Dark Game (Merikh Book 1) (15 page)

When she was ready she looked up from staring at the mug and took a deep breath. “I’m not interested. Now you.”

“Me neither, but I think this gives us an excellent opportunity to take him out.”

“He says you can talk to him whenever you want, meaning we can set the scene. It’s pretty sweet.” She smiled as she raised the coffee mug and waved it at me. “Give me some more of that disgusting coffee and let’s plan a hit.”

Chapter 13

It turned out Stephen had called the sheriff the night before. He’d left the party and done it from his car.

I went into the bank the following morning – Thursday – and let him know I wouldn’t be coming back to work. He was thankful for what I’d done for him and offered me a raise if I’d stay. When I declined I saw him switch into full-blown manager mode and a few minutes later I was being walked out. He took my ID and told me I was not to attempt to access the bank systems again; my login was disabled and any attempt would be logged.

When we got outside he thanked me again and apologized for the treatment. I shook his hand and told him not to worry about it.

Foster’s goons arrived for the morning drop-off and Stephen walked them inside.

Patty stayed at the door when everyone went back to work, though she didn’t come outside and say anything. She just watched me with an odd look on her face, half anger and half – I think – lust. I waved, and when she didn’t respond I shrugged my shoulders and left.

We were going do it at his house at midday. We had his schedule – he used his last name followed by his birthday as the password on his work computer – and it said he was working from home the rest of the week. We parked the van a half-mile away and went over the plan again.

Getting into the place had always been an option, but now we were being invited in. Leaving a heavily guarded house after you’ve already taken out the owner isn’t nearly as hard as getting in to begin with. If an alert goes up you don’t still have to complete your hit, you just have to run, and security isn’t set up to stop people from getting away.

“I’ll be outside the gate when you give the signal,” Mouse said, glancing up the isolated road in the direction of Foster’s estate. It was hidden behind trees and distance, set back from the empty road on top of a low hill. I had a map of the area memorized in case I had to leave in an unexpected direction.

“I’ll sort out a distraction and swing round from the side of the house when it’s done. Do you have the bottle?” Claire had given us a small bottle of ambrosia for Mouse, in case things didn’t go according to plan. She said it was the real thing, rather than the weak stuff she’d been giving Foster. Whatever that meant.

She opened her bag and showed it to me. It looked more yellow than the liquid I’d seen before, but otherwise there didn’t seem to be a difference.

“I have no intention of using it,” she said as she closed her bag. “Strictly for emergencies. Nobody is jumping me this time.”

“Just keep it handy. I don’t want to have to rescue you again.”

“I told you, I was doing just fine before you blundered in there.” She smiled. “We doing this?”

“The first job of our illustrious career.”

“Go,” she said. She squeezed my arm before pushing me toward the door.

I left her on the side of the road and started walking. The sun was high in a clear blue sky and it was uncomfortably hot. I stuck to the shade of the trees as much as possible but even there I was sweating in minutes. I was wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt, and regretting it. I realized that the image in my head of my first job – the suave hitman striding into the home of his enemy – was already dashed. I’d look like a drowned rat and smell just as bad by the time I got there.

I was excited but not nervous. I’d killed before, though under very different circumstances; DeLacy had ordered us to take out a few targets as part of our training, and I think to desensitize us to it. It worked to desensitize me, but it also got me thinking about who I was training to be. I’m surprised the clan doesn’t lose more people the same way.

I came to his huge gate and hit the little black button on the console. I glanced up at the camera looking down on me and waited for someone to answer. I could almost make out his house behind the trees at the end of the long driveway, and there was nobody waiting for me.

The gates opened without anyone acknowledging me and I walked through and started the trek up to the house. At least here the side of the road was a manicured lawn and I didn’t have to keep stepping over random holes. The house slowly appeared from behind its leafy cover and I was able to see it up close for the first time.

