Page 81 of The Saint

“Bastien.”

I took off, sprinting between the cars, avoiding the gunfire that rained down because I was too fast. I zipped left then right, evading their aim until I reached the front with the other soldiers.

I took cover and caught my breath, squatted on the ground with my gun in hand.

Godric appeared from the other side, as if he’d taken a different path.

“You didn’t have to come.”

He watched the soldiers break down the door and kill Ivan’s men. “Yes, I did.”

They moved in and swarmed the building, and I followed behind them with Godric, clearing the building like we were other members of the team. There were three floors, but several different office spaces and conference rooms, a building up for lease that no one occupied.

It was like finding a needle in a haystack.

I wasn’t on the comms system with the rest of the team, but I knew that wouldn’t be the best way to speak with Martin, so I called him directly, standing in one of the hallways.

“Bastien, this is a government matter now, so you can stand down.”

Godric stood with his gun lowered, watching the hallway in case we encountered company.

“I need to kill this guy, Martin.”

“Luca briefed me. He’ll be executed.”

“You don’t understand. Ineedto kill him.”

After a beat, he spoke. “They’ve pinned him down to the northwest corner. Top floor.”

“Thank you.” I hung up then headed upstairs and caught up with the guys who were continuing to break down doors and get closer to the rat trapped in a corner. When they reached the last door, it was barricaded, so they broke it down with a battering ram and shoved aside all the furniture there.

But we got there too late.

Ivan had already hanged himself. He dangled from the chandelier in the center of the ceiling.

One of the guys cut him down, and he hit the floor. No life-saving measures were taken. No CPR or epinephrine. If he could have been revived, no one bothered.

I stood over him and watched him lying there, his eyes open and his skin pale, like he’d been dead for at least a couple minutes. I was robbed of my revenge, robbed of the sick pleasure I was owed.

I grabbed my pistol from the back of my jeans and shot him in the face.

Shot him again.

And again.

Shot him until he didn’t have a fucking face.

The guys didn’t stop me.

Godric just watched.

I fired until the barrel was empty.

He was gone and the fight was over, but I felt empty inside. I didn’t save Fleur, and I didn’t avenge her either. The rat chose to die like a coward rather than face me, rather than face my wrath like a man.

Godric came to my side and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s over.”

“For him,” I said. “But it’ll never be over for me.”

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