13
Jack was bleeding from where the bullet had grazed his cheekbone on the way to its final resting place somewhere in the backseat. He’d slammed on the brakes and jammed the car out of gear and slid his body down and out of the line of fire like it was a reflex from years of training and dozens of missions. Without needing to think, Jack knew it was Diego Vargas, was already cursing himself for being caught off-guard twice in one fucking day even though it would have been impossible to see anyone hiding on the side of a dark road in what was rapidly turning into a snowstorm.
The Honda screeched to a halt in the middle of the road, which was now empty because the other car—a black Mercedes Benz—was nose-first in the ditch. The idiot driver had been on the wrong side of the yellow line, distracting Jack even more than the damn snowstorm.
A woman’s scream came from the other car, and Jack thought he heard her saying the name Bobby over and over again. It didn’t compute immediately for Jack, and even when it did occur to him that shit, was it Bobby fucking Carmine driving that car, Jack couldn’t do a damn thing about it until he took care of the immediate threat.
Jack hadn’t carried his Sig Sauer 9mm handgun with him the first time around, just in case the Carmine security guys searched the glove box. But they’d only patted him down and checked the trunk, and so on this second trip Jack had grabbed his weapon from where he’d locked it in the hotel room closet-safe.
Now crouching almost down to the floormats of Jill’s cramped little car, Jack drew his weapon and waited, listening intently for any sign that Diego was closing in to either confirm or finish the kill. It’s what any Special Forces man would do, and Diego had been one of them in the early days, was trained to think like a Delta or SEAL, had almost certainly taken more lives than all the Darkwater men put together.
But Diego didn’t come, and through the blustery wind Jack heard why.
Cars were approaching from the Carmine Mansion, which was barely a mile away. The gate-guards might have heard the gunshots, would certainly have seen the Mercedes careening off the road—especially if they’d been watching it because it was Bobby Carmine driving. Maybe it was enough to spook Diego or make him hesitate, and Jack took a chance and popped his head up, weapon aimed in the direction where Diego had been hidden.
The snow was falling thick like a billowing white curtain now, and Jack brushed glass off his clothes and pushed open the door, weapon still held steady in front of him, finger on the trigger. Within moments he was at the side of the road, quickly locating Diego’s tracks leading into the line of dark trees that ran along each side of the road.
Immediately Jack snapped into hunter-mode, began following the tracks with measured urgency. In this kind of snow the tracks would disappear within minutes, and Jack figured Diego had a truck hidden somewhere past the trees, perhaps on a back-road.
You can’t let him get away again, Jack told himself fiercely as his bullet-grazed cheekbone burned from the cold wetness of the blowing snow. You have one damn job to do, and that’s to take Diego Vargas down, dead or alive. You got sloppy at the gas station and a civilian got killed. Now you’ve been caught with your pants down again.
Sure, this ambush wasn’t you being sloppy but just Diego picking his spot and then you getting hit with some bad luck. No snow all December but the weather decides to fuck you with a snowstorm right now. And if the snow wasn’t enough to distract you from seeing Diego, you add Bobby Carmine driving on the wrong side of the road.
Why the hell was Bobby Carmine driving anywhere, Jack wondered as he got closer to the dark trees and stayed low, just in case Diego was holed up in there ready to snipe him with that handgun which sounded like a Glock 17 without the silencer. Diego must have taken off the silencer because it slowed down the bullet, made the shot less accurate from a distance.
But why the hell was Diego Vargas lying in wait for me on the side of the road like he knew this car would be coming along soon, knew I would be in it?
That last question was easy enough to answer. Obviously, Romeo Carmine and Kay Steffen and Diego had connected all the dots sooner than Jack expected.
Well, at least Jack now knew what would happen once they connected the dots.
It was nice to be wanted.
Even if you were wanted dead.
Jack crouched low in the snow, going down on one knee, keeping his body behind a snow-blanketed boulder while scanning the scanty bit of forest segment-by-segment, making sure his gun and his gaze moved in lockstep, his finger half-squeezing the trigger.
No movement.
No sound.
Diego was in there, waiting to draw Jack closer. Diego’s first shot from the trees would give away his location, and so the guy wanted to be damn sure of that first shot before taking it.
