9. Hayden
9
HAYDEN
“ Y ou’re reading into this too much,” I mutter and dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to dislodge the sleep still clinging to my consciousness. My hands drop to the table and I wrap them around my mug of coffee, letting the hot porcelain burn into my skin.
Declan growls and continues pacing around the kitchen with a scowl on his face.
“Did you just fucking growl at me?” I ask, and arch a brow at him. He ignores me, of course, too wrapped up in his own mind.
“Am I, though?” he finally asks, and comes to a stop in front of the counter. He braces his hands on the edge and leans forward with his head cocked slightly to the side. His eyes are distant, like he’s lost in some memory.
My chest aches at how much he looks like his brother at this moment. An image of Silas standing in almost that exact spot and teasing me with a banana floats to the surface of my mind. I inhale sharply and look down at my coffee mug, studying the small chip on the rim. “I think it’s a coincidence,” I whisper without looking up.
Declan’s phone rings, breaking the tense silence between the two of us. He walks out of the room to take the call, but I can still hear his voice as it carries down the hallway. I can’t quite make out the words though. I lean back in my chair and take a long sip of my coffee, letting it burn my throat on the way down.
“Do you even have any taste buds left?”
I almost jump at the sound of her light voice, but I don’t, because I’m a trained assassin. How the fuck does she always sneak up on us? I level her with a bland look and take another sip of the steaming liquid without a flinch. “I don’t,” I respond with a smirk.
She leans across the counter and looks down into my mug with a sneer. “No wonder you can drink that. Black coffee is the worst.”
“Not everyone likes drinking creamer with a splash of coffee, Angel.” I watch her as she rummages around for her own mug and pours herself some coffee. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I was just heading out to work and thought I would stop by. I haven’t seen you two in a few days.” She shrugs nonchalantly and takes a sip of her much sweeter creamer/coffee mixture.
“Do you miss us?” I tease and a smile stretches across my face as a blush stains her cheeks. She doesn’t speak so I continue. “Hasn’t your sweet Hector been keeping you busy?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she snaps but her blush deepens.
So the fucker did finally grow a pair and make a move. I was beginning to think he was nothing but a masochist, settling for torturing himself for the rest of his life.
“Oh, we would both love to know, Sweetheart,” Declan says, and emerges from the hallway. His mouth is pressed into a hard line but his eyes spark with desire. “But we have to get going. Work never ends.”
I glare at him from across the island and down the rest of my coffee. Declan goes from being the best wingman to the worst fucking cockblock in about two-point-five seconds. Emelia places her hand on my forearm and squeezes. “Try not to murder him this morning.”
“No promises,” I grumble and follow Declan into the garage. I watch as Emelia slides her helmet over her head and kicks her bike into gear. Good God, she is so fucking hot on that bike. “Do we really need to go right this second? I can make it quick,” I call over to Declan, who is also mounting his bike with his helmet on.
His visor is up so I can see the eyeroll he gives me. “No. We’re leaving now.”
Emelia’s engine echoes through the garage as she spins her tires and disappears in a blur of black. I stare after her long after she’s gone. “I fucking hate you, Dec.”
“Whatever, man. Let’s go.” He surges forward on his bike, cutting a path down the driveway and onto the main road.
I connect my bluetooth and kick my bike into gear. The machine rumbles between my thighs as I hit the gas. My front tire comes off the concrete as I shoot forward and follow Declan. “Where the hell are we going so early?” I ask when I catch up to him.
He slows slightly so that we’re cruising side by side. His visor is still open so I can see the wicked glint in his eyes when he looks over at me. “To an execution.” He flips his visor down and rockets forward. The roar of his engine is deafening.
“Fuck yes! My favorite.” I grin and flip my own visor down and hit the gas, sending my front tire into another wheelie as I speed to catch up to him.
We park the bikes in a nearby alleyway and use the fire escape to climb to the roof of a tall brick building. The sun is scorching on the back of my neck as I survey the rooftop. “Why’s it so fucking hot in October?” I mutter and shrug out of my riding jacket.
“Global warming,” Declan quips and crouches down behind the waist-high ledge. He scans the building next to us for a long moment. “There,” he says and points to the eighth-floor windows. He tosses a bag at me as I walk toward him. “Get set up while I plan this out.”
“Plan what out?” I ask and unzip the bag. My heart stutters when I see my favorite sniper rifle nestled safely in a foam insert. My eyes cut to Declan for an answer, but he’s silent as he paces back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back.
The man with the plan.
He never does a thing without a fucking plan.
Meanwhile, I just show up, pull the trigger, and drive away into the sunset like a happy little harbinger of death. Who really needs a plan anyway?
“I got intel that our Irish friends were taking a meeting here,” he says and pulls out his cell phone. His fingers move across the screen effortlessly as he types away. “Twelfth floor, east conference room.”
I scowl and lean to the left so that I can look around his large frame. Twelfth floor, eighth floor. Same difference. “Perfect,” I mutter and click the pieces of my rifle into place. “They owe me some souls.” I made a list the night Silas died and Emelia nearly bled out on our sofa. For every scar they gave her, I plan on taking a life. Not to mention the debt they owe me for Silas. That’s at least five men, if not all of them.
Declan nods in agreement and crouches down behind the wall again. “Meeting’s in five minutes. Are you ready?” His eyes flick to the rifle in my hands and then up to my face.
