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Good thing I’m not going for stealth.
The stench of piss and rotting wood is overwhelming. There are used needles and makeshift pipes all over the floor. I don’t even want to guess where the stains on the floor originate from.
Sharpe meets clients on the third floor in the northwest corner of the building. I take the stairs two at a time, anxious to get this over with. I’ve actually always liked the guy, but killing two doctors who dedicated their lives to volunteer work is a bridge too far. Especially when those doctors were the parents of the only woman I’ve ever loved.
“Visual on you. Remember to keep him by the windows, so I can get a shot if you run into trouble.”
I fight back a sarcastic reply. Lake argued that I needed to carry a gun for this one, but this is personal. I need to feel his blood on my hands. I want to watch his eyes go dim as the life goes out of them.
I cross the open expanse of the floor to Sharpe. He’s completely bald with deep wrinkles bracketing his mouth, which is set in a grim line. His once clear eyes look cloudy and bloodshot. He used to be imposing, a wall of muscle just under six feet, but now he’s gaunt and starting to stoop.
“Sharpe.” I give him a nod of acknowledgment.
“Thorne.” He watches me approach with a blank expression on his face. “Got a job for me?”
“Just a few questions actually.”
“I don’t answer questions, I find solutions.” His tone is as surly as ever.
“Tough shit. That hit on the husband and wife doctors a few years back?” I look up at him and wait until he nods. “Well, those two people were very important to someone important to me.”
“It’s business.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
“What do you want?” He crosses his arms and leans against an old metal desk, the only piece of furniture on the entire floor.
“Retribution.”
He stares me in the eyes for a minute and then laughs. He laughs until he cries. I watch as he bends at the waist, wheezing and laughing. Then he stands abruptly, pulling a gun from under the desk.
“Get the fuck out of here, boy, before I kill you too.”
“You look like shit, but it’s good to know you still have a steady hand,” I taunt him. “What’s wrong with you anyway?”
My earpiece buzzes as Lake opens the channel back up. “I’m shooting his hand in twenty seconds if he doesn’t lower the gun. Stay clear.”
“You didn’t even bring a gun, did you, Thorne?” he asks incredulously. “Guess you’d want to get dirty for whatever pussy has you coming after me. I didn’t think you were straight. Well guess what, whether I die here today or in the hospital tomorrow, it’s not gonna bring back whoever I killed.”
“You sick?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Skin cancer.”
A bullet rips through his hand, splattering blood on both of us. As soon as the gun hits the floor, I kick it across the dusty planks. He doesn’t stop to feel the pain of the hole in his hand before he’s coming at me, throwing an elbow that I dodge easily.
I’m actually kind of bummed at how easy this is going to be. I let him get a few hits in and realize they aren’t full power strikes. Lake tells me to do it now or he’s going to when he has a clear shot. I grapple to get in position for the kill strike.
I pull my knife out and slam it into his neck in one fluid motion. He stares in my eyes as he realizes what I’ve done. When I pull the knife out, blood sprays across my face and the ground. I let him fall to the floor, watching as blood trickles from his mouth and pools quickly around him. I kneel beside him until he completely stills, watching as his life ends.
It’s still not enough. I still need to hurt and kill and avenge Livvy. I won’t stop until they’re all dead. I sit there kneeling until I hear Lake coming up the stairs. He hands me a towel and the extra jacket he was wearing.
“You shouldn’t have fought with him. There will be contact DNA all over.” Lake pulls a small container of gasoline out of his bag and dumps it on Sharpe’s body. I drop the bloodied towel down. Lake pulls a lighter out of his pocket and sets the body aflame.
We walk out of the building in gray winter twilight. The bitter cold air doesn’t bother me as we walk the few blocks to our rental car. We detour along the railroad tracks on the way back and toss the gas can into the brown water of the Missouri River.
Ten minutes later, we’ve crossed the river and are boarding our private jet at the executive airport. I walk back to the full bathroom and strip down, methodically putting all my clothes in a black trash bag we’ll dispose of at home. It only takes me a few minutes to wash the blood off my face and out of my hair. When I step out of the shower dressed only in a pair of black sweatpants, Lake is sitting on the bed, elbows on knees waiting for me.
“You good?” he asks as his eyes scan my chest and face for any sign of injury.
