Page 190 of Captive Omega

Only then do I assemble my rifle, peering through the scope to make sure I have my angles right.

Then I shrug out of my jacket, put my phone on silent, and settle in to wait.

I’ve never been a patient person, but some things are worth waiting for. This is one of them.

Thirty minutes later, my stomach rumbles.

I don’t move.

Then the office door starts to open.

I press my eye to the scope, take in a breath, and release all the tension in my body with it.

The first man to step out isn’t Billy O’Brien. This man is young, dressed in similar combat gear to the men from the alley opposite Ever Safe. He’s carrying a heavy looking dark gray duffel similar to mine. Why do I have a feeling I know what he has in that bag and exactly where he’s going with it?

I have my priority list and he is not number one, so I wait some more.

Another man steps out. Again unfamiliar.

But the third…

I aim for the center of Billy O’Brien’s forehead, breathe in, and exhale as I squeeze the trigger.

He drops.

I don’t see him land. I’ve moved on to the first man, then the last.

Before he’s dropped, I’m breaking apart my rifle. Twenty seconds later, all the pieces are back in the duffel, and I’m jogging down the stairs of the abandoned laundromat.

I keep my head down in case any cameras are pointing at me, walk down the road, back to my car, get in and drive away, leaving three bodies outside the office.

It is not an easy thing to kill. Sometimes, it’s the right thing to do, and I will sleep all the better for knowing Resa is safe.

I take my time driving to Frost’s house, wanting to be sure no one is trailing me.

I jog up the front steps and knock on the front door.

Silence.

I tap the security code in the keypad beside Frost’s front door and I step in, closing the door behind me as I shout, “Blaine?”

No answer.

My unease growing, I nudge the door closed, lock it, and make my way through Frost’s stainless steel and matte black townhouse, pushing doors open as I go.

Blaine isn’t in the living room, the bathroom, or the kitchen.

Then I push open the bedroom that Frost turned into a home gym and I breathe out a sigh. “Blaine…”

He’s sitting on the floor, chin on his chest, an empty bottle of vodka beside him.

I walk over to him and crouch, my hands on my knees. “You don’t make it easy, you know that right?”

No response.

“I’m going to pick you up,” I warn him.

He won’t like what I’m about to do, but you don’t leave a friend like this. Even if that friend prefers if you don’t touch him.

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