Page 93 of Dearly Betrayed

“I’m a valuable employee.”

“Hell of a time to negotiate your contract.”

“I’m an opportunist.”

“I’ll talk Adler into giving you another ten percent. How’s that sound?”

He cocks his gun. “Sounds good to me.”

I glance back at the other two. “You boys got a problem with your pay?”

“No, sir,” they reply, both of them grinning. Fucking goons.

“Time,” Zach says and pushes open the door.

I follow him, hurrying into the dim parking lot. There are few cars and fewer lights; it’s almost as if the stupid Grady bastards picked the perfect place to be ambushed on purpose. The second fire team heads up the back way and we take the front, storming the staircase to the second floor and heading to room 223.

I take point. I’d never let someone go before me and get all the glory. Once I’m at the door, the other fire team appears on the other side, and Domiano gives me the breach signal.

Zach takes my rifle and holds it as I square up and kick the door once, using all my strength to bash my steel-reinforced boot against the lock right above the knob.

The door shatters and slams open. Wood smashes against drywall and I step back. The room inside is dark as Domiano steps forward, rolling a flash grenade on the floor. I take my rifle back as Zach steps up next, throwing a flash deep into the room. It’s a tactic I developed during the war: two flashes, one short, one long, timed to go off slightly staggered, so if one misses, the other will catch them.

Two loud bangs and two wild bursts of light. Then I storm in, gun to my shoulder, as men file in behind me.

My night-vision goggles zero in on bodies in the bed. Two sharing, another alone. I open fire, not bothering to make sure they’re the right people. All three are rolling around, groaning as they rub at their eyes, and a hailstorm of bullets tears into them, mangling their corpses. It’s the easiest, most efficient kill of my life—these poor morons never thought we’d catch them.

I signal for a halt. Domiano’s men move forward, checking the bathroom, as Zach makes sure the guys in the bed are all dead.

“No pulse,” he confirms, one after the other.

I rifle through their bags until I find what I’m looking for. Three Irish passports. Probably faked, though the pictures will be real enough. I shove them into my bag and turn around to check on Zach.

He’s standing with his hands raised in the air, his face white.

One of the men in the bed has a gun leveled at him. The guy’s riddled with holes, oozing blood, and the barrel’s shaking.

“Don’t be stupid,” I growl at him. “You’re already dead.”

Another chance. I flash back to Jackson. I flash back to Fallon. One failure, one success. I promised myself once, a while back, that I’d never lose someone the way I lost Jackson. Nobody.

God, I hope she can forgive me. I hope she can understand. I love her so much, but I wouldn’t be the man I want to be if I didn’t do this. I love you, Fallon. I’m so sorry. Please, understand, and forgive me. I love you.

The Irishman looks at me, and in that moment, I shove Zach out of the way, knocking him over.

The gun levels in my direction and goes off.

Hammers slam into my body. One, two, three of them before the room erupts into chaos again. I stagger backwards, feeling nothing at first, until my breath hitches in my throat and I can’t breathe.

“Jayson!” Zach’s at my side with Domiano. I fall to one knee then topple over.

“Fuck,” I grunt. “Fuck. Fallon. Fuck.”

“We’ll get you back,” Zach says. “Dom, ready?”

They lift me up and carry me out.

I blink at the sky.

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