Chapter 38
Leaving Delilah with another man, even one I trust, is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. If defying the Order’s summons wouldn’t put our lives in danger, I’d do it. But I can’t risk my little raptor.
No matter how much it pains me to leave her.
I briefly run my fingers over the scar she gave me, as well as the tattoo I commissioned shortly after meeting her. It doesn’t soothe me as much as touching Delilah, but this is a part of me that’s dedicated to her. And only her.
After exiting the castle, I make my way to the garage. That’s an understatement, but simple words often are. The place is more than a garage; it’s a shrine to automotive excellence, guarded by the latest security tech. Around me, the air buzzes with the potential of each machine, their gleaming exteriors promising adrenaline and escape. It’s a clear reminder of the Order’s wealth and power.
I take a set of keys from a hook and climb into a Range Rover, tossing my bag onto the passenger’s seat. The interior’s scent is fresh and the leather clean, everything in order, unlike the chaos brewing within me. As I settle behind the wheel, I can’t stop my thoughts from drifting back to Delilah, to the look on her face when I kissed her goodbye.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she didn’t want me to leave. And not just to keep her safe.
I push that notion aside and pull the summons from my pocket. The paper is neatly folded, the black color representative of the crow I will become after the Trials.
Then the next step in my plan begins.
After unfolding the thick parchment, I smooth it out. The message is written in code, a series of symbols and numbers that would appear nonsensical to anyone not versed in our type of communication. It’s a language taught to recruits during the first three years of training, ingrained so deeply that by the time we receive our first summons, we can read it as easily as our native tongue.
This code is a safeguard against prying eyes. Our allies are few, but our enemies are many. It’s why we stick together.
As I reread the message, the reality of the task ahead crystalizes, making my objective clear. The Order has commanded me to act with secrecy and urgency, which is the standard. I know without a doubt that this mission is nothing more than my father trying to reestablish his dominion over me. Something he hasn’t had since he stabbed me and I returned the favor.
The coded words provide a location, a time, the name of the target, and my objective. But between the lines is a message all of its own. The threat to myself and Delilah if I choose to ignore the call. Or don’t complete the task to their specifications.
I twist the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life, breaking the silence around me. I drive out of the garage, through the iron gates, and onto the main road that leads to the highway. As the landscape blurs past my window, I find my thoughts consumed with Delilah instead of the mission at hand.
The long drive gives me too much time to think, to brood over the complexities that have arisen from a woman with green eyes and a mouth that could drive a saint to curse. Or groan with pleasure.
I knew the moment I met her that my obsession would only grow. And it has. I didn’t know that it’d consume me until the mere thought of losing her makes me want to fucking die.
Every time I touch her, a thrill shoots down my spine. Every kiss makes me fucking hard until my balls ache. I wait with anticipation for every word that comes out of her smart mouth. Rumor has it girls refer to me like a narcotic, but she’s my drug of choice. And I’m a junkie that’s fucking desperate for my next fix.
I rid Delilah from my mind before I pull over to the side of the road and fuck myself while fantasizing about her.
With my mind clear, I focus on the upcoming task, the type of job I know well. Unlike most recruits, the Order summoned me before my senior year. I’m not sure if this was my father’s doing or if the council saw potential in me. Either way, I’ve spent the last two years hunting men and taking their lives.
Before meeting Delilah, I would’ve been eager to carry out my assignment, to prove myself to the powerful organization. However, the prospect no longer excites me. I’m more motivated to prove myself to her—to gain her trust and the unwavering loyalty she’s capable of giving—than I am to kill another spider in my father’s twisted web. I’m entangled in his weapons trafficking empire more than those that answer to him. I suppose I do too, just not in the same way.
My father’s influence has loomed over me my entire life, dictating my actions and shaping my future. I live for the day when my choices aren’t tied to furthering his legacy of violence and power. Maybe that day will never come, but it won’t matter once he’s dead.
Daylight gives way to night. My surroundings shift from the monotony of the highway to the more varied scenery of rural backroads. The target’s location isn’t far, but that’s after nearly twelve hours on the road, going over the speed limit. My grip on the steering wheel is steady and my resolve firmly in place.
The sooner I get this shit over with, the sooner I can return to Delilah.
As I near the dirt road leading to the abandoned steel factory, the night deepens, enveloping me in a veil of darkness that mirrors the one within me. The headlights illuminate a narrow path, but I cut them off. I can’t afford to be spotted, or it’ll fuck this entire thing.
Slowing the vehicle to a crawl, I drive under the cover of night, my irritation growing. Patience has never come naturally to me, but I’ve learned its value, especially when dealing with high-stakes situations. It doesn’t get any more critical than life or death.
When I finally catch sight of the abandoned building, I turn off the road, using the trees to conceal my vehicle. The engine of the SUV dies down to a whisper, and I’m left in the quiet, contemplating my next move. Before me, the steel factory stands like a relic of a bygone era, its metal skeleton rusted and windows shattered, bathed in moonlight.
I take a moment to survey the area, searching for any signs of movement belonging to a guard on duty. Finding no one, I retrieve my bag and unzip it, revealing my choice of firearms. One thing’s for sure: being the heir to an arms trafficking empire lends itself to providing you the best shit when it comes to weapons.