I set my jaw and drop into position. “Let’s do some reaping.”
He rolls his eyes and snorts. “You have really taken this Hades thing too seriously,” he mumbles and slides to the left so I have more room.
“Shut up and let me concentrate on my breathing,” I snap back and close my eyes as I inhale deeply.
“You better not fucking miss,” he grumbles just as I exhale my breath.
“Go stand over there! You’re distracting me!” I point to the other corner of the roof and glare at him.
Declan holds up his hands but relents. He stands and moves away. Probably to avoid having his eardrums ruptured by the gunfire, and not because I asked him so nicely. I drop my chin into the holder and press my eye into the scope, moving my sight and shifting my weight until the crosshairs are positioned on the back of the desk chair. I take another deep breath and settle myself, relaxing my muscles into the hard concrete. My finger traces over the trigger, ready to pull.
After a few moments, the door to the office opens, and three very pale, red-haired men walk in with serious expressions marring their faces. I shift my shoulders as they take their places around the room. Mr. O’leary enters with an olive-skinned man hot on his heels. The Irishman is waving his hand around while they talk.
I focus on the other men filing into the room and my entire body tenses. Hector moves into the crosshairs as Tobias Emerson moves to the left. Then another smaller man walks into the room. His face is hidden under a blacked-out motorcycle helmet. “What the actual fuck?” I hiss through clenched teeth and remove my eye from the scope to glare at Declan.
“What is it?” he asks and moves to crouch back down beside me. Fucking dick knew this was going to be the case. He never tells me anything.
“Did they tell you who our Irish friends were meeting with?”
“No, they didn’t have that information. Just the time and the place,” he responds warily. “Why?”
“Tobias fucking Emerson is in that room,” I say slowly, and clench my jaw so hard my teeth hurt. I’m going to be so pissed if I don’t get to pull this trigger today.
“You’re joking,” he deadpans and rummages around in the equipment bag until he finds a pair of binoculars. “Damn it! You’re not joking.”
“I can still make the shot,” I say. My stomach churns with the desperation to end a life. It’s been too long already and my demons are clawing at my skin, trying to break free.
“If you hit Hector you’re a dead man, you know that right? She’ll kill you flat out.”
“I’m not going to hit Hector,” I mumble dejectedly. “And I won’t hit Emerson either.”
“Fine. But make it quick,” he snaps and shuffles back to his corner on the other side of the roof.
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs until they can’t expand any further, and then release it slowly. My left eye closes as I reposition my right eye into the scope and make the adjustments. I shift until the Irish scum is directly in the middle of my crosshairs. My finger traces the curve of the trigger, itching to pull back but I wait.
Hector and the other man stand with their backs against the wall on either side of the door, while the three Irishman flank the desk, two on the right and one on the left. Mr. O’leary sits down in the desk chair and Emerson sinks into the seat on the opposite side of the desk. They both lean forward and begin a serious discussion based on the looks on their faces.
I move again to position my crosshairs over my target, but the slightly tilted angle causes the sun to hit the metallic finish of my rifle. The glare flashes as I reposition and mutter a string of curses.
“You caught the attention of the biker and Hector. They’re on alert now and still scanning the rooftops. Stay down,” Declan instructs as he views the scene from his binoculars. “Wait.”
I drop my finger from the trigger and grind my teeth again. My anger starts to boil to the surface and my skin grows hot and itchy with rage. I watch through the scope as the biker types away on a cell phone and Hector scans the rooftops again. His eyes trace over my position and even though I know he can’t see me, my skin crawls with the awareness that he knows I’m out here. “Declan,” I warn quietly.
He stands in silence for what feels like an eternity before he whispers, “Good to go.”
Thank fuck.
My finger dances over the trigger again as I situate my sight on my target, but that damn sunbeam hits me again, right in the face. I blink rapidly at the sudden white blindness and bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper. The pain helps me focus as I pull the trigger. A loud crack fills the air and I can’t help but feel like it’s the most satisfying sound.
Then everything happens at once. It’s like I’m watching both in real time and slow motion. The biker and Hector jump to shove the two business men to the ground and the three Irishmen turn with guns raised. They must have seen the glare again before I fired.
The bullet goes wide and misses the intended target, but it does lodge into the Irishman on the right’s chest. I watch through the scope as a spray of red hits the glass window and he drops to his knees clutching his chest. The other two rush over, but there’s no saving him from the hole I just blew through his ribcage. RIP, motherfucker.
“Well,” Declan says slowly. “At least you hit an Irishman.”
“Shut up, man, the sun was in my eyes,” I complain as I disassemble the rifle.
“Right. I think the god of death is losing his touch. Did you forget how to reap souls while you were getting all that pussy?” His snark is enough to make my already heated skin catch fire.
Just to prove him wrong, I reset the rifle. I reload the chamber and the bullet settles in with a satisfying clink. Then I take aim through the scope and fire off two consecutive shots back to back. The echo reverberates off the brick walls around us and I can almost feel my eardrums vibrating from the soundwave. The two remaining Irish bodyguards drop to the floor in a heap.
“Show off,” Declan chuckles and makes his way to the fire escape.
I briefly contemplate using the last bullet on him as I watch him disappear down the ladder. The zipper pulls across the track, closing the bag, and I take one final look over my shoulder at the chaos we’re leaving behind. For the moment, my monster is appeased, but I know it won’t last for long.
The game is just getting started.