It looked like it belonged to a billionaire or royalty, the kind of place that has more toilets than the town of Midway yet housed no more than ten people if you included the staff. I stepped around the fountain and was met by two of Foster’s goons. Foster himself stood at the top of the stairs, wearing a suit despite being at home.

“They’ll have to search you,” he said. I put my hands up and let them come to me. “You understand why, of course.”

“Of course.” They gave me a thorough search and uncovered the six blades I’d brought with me. I knew they were going to find anything I brought so I’d left the rest with Mouse. They gave me another pat down and stepped out of the way.

“Come on up,” Foster said. He turned and went into the house and I followed a moment later.

Inside was heavenly, air-conditioned to the point of being cold. I wanted to take my shoes off and walk barefoot on the marble floor just to feel how cool it must be. Decorative columns pretended to hold up the roof three stories above my head and there was a grand staircase leading to the top floors. Foster was on his way up and I followed.

His office was less impressive. If I’d expected anything, it was to find walls filled with books and a giant mahogany desk from which he could lord over his domain. Instead it was a small room that wouldn’t look out of place at an accounting firm.

“Seems a little small,” I said as he sat in his chair behind his Ikea desk. He waved me to the comfortable chair opposite and smiled.

“I find a space like this conducive to hard work. You get people in my position who install floor to ceiling fish tanks or keep fine art where they work, and instead of accomplishing something they spend all day admiring their purchases. And, by extension, they admire themselves.”

“You don’t admire yourself?”

“I do, of course.” He smiled and relaxed a little. “But I also want to make things happen. Realize my dreams and all that pep-talk crap. I can do that from here at least as easily as I can do it from somewhere more ostentatious, and probably better. I assume you’ve come to accept my offer?”

“I’ve come to discuss your offer.”

“Ballsy, but go ahead.” He pressed a button on the phone on his desk and called for drinks, then gestured for me to continue.

“We want to know more about the conflict we’re getting involved in. We’d like to know the nature of the people we’re going into business with.”

He smiled that annoying smile. “That’s probably smart. Something I’d do, I guess. Alright, here goes. There are no good guys and bad guys, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just people trying to win. Our side does bad things as often as theirs, and we do at least as much good. We’re the reason the world looks the way it does because we’re the ones winning. If they had their way, we’d all still be living in mud huts and praying to the sun.

“You’ll make the fight easier, and bring the end of the war closer. You’ll be important, and respected for it. We treat all our employees well but in time you’d graduate beyond that. You’d become one of us. I can’t promise you a high-ranking position or anything, but I can promise you’ll get a seat at the table in time.”

“Who else is at this table?” I asked as a soft knock came from the door behind me. A woman in the female version of Foster’s tailored suit stepped in with a tray and put it on the desk. It had an array of alcoholic drinks and a can of Coke. I thanked her as she left and picked up the Coke.

“Leaders and people of influence. We shaped the world and now we run it. Anyone you can think of with some power is either one of us or working in some way for one of us. While Beyahn and her kind are scrambling around the edges, we are enjoying the high ground.”

“Pretty picture,” I said. I opened the can and took a drink, ignoring the glass with ice on the tray. “Who would you expect me to kill?”

When most people hire a hitman they don’t like it when you use the word kill, or murder. Foster didn’t notice.

“Whoever you’re told to.”

I let my silence ask for more and he continued after pouring himself a drink from an expensive looking bottle.

“We can take care of their agents but they themselves are formidable. You’re able to treat them as normal people, more or less. So your primary function will be to kill the gods.”

“That doesn’t seem like it would take long.”

He chuckled. “As I said, you’re ballsy. They reincarnate when you kill their bodies and it takes them a little while to return to full strength. My vision is for you to keep them weak by taking them out before they ever get back to normal. Their followers will be permanently weakened, and we will be able to finish what was started at the dawn of time.”

“And all thanks to me.”

“That’s why we’re paying you so well.”

