20. Chapter 20
AHREN
Eight years ago…
Easy money, I laughed to myself, scrolling through the details of the latest order.
One guy.
No family.
Single story dwelling.
No apparent political connections.
“Should be in and out.” I murmured.
“It’s gonna be an early night, boys. Stay off the furniture.” I tossed over my shoulder on my way out the door, Apollo only raising a single brow in acknowledgement.
Exactly thirty-four minutes later, I drove past the address given, only noting a dark blue VW Jetta in the driveway. I scoffed internally. What kind of man drives a Jetta?
I looped around the block and parked a few houses down. Normally, I would have parked farther away and done some digging into the mark, at the very least, a bit of surveillance.
But this guy was a nobody. That meant easy money. Nobody to guard him; nobody to miss him.
Every footstep seemed to echo down the deserted street. The leather boots that were normally my silent ally, tonight screamed ‘look at me’—that should have been my first sign—the first omen.
The grass hissed against my shoes as I stepped off the pavement, only marginally quieter than the asphalt.
Dodging the bicycles and discarded baseball bats of this suburban hellscape, I made my way through the neighbor’s backyard.
Standing on the horizontal beam, I peeked over the wooden fence. In hindsight, it might have been prudent to kneel and stick my head through one of the broken panels.
The world seemed to slow and speed up at the same time as the mark flipped the kitchen light on. I remembered his shiny bald head, a birthmark staining his temple, just above his glasses, from the picture on the order.
My arm moved on instinct, slotting the barrel of the gun into the groove between the fence slats. A quick tilt of my head to check the shot was good, and I pulled the trigger—just as two men walked around the corner opposite me.
“Gun!” the first one yelled. Tall and fit with sandy blonde hair, the typical boy next door—a boy scout, maybe.
Light flooded the yard, catching on the necklace he wore. No, not necklace—badge.
“Fucking U.S. Marshalls.” I growled, hitting the dirt as the first bullets flew.
Quickly gaining my feet, I tore through the perfectly manicured landscape, desperate to put some distance between me and the pursuing agents.
Heat bloomed in my shoulder as the bullet ripped through, but thankfully, the adrenaline rush kept me moving.
My legs burned as I pushed myself to run, not toward my car and the relative safety it might provide, but away from it.
The last thing I needed was law enforcement having my information.
Bullets seemed to come from every direction, but I was certain there were only two of them—though more were on the way by now.
I turned, firing blindly. Red splattered across his face and the short stocky man dropped instantly.
I could vaguely make out the other marshall swearing, but his footsteps remained steady as he pursued me.
Another shot and pain ricocheted through my spine, and my lungs burned, screaming for air. That was a broken rib, for sure.
Knowing I needed to end this now, I stopped, turned quickly and fired three shots in rapid succession, the final marshall dropping with a satisfying thud.
“Fucker.”
I swallowed hard, my eyes searching the darkness for signs of another pursuer, but aside from a dog barking in the distance, the neighborhood was silent .
My feet stumbled, but carried me to my car on auto-pilot.
My breath rushed out as the door clicked shut behind me, the first step toward freedom.
The car roared to life, and I flipped a u-turn, putting as much distance as I could between me and the crime scene, just as porch lights began flipping on up and down the quiet street.
Blood leaked from my wounds, soaking my shirt, my breath sawing in and out in short pants. I needed medical attention—now!
“Mercy” emblazoned above a giant red cross caught my eye and I turned sharply, aiming for the hospital that looked to be less than half a mile away.
The parking lot was quiet. I pulled around to the emergency entrance, scanning the few faces that passed; not quite sure what I was looking for. Still, I knew I would know when I found it.
The tires chirped against the pavement, halting the car as she stepped out of the hospital.
It wasn’t the white lab coat that fluttered in the gentle breeze. Nor the killer body topped with shoulder-length blonde curls. No, it was her eyes that caught my attention. I was good at reading people, which was why I avoided most of them.
“Hey,” I called out.
Her head swung left, then right, before settling on me. Her brows scrunched together, her hand coming up to her chest. “You talking to me?”
I suppressed an eye roll and the urge to make a De Niro reference, instead nodding my head.
Her steps were tentative, far slower than I had time for, but this wasn’t something I could rush—not if I wanted this to work in my favor. Finally, she stopped a few feet from the car.
“I need help.” I said, allowing every bit of pain I felt to seep into my voice .
She hooked her thumb over her shoulder toward the emergency room, but froze as her eyes landed on my shoulder wound.
“Not here.” I said quietly.
She nodded, her eyes scanning the parking lot for only a few heartbeats before walking around and dropping into the passenger seat of my car.
The car lurched forward at the sound of her door clicking shut. My vision blurred as she pressed on my shoulder.
“Fucking hell!” She swore, reaching into her bag and pulling out another white towel and pressing it to the wound in my chest.
“Who the hell did you piss off?” she practically growled.
“The less you know, the better.” I ground out.
“Mmm. Just the two holes, or do I need to look for a third?” she asked, her tone clipped.
“Pretty sure it’s just the two, but once the adrenaline gets going…”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know. You assholes think you’re invincible.” She muttered.
“Might want to watch how you talk to me.”
She barked out a laugh, “What are you gonna do, bleed on me?”
“If I were you, I would focus more on bullets than words.”
I chuckled, wincing at the sharp pain in my side. “You might be right about that one.”
By the time we pulled into the drive, I could barely stand. The lady doc had to support most of my weight on her own shoulders—she was stronger than she looked.
My body sagged in relief, finding an odd comfort as it stretched out on the dining room table. The sensation of my feet and half of my calves hanging over the edge grated on me and I vowed to buy a bigger table the minute I woke.
Doc set her bag next to me and began pulling out her supplies, her mouth pinched in a tight line.
“I don’t have any drugs.” She said quietly.
“You will need painkillers and antibiotics. Fuck. I’m not sure what you need. I just know I don’t have it. I can stitch you up and stop the bleeding, but it’s gonna hurt like hell.”
“Cabinet.” I answered, unable to hide the weakness pressing down on me.
Following my line of sight, she hurried over and opened the cabinet. Nodding appreciatively as she scanned the shelves, filling her hands with the small bottles of medicine I kept on hand for moments like this, and rushing back to me.
“This should do nicely. Lucky you, it should knock you out for a few hours.”
My eyes flicked to her nametag, “Connor,” her name a whispered plea, hanging in the air between us.
“I promise. I’ll do everything in my power to save you.” She said, holding the syringe up as she measured out a dose for me.
“I may not understand—this,” she continued, nodding toward my wounds. “but there is one thing I do understand. You hold death in your hands, but I hold life in mine.”
My eyes fell shut as the needle pricked my skin and I allowed myself to let go, leaving my life in the sassy blonde doctor’s hands.