With a heavy sigh, I push myself off the couch and walk over to the door, my eyes still trained on the television. I smile at the blundering shoe salesman, before I turn my attention toward the peephole in the door.
I squint then chuckle when I see Tristan came back after all.
“Hey man,” I greet him as I pull the door open.
“Lynette’s fine. I have to get out of here though. I just wanted to keep my word and let you know that I checked up on her is all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He darts his eyes up and down the street nervously and I reach over to give him a thankful clap on the shoulder.
“I’ll see you again,” I promise him quietly. He nods before he turns and walks quickly down the street, his hands buried deep in his pockets.
I decide, that as long as I’m up, I’ll go see who called me. Where the hell did I put that damn phone, I wonder as I chew my lower lip and glance around the room.
When my eyes finally fall on it, I smirk and wander over to retrieve it. Sitting back down on the couch, I flip the phone open and watch the shenanigans on the television for another ten seconds before I glance down at the caller I.D.
“Fuck.”
Chapter 4
"Sorry. Bentlee was here,” I say sheepishly into the phone. It’s not an entire lie, but a half-truth can work wonders sometimes. Especially when you’re trying to keep a brother safe.
“Right,” comes the good-natured laugh. “So that wasn’t Tristan I just saw hauling ass down the street.”
I roll my eyes.
Lance can be such an asshole sometimes.
“It was just my turn to look out for him,” I reply evenly. “And Bentlee was here—she left early this morning.”
“Take it easy, Gareth. I’m not disputing that,” he replies, chuckling again. “Anyway, I’ve got your gloves, so come out, or I’ll come in to get you. We’ve got shit to take care of.”
The line clicks dead and I rub my face irritably. I have one day left to decide now and Lance has taken the decision out of my hands.
I can’t exactly tell him no, but it would be nice if more of these guys stuck to their goddamn word like Tristan does.
I grab the remote, turn off the television, then toss it onto the couch as I make my way to the kitchen and grab my house keys of the counter. I don’t know what the urgency is, especially when I haven’t even been told who the actual mark is yet, but Arthur told me that he knew that I was the only person that could handle it.
So why he’s sending Lance with me is fucking beyond me.
I get that we’re an organization of assassins, but sometimes the secrecy can be way too much to bear.
I step out into the late morning sunlight, and use my hand to shield my eyes as I make sure that the door behind me is locked. Glancing up and down the street, I force a smile onto my face when I see Lance leaning against the lamppost at the end of the block. He’s got a black backpack firmly gripped in his hands and I know what’s in there.
It’s what I use when I take down a target. It’s more personal this way and a hell of a lot more bloody.
It serves as a reminder that things came to an end this way because of what was done against the Cavalieri Della Morte—why someone ended up on Arthur’s radar.
I walk toward him quickly because I want this to be over sooner rather than later. While I don’t shy away from taking a life, and enjoy it more than the rest of them, I don’t like how I lose control when it happens.
I become something else.
The Boogeyman in the closet watching children sleep. The monster under the bed that tries to grab your ankle and drag you into a dark and terrifying abyss.
“Here you go,” he calls out when I’m close enough to hear him. He holds the bag out to me before he spins on his heel and I raise an eyebrow.
“Wait; I thought you were coming with me?” I say in obvious confusion.
Lance stops walking and turns to glance at me over his shoulder. His eyes lock onto mine and he smiles slightly as he shakes his head.
“No. This one is yours,” he replies slowly.