“There are no more Hunters to head our table.” My father’s hand shook. One of the unshed tears lost its un, rolling down his weathered cheek to the scarred smile. “They joined the Cooks and the Shaws on the other side of the veil. But today, we bring the last two surviving families together in marriage.”
Another cheer took the hall, deafening. The stomping sounded like an entire army was marching.
“Family, that’s what’s important.” My father nodded to Ewan at his side, then to me. “To my son on his big day, and to the blessing that my daughter could join us too.”
Adding me to his toast dulled the enthusiasm. Ewan glared my way when the old man downed his whisky. The cousins around him aped his expression. My other brother matched their sour expressions, and they weren’t alone. I really wished I had a drink for that toast.
Stalking His Prey
Ian
Iglared at the doors the old bastard disappeared through. Through the binoculars, they appeared close enough to touch, like I could wedge them closed after tossing a Molotov through. They were all inside. Him, his son, every Turner that mattered and several that didn’t.
Images flashed through my head, bloody scenes of death and destruction. My great uncle had been a religious man. He’d preached a gospel full of hell fire and damnation for the sinners, or so I was told. Given the family business, his zeal no doubt went unappreciated.
The revenge fantasies flooding my thoughts might have matched his bleating about Sodom and Gomorra. Turner deserved it all for what he’d done to me and mine, but I’d already waited 15 years and I wasn’t going to stoop to his level, not if I could help it.
The doors to the hall remained closed. The darkened windows hid any view of the inside. A couple of bagpipers mulled on the sidewalk, waiting. A car pulled up. The bride and her party stepped out of the back, dressed for the wedding and ready for the walk to the church. When they pushed through the double doors I’d been staring at, a creak sounded behind me.
“It’s just me!” my mate Bashir called out from the door to the stairway. “You shouldn’t be sitting on the edge of a roof if you’re going to be so damn jumpy.”
“I’ve got a bird’s eye view from the hall to the church from here,” I replied, raising the binoculars again.
He stepped closer, slowly making his way over the roof. Other than one of the pipers lighting a cig, nothing was happening at the hall.
“Far be it for me to criticize your stalking technique then,” Bashir said from my side. “I brought your order. You do remember I don’t actually work at my parent’s chippy anymore? That’s just for the tax man… and my probation officer.”
The takeout bag in his hand dropped to the roof with a heavy thud. I kept watching the door for a long moment before lowering the binoculars again.
“I remember,” I replied, glancing down at the bag. “I’m not exactly hungry. I just needed to talk to you. Everything set for tonight with you and your boys?”
Bashir slapped his hand over his heart and stumbled back, shaking his head.
“I’m a man of my word,” he began, but held up a hand at my disbelief, “mostly. But for you? Almost always. You don’t need to worry. Besides, you already paid me. We’ll be ready for you. Assuming your plans don’t get cocked up.”
“They never do,” I said.
One of Bashir’s bushy brows rose in response. He tilted his head and offered a questioning glare.
“Fine, mostly,” I finally admitted, “but I’ve got it all in hand today. Everything is going to go exactly as I planned.”
“Now you’re just begging fate to give you a face fucking,” Bashir said before bending to grab the takeout bag.
He pulled the box out and opened it. His crunching punctuated the silence, almost amplified. He paused when I glared up at him only to continue eating more slowly, drawing the annoying sounds out.
“What?” he said, voice muffled with a mouth of fried fish. “You said you weren’t hungry. I’m not about to let food my mum made go to waste. She guilts me as much as I can handle as is. It looks like you’re missing something.”
He pointed down to the street. Sure enough, the doors had opened. The bride and groom emerged and took their place with their entourage behind the pipers. Turner stepped out, leaning on his cane. He waited by the doors as more people joined behind the wedding party.
“So where’s the target?” Bashir asked, his voice inches from my ear.
I scanned the gathering crowd, close as could be, thanks to the magnification. Her mother’s red dress flashed across the lenses. The woman stood close to Turner, too close. Even from my brief look, I could tell the people nearby didn’t approve. The swarthy little man they’d arrived with glared at the two. I could tell he didn’t have the balls to steal my revenge though.
“Two shots, Ian.” Bashir made a gun with his hand and pointed it at the crowd. He flicked it twice. “Father and son, before they have a chance to make another generation of Turners. Eye for an eye. Oldest law in the world.”
“He killed more than two.” I lowered the binoculars and shook my head. Easier to scan the crowd without them. “And I’m not planning on exterminating the Turners, far from it.”
“That’s probably for the best.” Bashir shrugged and his mimed gun moved back to the take out box. “My grandfather always talked about revenge back home, part of the old ways. They kept the peace, for the most part. But revenge always seems to lead to more revenge.”
