Chapter 24
Days passed as Art prepared for his mission. He was bubbling over with excitement, and that meant one thing only—my dick was being worked overtime, as a reward system.
I owed Art a lot. He made me feel things for the first time in a while.
He’d softened my hard edges, my deviant desires to hit it and quit it.
I’d been a drunken playboy, fucking almost anything with a pulse, and then not remembering it until I was slapped the next time I saw them—claiming I’d promised to text them back.
Part of me wondered if Art clung to me that first time, seeing me as his savior, and then realizing I wasn’t actually all that great, so he’d helped me find my greatness—he’d shaped me as much as I’d shaped him—from major brat to occasional brat—and I was his tamer—or someone who’d been able to tame parts of him.
It was almost time. At the armory, a woman behind a gated section was presenting us with handguns, silencers, and vests.
“You’ve got to trust me,” Artemis said as we geared up int he armory. “Finley has run checks on them, they don’t have a lot of ammo or guns, plus, since today is collection day, they don’t have many guys on the inside.”
Pushing the comms earpiece in, Finley’s chipper voice was on the other side, feeding Artemis his words almost. “Ok, ok,” I said. “I can hear you both.”
“Good, we’re waiting for the car to be ready,” Artemis said as we were presented with a new selection of guns. He held them, weighing them in his hands before asking for different ones. “I can never get used to guns.”
“Don’t say that too loud,” I whispered to him.
“Yeah, keep that info to yourself,” Finley added. “There are people who will hold it against you.”
“A Glock 19,” I said to the woman behind the counter. “Let’s keep it simple.”
“On it, Mr. Kurt,” she said.
Artemis patted a hand to my arm. I knew we’d be there all day if we didn’t make a decision soon, and I knew he’d handled a regular Glock 19 before. Maybe not so much with a suppressor though.
The woman brought back a tray with two guns, ammo, and matte black suppressors on them. “These fit,” she said. “If you need anything else, let me know. And I’ll make a note.”
“Do we need more ammo?” I asked.
“You’re a good shot,” Finley said. “I don’t think additional ammo is a good idea. You should try and be conservative with the shots you make.”
“Reading from a script, Finley?” I chuckled. I knew he was. I’d heard it before from other fairies, they’d tell me to be conservative with the ammo and every shot should count for something. “It’s fine, I’m more looking out for Art.”
Artemis’s eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “I’m a great shot too,” he said. “You took me to the training range.”
“I know, I’m messing around with you,” I said as he rolled his eyes. He hated it when I did it to him—especially since being sassy was his go to. “But if you don’t get a couple bullseyes, right between the eyes, I’ll be disappointed.”
He fixed the suppressor over the end of his gun. “I’ll get the bullseye,” he said. “And when I do, you owe me.”
“Go on,” I whispered, conscious that Finley was listening—perhaps if I made him uncomfortable, I could get a rise out of them both. “You know I’m not going to hold back if you don’t, so tell me what I’d owe you.”
Licking his lips as I witnessed them become dry so quick. “I’m not sure,” he let out. “How about, if I get it, you’ve got to propose to me.”
“Easy, you know I’m planning on doing it anyway,” I said. “Think of something else.”
He opened to his mouth to speak and I shook my head, knowing it was going to be something silly. “I still stand by what I said,” he whispered. “You, on your knees, or a knee, and showing some submissiveness.”
I nodded. I could do that for him, it wasn’t knew, but if it’s actually what he wanted. I’d do it. With or without a ring—the one I had inside the false bottom of my sock drawer—the same one I assumed he found, but maybe not. “And Finley, are you still there?”
He coughed through the comms. “I am—yes, Sir. I was just—your vehicle is ready. Please make your way to the docks.”
“Perfect,” Artemis said, slotting his gun in the underarm holster.
We were wearing hooded jackets with a dry cleaning logo printed on the back of them.
It was different to the one we’d used for the money transport.
Sanctum never used the same service name twice.
But we always had our fairies with websites and numbers being redirected to them for confirmation. “We’ll be there in a minute.”
“You still need to put your vest on,” I told him.
“Ugh. Right.” He laid the gun on the counter again and grabbed his vest. “Over the—”
“Under the t-shirt,” I said. “I’m not trying to control you, but you know it should go under it.”
