Page 41 of Second Chances

“Let the girl go,” I repeat. My weapon is pulled up in front of my face ready to shoot should I need to. The girl screams, but it’s cut off with what I suspect is a hand over her mouth because it’s followed shortly after by a shout of pain from Farooq. The girl must have bitten him. She’s got a bit of spunk, despite the situation. I admire her for it. “How did you know I wasn’t one of you?” I ask him.

“It was obvious. You’ve got a soul—a heart that still beats. None of us have that. We’re too warped from our upbringing. It’s strange because the first time I met you, a few years ago, you didn’t have one—you were as dead as us, but now something’s changed. You can’t escape this life if you’re born into it, so when the light came back into your eyes, it was clear you weren’t who I believed you to be.”

I lean my head back against the wall behind me.

He’s just given me the confirmation I’ve searched for over the years.

I’m finally whole.

“You don’t know how true your words are. I was lost before, but I’ve discovered something precious to me…a family.” I’m giving away information that no trained operative should ever divulge, but it feels right to discuss this with him.

I know Farooq’s upbringing was as rough as mine, in many ways. He was orphaned at a young age, but it doesn’t excuse the path he’s taken. Just as it didn’t excuse mine prior to discovering my parents loved me. But he’ll never experience that feeling, and he’ll never change his mind, which makes him dangerous and a threat that needs to be eliminated before it continues on into the next generation.

“What’s it like?” Farooq questions while the girl he’s holding still whimpers.

“What do you mean?” I take the opportunity in the silence to step a little closer.

“Having a family who cares for you?”

“It’s the best feeling in the world.” I can’t lie to him. We’d once spoken about our upbringings. At the time, it was a way of getting closer to him. I told him a bit about my grandfather and how when he died his title of Lord Braybrooke had gone to his brother and not me. The brother was a very old man now with no children. I was the blood heir since Miranda couldn’t inherit, being a woman. At the time, I wasn’t happy the title had gone sideways, but a letter my grandfather left me explained it was for the best because of my parents and the way they were. Of course, it was all lies. Rubbing my gun against my nose, I dispel the anger at the thought of my grandfather, and his web of subterfuge to get what he wanted. He was a bitter and twisted man. I’m just sorry it took me so long to see it.

“My father never saw me as anything other than the person to take over from him when he wasn’t around anymore. I was the king of this operation at the age of six. All I was focused on was getting my revenge on the British people who took him away from me. I should have seen that he cared little for me in the first place, having failed to protect me from a life like this. I put a bullet in a man’s head on my fifth birthday. It tends to shatter illusions of a loving family,” Farooq admits and gives a mirthless laugh.

“I’m sorry.” At least I was ten when I took my first life and old enough to comprehend a little of what I was doing. Five must have been horrendous and stolen his childhood. But it still doesn’t excuse him for continuing on the path he has.

“Farooq, put the weapon down, let the girl go. We can help you. If you provide us with useful information, your sentence could be reduced. We can try and give you a chance at a life.”

“A family?” He snorts a laugh.

“You know as well as I do it’ll be virtually impossible with the charges against you. Even with a reduced sentence, you won’t be leaving prison for many years.” I’m not about to lie to him. He’d be too dangerous to let out.

“Tell me again what it’s like to have a family.”

“Farooq.”

“Say the words.”

“It’s amazing.”

A gun shot rings out around the darkness of the back of the warehouse. The bullet didn’t hit anywhere near me. Who was shot? The girl. Shit!

A loud feminine scream shatters the silent air.

Moving quickly, I run toward the shouts of anguish.

The girl stands bent over with the sparse contents of her stomach flowing from her mouth as she heaves over a figure collapsed on the floor. I grab her and pull her away and into my arms, checking for injuries as she struggles against me.

“Let me go,” she pleads, frightened as a newborn lamb being chased by a big bad wolf. Except I’m no longer the wolf. I’m the shepherd come to protect her.

“It’s ok. I’m MI5 from England. I’m not one of them.”

“H-h-he put the gun in his m-mouth,” she stammers out, her words ripping through the last piece of sanity she’s holding onto.

I look down and see the remnants of Farooq’s face. He was a vital piece of the organization, and we’d wanted to bring him in alive. But he wouldn’t have given us anything. I think he’d lost his mind a long time ago. Eventually, the end result would have been the same.

Operatives flood into the room and light it up.

“Hands up,” they shout at us, and I identify myself to them. They lower their guns when they see Farooq on the floor.

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