Page 47 of Brutal Savior

Only once he’s down do I register the pain in my knuckles, the sweat sticking my shirt to my body, and the pounding of my heart. I jump up, grab the gun, and check for accomplices.

I push open the fire escape, breathe in the cool, fresh air, and peer into the darkness as Seb’s voice registers. He’s on the phone, yelling at someone. Probably the Gilda team waiting at the chopper.

I crouch to examine the assailant. Scruffy hair, stubble, and the yellow teeth of a crackhead. He doesn’t look like a pro,and he didn’t shoot like one either. I’m searching him for identification when the Gilda arrive.

“Sir. You both need to head back to the Compound immediately. Kendrick’s orders. We’ll take care of the local police and bring him in for questioning.”

I ignore the young officer and continue my careful pat-down. Nothing. Fingerprints will give us an ID, though. No way someone who looks this fucked isn’t in the system somewhere. I examine the weapon. Cheap as shit. Entry level. If this guy is a hired assassin, he’s the bargain basement variety.

“Sir, sorry, but I have to insist you—”

“I’ll leave when I’m fucking ready.”

The guy isn't dead, but he's bleeding, and a crowd will be here soon. Although my instinct tells me to stay with him, the Gilda officer is probably right. Getting custody of him will be a lot easier for them if the keynote speaker at the event isn't found with bloody knuckles clutching a weapon.

“Cameras?”

“We'll deal with it, sir. The chopper is ready to go.”

A polite shove in the right direction. With a last look at the assassin, I get to my feet. Seb and I follow the officer to the helipad on the roof and climb in. Seb is white-faced, fingers shaking as he buckles himself in.

The helicopter is small but top spec, and I’m glad of it as we take off. It’s been a while since anyone tried to kill me, and I take a minute to get my head on straight before I turn to Seb. “You okay mate?”

He laughs, an edgy sound, and wipes the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “Sure. Fucking hell.” He stares out of the window at the shrinking roof of the hotel before turning back to me. “Was he shooting at me or you?”

A good question. “Me, I think, but his aim was shit, so it’s hard to tell. Probably some religious crazy with a grudge against me.”

Plenty of religious wankers hate the idea of radical life extension. I’ve been accused of trying to steal souls from God. As if that dickhead needs any more than he already has.

He nods, but I can tell he’s still freaking out. He’s probably never been shot at before. He needs a distraction, or he'll start to spiral. “Look what bloody Quinn did.”

I hand him my phone and show him the messages. His mouth drops, but it’s done what it needed to. His hands grow steadier as he scrolls, and his voice sounds almost normal as he asks, “What are you going to do about it?”

Chapter Eighteen

Jacob

I’m on full alertas I push open the door to my flat, braced for Quinn to rush at me like a fucking lunatic, but she doesn’t. A quick, careful survey of the place, and I find her crashed out in bed, still fully dressed, sleeping like the dead.

That bloody girl. She’d sleep through a nuclear explosion.

It took longer than I wanted to get to her because I had to debrief Kendrick. The shooter is on his way but is being transported by armored ambulance and won’t arrive for a couple of hours. He’s in stable condition and not saying much.

Which gives me time to deal with Quinn.

Late as it is, I’m wired. The adrenaline from the attack has drained away, leaving me edgy and pissed off. I’m often that way after a fight, but seeing what Quinn did to my stuff up close and personal drives it to the next level. I force myself to pick up each ruined item and really look at them before I act.

Everything is fucking wrecked. The balls are bad enough, but staring at what’s left of the burned boots leaves me shaky. Theday I went with Grandad to get them is one of my happiest memories, and now it’s tainted. Grandad is eighty-five. Unless I can make a breakthrough in my research very bloody quickly, soon, memories and trinkets will be all I have left.

I let the rage simmer as I clean up, sweeping the glass into a dustpan and brushing it into the bin. I need to hoover the floor, but that’ll have to wait till morning. There’s a chance the noise might wake Quinn, and I don’t want that. Not yet.

I weighed my options on the tense helicopter ride. I’d been braced for her to act out, but the pure nastiness of what she’s done puts this into a different category. It’s outside the scope of a normal act of rebellion.

If I don’t answer this by putting the fear of fucking God into her now, I’ll lose control forever. And staring at the mess she’s made of my most treasured things, I can’t say I’ll be sorry to do it.

I’m looking forward to it, in fact.

It’s very, very bad luck for Quinn that she pulled this shit the same day I almost got my head blown off. It’s put me into a cold, detached headspace. The same headspace that allows me to get information out of prisoners by any means necessary. Yep, she definitely picked the wrong day.

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