He should. Keller utilized La Lune Noire services on occasion. He wasn’t a member who frequented often—at least not after I took over. But I’m guessing that’s because he was far more involved with Stone Gallagher’s camp.
He leers at me for a moment, until recognition dawns on him. “This is a surprise. You found me first, huh?”
I’m not sure what to make of this reaction, so I simply motion to the gearshift with my gun. “Let’s go.”
His gaze flits to the rearview mirror as he backs out of the spot. “Where to?”
“The woods a half mile east from your house,” I supply, wondering if he’s got another move.
His house is outfitted to combat any takedown. If nothing else, he could blow the whole town to the seventh circle of hell. Which is why I believed we were in for a fight. This resignation is perplexing.
He smirks as he pulls onto the road. “Keeping it old school is a nice touch.”
“Well,” I drone, hating him more by the minute because he’s truly lived without much stress, all because Zara provided the trampoline to bounce him here, “I am in a nice mood.”
“You seem a little pissed to me.” A cocky chuckle emanates from him, as if he has the upper hand. “You’d think locatingsomeone after a decade would be gratifying, but I’m not picking up on that.”
My focus drifts briefly to Maddox and Jax, all of us clutching the same realization. Keller was expecting someone else. He’s been looking over his shoulder for ten years because once you’re an assassin, freedom is never yours, no matter how you buy your way out. There is always the possibility of a penance for your crimes or a new contract shoved down your throat. He’s grateful he had the decade.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I warn as he drives out of town, headlights peering into the dark flatland, with the only other light source from Ryker and Cash behind us. “We only began looking for you a few days ago. Why do you think I’m here?”
“Hunted down by the Noires?” He taps the steering wheel with a pondering hum. “I’m guessing you’re in bed with Kratos now. What other reason would you have?”
Kratos.I’ve heard that name a handful of times in the last ten or fifteen years. It’s an organization from overseas that only seems to emerge in whispers.
“Kratos, yes,” I affirm. “The last job you did.”
His shoulders stiffen—not necessarily because that’s wrong, but because he detected something tenuous, as assassins do, and he realizes something’s off. “Jesus. Why the fuck are you here then?”
That’s the first sign of distress, as if dying for Kratos is acceptable, but otherwise he’s pissed.
“Kratos is Greek, meaning power or dominion. A lot of English words are derived from it,” Jax mutters mindlessly from the back.
Maddox chuckles. “Mercy is fucking rubbing off on you.”
“Was the blue-haired psycho a spelling bee champion?” Keller asks dryly.
Without negating his original assumption or paying heed to the unnecessary sidebar, I keep it simple. “I am here because of the way you handled your last job.”
“You’re with the other guys then?” He huffs, taking a right turn that will lead us to the vast woods not far from his home. “I fucking paid up, man. A deal is a deal, and there was no statute on that shit. You got everything you asked for—mission complete and a girl to boot.”
“Ding. Ding. Ding,” Maddox chimes from the back, his knife still poised to strike but providing a bit more breathing room.
“She’s why we’re here,” Jax summarizes with a lazy wave of his pistol, his other arm stretched across the rim of the back seat. His lackadaisical approach adds to his sinister air. It’s evident there’s no telling what he might do. Hence the blue-haired-psycho moniker.
Keller scoffs, tracking all three of us and the SUV following, which only enhances his indignation. “All this for the girl?”
“Yes. The girl,” I deadpan. “That’s all she was then anyway.”
“I’m playing a lot of catch-up tonight, but just to clarify. She fucked up? Or you’re fucking her?” He side-eyes me, but when my face betrays nothing, he goes on, “That’s not on me. There is no return on the merchandise after ten goddamn years. You even got to test-drive the goods. Bullshit.”
We cruise along in silence for a few more minutes while I weed through what he’s already offered. There’s something not adding up, but I don’t want to pose my questions until I’m more certain. Quietude can often agitate a subject in interrogation, so the stillness before his imminent death is likely unnerving Keller.
“Up here,” I instruct, gesturing to a pull-off we planned to utilize.
When he stops the Jeep, he studies my face for a beat, drawing a conclusion. “Shit. You’re just here because you’refucking her?” He scrubs his hand over his face, wheezing through a guffaw. “I get it, man. Good pussy. And that cunt was a virgin when I had it, but sti—”
My fist pummels his eye socket with enough force to slam his head into the driver’s window and have him ricocheting back toward me, all with a scintillatingthwackthat appeases my ire. Blood pours from his left nostril and his already-swollen eyelid.
