Chapter 5
5
Now
KILLIAN
F or a second, the window I pass looks like it’s painted black. After sundown, that’s the level of darkness behind the converted factory where two other guys and I live. At the last moment, I catch an angle through the window that shows dots of light from houses across the river and a mile or two south.
I hustle through the tricked-out kitchen, my boots smacking the white stone tiles. The building used to be a manufacturing plant or something. On the exterior, it still looks like one. Inside, it’s been renovated into a crib that could land it on a lifestyle blog.
When I get outside, I head to the three-sided carport that’s just south of the building. I sometimes use the carport for my new Corvette, but more often, we use it as a shed and staging area. For privacy, a black tarp hangs over the river-facing entrance as we prep for wet work.
I lift the edge of the tarp and step in.
War McCann’s already inside. As the name implies, he’s of Irish-descent, at least on his mother’s side. From the look of him, though, his mom went slumming with a Baltic giant because he’s big . War’s only got three inches on me in height, bringing him to six-foot-six, but shoulder to shoulder, he’s the width of a tank. The guy benches close to four hundred pounds. I’m strong, but he’s world-record-level kind of strong.
War’s hazel eyes, the only Irish thing about him, don’t match his thick black hair, which, right now, is pulled back in a tight ponytail at the nape of his neck. When we met, during what can only be described as an unholy apprenticeship, his hair was short. He kept it that way during the grueling weeks of training.
Then, we started at GU and a blonde with legs for days begged him to grow it out, which he did because she’s been letting him fuck her in every filthy way there is. One night, when we were deep into a bottle of expensive whiskey, he offered to share her. When she gave a light protest, he pulled her over his lap, yanked her skirt up and panties down, and blistered her pretty white ass until it was cherry red.
By the time he was done, she was sobbing. From her knees on the floor, she fucking apologized to us and was ready to suck my dick. I had a raging hard-on from watching him discipline her, but before I had time to decide whether to use her mouth, Jamie—our third— scooped her up, slung her over his shoulder, and took her up to his room. The door was open, so I could still hear him banging her when I went to bed alone.
I figured we’d never see the girl again, but two days later, War called her and ordered her to come over. Within the hour, he was nailing her to the bed with his cock while she screamed his name. In the morning, there was a jewelry box on the counter. When she left, she wore a gold necklace with half a dozen diamonds between the links.
I noted the gift, figuring it was to make up for things, but War said it wasn’t. According to him, there was nothing to make up. He’d seen her looking at me like she wanted a taste, so he’d offered her to me. Her refusal was a token protest at best. And as for making a show of spanking her in front of me, if a scene gets too intense, she’s got a safeword. Unless she uses it, she’s gotta take whatever he decides to do to her. Which apparently is exactly what gets her hot and wet .
I’ve learned more useful life skills with these two than I have in class.
Right now, War’s dressed in a white fluid-impermeable jumpsuit like we’re going to a crime scene to collect evidence rather than to create it. On most people, these suits are baggy, but War’s is stretched tight to accommodate his massive frame.
His voice is gruff when he says, “Time.”
I’m seventeen minutes late because I got distracted online while tearing down that CNC post on Side. I wanted it down before I left, but I shouldn’t have let that make me late. Tonight, the stakes are as high as they get.
“Yeah,” I say, not offering an explanation.
War doesn’t press. That’s not his style. If he thought I was late enough to compromise us, he’d punch me in the face and call this thing off for the night. Instead, he’s still dressing.
As I’m stripping down to skin and leaving my clothes in a pile, Jamie steps into the enclosure. He’s the pretty boy of the group with blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect features that mean, if he ever dressed in drag, he’d be prettier than most women. He’s no lightweight, though. Like me, he rows crew for the university and, when sparring, fights like he’s been doing it all his life. I haven’t figured him out. With us, he’s friendly, but a dark edge emerges when he doesn’t like someone. And when we were drinking one night, he admitted working for a crew is good practice because he’s got people to kill.
The days are numbered for whoever’s on Jamie’s hit list.
Jamie glances at War who’s pulling on a black tracksuit. The white jumpsuits are good for not leaving DNA or picking it up, but they’re like a fucking beacon when a streetlight catches them.
There’s fuckery in Jamie’s eyes as he says, “How’s the fit, War. Comfortable?” Jamie’s not afraid to low-key push people’s buttons.
“Yeah,” War grumbles. “Like wearing a fucking condom under boxer-briefs.”
Leaning against a work bench, Jamie grins. “Gonna sweat your ass off like a girl in a latex catsuit.”
The corner of War’s mouth twitches into a fleeting smirk. Their tastes run to the wild. Me, I’m not opposed to the hottest, stickiest sex I can get, but what I really want doesn’t require encasing a girl in rubber… or anything at all. I want her completely bare, so there’s nothing to keep my fingers out.
I suit up quickly and check my toolbox. Gun, ammo, mask, and night vision goggles are perfectly arranged in the metal box, like I’m the devil’s handyman.
We leave the carport, and War checks the truck one last time. No burned-out lights. Everything in order. It’s a short distance, but the last thing we want is an unexpected traffic stop.
We roll out at four-twelve a.m., safely past the time when police checkpoints near campus stop operating. By now, drunk students should be passed out in their dorms or apartments, and the police on patrol are sitting in some convenience store parking lot, drinking coffee and eating donuts.
The name of tonight’s target is Wilson.
I’m up as shooter.