Or maybe Diego’s waiting to see if Carmine’s thugs will see me with a gun and just take me out themselves, Jack thought as he completed his scan of the front line of trees and prepared to move closer. Behind him Carmine’s guards were pulling up in two black Range Rovers, and that woman who’d been screaming was now wailing, calling Bobby’s name over and over again like a stuck record.
Then suddenly Jack heard a different woman’s voice.
And it was calling a different man’s name.
“Jack!” came Jill’s panicked voice from that crashed black Mercedes. “Jack!”
Jack froze mid-crouch, his body only half shielded by the boulder he’d been using for cover. Immediately he felt the exposure, realized he’d lost focus again. The realization came a snap-second before Diego’s gun roared from the dark tree-cover, and Jack cursed himself as he got his body back behind the boulder just in time. Diego’s bullet slammed into the snow-covered rock, sending splinters of stone up in the air.
Jack stayed down, resisting the temptation to return fire. Diego wouldn’t be in the same spot from where he’d fired, and Jack’s gun would only draw the attention of Carmine’s thugs, who may or may not be aware of this ambush, which felt more improvised than planned.
Now Jack’s mind flicked back to the chilling realization that Jill had been in the car with Bobby and Nina! Yeah, she was alive and her voice sounded strong, if panicked. She hadn’t been hit by a stray bullet or hurt badly in the crash, but if Jack had been exposed as a Darkwater man hunting Diego and possibly Romeo Carmine and Kay Steffen, what did that make Jill?
An accomplice to be put down?
A hostage to be held?
A threat to be silenced?
Romeo Carmine might certainly think so.
“Shit,” Jack growled under his breath when he heard Jill’s voice again, this time low and hushed, like she was trying to comfort Nina. “Damn it.”
He needed to go to Jill. She was in danger and she didn’t even know it. If Romeo Carmine had told Diego to kill Jack, then Jill was not safe going back to that mansion. Within seconds these guards would get the order to bring Jill back with them. And if Bobby Carmine was dead, this whole thing was going to get real bad, real fucking fast.
Jack leaned back against the boulder as the snow gathered on his shoulders. He glanced at Jill’s red Honda stopped haphazardly in the middle of the road. The driver’s-side window was shattered and the windscreen was badly webbed from Diego’s bullets, but the engine-block hadn’t been hit and the car would run just fine.
Behind him Jack could hear movement in the dark trees. Diego was getting away. Within seconds he’d be through to the clearing on the other side of the narrow tree-line. He almost certainly had a truck parked there.
Jack could catch up with him if he moved now. Once Jack got to the woods, the trees which had given Diego cover would also protect Jack.
And a Delta man like Jack was at home amongst the dark trees. This was a match-up made in heaven, Jack thought as that addictively familiar thrill of battle rippled through the coils of rigid muscle lining his hard body.
But Jack didn’t move. He couldn’t move. He stayed in place, stuck in limbo, like suddenly he wasn’t sure what the mission was anymore, wasn’t even sure what he was anymore.
You’re hers, came the whisper from somewhere in his body. That’s what you are. You’re hers.
Her guardian.
Her protector.
Her man.
The thoughts roared through his head like thunder, and Jack almost shouted out loud to clear his swirling mind. But the only thing clear was that Jill was in danger, and she’d be in even more danger if Jack went into those woods and killed Diego.
Because by then Jill would already be gone, taken back to the mansion along with the dead Bobby and the hysterical Nina. Right now Jack had a small window of opportunity to get Jill and get away. The Range Rovers with Carmine’s guards had already pulled up, but the guys were occupied with trying to get Bobby’s body out of the Mercedes while calling back to the mansion for more help. It wasn’t clear if word had gotten to Romeo Carmine yet, but that was seconds away at best.
Which meant Jack had mere seconds to make his choice.
Choose his mission.
“It’s not a choice, Jack,” came the voice from somewhere near his hammering heart.
Jack frowned, wondering if maybe that bullet had messed up more than just his cheekbone. Because why was his heart speaking out loud? Also, why did his heart sound like John fucking Benson?
“Sonofabitch,” Jack growled when he realized Benson’s voice was coming from the phone in his jacket’s inner-pocket near his chest. “Diego’s gone, Benson. I need to get Jill out of here before Romeo’s guards get orders to bring her back to the mansion or maybe just put a fucking bullet in her head.”