I drank more Coke and thought about it, not even having to pretend to be interested. It was appealing, and if the offer hadn’t come out of Foster’s mouth I might have tried to convince Mouse to take him up on it.

“I’ve been sent here to kill you,” I said. I put the can on his desk and almost smiled at the annoyed look on his face when I didn’t use the tray.

“I know.”

“No, today. I’m supposed to be here to kill you. We’re using this meeting as an opportunity to get close enough.” I relaxed into my chair, mirroring his posture.

“By telling me I assume you’re letting me know that you’ve decided not to?”

I nodded and matched his fresh smile with one of my own.

“Did the waitress try to convince you?”

“She tried, but her offer isn’t nearly as appealing.”

“I knew I liked you, Merikh. We’re the same, you and I. Different skillsets but the same underneath.” He put his hands on the arms of his chair and I fidgeted for a moment before matching him again.

“So how would you like her to die?” I wasn’t sure if I was reading him properly, or at all. He could still have been conning me, could still know what I was up to and be good enough to keep it hidden from me. I didn’t know, but it looked like he was buying it.

“My suggestion is this afternoon, when the crowd of old people clear out and there’s a moment of quiet. You’ll probably have to kill her staff, as well. Stage them around the place and don’t be seen.”

“Question. Where will you get your ambrosia once she’s gone?”

“I won’t need it.”

He had enough to pull off whatever he was planning.

“Has Littleton taken their share? Did Galahad ask for help?”

“He has.” He didn’t skip a beat when I mentioned Littleton, meaning he already knew I was there. I figured as much, but I had to check.

“And you think killing Claire is going to help your cause.”

He nodded.

“Then we’re done here. Consider her a corpse.”

I stood and he joined me, matching me without thinking. I extended my hand and he shook before saying, “I’m surprised you haven’t asked for payment.”

“I only expect to be paid when I’ve completed the job.” He hadn’t let go of my hand, which I found uncomfortable, but not odd.

“And what will you tell your African friend?” I blanked for a moment before working out he meant Mouse. “I assume she was on board with you taking me out instead of the waitress?”

“She was, but she does as I say. She doesn’t care one way or the other, as long as we kill someone. It’s one of her charms.”

He shook my hand again and let me go. “Good. Good. I’ll get someone to let you out. You should call her to pick you up, though. It can’t be comfortable sitting out in the sun like that.”

“I need to explain things to her first. She’s expecting me to come out running and I don’t want her shooting one of your men through misunderstanding the situation.”

“Makes sense.” He stepped around his desk and walked past me to open the door. He gestured me out in front of him and began to follow.

The situation wasn’t ideal. I’d been expecting a larger room with more potential weapons, for one. For another, I’d hoped to get him more comfortable. But we work with what we have.

I backed into him sharply, throwing all my weight into it and driving him back into the room. As he came crashing to a stop and fell to the floor, I closed the door. I hadn’t heard the woman’s heels on the marble when she brought the drinks, meaning the room was soundproof.

Before he could rise, I kicked him in the face, aiming to break his nose and succeeding. He fell back under the desk and I reached over his flailing legs to grab the expensive bottle he’d poured from. I swung it at his head as he once again tried to rise from the floor.

It connected perfectly with the side of his head. A wet thud and he was down again, and this time he stayed there. Blood was flowing freely from his nose and a gash ran along his temple.

I’d inventoried his desk while we were talking and noticed an ornate letter opener sticking out from under a pile of paper. I grabbed it before rolling him on his front and sitting on his back. I jabbed the opener into his neck and slashed around, making sure I destroyed as much as I could.

Ding dong the witch is dead, I thought. His blood squirted out on the cheap carpet, a torrent of it that seemed like it was never going to end. When it did, I stabbed him again, this time high on his spine, severing it.

It never hurts to be careful when you’re dealing with magic.

“He’s down and I’m on my way out,” I said to Mouse, who’d been listening in. “I’m not sure what the distraction will be yet, but I’ll let you know when to start driving.”