Page 3 of Breathe
Azrael hit the ground running.
He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, but running really wasn’t a hardship.
With his small, lean frame, he flew over the ground and scaled the side of the brick wall that separated the local market from the houses.
Reaching the top of the concrete blocks, he paused, glanced back, and then disappeared over the side.
Two darkly dressed figures scaled the same wall after him and disappeared as well.
Azrael tossed the pair a glance, but didn’t linger.
He ran, challenging them to catch him.
The pair, Boston and Rebel, wouldn’t be able to keep up with him. Even as fast as Boston was, the youngest assassin was no match for Azrael.
Azrael cut through a stand of trees and thick brush that butted up against the Angeles National Forest and ran down a dirt road.
Reaching the small house that sat deep in the woods, miles from the nearest city, Azrael opened the door and stepped inside the brightly lit front room.
Beck, who stood inside, clicked the stopwatch in his hand and glanced at the time before holding it out to Azrael.
“You made record time,” Beck said just as Boston and Rebel crashed through the open door after him.
“Damn, dude,” Boston said, falling onto the dark brown couch that butted up against one wall of the living room.
Sweat dripped from the boy’s black curly hair. The strands fell into Boston’s dark chocolate-colored eyes, and restless fingers raked through it, sending wet curls into disarray. Boston was so agile and quick that he had almost caught Azrael.
Rebel stumbled over and dropped to the thick cream-colored carpet and sprawled onto his back, his arms splayed out, chest heaving. With dark curly hair and equally dark eyes, Rebel and Boston could have been mistaken for blood brothers.
Which was not the case, of course, but they were brothers by choice. In Azrael’s opinion, all of the teenagers there were his brothers. And although he craved his alone time, he also favored spending time with them.
Azrael reached around and took out the tie that held his hair back. The long strands spilled over his shoulder, and he pushed them back and rubbed at the base of his skull with relief.
He walked through the small room and into the kitchen area to snag a few water bottles from the kitchen table. Returning to the living room, he handed each boy a water.
“What did you tell Dave?” Azrael asked Boston. The boy wasn’t of legal age and he didn’t want Boston to get into trouble.
“I told him I’m staying in Nevada with Rip,” Boston said.
“Does Rip know that?” Azrael gaped for a moment.
“Nope.” Boston smiled with satisfaction, and Azrael shook his head. Lying to Dave was an explosion waiting to happen, but Azrael didn’t voice his opinion.
When Boston leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes, Azrael turned to look over the other two teenagers.
They currently worked as assassins for Erebus, an underground group of hitmen that had been formed years ago by Dave, the former Secretary of Defense. Boston, because of his age, was in training and couldn’t take on jobs yet.
Via the jobs he handled for Erebus, he paid the rent on this small house and considered it their base and office. The location and price had been way too fucking good to pass up and he couldn’t believe his luck when it had been brought to his attention by Dave.
After much discussion, they moved in and called themselves YA.
Most people thought the acronym YA stood for young adults…but for them it stood for young assassins.
YA had been formed by himself, Boston, and Rebel.
Azrael wasn’t cut out to rescue people.
He was more of the slice and dice the fuckers up when they did bad shit.