“Negative,” came Benson’s voice through the phone’s loudspeaker. “Your mission is Diego, not the woman. You were ordered to use her and then lose her, Jack. Well, it’s time to lose her. There’s no choice here, kid. There’s more at stake than one woman. Go get Diego. Do it now, damn it. That’s a fucking order, Soldier.”
Jack stared at the snow-covered ground in front of him. The entire world looked surreal now, the snowfall settling to gentle flurries that swirled around him like bits of cloud. Jack was no stranger to orders, understood damn well that sometimes you had to make hard choices in battle, decide between two bad outcomes, sacrifice something precious because the stakes were just too damn high. Every warrior knows you can’t save everyone, you have to be able to rise up and see the bigger picture, the greater good, the larger canvas.
So Jack rose up.
He rose from behind the boulder, weapon still drawn, body half-turned so he could see the dark trees to his left and the road to his right. The snowstorm had settled but the storm inside Jack raged wild. He stood there like he was between worlds, like this choice was the fulcrum on which his entire life would turn. The disciplined soldier in Jack knew damn well that Benson was right. And just a day ago Jack would have listened to that voice of discipline, heeded the call of duty.
But not today.
Not when a deeper kind of duty called to Jack.
The kind of duty that felt ancient and primitive, old and eternal, undeniable and inescapable.
The duty a man has to his woman.
Fuck it, Jack thought as his body sprung into motion. Benson was saying something, but Jack didn’t give a damn. He was taking orders from a higher power now.
His heart.
“Jill! Hey, Jill.” He spoke in a rasping whisper as he crouched behind the red Honda, then dropped flat on the snow-packed road, peering beneath Jill’s car towards the black Mercedes. “Here, Jill. Come on.”
Jack’s heart lurched when he saw streaks of blood on Jill’s face. But she was clambering out of the backseat and her eyes were wide and alert. A quick glance at the mess that was once Bobby Carmine’s head told Jack that the blood was his, not hers.
The guards were wholly occupied with Bobby’s body, and Nina was still hysterical, wailing one moment, sobbing the next, then screaming and wailing again. It was absolute chaos, with one of the guards shouting something into his phone, another trying to hold Nina back from where Bobby was still wrapped up in a tangled mess of seatbelts and airbags. The downward pointing angle of the Mercedes was making it hard for Romeo’s thugs to get Bobby out, and Jack realized that shit, they might not have seen yet that Bobby had been shot, might simply assume he’d been killed in the crash.
Which meant none of the guards was on alert for a shooter.
Not yet, at least.
That would change in about two seconds flat when they realized the hole in Bobby’s head was an exit-wound.
“Jill, over here! Hurry!” Jack hissed urgently from beneath the Honda. “Get into the damn car, Jill. Right fucking now.”
“Jack? Are you all right?” Jill was looking around wildly, clearly shaken up but alert because of the adrenaline. She absentmindedly wiped Bobby’s sticky blood off the side of her face. “Where . . . where are you?”
“Where are you going, you bitch!” came Nina’s scream from behind Jill now. “You killed him! You did this!”
“What? No!” Jill turned to Nina just in time to dodge a wildly swinging fist. Thankfully the guard trying to control Nina managed to grab her around the waist as Nina screamed and howled and then broke down into sobs again, slumping across the guard’s arm as he dragged her to one of the waiting Range Rovers.
The distraction was just enough for Jack to crawl into the Honda’s still-open driver’s-side door. He stayed low, reaching across and pushing open the passenger door and calling for Jill to get in.
This time she understood, her eyes going wide again, making her look beautifully deranged with her snow-dusted hair and blood-crusted face and bare shoulders because she’d lost that red shawl. Within moments she’d gotten in beside him and closed the door silently.
Jack started the engine, then reversed the Honda away from the scene, going slow in the hope that maybe the guards wouldn’t notice the car was moving until it was too late.
“Hey, what the fuck?” shouted one of the guards who was still trying to get Bobby’s body out of the Mercedes. He glanced over his shoulder as Jack turned the car around and slammed his foot on the gas, the tires spinning uselessly through the snow for one excruciatingly long moment before catching and propelling the little red Honda hatchback forward. “Stop them!”
“Shit.” Jack flicked his gaze up at the rearview mirror, cursing again when he saw one of the black Range Rovers spring into motion like a panther in pursuit. “Seatbelt, Jill. Now, please.”
