They were so confident. I watched from my position on the roof a few buildings away from where they held my boy. I'd taken out several of Cristo's enforcers, but I had kept one alive long enough to tell me what I needed to know. I'd listened to the last message Cristo had left. My boy telling me he wanted to come home had caused my stomach to do a strange thing. He sounded so lost, and I'd hated it, but I needed to take down everyone who could carry on Cristo's operation or scare them enough as I tortured their whores, wives, husbands, partners.
I had made it my mission to destroy Cristo, and now it was time to end it. I'd scanned the building by infrared and figured out they kept my boy in a corner bedroom on the northeast side of the dilapidated hotel. Parts of the city were rundown and abandoned, shadows of their former grandeur. The foundation of this city was built by prohibition, gangsters, and speakeasies.
There would always be someone to carry on history, but it wouldn't be Cristo.
For most of my adult life, I observed the world through the scope of my rifle. Mentally I tagged each target as I found them roaming the roof and balconies, waiting for me. Their faces lined with exhaustion from the days of war I'd subjected them. Just like with the men who'd tried to assassinate me before, they'd underestimated their target.
I pressed the butt of the gun comfortably against my shoulder, the rough texture of the stock touched my cheek. The world shrunk down to fit in the view of my scope. Nothing existed outside this moment—the kill. My heart beat a steady, easy rhythm and the pace of my breaths were deep and even. It didn't require emotion, just a steady hand and the will to do what I found necessary. I aimed my scope at the room I assumed Harrison resided. The windows were cracked and the night was chilly, and I wondered if he was cold. I inhaled as I found one of the guards on the roof. The man was hidden from view from the others by the roof access. As I'd done hundreds of times before, I exhaled and squeezed the trigger. The silencer muffled the sound. The man's head exploded as I hit him between his eyes.
I efficiently ejected the cartridge, loaded, and took out the other three without alerting anyone. There was a reason they compensated me well for my work. I didn't give into second thoughts.
Pausing, I made sure the coast was clear and no one else appeared from the propped open door. I had two hours between guard changes, but I didn't need that much time. The people I'd already taken out were considered Cristo's inner circle, except for two of his most trusted. They never left his side. Setting my weapon aside, I jumped to my feet and bent to pick my rifle back up. On my way to the fire escape, I slung the strap over my shoulder and stepped over the edge. I jogged down to the street below. I opened the trunk, stowed my rifle inside, armed myself with a blade and added extra magazines into the holders on my flak jacket. I checked and rechecked the twin 9mms and returned one to my thigh holsters.
It was time to get my boy back and take care of Cristo and the rest of his crew. The shadows concealed my approach. I'd only counted eleven heat signatures inside the building, and I'd eliminated four of them on the roof. Only six to go. I checked the scene and saw no one, so taking advantage, I jogged across the street. As soon as I was back in the shadows cast by the building, I hugged the wall and slowly made my way to the front entrance.
I raised my arms and extended them, then made entry. The information extracted from the man I'd briefly kept alive gave me a rough outline of positions. They seemed to stay close to where they kept my boy.
There was a skinny guy posted next to the elevators. He automatically reached for his gun when I pressed the barrel of mine at the base of his skull.
“Now, you don't want to make this more painful than necessary. Throw it away.”
“You're outnumbered you know that, right?”
I didn't bother answering as I kept a close watch on him as he leaned slightly to the side and dropped the gun, kicking it several feet away. I rested my free hand on his shoulder.
“Push the button.”
“You're going to die here.”
“Maybe, but you'll draw your final breath before I will.”
I kept the bastard as a shield while we waited for the elevator to descend. When the door opened, a man stood inside. His shock made him slow to draw his weapon, and I fired once.
“Motherfucker,” my shield screamed when I squeezed the trigger right next to his ear.
I shoved him forward and shifted to put my back to the rear of the car. I peeked around him to make sure he hit the right floor. As we ascended, I mentally prepared myself for the coming firefight. I'd taken precautions to take out the easiest targets first. All the men left were the ones guarding my boy and the bastard in front of me.
Calm came over me. I'd done this hundreds of times before. A few more bodies wouldn't stain my soul if I was wrong about the afterlife. Unlike the kills of my past, the last few days were about getting my boy back. I'd waited a long time to find someone to call mine. They'd made the mistake of thinking they could take him from me.
