Page 56 of Azrael

The hallway behind the DJ booth was empty, staff having fled at the sound of gunshots.I pushed through the service door into the cool night air of an alleyway.Once the door shut behind me, the music became muted except for the thump of the bass.The quieter atmosphere was almost as disorienting as the club’s noise had been.

Blood dripped down my face and side, but the wounds were superficial.I took a moment to catch my breath, wiping my knife clean on my pants before resheathing it.My motorcycle waited where I’d left it, hidden behind a dumpster halfway down the alley.

As I mounted the bike, police sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer.I kicked the engine to life and pulled into traffic just as the first patrol cars screeched to a halt in front of the club.

Two down.One to go.

I found a 24-hour convenience store, parked behind it, and used their bathroom to clean up.The cut on my face needed stitches, but it would have to wait.I pressed a wad of paper towels against it until the bleeding slowed, then applied some butterfly bandages I’d brought just in case.The gash along my ribs was shallow, more painful than dangerous.

Back outside, I checked my phone.A message from Stripes:Target 3 confirmed at old Paz gas station.Alone.

Perfect.I still had time.Not a lot, but I could get this done.My blood was up, adrenaline flooding me.I didn’t feel the emptiness this time, just a cold rage thinking about Mazida and what she must have been through all this time.Soon, I’d take her home to her daughter.

I revved the motorcycle’s engine and headed east, toward my final target of the night.

Chapter Sixteen

Azrael

The industrial district loomed before me, all rust and broken windows under flickering streetlights.My body ached from the club fight, the cuts on my face and ribs throbbing in time with my heartbeat.I killed the motorcycle’s engine two blocks from the old Paz station, opting to approach on foot.The night had grown colder, or maybe it was just blood loss making me shiver.Three hits in one night was pushing it, even for me, but Mazida’s time was running out.The final target, Hassan, would be the easiest of the three.At least, that’s what I told myself as I melted into the shadows between abandoned warehouses.

When Stripes had said the Paz station was old, he hadn’t lied.It looked like a bomb had landed near this one at some point.The lights inside told me it was still somewhat operational, but the pumps out front looked like they hadn’t been used in a long time.According to Stripes’ intel, our target used the place to arrange drug drops and exchange information.

I crouched behind a dumpster across the street, watching.My ribs protested the position, the gash from Boris’s knife sending sharp reminders with every breath.I pushed the pain aside, focusing on the task at hand.A high-end Mercedes sat out front -- my target’s car, matching the description Stripes had given me.

From my vantage point, I could see a nervous-looking man pacing inside the store, periodically checking his watch and peering out the windows.This man wasn’t any less dangerous than the others I’d dealt with today.But he didn’t come across as being as ruthless.It made me wonder why he was so twitchy tonight.Did he know he was being hunted?

I checked my phone one last time.A message from Samurai:After this one, meet at the hotel.We get Mazida at 0200.I hoped that meant Eli had already come through and given up the information we needed.Roughly two hours from now.It would be tight, but I could finish this job and get to the hotel, maybe even have time to clean up.

The sound of an approaching car caught my attention.Headlights swept across the lot as a black SUV pulled in, parking beside the Mercedes.I pressed deeper into the shadows, watching as two men exited the vehicle and headed toward the store.Not part of the plan.This asshole was supposed to be alone.

“Shit,” I muttered, reassessing.I could wait them out, but time was ticking.Or I could adapt.Three targets instead of one would be messy, but doable.

The men entered the store.Through the windows, I could see them talking with my target, gesturing animatedly.The conversation appeared heated.I couldn’t afford to wait.Decision made, I moved.

I circled around the back of the service station, finding a rear entrance as expected.The lock was old and simple.It took only seconds to pick.I eased the door open, wincing at a slight creak.Inside was a storeroom filled with dusty boxes and the smell of stale cigarettes.Voices filtered through from the front of the store.

“-- tells me you fucked up.Some asshole is picking off high-end players one by one.”The voice was deep, authoritative.And I had no doubt the asshole he’d mentioned was me.

“I don’t know why anyone would be after us,” he responded, his voice higher-pitched with fear.“I was careful --”

“Careful?Boris’s dead.Gutted in that club he practically lived in.And Mendoza got his brains blown out at his favorite café.That’s not careful, that’s a fucking message.”

Did that mean these three had some deal going?Maybe the targets had more in common than I’d thought.Didn’t matter.The job was the same regardless.

I moved silently through the storeroom, positioning myself behind a shelf near the doorway to the main store.From here, I could see Hassan and one of the men -- a tall, broad-shouldered figure in an expensive suit.The second man was out of my line of sight, but judging by the shadow cast on the floor, he was standing near the front door.

“Did you get the informant to talk?”Hassan asked.Informant?Looked like maybe the man calling the shots, the one who gave me a hitlist, had more on his plate than he realized.A rat.

“Not a peep, even after we took fingers.Tough bastard.”

The second man moved into view, heading for the refrigerated section.“We should just kill him, dump the body.Cut our losses.”

“The boss wants information first,” Suit replied.“He knows something about the Bratva shipments.Once he talks, then we’ll dispose of him.”

I’d heard enough.The element of surprise was my only advantage against three men, likely all armed.I reached into my jacket, retrieving the garrote wire I carried for situations requiring silence.Clean, effective.But not as quick as I’d have liked.

The second man had his back to me, examining beer options in the cooler.I moved, a shadow detaching from shadows, crossing the distance in three silent strides.The wire looped around his neck before he registered my presence, cutting off his startled cry before it could form.I yanked back hard, the thin metal biting deep into flesh.

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