Jack glanced over at Jill beside him, his gaze doing a lightning-quick scan of her body to check for any visible signs of damage. He could already tell nothing was broken or dislocated. But there was a big bruise forming on her bare upper arm, and there could easily be more bruises beneath her clothes that might indicate more serious injuries, perhaps even internal bleeding.
“You all right?” he said when Jill managed to snap her seatbelt into place. “Jill, look at me. Are you all right?” Jack’s voice was urgent but gentle even as the wintry wind screamed through the shattered window and the Honda’s little engine roared like a tiger-cub pretending to be big and fierce as it ran from the beastly Range Rover that was already eating up the road between them, closing in fast. “We’ll get you to a hospital, but I need to get rid of these guys first.”
“What . . . what happened?” Jill stammered out the words, her lips trembling. She absentmindedly wiped the side of her blood-spattered face. The snow had mixed with Bobby’s blood to create a dark-red sludge. “Ohmygod, this is so gross. I need to get this off me.”
“Hey, stay in your seat, damn it!” Jack shouted as Jill tried to turn towards the backseat, where there was a box of tissues somewhere. “Jill, do what I say. We’ll get you safe first and clean you up later.” He cast another look at the rearview mirror. The Range Rover was right on their ass, almost kissing their bumper, headlamps flashing urgently like it was ordering them to stop. “Keep your head down, Jill. As low as you can go while keeping your seatbelt on. Like the airplane-crash position, leaning forward as far as you can go. That’s it. Perfect.”
Perfect was right, because the back window shattered an instant later, a bullet slamming into the dashboard right between the front seats. Jack swerved left, then moved right, zigzagging his way across the empty two-lane road to make it hard to get a clear shot.
But it was a bad sign that Romeo’s guys were shooting, Jack thought. It meant Romeo had given Diego the order to take Jack out, and now he’d asked his guys to finish the job. Jack was a masterful driver, but there was no getting around the mismatch between the two vehicles. Swerving left and right to prevent the Range Rover from pulling up alongside would buy Jack some time, but he was a long way from a highway or any major road with enough traffic that Romeo’s thugs would have to back off or else risk some passing car calling the cops.
“Should I call 911?” Jill asked, her voice muffled because her head was down near her knees. “Oh, shit, I can’t! Kay Steffen stole my bag and my phone.”
“Wait, what?” Jack frowned, keeping his eyes flicking between the road—which he could barely see through the splintered windshield—and the rearview mirror. “Why were you even talking to Kay Steffen, Jill?”
Jill didn’t answer and Jack didn’t bother to ask again. He slid his hand into his jacket pocket, felt for his phone, then reconsidered when he realized that calling 911 would create more problems than it might solve. Benson would already be pissed at Jack for disobeying the order to go after Diego. Bringing in local law enforcement would drive the old CIA veteran completely livid. Besides, Jack didn’t want to risk a cop getting killed in the crossfire. Finally, there was always the outside chance that the local police were in Romeo Carmine’s pocket.
Now Jack heard Benson’s voice come from his pocket, and suddenly he realized that shit, Benson would have been listening all along, would have some idea of what was going on. And with Paige tracking Jack’s Darkwater phone via GPS, they would know exactly where he was right now, would even know how fast he was moving.
Through the howling wind that was going in and out as Jack swerved all over the road, both hands tight on the wheel to make sure the outmatched Honda didn’t spin off the snowy asphalt, Jack couldn’t make out what the hell Benson was saying and didn’t dare break his concentration to pull out his phone so he could hear better. But his mind was already spinning through the possibilities of what Benson and the Darkwater team might be planning, and it didn’t take long to guess what was about to happen.
Hogan.
Hogan had just dropped off that package of surveillance equipment at the Winchester Hotel, hadn’t he?
Which meant Hogan would still be in the area.
Now Jack grinned when he saw a dark intersection coming up ahead. Two isolated suburban county roads were about to cross, and Jack’s sharp eyes could already make out Hogan’s Darkwater-outfitted black Jeep Liberty racing along the adjacent road that crossed up ahead. Hogan’s black Jeep was moving fast, almost invisible with its headlights off, the former Recon Marine pacing the powerful vehicle to time it just right.
“Hold on, Jill,” Jack barked, glancing at the Range Rover behind him, then tightening his jaw and tightening his grip on the wheel and pressing the gas pedal all the way to the metal floor. “Here it comes.”
