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Justin
After saturating the towels I’d found in the back of the boat in gasoline, I tied them together, dipping one end into the gas tank. I lit the other end, then got the hell out of there.
The boat exploded the moment I reached the top of the cliff.
The entire home was engulfed in flames, smoke rolling in the wind and ashes flickering as they rose into the dark sky. I could feel the heat before I’d even set foot into the backyard.
The first thing I noticed was a black SUV parked next to mine—a vehicle that hadn’t been there when we arrived.
A man in a black suit was standing over two bodies, the guards I’d shot before entering the home. The man pointed a pistol at one of their heads, who must have survived my shot. I watched as he pulled the trigger, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaned the gun, and hurled it into the fire.
Sophia and Nate were safe next to my SUV with a thermal blanket wrapped over their shoulders.
I jogged up to the man. “Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Drake. I’m here to clean up your mess.”
“Drake,” I repeated, my brain pulling a fuzzy memory from the last time I’d spoken to Mack. “You’re the new hire.”
Drake dipped his chin.
I regarded him closely, angling my head to the side.
He was tall and thick, like the rest of us. Fit—a necessity for a mercenary. There was a cool, quiet confidence in the way he moved and spoke, the kind of self-assurance that comes with years of experience. I wondered what he’d done before Astor scooped him up and made him sign his life away.
“Help with this body, will you?” he said. “I already rolled the other into the fire.”
Together, we dragged the guard to the edge of the fire, then using the heels of our boots, kicked him into the flames. He rolled several times before catching, where he would burn to ashes, ensuring no trace of me or Sophia would be left on his body—or in the home, or in the boat, or on Viktor’s body.
“Chatter has already started on the radio,” Drake informed me. “Every cop and fireman in the country will be here within ten minutes. Take them,” he jerked his chin to Sophia and Nate, “in your truck, and follow the directions I’ve already sent to your phone. They’ll zigzag you through the mountains—away from anyone who might see you fleeing the scene, and then back to the airport where I’ve got a chopper standing by.”
He glanced down at the blood that had now soaked the entire left side of my body. “I’ve got a trauma pack in the blue bag in the back seat of my SUV. You might wanna grab that before heading out.”
“Thanks.” My brow cocked. “Astor approved the chopper? I kinda went rogue on this mission. Figured I was out of a job.”
Drake cleared his throat. “I was told to tell you to simply get your ass back to the office as soon as possible.”
“Okay, and what’s the truth?”
“The truth is that Astor is MIA.”
“What?”
“Left without a trace.”
“Where?”
“He was last seen two days ago at the New York office. Security cameras caught him getting into his Aston Martin later that night and then, boom, gone in the wind.”
“No one knows where he went?”
“No.”
“Did he leave on his own accord?”
“I don’t know.”
I frowned. The list of Astor’s enemies was endless, but he knew this, and therefore had built a wall of security around himself, both physical and technological that, quite frankly, made him more untouchable than the president.
