Chase
The shaking wouldn’t go away.
No matter how many times I tried to tell myself it wasn’t real, it was just a waking nightmare. I’d see my reflection in the mirror and stare, in disbelief, at the man looking back at me.
It seemed like a sick joke.
She was the first woman I’d touched in over six months. I’d been annoyed, so I’d lifted her over my shoulder.
And I’d been an idiot.
Because I’d forgotten.
I’d forgotten the softness of a woman’s skin.
The way her rounded hips felt against my fingertips.
I squeezed my eyes shut, reached for the bottle of whiskey, and took a swig. I’d forgotten.
And now my hands were shaking.
My body pulsed with awareness.
And I hated myself for it.
I hated that I’d responded.
Reacted.
Hated that she’d brought it out in me.
Hated.
She was the exact opposite of Mil. She was soft, didn’t talk back, and stared at me as if I was seconds away from ending her life. Her innocent eyes took everything in with fear and trepidation. She would run from me if she could.
Whereas Mil… Mil had pushed back.
Always pushed back.
Pushed me to the point of insanity most days.
Because she’d never listened to me.
It was her downfall.
It had ended up being her death.
Thinking that for one second, she could move the chess pieces in ways to benefit her.
It was a competition between us.
In the bedroom.
Out of the bedroom.
Both of us always trying to one-up one another.
We had laughed about it in front of others.
But behind closed doors, when she thought I was sleeping, I’d see her working on her phone; I’d see her order men to ruthlessly kill people that didn’t deserve it, just to prove a fucking point.
She ruled…
Her throne.
There was no room for love.
Love made you a pathetic, weak target.
Never again.
I took another swig and braced my body against the kitchen counter as the deafening silence of the house slowly started to drive me insane.
The doorbell rang. I grabbed the bottle and walked slowly to the main entry and jerked it open.
The UPS guy took one look at me, then at the bottle, and dropped the package off without as much as a “Hi.”
He was lucky I didn’t shoot him for trespassing.
I glanced down at the plain brown shipping box and froze.
Mil De Lange was typed out in bold, black letters, no return address, and no other information.
I should have been worried about a bomb.
A distraction.
Being a target.
Yet, the only thing I could manage to conjure up was bitterness at those bold letters.
She couldn’t even take my last name…
I kicked the box at least three times before I calmed down then pulled out my knife and slit it open.
A bloody hand holding a cell phone waited inside. I pulled the phone from the hand and held it to my ear.
“Knew you’d be too curious,” the familiar Russian-accented voice said on the other end. “I’ve been told you’ve lost your soul.”
I sighed into the phone and kept my attention on the driveway, just in case it was a trap. “I’ve been told you never had one to begin with, Andrei.”
“Ah, so you do remember me.”
“Yeah well, hard to forget a dirty Russian.”
He chuckled as if I hadn’t just insulted him. “Look, I have a business proposition for you.”
“Not interested.” I almost hung up.
Would have.
“I have eleven De Lange associates saying they’d love to switch sides and come work for me. I shot one of them. You’re holding his phone. Keep that, and the hand, as proof of my… loyalty.”
“Loyal? You?” I snorted. This from the guy who’d tried to take out all the bosses last year? Who allowed my dead wife to work for him? To get in so deep, she couldn’t find a way out? Yeah, right. Loyal.
“How badly do you want the men?” he asked in a calm voice. “How bad does your blood roar to take out every last one of them?”
I gripped the phone so hard my fingers went numb.
“Thought so…” He chuckled. “Shall I send them over?”
“You must have a lot of faith in my ability to kill that many men without getting killed first…”
“Think of it as a test.”
God, I hated how much I liked his brain.
“Oh, and it’s already too late. They should be arriving in five minutes.”
I dropped the phone as two SUVs started making their way down the long driveway.
With a curse, I ran back into the house, grabbed my phone, and dialed Dante. “Ten headed my way, armed.”
“Shit.” He started firing off instructions.
I wasn’t afraid to die.
I welcomed it.
But I refused to die by their hand.
And I wasn’t completely sure I could take every last one of them out without getting at least two bullets to the chest.
I dropped my phone and sprinted toward the camera room.
The pretty woman was bent over a few files.
I shoved her out of the way. No time.
I hit the button beneath the desk, and the floor split open and lit up into the hidden room beneath.
Guns. Guns. More guns.
I grabbed two semi-automatics, extra magazines, and a few grenades, just in case.
When I jogged back up the stairs, the woman was pushed up against the wall with tears in her eyes. “Wh-what’s going on?”
“Stay in here,” I ordered. “Do not, under any circumstances—”
She ran.
She fucking ran.