Chapter Twenty-Four
R ogue and Crow slipped through the shadows and entered the barn several minutes later.
There were enough shadows inside to stay hidden. Overhead lights swung down on heavy electrical cords, and their glow swung slowly.
“You killed my boss, you cunt,” Smalls snarled at Boston.
Boston glared at Smalls, his chin tipped. “He deserved to die!” the boy spat.
Rogue watched in horror when one of Smalls’ crew reared back and clocked Boston in the head with the helmet in his hand.
Shock swept over Boston’s beautiful face and then his eyes went blank. The boy’s body crumbled like a marionette doll.
A sound ripped from his throat that matched the one of rage coming from Crow.
Smalls cackled with glee. “Good one, Joe.”
Rogue launched across the distance a second before Crow, and all hell broke loose. Red covered his vision even in the darkness of the dirty barn.
Rogue was on Joe before the guy could even process what was happening.
Much like an animal, Rogue tore at the man’s throat with his bare hands and he didn’t stop until he found blood. The sticky wetness covered his hands and Rogue dug until he found sinew and the man’s windpipe.
He ripped it out.
The rest of Smalls’ gang scattered, tripping over themselves to get away.
Crow snatched up Boston.
The big man was still making those animal-like sounds, or was that him? Rogue didn’t know, all he knew was that the fucker beneath his hands had snuffed out one of their young assassins.
He had seen the light die in Boston’s eyes.
He knew what death looked like.
The bullet that pierced his back was more of an irritation than a pain and Rogue brushed it off, tearing at Joe’s throat until the man’s head lolled, barely attached.
Coming to his senses was something he’d been taught at a young age and he pulled his Sig Sauer and rolled at the same time into the shadows, covering Crow, who had lifted Boston’s dead body in his arms.
He caught the man’s eyes across the small distance.
“Go,” Rogue growled.
“We go together.” Crow’s voice was harsh.
Rogue shook his head and patted his coat for the extra clip he’d earlier slipped inside his coat.
“We’ll never make it. Take his body and go.” Rogue closed off his emotions and his breathing became even.
“Rogue.” Crow’s voice was hoarse as he cradled Boston to his chest.
“I know.”
He did know. Crow could be the last person he would ever see alive.
“I need you to call Wrath. Nobody else, just Wrath. Now get the fuck out of here.”
Rogue melted into the darkness and became what he had always been meant to be.
A killer.
He had taken out three more before he fell to his ass inside a vacant straw-filled horse stall.
A slight noise to Rogue’s right drew his gun up and he paused before pulling the trigger.
Two young faces looked at him and one was very familiar. Many years ago, he had lived with the young man in Solomon’s warehouses. A little girl crouched next to the young man.
“Chandler,” Rogue whispered, and the young man’s eyes widened in his dirty face. At the age of six, Chandler had been captured by Solomon. At the age of ten, the boy had been sent to work the streets. It was one of those normal working days when Chandler had never returned. Rogue had assumed the kid had run away and was fiercely glad.
He had envied Chandler and his freedom, while he had stayed and kept hoping that the man he considered a father wasn’t truly a monster.
He had been so fucking wrong.
“Rogue?” Chandler croaked. The young man couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old now.
Rogue crawled across the short distance and settled his big body next to Chandler in the dirty straw. The slender young man crept closer and was soon pressed to his side.
“You got away?” Chandler whispered.
“Solomon’s dead,” he murmured and checked his clip.
The little girl pressed up against Chandler, she couldn’t have been more than ten, if that.
“I told the cops about him, but I couldn’t remember where that place was,” Chandler said.
“It’s okay, Solomon moved us when you didn’t come back. It’s not your fault, it’s mine,” Rogue assured the boy.
“No, it’s not your fault. I’m glad that fucker is dead.”
Chandler’s next words were never spoken when Smalls’ voice filled the barn.
“You better come out or I’m going to lock up this barn and set it on fire,” Smalls yelled.
Rogue pulled out his cell phone and checked for a signal, still nothing, but he had enough ammunition to take out every single one of Smalls’ gang.
Only he didn’t think they were going to give him the opportunity.
If the barn was set on fire, then he and the kids were as good as dead.
The back of his shirt and pants were soaked with blood and he knew it was only a matter of time before he lost his energy and would eventually bleed out. He felt the bubbling in his lungs and knew it wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t get enough air.
It was as good a day as any to die. His only regret was the last message he’d sent to Wrath.
I need to rethink some things.
He didn’t need to rethink anything. He had wanted to be with Wrath for years, and had temporarily let his fear get the better of him.
Now, Wrath would never know that he loved him.
Unless…
Rogue gazed at Chandler. “I need you to stay alive and give a message to a man named Wrath for me,” he said with a long, wheezing breath.
“No,” Chandler raged quietly, tears running down his dirty cheeks. The young man gripped his arm tightly, but Rogue shook his head and pressed his gun into Chandler’s hands and pulled the extra clip from his jacket to toss in the man’s lap.
“Shoot as many as you can,” Rogue whispered and with what little strength he had remaining, he shoved to his feet and walked out of the horse stall.
“There!” someone shouted.
The bullet this time caught him in the ribs and the pain took him to his knees.
In another instance, a blow hit the back of his head, and he fell face-first, smacking the floor.
Gunfire erupted through his haze and Rogue closed his eyes.
He hoped Chandler and the little girl lived through this.
They were way too young to die.