“I am holding on!” Jill gasped breathlessly from where she was holding her knees and keeping her head out of the line of fire. “And here what comes?”
“Here Hogan comes.” Jack grinned again as their Honda sped past the dark intersection and he caught a flashing glimpse of Hogan’s Jeep Liberty looking like a dark ghost with its lights off, the custom-fitted battering-ram-cage protecting the front grill stretching like the wicked grin of an approaching dragon.
Hogan’s timing was perfect, and just after Jack’s Honda zipped past the intersection, Hogan’s Darkwater Jeep got there and rammed the Carmine Range Rover squarely in the side, smashing its battering-ram grill right above the Range Rover’s rear wheel, exactly where you’re supposed to ram a car for maximum damage.
The tremendous force of impact briefly lifted all four wheels of the heavy Range Rover off the road, the car seeming to float for an instant before violently rolling over sideways onto its roof and doing two more flips and a cartwheel before coming to a stop upside down.
“Ohmygod!” Jill shrieked, sitting up straight and looking around with bewilderment. Behind them Hogan had regained control of his Jeep and was following them, and now he turned on his headlamps, keeping them dipped so it wouldn’t blind Jack. “Now someone else is following us?”
“Relax,” said Jack, slowing the Honda down and then pulling over onto the snow-blown shoulder. “It’s Hogan. You’re safe now, Jill.”
Jill stared at him like he was speaking Swahili. Hogan had pulled to a stop behind them, his engine still running, headlamps still on. The beams of light lit up Jill’s face, and Jack saw immediately that the adrenaline was wearing off and the shock was going to set in soon.
“We need to get you warm,” Jack said urgently, pushing open his door and getting out. Hogan was already on the road, facing away from Jack, scanning the scene behind them, his weapon drawn to provide cover just in case Romeo’s goons were still conscious after being rammed with the force of a thousand charging bulls. “Is your backseat clear, Hogan?”
Hogan had his back to them, was watching the road for any signs of more trouble. It was quiet, and Hogan glanced over his shoulder towards Jack and nodded. The tall, broad former Marine swept his gaze once more towards the upturned Range Rover, which was far enough away that even if one of those thugs had some fight left in him, you’d see him coming well before he got into handgun-range.
But there was nobody coming. The Range Rover was a heavy-enough car with state-of-the-art airbags and a crash-resistant frame, so Romeo’s goons were probably alive. Still, Hogan’s hit had been vicious enough that they were going to need a month of physical therapy before they could walk anywhere fast again.
“Clear.” Hogan lowered his weapon, turned just as Jack pulled open Jill’s door and was leaning in to unbuckle her seatbelt. “You need help with her, Jack?”
“I’ve got her,” Jack called back, smiling warmly at Jill as she trembled in the seat, the shock setting in, the cold air now making her shiver uncontrollably. “Hey, I’ve got you, Jill. Just relax. I’ve got you, baby.”
“Jack?” she slurred, her trembling lips unable to form the word correctly. “Jack, what’s happening?”
“Hush,” he whispered, sliding one arm beneath her knees, supporting her back and neck with the other, then carefully lifting her out of the backseat and cradling her against his body. “You’re going to go into shock unless we get you nice and warm soon. Just lean into me, sweetheart. I’ve got you, baby.”
“Hmmm,” came a purring sound from somewhere in Jill’s throat. Her head snuggled into the crook of Jack’s neck as he carried her to Hogan’s car, where the backdoor was already opened all the way and Hogan was standing by to help. “Did you just call me sweetheart and baby again?”
“No, baby, of course not,” Jack murmured into her hair. “Now relax, sweetheart. We’re almost there.”
“Almost where, baby?” Jill mumbled as Jack carefully laid her in the spacious backseat of Hogan’s Jeep. “Almost where, sweetheart?”
“Hospital,” Jack said, standing at the open backdoor, then frowning when he saw Hogan silently shake his head. “We’re going to the hospital, Hogan. I don’t want to take any chances with Jill.”
Hogan peered past Jack into the backseat, where Jill was curled up and shivering, the blood-crusted side of her face exposed. “Shit, did she take a bullet?”
