10. Rafferty
Rafferty
B ored.
Bored out of my fucking skull.
What possessed me to say I would wait here while they went off to actually do something?
My gaze sweeps the treeline, every sense on high alert. The woods are too fucking still. This quiet isn’t right. It’s the kind of quiet that comes before a predator strikes. A twig snaps to my left, sharp and deliberate. It’s not a deer. Not a fox. It’s the sound of a footfall, heavy and careless.
My hand tightens around the cool metal of my Glock. I melt back into the thicket of overgrown bushes, becoming just another shadow. I don’t know who’s coming, but they’re about to have the worst fucking day of their life. This is what I’m good at. The hunt. The silence. The kill.
Boredom evaporates, replaced by a cold, thrilling hum. The ghost is back in the game. Finally. Something to kill.
A flicker of movement in the trees catches my eye. A figure, dressed in black, melts from the shadow of an old oak.
I let him come closer, drawing him into my web.
Silently raising my gun, I hold my breath, letting the sound of it die in my lungs.
The guy moves with a confident stride, his head on a swivel, scanning the area.
He’s good, but he’s not a ghost. He’s looking for a threat he can see.
I am a threat he’ll only feel for a split second before his lights go out.
He pauses near the tunnel entrance.
I don’t wait for him to open the door. I squeeze the trigger, the suppressor reducing the shot to a dull thwump. The bullet hits him square in the temple. He drops like a sack of shit.
I give it a full minute, listening, watching for any sign of a partner. Nothing. Just the birds starting to chirp again, oblivious to the corpse staining the forest floor.
Slipping from my hiding spot, I move to the body, my gun still ready.
I stare down into his face and roll my eyes.
“Tate fucking Corven. What a surprise. Come to miss again, did you?” I crouch down and search through his pockets.
At least this saves me a trip to find this idiot once we have dealt with the situation here.
Talk about having luck shine down on me.
His pockets are mostly empty. Keys, a wallet I relieve him of, and an old burner phone. I use his dead fingers to unlock it. A single text thread is open. The last message, sent ten minutes ago, makes my blood run cold.
Asset location confirmed. Northwest corner, sub-level three. Retrieve at all costs. VCH is a distraction. Abort if compromised.
Sub-level three of the library, I’m guessing, from the location and the fact that someone blew a hole into it, but didn’t level it. But what the fuck is down there that’s more important than Venetia?
This changes everything. They don’t just want to kill our queen; they’re using her as a diversion for a fucking heist.
I drag Tate’s body by the collar, shoving him into a large prickly bush and taking a morbid and slightly immature delight from it.
He has been a thorn in my side for years, and now he has plenty of thorns in his side, and hopefully a few up his arsehole.
He is the assassin’s version of a pest. Always trying to undercut jobs, turning up early for jobs that weren’t his, the constant noise of how amazing he is, when he is anything but.
He is cannon fodder for whoever is really behind this.
I’m not even convinced this is the Graduate fuckers.
Corven isn’t skilled enough to gain their attention, even as a lackey.
My instincts are telling me that this is a separate deal, but who and why?
Noise behind the tunnel door draws my attention, and I stand right in front of it, gun raised.
Blake opens it and blinks when he finds a muzzle pressed between his eyes. “Hello to you, too.”
My eyes flick over his shoulder. “Who the fuck is this?”
Blake lifts his hand and gently pushes the gun away from his face. “David Britton. He is here with supplies to concrete up this door. Step inside, please.”
I lower the gun and move inside. “There is a dead body out there. None other than Tate Corven. Check this out.” I hold out the phone for him while Britton closes the door and gets to work on the wheelbarrow full of shit, he brought with him.
“Tate Corven, the would-be assassin from the club?”
“That’s the one.”
Blake takes the phone from me and reads the message. “So, the library?”
“Doesn’t take a genius when you have all the pieces.”
“Trouble is, we don’t have all the pieces. What’s three levels under the library? I didn’t even know it had a lower level. The library was built as an add-on in the 17th century onto solid foundations.”
“Or not so solid. Something is down there. Something huge.”
“Is this related to the Graduates?” He frowns, his mind ticking against the flow.
“I don’t fucking know,” I grunt, watching Britton mix a grey, viscous sludge in the wheelbarrow.
“Corven was a freelancer. A bottom-feeder. Not really Graduate material. Plus, he never went here. He’d take a job from anyone if the price was right.
Could be a second party taking advantage of the chaos. ”
Blake purses his lips, considering this. He never just reacts. Everything is a fucking equation to him. “A second party would complicate things considerably.”
“No shit.” I glance at the phone again. “Whatever is down there, they want it badly. Badly enough to use an attack on the mafia princess of the Corbyn-Hale syndicate as a cover. This Britton kid gonna be done soon?” We’re wasting time in this damp shithole while someone else is moving pieces on the board.
“He’s efficient,” Blake says, pocketing the burner phone. “Once this is sealed, we’re going to the library. We’ll see what’s so valuable they’d risk starting a war with us to get it.”
Britton finishes his work, spreading the resin over the door, sealing it tight.
“It’s done,” he says, his voice a little shaky.
“Good. Now get the fuck out of here and keep your mouth shut,” I tell him. He nods and scrambles back the way we came, leaving Blake and me alone in the half-light.
“Let’s go,” Blake says, already turning. “The sooner we figure out if these things are related or not, the sooner we can end this.”
He’s not wrong. I stifle my yawn. It’s been a long night, and now we are fast approaching noon. I could do with some sleep, but as Venetia said this morning… no rest for the wicked .