Page 2 of Hate Me

He knew tonight would be his last.

Running would buy him nothing but a few extra seconds.

There would be no mercy from me.

There couldn’t be.

Those days were long gone now.

This is war.

I reached the bottom and watched him scrambling away, looking back over his shoulder repeatedly, panting, then stumbling from being all over the place.

I cocked my hand, a second away from tossing my blade and taking him out, when a gunshot rang out, stilling me.

My target didn’t have time to react as a bullet tore through his skull.

He collapsed in a heap, just another corpse.

Footsteps sounded and I tensed, at the ready, as a dark figure stepped from the shadows.

Familiar eyes, an odd shade of pale blue, cut through the night.

I loosened my grip on my blade and smiled.

Friend, not foe.

Dante Mancini.

His three-quarter length wool coat blended well into the darkness, as did his layered dark brown hair that brushed his collar.

Just under six-foot, he cut a bulky figure with all that muscle barely contained beneath.

He was a real powerhouse and he most definitely hadn’t lost a step even in his mid-forties and being in such a taxing business for so many years. In any way, as I’d come to recognize over the last couple of years of us working a lot more closely together.

“Dante,” I greeted.

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Caspian.”

“What has it been? A mere week since we were last in contact?”

He stroked his goatee as we closed the distance between us, meeting in the middle. “Ah, yes, the longest we have gone in eighteen months without connecting.”

I rolled my eyes. “Really? You’re going to dance around your point?”

“And what do you suppose that point might be?” he asked, firing up a smoke and taking a serene drag.

“Obviously that the break in a long-term pattern raised suspicion and led you to this here tonight.” I tossed him a withering look. “I’m not your pupil, Dante. Keep that in mind. And take it to heart before you proceed.”

“Technically, no,” he said, blowing out wisps of smoke. “Believe me, it is taken to heart. You have my respect, you know that. However, we did agree that there were things you could still stand to learn.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “Although accomplished and highly capable, you are still young. And, for you, given your position, you do not have the luxury of indulging or falling victim to the mistakes of youth that others do. The stakes are a great deal higher for you. As our friendship has blossomed over the last few months, you are now aware that I was in a similar position to you, but with nobody to guide me, and the youthful mistakes that I made still haunt me. I don’t want that for you. Nor does it need to be that way with my assistance. As unfortunate as that night was two years ago—what you are terming the cataclysm—I am glad that it led to you allowing me in.”

He certainly had a way with words. He had a reputation for being able to sway people, even those who were so entrenched in their viewpoints. In their cases, however, they were merely victims of his manipulation and some very impressive puppet mastery.

This was different.

Our relationship was different.

There was no dishonesty or ulterior motive on his end.

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