The old elevator shuddered as it came to a stop and the sliding panels opened. I pushed the man forward and heard shots ring out. Curses came from either end of the corridor.
After that, my every action was choreographed. Yells rang out to announce my arrival like the gunfire wouldn't have alerted the others. I crouched down, keeping the panels open. I took down the guard in the hallway to my left. He shouted in agony, and I barely flinched at the round that hit my vest right on my shoulder blade. I spun and fell to my side, taking out the guy on the right. I grunted as shots rang out wildly and a few hit my chest.
I jumped to my feet and followed the plans I memorized until I reached the suite where my boy was being kept. With a single kick, the door swung open, and I trained my gun right on Cristo. He was using my boy as cover. Harrison's face was streaked with tears. The bruises, cuts, and swollen eye caused my rage to break free, even as I tried to control it. Not only had they dared take him from me, they'd put their hands on him.
“Boy, are you okay?”
“Y—yes, sir,” he lied to me as he shook his head to tell me he was hurt.
“Cowen, so glad you could join us.”
“I could've forgiven your attempts to kill me, but you took my boy. That I can't forget.”
“Your boy is very…sweet.”
I aimed, exhaled, and compressed the trigger hitting the toe of his expensive, left shoe. He screamed, and I felt satisfaction.
“You sonofabitch!”
He didn't release Harrison, instead used my boy as a crutch to keep him on his feet. Too much of him was hidden behind Harrison. As I was about to take out his kneecap next, I caught a blur in the corner of my eye and ducked and rolled just in time. One of Cristo's enforcers tried to take my head off with a bat. The gun slipped from my hand and skittered across the floor. I drew my blade and gained my feet again.
“We can forget all about this, Cowen. I must say you impressed me with your skills the last few days.”
Cristo's voice was slurred and broken with pain. I kept my focus on the enforcer as he was joined by another man, bigger than the first.
Then I made my first mistake, Harrison cried out in pain, and I jerked my head around to check on him. As soon as I did, the two men were on me. I fought for myself, for my boy, I took hits and kicks, but they never got me to the ground. The bigger of my opponents went down as I caught the side of his throat with my blade. The warmth of blood splashed across my face, and I quickly swiped my forearm across my eyes.
I felt the sharp stab against my ribs and looked down in time to see my opponent's bloody knife appear from beneath my vest. I felt nothing. He stared into my eyes, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. His arrogance proved his downfall. I grabbed the back of his head, flexed and feigned right, as I brought my knee up to shatter his ribs. He fell face first as he lay prone on the floor as I severed his spinal cord.
Cristo took the coward's way and fired, but his aim was ruined by panic and pain. The shots hit my vest, and as I approached, his gun jammed. He shoved my boy to the floor. Desperately the man tried to clear the chamber but didn't make it in time to save himself.
The wall I pushed him against cracked, then gave under his weight. I stalked to him and dropped to one knee where he'd sagged to the floor.
“Now, what were you saying?”
“Price isn't a problem, name it.”
“You think I want money. No, Cristo. We made a deal, when I was done, I was done. You came for me through my boy. You touched him. I can't let that go unpunished.” I grabbed the hand he used to touch my boy. I placed the blade at the base of his index finger and severed it. “I'm going to take each piece of you that touched him.”
“Sir, please, I wanna go home.”
I removed two more before I looked at Harrison.
“Did he rape you, boy?”
“No, sir.”
I turned my attention back to Cristo. “You're not as stupid as I thought you were. Any more deals and offers?”
“You can't do th—”
His words ended in a scream as I cut through his femoral artery and he grabbed his crotch. It was useless to try to stop the bleeding. He'd be dead in a matter of minutes. I straightened, and the adrenaline of the fight started to ebb.
I approached my boy and held out my hand. “Let's go home and get you cleaned up. I need a doctor to check you over.”
I stumbled as I became dizzy, but I shook it off. I helped him downstairs and over two blocks to where the car waited. He refused to look at me. He understood that the assumption of the violence I was capable of was one thing. Seeing it was another. Carefully I buckled him into the passenger seat and made the call to a doctor I knew who'd make a house call if the price was right.
The blood that was quickly wetting my pants told me I needed to see him myself, but my boy came first.