My heart’s not racing, but I bet my pulse would clock in a little faster than normal. I don’t feel the same way about murder that most people do, but anticipation has me juiced.
The road buzzes by when we’re on the highway. There’s no conversation on the way over. Dead quiet works for both War and me. Unlike Jamie.
The three of us have infiltrated the hallowed halls of Granthorpe University on behalf of a sleek crime syndicate an hour outside Boston. The C Crue.
They’re a modern version of the Mafia, complete with killers who can hack computers and carry out ops with military precision. Under them, we’ve learned to choke out opponents in hand-to-hand fighting, like fucking Navy SEALs. We had months of intensive training, both physical and procedural, their version of gangster boot camp. And now we’re among the ivy-covered walls of one of the first established universities in the country.
My math SAT score alone could’ve put me in contention for a spot on my own, but rumor has it two factors figured into getting us all in right before the term started. First, the university was looking at more openings than usual because of a recent black mark left by a serial killer’s reign of terror. Also, the syndicate gave a giant shot in the arm to the endowment fund. Money works.
War and I pull up to where the bastard Wilson’s been hiding out. He’s closer to campus than anyone realized. Jamie and I are the ones who tracked the former frat boy’s ass down. He’s living under an assumed name in a shithole neighborhood where he can pay cash to rent a house. The address must be giving a rich boy like him hives.
Wilson’s got bad intentions or he wouldn’t be practically squatting seven minutes from GU. And his bad intentions make me happy. Not because I’m only okay with killing bad guys, but because bad guys are a bigger threat. And if you’re gonna hunt the big game, the tougher the better to cement your reputation in stone.
With our hoods up and masks on, War and I are silent as we leave the truck.
Once the front door’s lock is picked, we’re inside. War stations himself at the bottom of the stairs. Wilson’s not gonna get by me, but if something goes sideways, like I find a dozen armed men guarding him, War’s there as backup.
My goggles are on, but I’m gonna need to lower them because I see light and hear a television. The bastard’s awake. My heart beats a little harder.
Bigger the better. Murder goals. Let’s get this done.
I pull the goggles down and adjust my mask, then open the door and come in sly.
Wilson’s in his underwear, watching porn and whacking off. Nice. Literally caught with his pants down. The arrangement of the furniture means there’s no way to come up behind him, so I advance quickly.
He drops his dick and rolls toward an end table where he’s got a pistol.
I put a bullet in his chest, and his hand misses the gun as he slides off the couch.
The silencer worked perfectly. No neighbors should be ringing the cops.
“Moran, you son of a bitch! Yours is coming,” he rasps as blood bubbles from the wound.
The name Moran is familiar, but I don’t know if he’s the guy who ordered this party or not. That information is above my pay grade at the moment.
I line up the head shot.
Wilson’s eyes narrow, and he leans forward. “No, you’re not Moran,” he sputters. “New dark knight? The bastard Callahan?”
My finger hesitates, and my muscles tighten. There’s no fucking way he should’ve guessed it was me standing here. I squint down at him with a hard stare. Did whoever contracted the hit telegraph our moves? If so, that’s fucking bullshit.
“Yeah, you’ll get yours, too, Callahan. We know about you.”
What the fuck?
I wanna interrogate him, so I take an involuntary step forward to grab him by the throat. Then a groan from the television behind me jerks me back to reality.
What kind of dumbass gets close to a dying mark? Step the fuck back, Killian.
Widening the gap between us, I try to center my thoughts. Clarity returns after a couple of beats of raging curiosity.
Finish it. Twenty fucking questions is not part of the plan. We’re on a tight clock.
I pull the trigger, and Wilson’s head snaps back.
Standing still is hard now. After a double tap, I’m ready to go.
Hanging tight, I wait the moments it takes for Wilson to stop breathing.
There you go. See you in hell, mother fucker.
As I turn, warning bells buzz my skull. How did he make me as the shooter? We’ve never even met. And as for War, Jamie, and I being on campus, we’ve kept our dark ties to ourselves. Jamie and I shouldn’t stand out more than other GU athletes.
War’s different, of course, because of his physical size. The only place he could blend in is in a movie about post-apocalyptic cyborgs. But War doesn’t spend much time on campus drawing attention to himself. So, again, how did I end up on the target’s radar?
Wilson is a disgraced frat boy who fled campus under a cloud because the FBI wants to talk to him about texts he exchanged with a serial killer. Wilson had gone to ground before I even hit town .
I’m gonna have to dig into who’s talking to frat guys about me.
For a brief second, I think of my stepsister’s vlog as a possible source, then I dismiss the idea. Raine doesn’t know enough to be the leak. Besides, she’s never spilled a single detail of anything she knows. Raine’s careful. She understands if someone betrays me, I destroy their life.
The source of the intel will be someone who knows I spent my summer vacation studying strategy under some original young blood gangsters. Maybe someone in C Crue talked. Doesn’t matter, I tell myself. Once Crue leadership knows there’s a leak somewhere, they’ll plug it.
And my being exposed is just the way things go sometimes. Occasionally, someone looks in your eyes and makes you for what you fucking are—ice cold and ready to prove it.
Rolling my shoulders, I decide to reframe the threat in my mind. If someone’s coming for me, it’s on. And this will be a new game for me. Usually, the prey doesn’t hunt back.
When I reach the ground floor, I nod at War that it’s done.
Just like that, I’ve made my bones in C Crue.
Of course, there’s something not even the Crue knows.
Executing Wilson brings my kill count up to two.