Page 2 of The Cult

Danger. Like our shadows, it wasn’t always visible, but its ever-present existence loomed, waiting for even the tiniest glimpse of light to make an appearance, ready to strike anywhere, any time. And you’d better be prepared when the time came, because danger was an unstoppable force, unwilling to back down to any motherfucker. You could try, but it would be a wasted effort.

We came out of hiding to face our new reality. A deadlier world for me, my new-found friends, and everyone who had the misfortune of being associated with people like us. We were assassins. Rogue assassins whose allegiance to an underground society called The Firm ended the moment we exposed their wrongdoings to the public. It’d been a few weeks since the revelation of their true identity and their darkest secrets, and we knew that every single one of us had price tags hanging over our heads. This was The Firm, after all. They didn’t become the most powerful mercenary of lethal assets by lying down and taking blows. We knew the fallout was upon us.

We’d been tracking some of the men and women in The Firm’s comprehensive roster, but surprisingly, their activities had been muted. Their deafening silence was more alarming than the loud bang from the bombs we dropped or the enemies we fought off before we found protection at Heath and Andrew’s safe house.

Our enemies’ absence was ominous. With stillness came uneasiness. Retaliation would come. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when, and we would be prepared when that time came, even if that meant giving the greatest sacrifice: death. This would be my final act of being of any use to humankind. I’d take any bullet if it meant annihilating our enemies. My life finally had a purpose, and I’d be damned if I’d let them win without a fight.

That was the original plan. But as I glanced at Archer and Heath, I couldn’t help but wonder how their budding relationship factored into the whole equation, if at all. It was a lot easier to sacrifice your life when you were alone; having someone you cared about battling with you posed a wrinkle in the plan. Unlike me, who had no one, The Reaper had to worry about his grandparents and Heath. Seeing the two of them together caused an unexpected—and unwelcome—sense of jealousy to course through the innermost depths of my soul.

Get a grip, Tobias, I told myself. You don’t want that. Not anymore. And you never will again.

Our footsteps reverberated through the bus-sized underground tunnel and my body was itching to get a move on. Compared to the plush comfort of the main house that served as our hiding place, where we painstakingly orchestrated our course of action against The Firm, the tunnel was damp and cold. Drops of water cut through the silence, dribbling into what sounded like a puddle. The air was stale with a hint of rusted iron. Two of the lights on the wall flickered before burning out. It was an eerie image that could rival any doomsday apocalyptic scenario I’d conjured up in my mind.

Archer swayed his elbow against mine. “You okay?” he asked, taking me out of my musings.

“Huh?” I looked back and realized that the secret door to the main house was out of sight. How long have we been walking?

Heath glanced my way, his arm draped around Archer’s shoulders. They’d been inseparable, and I wondered how it would feel to care for someone like that again, being cherished. It’d been a while and I’d forgotten how being in love felt. I shook my head and squandered those thoughts away, focusing on the present.

“Hey,” Heath added when I didn’t respond.

“Yeah.” I cleared my throat to ease the tightness caused by the ball of unwanted emotions gripping my chest. “I’m good,” I answered, waving them off. “Just a little anxious to get outta here.” It wasn’t a lie, but that was better than what was brewing inside my head.

“We’re halfway there,” Heath said, peeling himself from Archer.

A brief look of protest graced Archer’s scarred face when his lover jogged in front of us. “What?” he scowled.

I shrugged before running toward Heath. I needed to get a grip and fill my brain with revenge so there was no space for anything else.

As expected, Archer followed. “Is everything okay?” he asked when he reached me.

“All good, man.” I dodged his stare in the off chance that he could see right through me. The Reaper was an intuitive son of a bitch. One of his greatest assets, of which he had plenty—and so did I. We couldn’t wait to let The Firm know how lethal we really were.

Archer grabbed my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “Are you sure about that? You’ve been quiet all morning,” he said. His brows furrowed; his lips tightened into a line. “Tobias, talk to me.”

I sucked in a lungful of musty air before piercing Archer with a narrowed gaze and tilted my head slightly in Heath’s direction.

Resolve hardened on his face. “My head is clear and I’m in this, one hundred fucking percent. Nothing has changed,” Archer said.

It was as if he could read my mind like an old friend. A friend. It’d been a while since I had one. A sigh of relief escaped my lips, glad that his mind remained on the prize. I wouldn’t say I couldn’t fight this war alone, because I could, but I didn’t want to do this by myself, and that was the honest-to-goodness truth.

Archer watched Heath, his eyes softening. “What we have is …” He paused for a second, perhaps searching for words to describe what they were for each other. This was all new to him, as he’d said to me multiple times. Assassins 101: we didn’t fall in love because it was a liability. I learned my lesson and paid the ultimate price. “We’re special,” he whispered, nodding in the direction of his mate. “I gave you my word. I’m with you till the very end. Until the last fucker controlling The Firm stops breathing. You got that?” The fierceness in his eyes and firmness of his voice eased the worries that had plagued me these past few days—maybe even weeks. It’d been harder to keep track of time while we were isolated from the outside world.

“Okay,” I said. I trusted Archer with my life, and he had proven himself to be worthy of that. “Got it.”

“So, we’re good?” he asked.

I nodded. “We better get going before lover boy gets the wrong impression about us,” I teased.

“Nah, you’re not my type.” Archer jogged away. “I ain’t got time to convert another straight man.”

“Fuck you!” I barked, my laughter echoing around the tunnel.

“Fuck you too, man.” Those were the sweetest and most comforting words he could ever say. We meant every sentiment behind each word.

We navigated the bunker-style concrete tunnel connecting the house to the spot where our getaway cars were parked. “How long is this shit?” I asked. It felt like we’d been jogging for a solid five minutes.

“About a mile,” Heath answered.

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