Page 22 of High Stakes

After a few moments, the door to the office opens, and three very pale, red-haired men walk in with serious expressions marring their faces. I shift my shoulders as they take their places around the room. Mr. O’leary enters with an olive-skinned man hot on his heels. The Irishman is waving his hand around while they talk.

I focus on the other men filing into the room and my entire body tenses. Hector moves into the crosshairs as Tobias Emerson moves to the left. Then another smaller man walks into the room. His face is hidden under a blacked-out motorcycle helmet. “What the actual fuck?” I hiss through clenched teeth and remove my eye from the scope to glare at Declan.

“What is it?” he asks and moves to crouch back down beside me. Fucking dick knew this was going to be the case. He never tells me anything.

“Did they tell you who our Irish friends were meeting with?”

“No, they didn’t have that information. Just the time and the place,” he responds warily. “Why?”

“Tobias fucking Emerson is in that room,” I say slowly, and clench my jaw so hard my teeth hurt. I’m going to be so pissed if I don’t get to pull this trigger today.

“You’re joking,” he deadpans and rummages around in the equipment bag until he finds a pair of binoculars. “Damn it! You’re not joking.”

“I can still make the shot,” I say. My stomach churns with the desperation to end a life. It’s been too long already and my demons are clawing at my skin, trying to break free.

“If you hit Hector you’re a dead man, you know that right? She’ll kill you flat out.”

“I’m not going to hit Hector,” I mumble dejectedly. “And I won’t hit Emerson either.”

“Fine. But make it quick,” he snaps and shuffles back to his corner on the other side of the roof.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs until they can’t expand any further, and then release it slowly. My left eye closes as I reposition my right eye into the scope and make the adjustments. I shift until the Irish scum is directly in the middle of my crosshairs. My finger traces the curve of the trigger, itching to pull back but I wait.

Hector and the other man stand with their backs against the wall on either side of the door, while the three Irishman flank the desk, two on the right and one on the left. Mr. O’leary sits down in the desk chair and Emerson sinks into the seat on the opposite side of the desk. They both lean forward and begin a serious discussion based on the looks on their faces.

I move again to position my crosshairs over my target, but the slightly tilted angle causes the sun to hit the metallic finish of my rifle. The glare flashes as I reposition and mutter a string of curses.

“You caught the attention of the biker and Hector. They’re on alert now and still scanning the rooftops. Stay down,” Declan instructs as he views the scene from his binoculars. “Wait.”

I drop my finger from the trigger and grind my teeth again. My anger starts to boil to the surface and my skin grows hot and itchy with rage. I watch through the scope as the biker types away on a cell phone and Hector scans the rooftops again. His eyes trace over my position and even though I know he can’t see me, my skin crawls with the awareness that he knows I’m out here. “Declan,” I warn quietly.

He stands in silence for what feels like an eternity before he whispers, “Good to go.”

Thank fuck.

My finger dances over the trigger again as I situate my sight on my target, but that damn sunbeam hits me again, right in the face. I blink rapidly at the sudden white blindness and bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper. The pain helps me focus as I pull the trigger. A loud crack fills the air and I can’t help but feel like it’s the most satisfying sound.

Then everything happens at once. It’s like I’m watching both in real time and slow motion. The biker and Hector jump to shove the two business men to the ground and the three Irishmen turn with guns raised. They must have seen the glare again before I fired.

The bullet goes wide and misses the intended target, but it does lodge into the Irishman on the right’s chest. I watch through the scope as a spray of red hits the glass window and he drops to his knees clutching his chest. The other two rush over, but there’s no saving him from the hole I just blew through his ribcage. RIP, motherfucker.

“Well,” Declan says slowly. “At least you hit an Irishman.”

“Shut up, man, the sun was in my eyes,” I complain as I disassemble the rifle.

“Right. I think the god of death is losing his touch. Did you forget how to reap souls while you were getting all that pussy?” His snark is enough to make my already heated skin catch fire.

Just to prove him wrong, I reset the rifle. I reload the chamber and the bullet settles in with a satisfying clink. Then I take aim through the scope and fire off two consecutive shots back to back. The echo reverberates off the brick walls around us and I can almost feel my eardrums vibrating from the soundwave. The two remaining Irish bodyguards drop to the floor in a heap.

“Show off,” Declan chuckles and makes his way to the fire escape.

I briefly contemplate using the last bullet on him as I watch him disappear down the ladder. The zipper pulls across the track, closing the bag, and I take one final look over my shoulder at the chaos we’re leaving behind. For the moment, my monster is appeased, but I know it won’t last for long.

The game is just getting started.

10

SILAS

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