Page 5 of Witness Protection

Chapter Two

Cayden tugged off his hoodie and tossed it in the bathtub. He leaned over the white pedestal sink in the bathroom to examine the damage to his face in the mirror.

“Motherfucker!”The bullet had grazed his cheek, leaving a burning gash that would leave a nasty scar. He poured alcohol on a facecloth and blotted the wound, gritting his teeth from the jolt of pain.

Everything about today was fucked up.

His jobs weren’t usually so damn sloppy, but this one had been personal. He should have ended that piece of shit quick and easy, but he drew out Morenov’s suffering, and it cost him big time. Not only did he nearly get his head blown off, but he’d left a witness behind.

He’d just made his kill, and then that fucking girl had to throw a huge wrench in his plans. His only target had been the kingpin; the others were just collateral damage. They should have stayed out of his way. Cayden had nothing personal against the girl either, but he couldn’t leave a witness alive, an unspoken rule in his line of work. He had a reputation to uphold—every hit had to be clean.

The blonde had been curled up in the bottom of a closet, her big, dark eyes staring straight at him like a deer in the headlights. He had no doubt she’d be able to pick him out of a line-up. It pissed him off that he had to leave her breathing, but he’d find her if it was the last thing he did. Cayden had ways of finding out information.

He tossed the rag into the tub with his hoodie and cracked his neck to each side as he left the bathroom. Cayden dropped down on the sofa, resting his legs on the coffee table. He leaned his head back, draping his forearm over his eyes.

He’d done what he set out to do. Shouldn’t he feel better than this?

Cayden had cameras set up around Morenov’s house. He’d been doing recon for over a week before he made his move. Once he’d finished the job, the first thing they did was whisk his witness away. They’d only hide the girl from him if she was important.

He’d replayed the security videos over and over since arriving home. He sat up and hit play again, zooming in on her face. It took him a while to realize it was Morenov’s only daughter. He’d never seen her come or go and could only pull up a few old pics online. Vasily’s right-hand man had taken her. Cayden had placed trackers on all the cars, so he couldn’t hide her from him for long.

His plan slowly took shape.

He’d wait them out, give them a few days to think he’d moved on. Then he’d wait for them to make a mistake, striking when they least expected it. He’d break her neck or put a bullet in her brain. It didn’t really matter how it was done.

The cushion next to him jostled as his cat jumped up to join him. He ran his hand over her back. He’d taken her in as a stray over four years ago. “Hey, Rosie. How was your day? Better than mine, I hope.”

Talking to a fucking cat.

This was what his life had come to.

He chuckled to himself, not willing to focus on how shitty things turned out for him. He was good at what he did, and the work paid well, but he was thirty-five now. Blowing his money on bitches and partying no longer held the same appeal. Then again, with Frank Almeida and his family gone, he had nothing left to hold onto, no reason to behave.

He leaned over the coffee table and began disassembling his handguns. Cleaning his weapons kept him focused. And right now, his mind was a mess. A drip of blood landed on his hand, then another. Cayden got up and slapped a few bandages over the wound on his cheek. It would have to do. He didn’t visit hospitals, and he needed to restock his medicine cabinet. After the bloodbath last month, he was fresh out of everything.

Cayden needed something to eat, and some noise to clear his head. He pulled on his jacket and put a full clip in his handgun before tucking it into the back of his jeans. After locking the door, he jogged up the concrete stairs from his basement apartment. A siren sounded in the distance, cats shrieking nearby. The stench of the sewer greeted him when he got to the sidewalk, only the scant streetlights illuminating the neighborhood. He lived in the ghetto, one of the seediest shitholes in the city.

That’s the way he liked it.

Being under the radar, nobody to bother him, was how he chose to live. The reputation of the area didn’t scare him—he was worse than the bogeyman.

He walked down the street to Bruno’s Pizzeria, the bells chiming against the glass as he entered. The entire neighborhood consisted of Mom-and-Pop shops struggling to survive. There were more and more stores boarded up over the past couple years. Small businesses couldn’t afford to pay the extortion payments.

The scent of pizza made his stomach rumble. The lights, the voices, the laughter—it all brought back bittersweet memories of what he’d lost.

“Cayden, what can I get you?” asked Bruno.

He sat down at one of the small two-person tables and pulled out his smokes. He tapped the pack, then lit up, taking a deep drag. “Usual.”

“You got it.”

The numerous conversations were a comforting backdrop as he watched the cars drive by from the front store windows.

He knew Amelia approached before she spoke. “Hi, Cayden. I’m sorry to hear about—”

“It’s fine, Amelia. I don’t need to hear about it.” He sure as fuck didn’t need to rehash this over and over. A month may have passed, but the pain and anger still brewed inside him like it was yesterday. He’d become more reclusive, bitter, and pissed off with the world. Morenov’s death helped, but nothing could fix what was broken inside him.

“Sorry. Can I do anything to help?” She sat down on the free chair. She wore purple sweats, her hair up in a messy bun.

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