Later—weeks later, back home—he told me the rest.
“The pakhan gave the order,” Kasper said one night over vodka in his kitchen. “Said if you weren’t up to it, I should handle you myself.Clean. No loose ends.”
I stared at him.
He shrugged. “Don’t worry, you passed.”
I allowed myself a wry smile at the memory now, the Accord humming under me as the city skyline began to rise on the horizon.
The life of a mobster moves in mysterious ways.
Kasper could have killed me that day in Reno. One mistake and I was gone. And Kasper would have done it too. But in his own way he warned me that I needed to make a success of my first lead hit. I listened, I acted, and it all came right.
And now here I am, years later. I’m the lead assassin in every job. I’m trusted, feared, and respected for my ruthlessness. And yet… I’m breaking every rule I’ve ever lived by to keep Landon breathing.
And he’s running from me—thinking I’m the monster.
The irony is almost poetic.
Almost funny.
The highway opens up ahead—wider lanes, heavier traffic, the first signs for downtown exits. I press the accelerator harder. The engine protests, then settles into a steady roar.
If I know Landon, he’ll head for the city that for sure—more people, more places to hide, more ways to disappear. He knows it well, has friends there.
I’ll start at the main bus terminal. Work outward. Check cameras if I have to. Call in favors from people who still owe me. Whatever it takes.
Because if Viktor’s people find him first, they won’t hesitate.
They’ll make ithurt.
And I won’t be there to stop them.
I weave through traffic, eyes scanning every bus shelter, every hitchhiker on the shoulder, every pedestrian crossing.
The city grows larger.
Closer.
I have a date with destiny.
So does Landon.
And I’m not letting him face it alone.
Landon’s time running away is over—from here on out, I’m fighting for him and only him. No matter what the cost for me…
Chapter 17
Landon
The bus lurches to a halt with a hiss of air brakes and the low groan of hydraulics. I jolt awake, my cheek stuck to the cool window where I must have dozed off sometime after the suburbs gave way to denser streets.
My neck aches from the awkward angle, and my mouth tastes like stale bus air and an old chewing gum the kid opposite me offered me a while back.
Outside, the city depot is already alive with mid-morning chaos: diesel fumes, shouted announcements, travelers dragging suitcases, a street musician strumming a guitar case open for tips.
I’m back in the city, and don’t I know it.
