Easy. Easy.
I breathe in, reeling back my urges. I’m already late enough. It’s been three days since I poisoned Mason Fletcher and he gave me the name of this town. That’s how long it took for ex-president Delaney to help bring me the manpower I needed. It wasn’t an easy task, that I know. Although he’s no longer president, with his connections, he could source the numbers I needed from private mercenaries. Without his involvement, Maddox simply couldn’t have allocated enough of the country’s resources for a personal mission. Besides, I told him I’d keep my sins away from his presidency, and tonight, I intend to commit enough to last a lifetime.
The capital kind. I believe Catholics call it Wrath.
“Ready when you are, sir,” Hawke says into the microphone beneath his skull mask.
I hear him in my headphones and nod once.
The air is thick with the veins of my control. Even the forest seems to hold its breath for what’s next. I’m very well aware that I might die tonight, but even if that happens, I’ve ensured Dove’s rescue with more than one plan. There’s Plan B. And C. And fucking D. One way or another, she’ll be back in my arms, and if I only get one second to hold her before I die, then I’ll die a happy man. She’s alive. I know she is. I can’t explain it, but I just know. I wonder if she can feel me too, being this close to her.
The soft murmur of the white doves we brought with us reaches my ears. I turn to look at their cages on the forest bed and my lips curve upward behind my mask.
“Handle them gently,” I tell my team. “Don’t waste any sulfur in the forest.”
Then they take the doves out, one by one, holding them softly against their armored bodies. The birds thrash in their grasp, cooing softly before they quiet down. It’s fucking poetic, really. They’ll fly all over the town, scattering the sulfur from the small pouches tied to their legs as they flap their wings. This entire place will burn in flames for what they did to Dove, and no one will be able to stop it.
I extend my right hand to the sky, flicking my wrist upward. Almost instantly, my team advances a few feet in front of me, and the flapping of wings takes over the silence of the forest. Their white feathers mesh with the color of the moon as they fly away—some go around the church bells, others above the main square. I follow them with my eyes as far as I can see before they become minuscule dots in the sky.
It’s time.
One by one, my team follows me out of the forest, rifles pointed forward in one hand and knives gripped tightly in the other, as we move through a broken fence on the west side of the town. My feet make contact with the gravel lining the streets. I keep my rifle up, scanning the perimeter.
From what I could drag out of Mason Fletcher’s throat, Dove has been kept in a cell in the underground tunnels that connect all the key institutions. That could mean anywhere, basically, but he made one particular comment that didn’t go unnoticed.
“Last time I saw her, she didn’t look too good. If she dies down there, we won’t even have to worry about her corpse. She’ll be gone in seconds.”
Bastard was so cocky I wouldn’t find her that he unintentionally told me she’s close to a cremation zone. So… the cemetery, then. Somewhere in those tunnels, close to where they bury their dead. She must be so fucking scared—they must have put her there intentionally to mess with her head. The thought sends pure rage trickling down my veins, my jaw clenching until I hear one of my molars crack.
But beneath the anger, there’s something else. A faint pull I can’t explain. Like a thread tied tightly around my chest, tugging me toward her. I can almost feel her fear radiating through the cold stone and stale air, like a silent scream only I can hear.
I’m here now. I got you. You’re almost home, angel.
I halt, detecting a body in my peripheral vision through the infrared goggles attached to my helmet. I raise my hand, letting my men know. There, in the shadows behind the local distillery, a guy in a black hoodie takes his phone out to make a call. I straighten up, making myself visible as I push the goggles back up. I want him to see my skull mask. I want to be the last thing he sees before he dies.
His eyes rise from the phone, noticing me. I tap a finger to my lips, signaling for him to be silent, but of course… he doesn’t listen. They never do.
“What the fuck—” he shouts, pulling out his gun from a back pocket.
Hawke moves like a shadow, silent and precise, his knife already pressed to the guy’s throat.
"Drop it," he orders, his tone low and controlled. The tension doesn’t faze him—not many things do these days. He shifts slightly, applying just enough pressure with the blade to make the man's breath hitch. To Hawke, this is just another normal day at work. Then he gets home, fucks his girlfriend, and runs a few laps around the block to wipe the day from his body. I give him time off, and he shows up at work anyway, always wanting to prove something I can’t quite put my finger on. He reminds me of me.
The guy doesn’t drop the gun, continuing to pull it out until it’s almost pointing at my head. I could shoot him, but I don’t. If the sound alerts the town, they’ll know I’m here, and they’ll try to move Dove somewhere else. And fuck knows how fast I can get to her after that. Then his eyes widen in a flash of fear and disbelief, before his body sags against Hawke’s, whose hands are now smeared in blood.
That’s one.
The others drag the man’s body into the shadows, and I focus on the next move. The plan is simple: most of my team willremain above ground, some in the forest, some around the city, and some right here, guarding the entrances to the underground tunnels. Meanwhile, Hawke and I will climb down and find her. I’ll bring her out to the surface, make sure she’s safe, and then… fucking slaughter.
Moving from one building to another as stealthily as possible, we kill anyone in our way and drag their bodies into the shadows. The more we take down, the less time we have, but we’re almost there. The tunnel to the cemetery is supposed to be inside the church, and the worn-out wooden door is straight ahead, only a dimly lit street keeping us away. We’ll have to make a run for it and hope no one sees us.
“All clear, sir,” Hawke says.
“On three.”
He comes next to me, and a tacit agreement flows between us about what could happen. If I die, Hawke will be an extension of me. I never asked this of him, but I know he’ll give his life to save Dove if he has to. That’s the kind of man he is.
But I haven’t died yet, and right now I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt. My blood is roaring in my ears. My thirst for vengeance scurries down my bones, tightening my hand on the rifle and pushing my legs forward. And the guilt… the fucking guilt is gone, even if just for a short while. It’s like a veil of darkness has fallen down over my eyes, taking away my consciousness. The notion of right and wrong no longer exists for me. Only the raw, primal need of burning flesh and cutting the hands that touched what’s mine.
