Chapter 22
Emelia
I twist my long hair into a braid and tuck it into my helmet before climbing onto my bike and heading for home. The engine echoes in my ears as I tear down the road. The sun is just beginning to peak over the treetops when I skid to a stop in my driveway. I hang my helmet from the handlebars and head up the stairs.
Anubis greets me with a howling bark and nearly knocks me off my feet when he places his front paws on my shoulders to lick my face. “Silly beast,” I croon and scratch his ears. He whines softly and shakes his head. “Who’s the best guard dog around? You are!” I boop his snout and smirk when he snorts in my face.
My eyes catch movement in my bedroom, and I freeze. Surely the boys couldn’t have beaten me here. They were all still bleary-eyed and nursing coffee mugs when I left. I creep forward and dislodge the gun hidden under the long table behind my couch. My fingers close loosely along the trigger. My ears strain as I listen for any sounds, but I don’t hear anything.
Hector comes through my bedroom door with a steaming mug of coffee and a bagel hanging between his teeth. His eyes widen at the barrel pointed at his forehead and he nearly drops his coffee. “You gonna use that on me, Little Bird?” he asks after he regains his composure.
I glare over at Anubis and drop my hand to my side. “I retract my previous compliment. You are a terrible guard dog.” The dog cocks his head to the side and pants heavily. Apparently, his three brain cells are not all firing this morning. I turn my glare to Hector and my lips twist into a scowl. “Is that my last bagel?”
He presses his lips into a thin line as he chews slowly but says nothing. I raise the gun again and point the barrel at his leg. “If bullets weren’t so expensive right now, I would lodge one in your kneecap,” I quip.
He laughs and shoulders past me to drop onto the couch. The dog saunters up and lays at his feet, his tail thumping quietly on the floor. I don’t bother asking Hector what he’s doing in my house. I already know. Ever since he saw the video feed of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb stalking through my house, Hector has been here whenever I’m not. I don’t bother telling him that I’m usually with the Tweedles. He doesn’t need to know that.
“Long night?” he asks and nods to my attire. It’s the same outfit I was wearing the day before.
I tilt my chin up and refuse to let him catch me in my walk of shame. “Unexpected change of plans,” I respond and head for the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower. I have a meeting with Tobias and the Russians at nine.”
“Translation, I need to get the fuck out and make sure I’m there by eight?” he calls after me. I grind my teeth together in annoyance because I can hear the smirk in his voice.
“Damn straight,” I shout back over the rushing water as I step into the shower. I hear the door creak open, and I push my head around the curtain. “Anything else?” I ask him as he hovers in my doorway.
His eyes darken and he folds his tattooed arms across his chest. “Everything was quiet yesterday. There have been rumblings that the Italians blame us for Giordano’s death, and the Irish are unusually quiet.”
I duck back into the water and wash my hair. “Well the Italians aren’t wrong, but they brought that on themselves. I’ll make sure Tobias checks with Alexei to see what they’ve heard. You know the Russians love a good gossip story.”
“That they do,” Hector rumbles. He doesn’t say anything else, and I think he’s gone for a moment. I peek around the curtain again and he’s still rooted to his spot, eyes blazing at me.
I shift on my feet and swallow hard, my body growing too hot in the already steaming shower. I close the curtain again and press my forehead against the cold tile. “Grab me a coffee on your way in, would you?” I ask as I shut the water off and pull the towel from the rod.
Hector grunts and I hear the door click shut. I breathe out a sigh and dry my hair. My hands are already full with three grown assassins, I can’t add another macho man to the mix. I don’t have time, nor do I have the patience to deal with that fall out.
*****
I drum my fingers along the table and lean forward in the rolling chair, putting my face mere inches from the computer screen. Tobias is in our small conference room with Alexei and Maxim, the two Russian mafia brothers that are in charge of the northern neck of the city. We typically don’t butt heads, but we also purposefully don’t work together. The brothers are hell bent on marrying me, and I want no part of any of that. Even if they have the best Vodka.
