It also has the advantage of an underground parking garage with some excellent vantage points. The thick concrete beams and overhead steel cables meet in the corner across from the elevator, giving me a clear view while the concrete hides me.
Looking through my rifle’s scope, my finger barely rests on the trigger. A light touch, that’s all that’s needed.
Right at six pm - after Uncle Bastard spent a pathetic twenty-three minutes with his mistress - the elevator doors open on the parking level. He struts out with the self-satisfied expression a man wears after a few minutes of mediocre fucking. He’s in his mid-sixties, silvering hair neatly swept back and his soft paunch covered by a well-tailored suit. Three bodyguards surround him. The front man is good, his gaze continuously sweeping the parking garage. The other two are lazy. It’s just another scheduled night out and they’re strolling along slowly.
Timing and luck both decide not to be on my side as the front man sees something; maybe a glint of light off the barrel of my rifle. His gun goes up and he’s shouting at the other bodyguards to cover their boss as Uncle Bastard looks around wildly.
Cursing soundlessly, I take the shot. It should have exploded the old man’s head into a mist of brain matter and gore but the front man steps in the path of the bullet. He’s taller and it nicks him in the neck. Based on the blood spraying across his employer’s face, I hit an artery. The other two are trying to hustle Uncle Bastard behind an SUV, and I sigh irritably, shooting the first bodyguard in the back, and sending him flying off his feet.
A bullet pings off the steel cable just above me, it’s hard to tell if the last musclehead spotted my position or it was a lucky shot, but I roll off the concrete beam and crouch low, shooting under the car where they’re huddled and hearing a strangled screech as I hit someone’s legs.
It's been ninety seconds since I took my first shot.
I have maybe forty-five seconds more before they can raise the alarm. Leaping on top of the car, I shoot the bodyguard in the face and jump down to kick Uncle Bastard onto his back, holding him there with my boot on his chest.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he chokes out, “I’m the head of the most powerful organization in this country. Name your price.”
“You’re not the head of the King Syndicate,” I say, shaking my head. “You killed him. And his wife. Their children seem disinclined to let this rest.”
His lips curl back and now I can see the beast under the expensive suit. “Fuck them! And fuck you, and-”
Pulling my K-Bar from the sheath on my back, I run it across his throat, watching the skin split and gape as a huge spray of gore covers him, the concrete, and the side of the car.
Thirty seconds.
Pulling out my burner phone, I get several clear shots of what’s left of him and his security team. The first squeal of tires has me up and running, dismantling the rifle as I go. The car I’m using is one parking level up, and I scale the outside wall of the garage. No need to be cornered in the elevator or the stairs.
I’m driving sedately down the road leading to the harbor when three Hummers come tearing through a red light and down into the garage.
“Idiots,” I sigh. “You always have a car circling all routes out of the area.” Dialing Captain Steve, I grin at his dispirited ‘hello.’ “We need to be wheels up in fifteen minutes.”
Humming, I head toward the private airfield where the jet is getting the quickest pre-flight checklist in history. I’m eager to be home.
I’mveryeager to see her again. My bonnie Aria.
Chapter Five
In which Aria learns that what she thought Mr. Blue wanted and what he’s going to get are two very different things.
Aria…
The text comes from an unfamiliar number.
A car will pick you up at ten tonight and bring you to the club. Wear your mask.
This is it. He killed Uncle William. I’m a murderer.
Marcus strolls into the guest room an hour later with a big grin. “Look what just arrived for you. Now, who could you have met in Glasgow in the very short time you’ve been here who would be sending you…” he opens the box despite my attempt to intercept it. “Sending you a sexy dress that has to cost-” he looks at the label. “Shit girl, this is a Versace! This can’t be less than thirteen or fourteen thousand pounds!”
“Don’t! Not a word!” I stab my finger at Marcus as a filthy grin crosses his face.
“Oh, therewillbe words.” Dangling the mask tauntingly, he shakes his head. “You’ve been holding out on me. What’s happening here?”
Groaning in despair, I try to think of what to tell him. He’s a bloodhound when there’s gossip he’s not privy to. Marcus isn’t from my world, but he certainly knows enough about it to be clear I’m not here playing tourist or simply having drinks with a client.
“This is not up for discussion.” He opens his mouth to protest and I pull the dress away. “You know there’s things I can’t tell you. You’re my best friend and I love you. But I won’t do anything that can put you in harm’s way.”
His smile drops. “What the hell are you doing here, darling? You are strictly on the business side of things in your family. What sort of clandestine meetings at Dante’s Inferno are you conducting that involve strange men sending you expensive dresses?”
