Epilogue
Bran
T he drive is peaceful. The rising sun filters through the trees on my left as I follow the winding road. The black Jeep is fun to drive, but it’ll never compare to my bike. I needed the four-wheel drive for today, though, so the Jeep it is. I feel the vibrations through the seat and in my hand every time I change gears, and when I hit the four-way stop, I head right, going further up into the woods and away from the city that lies below.
During the hour-long drive, I don’t pass any other vehicles, and by the time I get to the top of the steep hill, the sun is cresting the tops of the trees and the sky is clear. After parking near a line of trees, I get out and make a slow circle, studying everything, looking for any signs that I’m not alone. I was just up here last night, and everything looks the same. No new tire tracks, no footprints, no broken limbs along the tree line, everything is the same, and when I’m convinced of it, I open the back of the Jeep and reach for the large, custom-made case that holds my most prized possession.
The AXMC rifle is ready to go, already cleaned, thoroughly checked, and calibrated for the shot I need to take. Grabbing the rifle and tripod, I walk over to the edge of the hill and lay down on my stomach. Getting into position is as familiar to me as breathing at this point, and my heart speeds up as the excitement starts to take hold. My movements are sure and steady as I get everything into position.
The grass in front of me bends with the wind, and I check it every few seconds to make sure the direction doesn’t change. The HUD synced to my rifle near the scope shows me everything I need to know, but it’s an ingrained habit to check for visual cues rather than the Heads-Up Display. There’s a wired remote switch near my right thumb that allows me to toggle through displays that show everything from wind speed and humidity levels to the elevation and angle to my target. It’s fucking brilliant, but I still like to visually see the way the grass bends.
I insert the loaded magazine and cycle the bolt to chamber the first round as everything inside me grows still. I’ve never thought of being deaf as a handicap, because fuck that. There’s nothing wrong with me. Different doesn’t mean less than, and when I’m holding my rifle, being deaf always feels like an advantage. Nothing distracts me when I’m looking through the scope with my finger near the trigger. I’ll never fuck up a shot because a loud noise spooked me, and I can read visual clues that others usually miss because they aren’t used to looking for them.
With my cheek resting on the padded riser, I dig the sides of my boots into the dirt and brace my forearms as I look through the scope. It’s early, but I came here prepared to wait. Patience has never been a problem for me. Dima would already be fidgeting beside me if I’d brought him along, but I can keep still for as long as the job requires.
I keep my eye on the building, watching as the first car enters the lot, parking near the back entrance. The large man who gets out stays in my sights until he enters the building, but I don’t pull the trigger. He’s not the person I came here to kill.
My elbows press against the dirt when a red corvette pulls into the parking lot. I check the license plate, making sure it matches the one I’d memorized. It does, and as soon as the woman gets out of the car, my finger moves to rest lightly against the trigger. Completely oblivious to the gun pointed at her from half a mile away, she turns her head to grab her purse, and I see the small diamond in her nose sparkle under the sunlight. Her hair is still cut in a short bob, and thanks to Niki, I’d recognize her face anywhere.
I’d told him about the waitress who had drugged Talia and given him the description of her. He’d found her for me, and every week he’s been sending me her weekly work schedule. I waited to take her out, waited for longer than I wanted to, but I can’t have this coming back to our family. I needed to put as much time as possible between the kidnapping and the murder that I’m about to commit. Plus, I wanted to see what kind of person she is. After she drugged my sister and got her payout, she posted several photos to social media—all of them showing her smiling face as she held up her new purses and shoes, and then finally a picture of her with her brand-new, red corvette.
I hope she has enough time to appreciate the fact that I’m letting her die next to it.
Aiming for her right thigh, I let out a slow breath and give the trigger a light, steady squeeze before I inhale, taking the shot on the natural pause between breaths. The recoil is like a shove to my shoulder, but my cheek never leaves the rest and my eye stays locked on the scope. The conditions are perfect today, allowing me to see the mirage-like vapor trail before it hits her thigh, exactly where I’d been aiming.
I watch her mouth open, first in shock and then in pain before she falls to the ground, grasping at her leg, blood already soaking her jeans and puddling beneath her. The .338 Lapua Magnum bullets that I use mean she could easily die from this shot alone. Her femur bone is shattered, her thigh nothing but a bloody mess, and there’s a good chance I’ve hit the femoral artery, which means she’ll be unconscious in a minute and dead in less than three.
I think about the hell she put my sister through and wait for the seconds to tick by. While I wait, I wrap my hand around the bolt, lifting and pulling it back until the spent casing is ejected. It lands on the ground next to me as I push the bolt forward again to chamber the next round.
When I look through the scope again, it’s just in time to see her slump back against the car, weak but still conscious. Her hands still grip her upper thigh, too afraid to touch the large hole I made in her leg, but still trying to slow the blood loss down. When I see her hands start to slacken, I pull the trigger again, this time aiming for her heart. She’s dead before anyone’s even realized what’s happened.
I scan the parking lot, making sure everything still looks okay, and when another waitress pulls in for her shift, I lift up and stretch my arms before rolling my shoulders and head to get the stiffness out of my neck. Pocketing the spent cartridges, I grab my rifle, use my boot to erase any marks I left on the ground, and then head back to the Jeep.
Taking my time, I carefully pack up my rifle before getting in behind the wheel. The casings in my pocket will soon be added to my ever-growing collection. There are too many for me to remember, but I’ll remember this one. This wasn’t just for work; this was fucking personal. Talia is my sister, the person I’m closest to, and when I’d been a terrified three-year-old, she’d been the one to hold my hand and give me her stuffed bear so I wouldn’t be scared. It never mattered to her that I wasn’t her biological brother. I became her brother in every way that counts the day they brought me home, and that means no one fucks with my sister and lives.
By the time I pull the Jeep into the driveway, I’m feeling better than I have in months. I set a wrong to right this morning, and marking that particular job off my to-do list feels pretty damn good.
I walk into the house and start making coffee, and when the lights flicker, I turn to see who’s just walked in. My brother yawns and scrubs a hand over his face while using his other hand to sign, Well?
Taken care of, I sign back, and he gives me a big grin before smacking me on the back and grabbing the mug of coffee I’d just poured for myself.
Too slow, he signs, and I can tell by the way his shoulders move that he’s not just smiling, he’s also laughing.
Fucker, I sign, making his shoulders shake even more. I try not to smile at him, but it’s impossible not to.
He sees it and smiles even bigger before opening the fridge. Eggs?
I nod and grab the skillet, ravenous after this morning’s outing.
THE END
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