Maxim’s deep accent comes across the comm device in my ear. “We have not heard that O’leary is making moves. It is suspicious that they have been so quiet of late.”
Alexei’s voice follows a moment later, a duplicate of his brother’s. “We have little need for the Irish and their guns.” I narrow my eyes at the screen and watch as both Russians lean forward and balance their forearms on their knees. “We are in need of a service,” he says slowly. “It needs to be done quickly and efficiently. Do you have men capable of this?”
“I may,” Tobias says in a clipped tone. “But I need more details than that.”
Maxim scoffs. “We have someone snooping around and it needs to be dealt with, but we don’t want them to see us coming.”
I press the talk button so that my voice filters into Tobias’s ears. “They have a leak on the inside. They want someone to remove the target, but they can’t trust their own people because they don’t know who the rat is yet. My guess is this is a ploy to draw them out.”
Tobias nods slowly, and I watch him stare down the two men. “I would suggest planting certain details in different departments while I organize my men. Once the job is done, you should know where the problem lies.”
They nod slowly and their faces stretch into slow grins. Tobias hands them a pen and Alexei writes down the information for the hit. “You impress us with your astuteness,” Alexei says as they shake hands.
Tobias smirks and his eyes cut to one of the hidden cameras in the corner. “It’s my job.” His deep voice rumbles as he ushers them down the hall.
A moment later, he emerges into the security office and drops the notebook onto the table in front of me along with a piece of paper with details on the intended target. “They have multiple rats,” I muse quietly. “Mine are harmless and are only there for intel if needed, but there are others that are beginning to cause a ruckus for them.” I spin the notebook around and read over the looping script. “I’ll handle this. Thank you, Tobias.”
He nods his head and turns to leave but hesitates in the doorway. “Would you please consider taking backup this time? You make me nervous, and it doesn’t sit well with me that the other groups have been so silent.”
I sigh and remove the communication device from my head. “I will consider it,” I say to appease him. I most certainly will not be taking anyone anywhere with me. This is my play time, and the last thing that I need is some trigger-happy bozo taking my shots. He nods again and heads down the hallway. I turn in the opposite direction, heading to the armory to pick out which shiny toys I’m going to play with today.
My fists clench and unclench as I walk through the rows of weapons. I pick up two identical pistols and slip them into my thigh holsters. Then I pull out a wicked looking hunting knife and tuck it into a holster across my back. Another small gun is tucked into my pant leg and secured around my left ankle, followed by another blade that is secured around my left wrist and hidden under my sleeve.
I complete my ensemble with a black kevlar jacket and a custom helmet with a bulletproof coating. I tuck the paper that I had torn from the notepad into my pocket and head for my bike, prepped for battle.
A short ride later, I find myself at the docks. A large cargo ship is stationed at the end and there are two large cranes loading shipping containers onto the boat. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of salt water and rotten fish. I hate going to the docks. They smell fucking terrible.
My eyes scan the area until I catch sight of the man that I am looking for stalking through the stacks of crates with a smoldering cigar between his lips. The black cap he wears is positioned low on his forehead, but I recognize the snake immediately. I watch as he disappears into the building. There aren’t a lot of people milling about today, so I crouch low and twist around the crates, following him into the building. I stick close to the wall, hiding in the shadows of the early evening light.
It’s where I hunt best. I twist the silencer into place and smile slightly. Stories tell you to be afraid of the boogeyman lurking in the dark under your bed, but they never warn you about the silent beauty creeping along the walls, waiting to pounce and drive the soul from your bleeding body.
I stalk forward silently until I’m outside a small office room. Voices float out into the hallway, and I don’t recognize any of them. I lean around the doorframe until I can see into the room. It’s dimly lit and full of smoke, but I can see two men lounging on a small sofa with cracks peeling up the leather. The target is leaning against the table in front of them. His back is to me.
What a perfect set-up. My face splits into a wicked grin, and I step forward into the light with my gun raised. The two on the sofa see me and attempt to jump to their feet, but I fire off two rapid shots, one right after the other. They slump back against the cushions with blood trailing down between their eyes.