Jack shook his head. “It’s not her blood. But she’s had one hell of a day. And she was just in a car accident. It wasn’t a bad accident—no collision, and nothing’s broken that I can see. But I want her treated for shock and checked for internal bleeding. Hospital, Hogan. Now.”
“Benson says no hospital unless someone’s about to drop dead.” Hogan’s tone was sympathetic but steady. “He wants us back at Darkwater HQ in Virginia ASAP.”
“Fuck that,” Jack growled. “And fuck Benson.”
“Fuck Benson? Where have I heard that before,” came Benson’s sharp voice from both Jack’s and Hogan’s phones at once, like the bastard didn’t want to take any chances that Jack had lost his Darkwater phone in the chaos. “Oh, right. From every damn Darkwater man who thinks he knows better than me. But he doesn’t, and you don’t. Now, get your asses back to HQ before I get really angry. You’ve already messed up twice today, Jack. Don’t make it a third time. Get your head out of your ass and grow the hell up. The cops are eventually going to find Jill’s shot-up car. They’re going to track her down at the hospital—and that’s if the medical staff don’t call the cops the moment they see you drag a bruised, blood-spattered woman into the ER. We have no idea what the hell she’s going to say to the cops about you, about Diego, about what happened. Damn it, this is already a shitshow of a mission. Now, unless this woman is literally bleeding out in the backseat, you will bring her to Darkwater HQ immediately.” He took a sharp breath, exhaled harshly. “Hell, you know what, even if she is bleeding out, bring her to Darkwater HQ anyway. We’re just getting the medical facilities set up, so it’ll be a good test run. And if she does bleed out and die, even better. We can test out our experimental body-disposal system.”
“You son of a bitch,” Jack snarled. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it? It’s all fun and games because you have nothing to live for, don’t give a shit about anything or anyone if they don’t serve your purposes. I saw how you turned your back on my brother Ice during that last mission, left him out there on his own, halfway around the world with an assassin hunting him. You were ready to sacrifice my brother and his woman to get Rhett Rodgers, and I haven’t forgotten that, Benson.”
Benson grunted. “Your brother’s a big boy. And I thought you were too, Jack. But I guess not every Delta man is cut from the same cloth. Look, you might not want to follow orders anymore, but Hogan will. So don’t make me order him to put you in handcuffs and lock you in the damn trunk.”
Jack rubbed his eyes and swallowed thickly. The anger was surging with a wildness that was very unlike him. Delta men were trained to get cooler when the heat got turned up, get calmer as the pressure rose. But he was unravelling like a ball of twine at the mercy of a kitten.
“Hey, man,” said Hogan softly from behind Jack’s shoulder. “There’s a blanket in the back, along with some bottled water, energy-bars, and a medical kit. Why don’t you ride in the back with her, Jack. I can be chauffeur tonight.” Hogan paused, and Jack could feel his Darkwater brother’s grin from behind. ‘Get in the car, sweetheart,” Hogan whispered devilishly from behind. “Or do you prefer being called baby?”
The good-natured ribbing broke through Jack’s adrenaline-fueled anger. He turned and grinned at Hogan, then nodded and circled to the back of the Jeep, raising the tailgate and grabbing the blanket and supplies.
Moments later Jack was in the backseat, wrapping Jill in the blanket like a Twinkie. Soon Jill was curled like a Cheeto against his body, chewing the fruit-bar hungrily as Jack carefully cleaned Bobby Carmine’s blood off her face with an alcohol-soaked swab. He waited for her to swallow the last bite of her energy-bar, then held the bottle of water to her lips and helped her drink.
Hogan was already zipping along towards I-95, and Jack sensed that the food and water had staved off the shock from setting into Jill’s worn-out body. He pulled her close to him, then took her hand in his, placing his thumb gently on her wrist to check her pulse. Still elevated, but it had slowed, wasn’t frantic anymore, was well below the danger zone. Jack exhaled, then smiled as Jill leaned her head back against his chest and looked up at him.
“Who was that man on speakerphone earlier?” she murmured with a quizzical frown. “He sounds like an asshole.”
Both Jack and Hogan exploded with laughter, each of them knowing that Benson and the rest of the Darkwater crew at HQ were probably listening in. Jack stroked Jill’s hair, holding her head against his chest and nodding.
“That’s John Benson,” said Jack with a sideways grin which matched Hogan’s. “And the reason John Benson sounds like an asshole is because he is an asshole.”