Tormentor Mine(49)
Oh, well. I’ll worry about that if it happens. There’s no way I’m leaving here until I’m done with Sara.
“Yeah,” Anton mutters, glowering at the computer. “Fuck, indeed.”
I leave him to it and head into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. Today, I handled a local job personally, leaving Yan’s twin brother Ilya to watch over Sara, and I’m still hopped up on adrenaline, my senses extra sharp and my mind starkly clear. It’s strange that killing can make one feel so alive, but it does.
As anyone in my field of work knows, life and death are but a slice of a blade apart, and wielding that blade is one of the greatest thrills there is.
I gulp down half a bottle of beer, eat a handful of nuts from a bowl on the counter, and go back to the living room. In a little bit, I’ll head over to Sara’s house to make dinner for us, and the snack should tide me over until then. Before that, however, Anton and I have to catch up.
The Mexico job is a big one, and we can’t afford to fuck it up.
“So what’s the latest?” I ask, sitting down next to Anton on the couch. Placing my beer on the coffee table, I peer at the computer screen. “How much of our plan are we going to have to scrap?”
“Pretty much all of it,” Anton growls. “The guards’ schedules are a mess, there are new security cameras everywhere, and Velazquez is instituting patrols around the compound perimeter.”
“All right. Let’s get to it.”
Over the next hour, we come up with a new plan of attack on Velazquez, one that takes into account the heavier security on his compound. Instead of coming in to assassinate him at night, as originally planned, we’re going to go in at lunchtime because that’s when only a few newbie guards will be on watch. It’s stupid, but most people, including Mexican cartel leaders who should know better, feel safer in the daytime. It’s one of the most common problems I’ve encountered during my security consultant days, and I’ve always advised my clients to have equally strong protections in place regardless of whether the sun is up or down.
“Did the transfer go through?” I ask when we’re done, and Anton nods.
“Seven million euros as agreed, with the other half to come upon job completion. Should keep us in beer and peanuts for a while.”
I chuckle dryly. Anton and two other members of my old team—the Ivanov twins—joined me two years ago, after I got my list and approached them for help, promising to make them wealthy in return for throwing in their lot with me. They agreed, both out of friendship and because they’d been growing increasingly disillusioned with the Russian government. With the team in place, I switched from security consulting to more lucrative—and flexible—wet work, using my connections to get high-paying gigs for us. I needed the money to finance my revenge and stay ahead of the authorities, and the guys needed a new challenge. While elimination of the people on my list took priority, we carried out a number of paid hits along the way and built up our reputation in the underworld. Now we specialize in eliminating difficult targets all over the world and get paid enormous sums of money for jobs everyone else is too scared to touch. Most often, our clients are dangerous, insanely rich criminals, and our targets tend to be that too—like Carlos Velazquez, head of the Juarez Cartel.
As far as my crew is concerned, there isn’t much difference between tracking down terrorists and taking out crime lords. Or bumping off whoever gets in our way. We’ve all lost whatever passes for conscience and morality ages ago.
“Heading out?” Anton asks, closing the laptop when I get up and put on my jacket. “Going to be with her all night again?”
“Probably.” I pat my jacket, making sure my weapons are well concealed. “Most likely.”
Anton sighs and stands up, leaving the laptop on the couch. “You know this is nuts, right? If you want her so much, just fucking take her and be done with it. I’m tired of these local ten-grand gigs; the stupid thugs don’t even put up a fight. If we don’t have another real job before Mexico, I’ll go out of my fucking mind.”
“You’re always welcome to strike out on your own,” I point out, and suppress a chuckle when Anton gives me the middle finger in reply. Even if we weren’t friends, he wouldn’t leave the team. My connections are the reason we get all this lucrative business. In the process of obtaining the list, I’ve ventured deep into the criminal underworld and gotten to know many of the key players. As skilled as my guys are, they wouldn’t be half as successful without me, and they know it.