The familiar shape and weight of my favored pistol keeps my hands steady. I insert the clip, and the routine check that follows is more muscle memory than conscious thought. After that I secure my holster and place the gun there. Then I reach for another firearm that’s similar in power and accuracy. A pair of knives are secured to my ankles, hidden in my boots, in case I have to engage in close combat.
Always prepare for shit to go wrong, and you won’t get caught with your dick out when it does.
My target is called “The Broker,” known for his ability to arrange massive arms deals. This man has been orchestrating one for months, but without my father’s knowledge or approval. It’s a clandestine operation on a monumental scale, involving the exchange of high-caliber weaponry, possibly including unmanned aerial vehicles. My father loves technology infused weapons, but only if they’re under his command. If not, they’re a threat that must be eliminated.
I’m sure he’s thought of me in such terms more than once.
The Broker has managed to bring together rogue states and terrorist organizations as key players in this deal, offering them access to military capabilities previously out of their reach. This deal is a bold move that signifies a shift in loyalty and power. In the underworld of arms trafficking, structure and control is everything. If this man thinks he can dictate the terms and bypass my father’s power, then it’ll weaken his position.
This Broker is either stupidly brilliant or brilliantly stupid to challenge my father.
With my weapons in place, I exit the vehicle and secure my mask. The target doesn’t need to know my identity, just the identity of the one who sent me.
I make my way through the shadows, seamlessly blending in. My footsteps are muffed against the overgrown grassy floor, while I strain to pick up any noises, all my senses heightened by adrenaline. I inch closer to the side entrance, and the low murmur of masculine voices reaches me, a confirmation that my intel is solid.
A quick glance through the broken window reveals a vast space, a cathedral of industry. Rust clings to furnaces and cobwebs trail along the chains and hooks dangling lifelessly from the high ceiling. The air is thick with a metallic tang. Piles of scrap metal litter the ground, alongside tools and pieces of equipment, and possibly hazardous materials.
I head inside through a busted door, plastering myself to the wall while staying within the shadows provided by the machinery. In a control room stand three men, their heads bent over a table. Maps and documents are scattered across the wooden surface. The Broker jabs his finger on the papers, his scarred face twisting with a scowl. The two other men are of little consequence in this mission, but the guns on their hips make them important to my self-preservation.
I watch them through the grimy window, biding my time and refining my strategy. Three versus one basically guarantees a favorable outcome. Only when the number surpasses seven do I start to be concerned.
“Everything’s in place,” the Broker says. “The shipment will arrive by the Eastern dock.”
One of his men, a broad-shouldered guy with a beard, nods. “Security’s tight. We’ve paid off the right people, but there’s always a risk. What about the locals?”
The Broker waves a hand in dismissal. “Handled. They won’t interfere. Our focus is the delivery. Once it’s secure, we distribute as planned. This deal is bigger than anything we’ve done. It’s going to change everything.”
The other man, lean and squinty-eyed, cocks his head. “And the payment? It’s supposed to be a fuckton. How do you know we can trust these buyers?”
“The money’s the least of our worries.” The Broker straightens, a confident smile tilting his mouth. “They’re desperate for what we’re offering. Desperation makes for good business.”
With the element of surprise on my side, I step into the open doorway, both pistols raised. “Don’t fucking move.” My voice is steady, the command in my tone easily discernible behind my mask. “Toss your guns on the floor and kick them out of reach.”
The Broker and his guards reach for their weapons. Two of them remove the guns from their holsters or pockets and place them on the ground. The thicker bodyguard flicks his gaze to me a second before lifting his gun.
My warning shot echoes in the small space and my ears ring. I shake my head to clear it, my gaze never leaving the trio. The man groans and clutches his stomach, a red stain spreading quickly. His pistol clatters to the ground.
“Next time I’m aiming for your balls,” I say. “Now, let’s have a quick chat.”
“Who the fuck are you?” The Broker asks.
“Someone in need of information. Give it to me and live.” The lie flows easily from me. “If you refuse, then…” I shrug. “You get the idea.”
The Broker studies me as though trying to see past my mask. “What do you want to know?”
“The location of the exchange.”
The man scoffs. “After all these fucking months, you think I’m just going to hand it all over to some fucking stranger? You must be out of your mind.”
I nod. “Sometimes, I think that’s true.”
I shoot the broad-shouldered man again and he crumples to the floor. The remaining pair curse and jump back.
“Ah, ah,” I say, clicking my tongue. “That wasn’t very helpful. Let’s try this again. What’s the fucking location and time? And who’s the rep?”
The Broker’s lips thin. “Go fuck yourself.”
“You know what? I almost did on the way here,” I say. “You can’t threaten me with a good time.”
I aim at the other guard and squeeze the trigger. His body shudders before he faceplants on the floor.
The Broker’s face turns bright red, the veins in his neck bulging. “You motherfucker,” he grits out. “I’m not telling you shit.”
“You say that now, but after I hook you up to those chains out there,” I say, jutting my chin at the hooks suspended from the ceiling, “you’ll talk. I’m pretty sure I saw a couple of tools out there. It’s amazing what you can do with vises, clamps, and a power tool. If you think cutting through metal is easy, then imagine how it’ll tear through human bone.”