My target spins rapidly and the cigar falls from his lips. “The fuck is this?” he shouts, with a thick northern accent. He reaches for the table, most likely for the gun strapped to the bottom.
“I wouldn’t,” I say coldly, and he freezes. I jerk my gun at him, and he puts his hands up. I take a step closer and cock my head to the side, evaluating him. “You don’t look much like a rat,” I muse, toying with my prey like a cat would a mouse.
“I ain’t no fucking rat,” he spits out, his face turning red with anger. His eyes dart back and forth across the room, searching for an escape, and then he focuses on something over my shoulder. He spits at my feet.
I don’t flinch. I don’t move a muscle. “The Russians send their regards,” I state with an icy tone and pull the trigger. Once. Twice. Thrice. Three red circles appear on the chest of his off white shirt and begin to spread. I watch with a sick satisfaction as he drops to his knees and collapses face first onto the concrete. My eyes follow the crimson pool as it grows beneath him, and I can’t help but let out a deep sigh.
Murder is the best way to release my pent-up tension and anxiety, I don’t care what my therapists say.
As I remove my silencer and tuck the weapon back into the holster, something slams into my back between my shoulder blades. The breath is forced from my lungs, and I lurch forward, catching myself on the table to prevent myself from hitting the ground. I like watching the blood pool, but I do not want to roll around in it.
I stand and turn slowly, wincing at the sharp pain in my left shoulder. My fingers reach back, and I feel a hole in my jacket where a knife tried to penetrate it. My eyes narrow at the four men towering in the doorway. “Which one of you put a hole in my jacket?’ I ask dangerously. “Because I’m going to put a hole in your face first.”
I am beyond pissed because this is my favorite jacket. Not to mention that this is a four-on-one and I am not here for these odds. I’d be better off in a low-level district forced to fight for my life. There is a small part of me that regrets not listening to Tobias, but what can you do? I square my shoulders and ball my hands into fists. “Well?” I ask after a moment of silence. “If no one fesses up I’m just going to put a hole in everyone.” I pause. “No?” Jokes on them because I’m going to put a hole in all of them anyway.
They grin at each other before they all lunge at one time. I manage to duck and twist away from the two that reach me first. I pull my knife from my wrist sheath and slash out in a horizontal line. I hear a cry and know that I connect with flesh somewhere. The third man grabs my wrist, but I spin and knee him in the balls with the boot. Steel-toe, still my number one go-to.
“Oi, Bitch!” he shouts and lets go and drops to his knees, but I can’t celebrate the victory because my upper arms are seized by two pairs of hands, and I’m lifted up until even my toes aren’t on the ground.
I kick my feet for a second before I settle. The hands around my arms squeeze hard. At least with my helmet still on I know they won’t damage the money maker in order to knock me out. I hate it when they do that. “Let’s see who we can draw out with this feisty little cunt,” a thick accent says in my ears.
I feel a pinch at the back of my neck, the only skin visible between my jacket and helmet. “Oh fuck,” I curse and thrash hard, trying to dislodge the needle, but it doesn’t move and a second later my skin burns from the injection. Fucking shit balls. This was not part of my half thought out plan.
They drop me to the ground, and I land with a hard thud, my muscles are already locked up and numb from the sedative. My vision swims in and out as I roll onto my back and look up at the three men looking down at me. To my dulled satisfaction, the fourth one is lying glassy-eyed on the ground beside me, blood still oozing from the gaping gut wound that I gave him in the melee.
“Come on, lass, up you go.” Strong hands lift my limp body and carry me out of the building and into the back of a black SUV. “Call them,” the voice orders. “We’re done here. We have what we need.”
My eyes burn as I fight to keep them open, but it’s a losing battle. Darkness creeps in, along with a feeling of warmth and numbness. I clench my jaw so tightly that I feel a crack in the back of my mouth. My brain starts to turn off, but not before I get one more scathing comment out.
“I fucking hate an Irish accent,” I spit before the world goes black.