Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Decker
F rom my vantage point on the roof, I spotted my target. The smug bastard had no clue. In less than a ten minutes, he was going to die. I couldn’t help but smile at the notion.
I surveyed the back metal staircase to the open roof access, making sure no one was coming up.
Suddenly, the noise of the spectators tripled and my entire body buzzed to life. I always trusted my gut and shifted to scan the main floor below.
My vision zeroed in on the fighter who just entered the cage. I looked through my scope and froze.
“Krew,” I breathed his name.
My best friend in grade school. My lover since high school, until unfortunate events had put us on two different paths so many years ago.
How had I not realized that Krew was part of this fighting ring? I recalled the names on tonight’s roster. There was a Crew—spelled with a C—not a K. Still. My eyes moved to his side of the cage.
Fuck, Teke’s here, too. I owe you a bullet between the eyes, asshole.
This was a complication I hadn’t foreseen.
I glanced at my watch. Less than six minutes left before the job expired—no time to reminisce or wallow in past hurt. My focus had to stay on the target. I wasn’t about to lose this big paycheck—not over that fucktard.
This kill-contract had an expiration date. One hitman had twenty-four hours to make the kill. If the mark wasn’t terminated within that time frame? The two hundred and fifty grand were forfeit and someone else got the chance.
Tracking down the scumbag wasn’t hard, but the prep work had taken some of my time. I was down to five minutes.
Hmm… Maybe two for the price of one? Kill the target and Teke Gatlin.
Sadly, my morals cock-blocked my need for revenge. I shook off the desire to shoot Krew’s bastard of a brother once I’d taken out the mark, and looked through the scope again.
Right before I trained my barrel on the target, I saw Krew’s body stiffen.
His head tilted slightly to the right and his eyes laser focused on something.
I shifted my focal point to the crowd and my heart practically leapt out of my chest. My brain seized in disbelief and I sucked in a silent breath.
Different hair and a fuller, more hourglass figure than I remembered her having, but her face hadn’t changed.
“Regi,” I whispered in a barely-there breath, like a prayer that needed answering. What the hell was she doing here—in a place like this?
My mission tonight was clear cut. Find my target, eliminate him, and then get the hell out of Chicago. So in what fucked up universe would the two people I had loved, planned to spend my life with, and then lost be here—in the same place and at the same time?
Glancing at my watch again, I had only a minute left. Nothing—not even Krew and Regina, would deter me from my goal.
Returning my attention to the target, I saw my mark was standing next to the other fighter like a fucking proud peacock. I altered my position a hair until the sight through the lens landed just where it should be. I concentrated on my breathing as I looked through the scope.
I angled my head a millimeter, while still keeping my eye trained through the scope. Then I took a slow, deep breath and waited a solid three seconds as the mark stepped out of the ring.
“Okay, birdy. Stay still for me,” I whispered into the cool night air.
Clear head shot for the win. I released a breath, my finger pressed the trigger a millisecond later, and my mark hit the floor. A bullet through the middle of his forehead.
Done.