noah has been through so much with you. When are you going to trust him, Ruslan? When are you going to trust anyone?”

Ruslan.

The name hits me like a bullet. No one really calls me by my real name. Only Jamie and Mom. God rest her soul. Frank saying it kind of throws me off, dragging up flashbacks of someone I haven’t thought about in years. Nearly everyone calls me Hunter.

“You’re not going to answer are you?” Frank asks.

I shake my head, so he has one of two choices to keep walking or to tell me what is going on.

“You need to cut him some slack, but not just him, your brother, Jamie and me too. After all we’ve been through, did you really think I would turn my back on you?”

Again, I don’t answer him. It’s as if he knows me too well, yes when he claimed that we can’t stop whatever is going down today, I did doubt him. I really have trust issues, I just can’t fucking help myself. I look into his dark eyes and even though he towers me with his six-foot three inch frame, I know if he pushes me. I can take him down in a heartbeat.

“Sometimes the best way to shut them down is to go undercover, and act as if you’re one of them. Tonight a little girl isn’t going to make it, unless we break more than one fucking rule. I couldn’t talk earlier, because there were ears listening to our conversation and I had to pretend I was talking to Smith. Anyways, here’s the badge.”

He shoves Jamie’s badge into my hand.

I flip it over, “How the fuck did you get this? Jamie will fucking kill me.”

The good thing about being a twin, is that we can easily pretend to be each other, something we’ve done plenty of times when the timing is right, like tonight. But never without the other one’s permission.

I didn’t realize Noah was behind us, and he’d left the car.

“Sometimes your brother comes to the hideout and it’s not you is it?” he asks as he looks at Jamie’s photo on the badge and his eye meet mine.

I nod my head, and with then Noah grabs the badge, and tosses it on the ground. He moves so fast, that I don’t even have a chance to say anything, but then I’m not sure what to say. Then, he spins on his heels to walk away, probably back to the car.

“You should have told him the truth a long time ago. I need to go, otherwise, they’ll be asking questions and if it all goes to shit tonight then I need to work on Plan B,” Frank says.

Noah’s car spins off the road, Frank turns his back and walks away. I’m standing on the sidewalk then I bend down and grab my brother’s badge off the ground. I stand up, letting it burn in my palm as Noah’s absence is like a bullet hole in my gut.

One mission.

I’m running out of time.

I need to focus on taking this operation down, even if it does cost me my life, I can call Noah afterward and try to explain it all to him. The truth of the matter is, I have nothing to say, because I don't understand why I never told him about my brother. I’m just not good at expressing my feelings. I never have been, and realistically I never will be.