Page 5 of Ignite
Heady adrenaline floods my veins—a welcomed thrill after too many stressful weeks holed up in the office.
I get high off the hunt. The fear I summon in others when they catch the barely audible snip of my silencers or the crack of my rifle from somewhere in the night when I don’t care to be stealthy. Possibly the screams of the unlucky souls I chose to carve up with my knife instead.
But this target was clever. More than I gave him credit for. He’d managed to slip through our strike at the docks in West Bank last night.
While my teams delivered the hard drive we’d snatched from Gabriel’s operation to my head of IT, I’d taken off after this fucker, only to lose him when he’d dipped into the lobby of a convention center hosting some medical professional event.
Honestly, I was beginning to question who the fuck I was. Four years in the Special Forces, and more than a decade into running a highly successful security consulting business, and I can’t even take out one target.
Did I lose sleep over the failed kill? Fucking hours of it. White-hot rage was still coursing through my veins when I rose out of bed before sunrise to a call from my staff with updates on my target’s whereabouts.
Too much time in the clown suit sitting behind a desk and not out in the field, Rev, my VP of HR, had teased me as soon as I’d stormed into the office this morning. I’d nearly slammed my empty coffee thermos into his face. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d broken his nose.
I spot my target now, a tall man with bleached hair and neck tattoos, exiting the subway. Head on a constant swivel, he drifts into a swarm of people on the sidewalk.
He knows I’m watching.
Had I more time in between meetings with clients and planning out complex security jobs, I’d take my time torturing this one. But after tailing him for hours, hopping countless subway lines, I was over it. I'd anticipated his route and posted up, and as soon as I had a clean shot, I was going to send this guy to hell with a few more holes in his body.
Adjusting the angle of my rifle to counteract the bitter wind, I keep my finger hovered over the trigger. The slightest error could cost the wrong person their life. The whole reason I started up Sinro Enterprises with my inheritance was to protect innocent people.
After being exposed to the wickedness of this world during my service, I couldn’t imagine returning to a civilian life where I wasn’t still fighting evil. I would have served longer, but two bullet holes in my shoulder and a fuck ton of PTSD had me shipped home instead.
Before I can line up my target’s head in the scope of my rifle, he darts into a crumbling public library building, phone clutched to his ear.
I unleash a growl. He must have eyes looking out for him. These motherfuckers keep multiplying faster than I can hire mercenaries to wipe them out.
Hefting my rifle off the ledge, I swiftly collapse the stock to fit in my briefcase. Then I grab my Glock and tuck it into the shoulder holster beneath my bomber jacket.
With my briefcase locked up for later retrieval, I drop down the ladder at the back of the pawnshop and sprint toward the library.
Cardio was not on my agenda today. Not when I’d spent hours punishing my muscles in the gym last night. Nor did I expect to have to cancel two meetings this morning. This shitstain is cutting into important business.
I burst through the entrance of the library. Immediately, I’m tossed a concerned look by a shapely woman behind the long counter. I give her a curt nod, as if that would reassure her I mean no harm—one glance at my looming size and cold, sharp features and everyone thinks I mean harm.
I prowl through rows of bookshelves, one hand beneath my jacket, resting on my gun. Dusty shelves soon part for low computer tables. My eyes scan over the heads of people typing away, coming to rest on a pretty face that tilts my world on its axis for a few slow breaths.
He tips his head up at me in curiosity, and it’s like a higher being sank a fishing hook in my cheek, lurching me to a halt to have me questioning my entire purpose. I think the answers to the universe might be hidden in the beautiful depths of his hazel eyes. My fingers twitch with the urge to sink into his chin-length, dirty-blonde waves and pull him closer. And that gold ring speared through his sinful, plush bottom lip…
His beauty is an unwanted shock to my system, forcing my battered heart to pound hard against my ribcage.
Fuck. Whatever. This. Is.
I hit reset on my brain, hurrying to find my target before he decides to open fire in a public library.
I catch him sneaking through a back hallway toward an exit. Glock poised for the kill, I rush after him and kick open the heavy emergency door to the alley. Three bullets immediately tear through it. At least he’s using a suppressor, but the punch of the bullets on metal is enough to stir up concern inside the library.
I let the door slam shut with a curse. Yeah, I’m definitely using my knife today.
Sneaking back down the hall to submerge myself in bookshelves, I tap a button on my earpiece to call my head of IT.
“What do you need now?” Alaric asks in irritation.
To some in my company, Alaric is a legend. A mythical creature capable of working magic on computers and security systems. To me, he’s my lanky younger brother who prefers to lurk in the lower levels of our high-rise, excited by the blue glow of computer screens and the whir of high-powered fans.
“I need surveillance on my target,” I demand. “Back street of the public library on Cincinnati and 7th. He must have friends.”
“Geez, Cain,” Alaric mumbles. “That guy’s not dead yet? Are you really that rusty?”
