Page 54 of Damaged

The man’s arms came up away from his sides slowly. In the dusk, Rogue spotted the gun that now dangled from one finger, and he reached to snatch it.

The man swung around on him and Rogue ducked. When the guy’s feet kicked out, Rogue was already on the move. The man was fast, but Rogue had a gun.

Snick.

Snick.

The bullets from his silencer sank into a tree, narrowly missing the assailant.

“Are you Rogue?” the man hissed and dodged again.

Rogue paused, chest heaving.

“Who are you?” he snarled, aiming the weapon up at the guy’s head.

“I’m Crow. I got a phone call from Real.”

“How did you find me?” He squinted, squeezing his hand around the gun.

“I was already tracking Boston before the gang started tracking him and I followed you here.”

Rogue kept his voice real low and so did Crow.

Since Jagger worked for Real and Crow worked with Real, Rogue felt safe enough to lower his gun from out of the guy’s face.

Rather than continue talking with Crow, Rogue moved slowly through the woods toward where the red dot was glowing.

“There’s a homestead about a quarter of a mile out where they have Boston,” Rogue told Crow.

The assassin followed behind him. Silently, they moved through the trees until they reached the end of the woods where the break panned out in front of the house.

As if in silent consensus, he and Crow squatted down and watched as the scene unfolded. Smalls had Boston tied up and sitting on the front porch. Someone had built a fire, the glow shone clearly through the window.

The heavy rain tapered off to a drizzle.

In another minute, Smalls came out of the house shoving a woman and man down off the porch. From here, Rogue could hear the couple begging for their lives.

Smalls shot them both in the head.

The sound of the echoing gunshots faded, and a heavy silence settled.

Crow made a sound in the back of his throat and Rogue knew the guy was bothered by Smalls killing innocent people.

Rogue couldn’t muster up any feelings one way or the other. He’d seen enough innocent people die that two more were not going to make a bit of fucking difference.

His feelings on things like that had long ago ceased to matter.

One thing, though, the gunshots were a clear sign to the area that someone was out there firing a weapon.

Smalls had just signaled his own whereabouts.

Stupid fucker.

Maybe Smalls didn’t care? Rogue didn’t give a shit—it would be the last bad decision the man ever made.

“I believe that Boston knows the location of someone I’m searching for,” Crow whispered out of the blue.

Rogue didn’t want to know, nor did he care who Crow was searching for.

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