I look away from him and stroll toward the opposite side of the large room.
“ETA was . . . a few hours ago.”
I hang up at that and look back to Graham. “Where are the girls?”
“Outside for a brisk walk before the rain.”
“We must find them,now.”
Jackson Redfield, African American, forty-two, five foot nine even. One of the most sought X-Member assassins. He set the bar. One day, I determined thatI’dbe the fucking bar. By the time I was thirty, I had switched over from combat to sniper specialist. At thirty-one, I ascended the ladder.
At thirty-two, Jackson took notice of me, sending an untraceable email. “Stop.” That single word indicated that Jackson saw me as a potential threat. I reveled in that.
My next move was for Jackson’s assignment. As soon as the X-Member status updated, I had Burt secure passage to Moscow. I’d studied the mark for countless days, a Russianpakhan,Ivonkof, owned various nightclubs around the area.
It was a dark, snowy night. The 360 view on the top floor of the club was Ivonkof’s office. As I began to set up my sniper equipment, my eye caught a flash of light from across the way. The moon glinted off a circular reflection that had to be another sniper rifle’s scope.
Jackson.
My silenced sniper rifle quickly searched for our victim.
Boosh. Bits of cement from the edge of the building holding up my post crashed hundreds of feet to the ground.Boosh.
Jackson fired another shot right before I ducked down.
“Bloody hell.” I quickly pulled out my handgun, unleashed the magazine, locked in a new one, and applied a suppressor.
Fuck it. If I die, I’ll see Emeli.I considered peeking out. The bastard had me at a disadvantage. I let off a few warning shots in his direction. I dropped back down to my stomach and prepared myself for Ivonkof.
Jackson didn’t want to kill me.
No, the bloody bastard gave a sign that he knew I had tried to filch his mark.
Well, we were in a fucking pickle, weren’t we?
“Let the best motherfucker win,” I muttered, searching out Ivonkof. Thepakhansauntered into the room with a fleet of his men surrounding him. Jackson was on the north side of the building, getting a better angle since I was on the south. Taking a quick breath, I steadied myself and took the shot.
After that day, Jackson and I competed for various assignments. The bloke and I were never friends. I saw him murder assassins who got too close to his hit, and by way of murder, the arsehole used one bullet to do them both in.
We became equals. Silently taking turns, bowing out with the understanding that this hit or that target might be a better mission for the other. The chap and I shared an unspoken brotherhood of mutual respect.
Nevertheless, Jackson had never been in my territory. X-Member knew me simply as Victor. If he’s here for me, I need to be the first to know.
“Tell me what is going on?” Graham asks through tensed lips as we start out of the pool room.
Burt rushes toward us. “Victor, Jackson has been spotted on the premises. The west area, next to the maze. Monica has sent—”
“There is no time for her assistance.” I remove my 9mm from the gun case he’s holding.
“I thought you’d say so, sir.” He readies his own handgun. The crisp air meets me as I step outside dressed only in swim shorts. I feel nothing.
“You arsehole, if our ladies are in danger.” Graham’s lips tremble in the cold as he follows us out, arms clutching his puny abdomen.
In navy-blue uniform pants and a racer jacket, Jackson stands at the edge of the maze. Luxury and Alba are in sweat suits, talking to him. Tension snaps in the air. His gaze locates me, then returns to them, his innocent targets.
Voice sharper than a scalpel’s edge, I order, “Little One, Alba, come.Now.”
“Vic.” Luxury’s smile fades as she stares at me in the foggy morning. They glance at Jackson in a new light, emotions confused by the mist of early morning. Slowly they walk toward us as I hurry toward them.