He nodded. I think he was just excited to finally be in comfortable clothes again—suits were an acquired taste.
I loved a suit, there was a respect given to people dressed nicely that I’d become accustomed to.
It was better than the heavy vest and hard hat, all weighing down on you in the middle of some Middle Eastern war zone.
Artemis was giddy once we were prepared to get on the job.
It was his job. He was the front guy, in charge, ready to give me my orders.
I still drove the van though, listening to Finley’s instructions like he was the road assist, telling me the fastest route.
It was a twenty-five minute drive from Red Hook to Long Island City.
“We’re going to arrive early,” Artemis said, looking through the file. “We’ve got time to case the place out. And then, we go in for the kill. This isn’t like those times we spent in Miami, we’re not trying to leave a paper trail.”
After all the cases we’d done together, getting evil people off the streets, I was somewhat impressed and glad Artemis was on board with actually ridding them for good, instead of letting them continue from behind bars.
“They’re arriving by van,” he added. “We have satellite pictures of the van, so we know the plates, and we’re following them through the city.”
“And why wasn’t this an active job?” I grumbled. “Seems like Mercy would have a hit out on this operation already.”
He shrugged. “It’s probably too small.”
It was what we’d always gone for, the smaller operations.
Cutting them off at ankles rather than going right for the head—which they would always regrow.
I think Reaper’s words had gotten to him when they met, telling him he’d done nothing.
It was impossible to tell, I’d muzzled him with instructions back then—forcing him into submission. For what happened, it was worth it.
“Three men in the building from heat radar,” Finley said. “There’s a boiler room which could be used to start a fire.”
“No,” I said. “We’re not getting into explosives. I’m not having you hurt. A slow fire, electrical.” We’d just had the conversation, I didn’t know why they were trying to change it.
“An explosion is a no go,” Art added. “Reports from the file say they were having some construction work. There should be wires exposed. We have lighters. And lighter fluid.”
It wasn’t my MO, I’d never set a fire, but if it’s what he wanted, I’d let him.
“Main goal is getting those people off that van though,” I reminded them.
Now I knew it was important why I was there.
I had to keep them on track. “We’re almost there.
Tell me every step we’re going to take, Art. Or I’ll turn the van around.”
“Jeez, don’t be a drama queen,” he giggled. “First step, scope. Second step, kill. Third step, make sure everyone is off the van, kill the driver. And—we’ve got to put the thumb drive in the computer. Then set the fire.”
It was good enough, but I knew he was just reading from the files.
* * *
The operation was taking place inside of a private postal service. They were Fly By Courier Services. It was a corner building with a large arch drive into the building for trucks and vans. We parked half a block away in the van after driving by it twice.
Still only three people inside, and the van with the people in was ten minutes away.
Finley had access to their front door mech, which was mostly from unsecured devices.
I didn’t know how, but something about waves—short signals, or whatever.
All I knew was, he could get us into the building without any of their alarms going off.
We both had garment bags folded over our arms, concealing the Glock and end of the silencer. It was pretty innovative, and I congratulated him on that, but we didn’t have too much time to gush over how proud I was of him.
It all went to plan.
Smooth. Art shot the first guy at the front desk, but only after he presented a gun. Bullseye.
Two voices in an office. He got the first guy behind the desk. The same guy from the image.
The third guy, dressed smart in a black suit with a darker shirt collar poking out. No tie. His face was familiar. He looked right at us.
“Nathaniel Blackwell the third,” Artemis said. “On your fucking knees.”
He laughed, pulling out a packet of cigarettes from his suit patch pocket. “You know who I am,” he said. “I can give you anything you want in this world.”
Art shook his head. “You are an evil man,” he said, slowly, as if trying to find the words. “On your knees.”
Nathaniel placed a cigarette between his lips and Artemis shot it, with perfect precision, the bullet hole and the smashed cigarette impaled in the wall.
“I’d do as he says,” I grumbled, hoping a rougher voice would influence him.
His name was on my tongue. Thee was something familiar. I just didn’t know where it was from. I looked from him to Art, his finger was caressing the trigger as he smiled, his cheeks pink-red like he was holding something back.
“Who are you?” he asked. “If you know who I am, and how much money I have, you’d left me walk, and I won’t tell anyone what happened here today.”