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As a fourteen-year-old boy, I vowed revenge on the men who ruined the lives of so many. It took six months before me and the group of boys left behind found them. We attacked just as they had. In the dead of night, with machetes and bottles of acid. No one survived.
It was my first taste of blood, and I craved more. Some of the boys left after that, but two remained with me, following a trail of blood and destruction, killing anyone we came across that gave us a sideways look. We gained a reputation, and eventually, people began hiring us to protect their camps. To escort medical personnel from those camps to the city.
After a period of time, I moved on from South Africa—my home, the one place I will always return to—and found more opportunities in the UK. America. Then all over the world. I’ve been to more countries than not and killed more men than I could possibly recall. I have thousands of enemies because once I’m called in for a job, there isn’t much I won’t do to finish it.
Early on, I had made a vow that women and children were off limits, though there have been a few females who deserved the deaths I bestowed upon them.
An Army general in the Philippines who recruited young boys, then sexually assaulted them.
A nun in Peru who beat children and stole babies from their mothers.
A factory owner in China who ran children ragged to the point of death, lying at their machines due to starvation.
Sometimes women need murdering as much as men. It’s slightly rarer, but it still happens. I’ve never killed a child, however. Until I came across Magnolia in that boy’s arms at the schoolhouse, and I discovered I was willing to kill him if he harmed her.
I’ve drawn lines in the sand that I thought I never would cross. As it turns out, I just might if it means saving my pet.
The vibrating phone on the table behind me interrupts my thoughts. Letting go of Magnolia is more challenging than I anticipated. It’s a text from Joss, saying she’s got everything handled and will be up in a few moments.
I’ve no doubt that creep Tyler has offered to help her and is on his way up with her now. Pulling my clothes on, I head out to the hallway, leaving the room door open a crack as I lean against the opposite wall to await them.
A shadow passes down by the elevators, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as everything in me switches to high alert. Someone is there. Listening. Watching. When my phone vibrates again, I put it to my ear.
“What?” I snap.
“My friend, the attitude.” Benito fucking Torres. Nothing good comes from a call from the Italian.
“What do you want, Torres?” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I drop my head back while anticipating the attack from whoever is waiting to make their presence known.
“You need a woman, Craven, to soften up those hard edges.” I resist the urge to crush the phone in my palm.
“What about you, Torres? How’s things going with your little choir girl?” I heard the rumors about his long-lost stepsister and the shitty church she was sold to.
“Touché my friend, touché.” He’s quiet for a moment. “But she lets me touch her now, so I’d say that’s more than you.”
“So, it’s true?” I’d heard he was angling to make her his wife; didn’t think his stepmother would allow it, though. Not after her child had been missing for so many fucking years.
“Depends on what you heard.” He’s curious.
“That you plan to bed, impregnate, and tie her ass to you.” I like the Italian man; he’s a straight shooter and doesn’t play mind games like so many others in the business.
“Ah, yes, that. Very true, I’m afraid. Taking longer than planned, unfortunately. My patience grows thin.” Considering it’s been nearly six months or more, I’m surprised he hasn’t acted sooner. “The reason for my call. I heard a similar rumor about you, my friend.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s a ding from the elevator.
“You found a beautiful Irish lass.”Fuck.
Joss’ laughter is audible before I see her rounding the corner with Tyler. That shadow still remains at the end of the hall. Opening the room door further, I press a finger to my lips so she’s quiet. Joss nods. I place a hand on Tyler’s chest to prevent him from entering.
A negligible shake of my head has the man stepping back, but annoyance flares in his eyes. “Benito, my friend, you shut those fucking rumors down.”
“Oh, I did, I did. But…” My eyes are peeled to the end of the hall.
“But?” I bite out, not in the mood for this shit.
“Do you remember Carlos Vega?”
“Venezuela,” I mutter. I killed the boy’s father when he was only eight. He swore retribution. I ignored him, figuring I’d be dead by now. “His father was a drug lord.” Tyler’s eyebrows raise to his hairline.
