Page 46 of Wrecked

A dance of death.

Every movement was precise. Every strike of his knife was done with cold precision.

Delivering three quick jabs to one man’s kidneys, Crow dropped low and sliced the back of the other man’s knee. The open artery sprayed the cobblestone. Crow moved and jabbed upward. Avoiding their fists, Crow shoved his blade beneath the one guard’s chin, pulled it out, and spun away. The second guard’s throat was slit before Crow moved to the dead bodies.

It had taken him too fucking long to neutralize the threat.

Of course, he could have used his gun with its twisted on suppressor, but in close combat, he preferred his blade. What he really favored were his short swords, but he hadn’t been able to bring them on this trip.

Dragging the two men off the path and into the dirt, Crow left them piled on top of one another. He slipped through the garden shrubs and stayed off the pathway as he headed toward the house.

The thirteen-million-dollar home that sat in the Hollywood Hills was a modernist mansion with panoramic views that included the Pacific Ocean. The place was fucking huge with three levels above ground and fuck knew how many below.

If he had to, he would kill them one at a time until he found Rebel.

That was when he heard Rebel talking.

“So, Angel just ran up to change into something warmer,” Rebel said.

Crow slipped closer and caught sight of another guard. He palmed his knife but waited.

“Tell Angel to meet me by the fountain, she wants to throw pennies again,” Rebel said and gave the guy a wave.

Crow eased back and spun, then he backtracked the way he’d come, keeping his eyes on Rebel, who walked along the path.

As soon as Rebel rounded the far bend of the path and was out of sight of the house and guard, Crow yanked the younger man into his arms.

Rebel threw his arms around his neck and held on tightly.

“Let’s get out of here,” Crow said, his voice gruff and hoarse.

“Music to my ears,” Rebel whispered.

They reached the tunnel where Crow had stashed Angel and the girl ran to Rebel.

The teenagers hugged tightly and Crow got them moving through the tunnel and out the other side with a hand to each of their backs.

“Where are we going?” Angel asked.

“To a hotel,” Crow said.

They reached the street and headed toward the SUV so he could take them to their final destination. Which happened to be a roadside motel not far from them. Years as an assassin kept his skills honed and he wouldn’t take the risk of taking them back to his hotel room.

“She has two trackers,” Rebel said.

Crow stopped.

“An ankle monitor and a locater embedded into a collar around her neck.”

“The ankle is just a chain,” Angel said, her voice soft.

“Just in case, hold her chin up and the collar away from her neck,” Crow told Rebel and when the man stepped up and pulledthe collar away as far as he could, Crow sliced the collar as if it were nothing.

When she was free, Angel gasped and rubbed at her throat as if she could rub the memories away. Crow knew it would take a long time, if ever, for those to fade. Maybe, just maybe, with professional help, she could find peace.

Or take up killing like Rebel had, he thought. Becoming an assassin had been therapeutic in a way, but also damaging. Rebel didn’t trust, was unbridled when angry, and kept alone most of his life.

That was no way for anyone to live.

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