Page 143 of Vengeful Guard

Let them think they broke me. Burkes don’t break.

I hope.

39

KAEL

That fecker Cormac better not be shitting me because I will kill him.

I am coming up to the third warehouse, and I have no idea what to expect.

Hope wants to flutter around in my chest, but I can’t afford to let it. This is the last spot, the last call, and I have to find Paige. She has to be here.

But if I let myself believe she will be, and she isn’t, it’ll destroy me.

I can’t afford anything but uber-focus until she’s safe, preferably in my arms.

I drive by slower than I usually would, but at a speed that won’t raise suspicions.

There’s a car in the parking lot, but there’d been a couple in the last warehouse’s parking lot, too. Lots of people who leave the bars late at night park in these industrial areas so that their cars won’t get stolen.

There’s a man on the roof—likely a sniper.

Now we’re talking.

I park about half a block away. I’m armed and ready, gun in the small of my back, another in my ankle holster, a couple of knives as well, all duly checked, loaded, and in working condition. But I need to get closer because I don’t have a long-range weapon.

So, I get out of my car and start strolling up the street. Someone casually walking raises less interest than someone running or lurking around.

As I stroll by the warehouse, I find a semi-hidden spot and easily jump the low fence.

Making use of shadows and blind spots, I walk closer to the building.

As soon as I get my back against the wall, in a shaded, hidden spot, I check if all my weapons are still in place, and when I get confirmation, I check if the guns are duly charged again. Always check and recheck. Better safe than sorry.

I slither to one of the corners and peek around it before making the turn. A few yards from me is a man, his back to me.

I draw my knife out of my pocket and weigh it in my hand to get the perfect grip.

I need him to turn to me, need the perfect angle for the perfect hit, so I get the knife ready to throw, holding it back over my shoulder, and clear my throat.

He spins on his heel to face me, and I let the knife fly, straight at his throat.

It hits its mark, going straight through his voice box.

He goes down, clawing at the wound.

I approach him and finish the job, pushing the knife deeper with my foot.

None of these monsters deserve to live after taking my princess.

Once he stops squirming and breathing, I lean down to take my knife back. It’s one of my favorites, no way this fecker deserves to keep it.

I wipe the knife clean on the dead man’s clothes. His blood, his fault, he should be the one cleaning it.

One down, god knows how many to go.

The snipper needs to be next, though, so I put the knife away again before climbing up the ladder to the roof where the sniper’s looking through the scope.

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