Codename: UnSub (The Last Survivors Book 2) Page 27
Sister Morta nodded, and scurried off with the others of her ilk.
Mandy blinked, looked at Kevin, and said, “Really? Angel-Servant? When did you become a lord of darkness?”
Kevin twitched his hands, as if in an aborted shrug. “What can I say? They’re easily impressed.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I’ll just bet they are.” She patted him on the arm. “Let’s get you back to your place.”
Kevin give a weak smile. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
Mandy glanced to Kyle. “Kyle, time to make a wish.”
Kyle blinked, then looked at the stars. “Was that supposed to be a wish on the second star to the right?”
Mandy sighed. “Take his other arm.”
***
Mandy and Kyle poured Kevin into his bed. “Seriously, Kevin,” she said, “did you never consider a day when you might be wounded, and you’d have to get around all of those freaking booby traps? ”
Kevin arched his brows, similar to a shrug. “Actually, I considered the day where I was beaten half to death, and wanted no gaps in my security system. I’d rather do that than have to do my own profiling ever again.”
Kyle gave one of his almost-smiles. “As long as you’re not going to look inside my head.”
Kevin’s little smile flickered again. “Do you want me to?”
“No.”
“Good. My first question would be how old were you when you killed your father.”
Just as before, there was an unconscious, kinesics reaction, which Kevin was afraid of becoming an involuntary lethal reaction on Elsen’s part. Even Mandy braced to the impact of pissed-off killer.
Kyle didn’t say anything for a moment. “Why would you ask?”
Kevin shrugged, then settled into his pillow a bit more, eyes closed. “Most serials who take after mother—with an ax—have issues with women. You don’t. And there’s your basic killing style.” He took a deep breath. “I remember several male targets where you stabbed them in the spine. If I looked at you like a serial killer, I would have said that you killed him when you were between five and fifteen. Abusive home. Knowing you, the abuser was knifed in the back.” His left eye opened a crack to look at Kyle. “It might explain your trust issues and your distant approach to relationships…but it’s not polite to profile your friends.”
“We’re not friends, Mr. Anderson.”
Kevin closed his eyes. “Of course not, Kyle,” he said quietly.
“I don’t have friends.”
“How thoughtless of me.”
“We’re at best associates.”
“Of course, Kyle.”
“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”
Kevin’s last words as he fell asleep was, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Master Assassin.”
Epilogue: Start of Darkness
Nevaeh Kraft’s good eye opened just enough so that she could see her visitor. She smiled as broadly as the stitches allowed, and tried to sit up. After deciding that it was a bad idea, she dropped back to the bed. She glanced around. “Merc infirmary. Okay. At least it’s an ICU. Could be worse. I could be holed up at the Doctor’s office.” Nevaeh glanced at the cast on her arm, and it was signed by Doctor Gabriel Sieger.
“Nevermind,” Nevaeh muttered. The arm dropped, and she sighed. “Wow. That sucked. A lot.” She frowned, painfully. “It could be worse. At least I’m still alive. Not to mention that there have been other perks from this particular incident. Believe it or not, I met someone.” She closed her eyes, and a gentle half-smile touched her lips. “He’s smart. He’s not bad-looking. He’s resourceful. Pleasant. Heck, he’s even sane. I know. Sane. Who would have believed it? In freaking San Francisco.
“I don’t know what he feels about it. I haven’t exactly had a chance to ask him. Between the fist fights, the profiling, and the…morphine? I guess? Wow. That’s nice stuff.”
Nevaeh took a breath and continued. “Yes, I’m high. But even if I weren’t, I’d still tell you this. Honest. I’d still even think this. Really. He’s just…so…interesting. And you, well, hey, we grew up together. You’re still my sister. I don’t care how far or how long you’re gone. I love you.” She reached out and grabbed her visitor’s hand. “I’m glad you’re back in town. I hope you stay around this time…”
“Oh, I intend to,” Mandy Rohaz told Nevaeh Kraft. “I intend to. Tell me more about this guy of yours.”
“Kevin? Yeah. He’s great.”
***
Alek opened his eyes as he came to with a start. He would have looked around to check his environment, but a great weight pressed down on him, as though a building had fallen on him.
Actually, it was Frank.
“Get off of me, idiot,” Alek barked. He couldn’t exactly yell, Frank was too heavy for him to breathe enough for that. “Frank, I said now!”
But Frank was quiet. And cold.
Alek struggled, trying to get out from under his heavy lackey. Why couldn’t Frank have been a little lighter?
Alek pushed out from under Frank, and looked around. The park was quiet, and dead to the world. He looked at Frank again. Giant, stupid, loyal, unmoving, cold Frank. There was a great big hole in his back from some kind of big fucking gun.
Alek blinked a few times, trying to figure out what had happened. The math just wasn’t adding up. He backed up, then charged Frank’s body, the impetus flipping him over. Frank flopped over like a fish drowning on dry land. There were twenty holes in the side of Frank’s shirt.
The math finally added up. There had been two shooters, and Frank had taken the brunt of both attacks.
Frank had saved him.
But from what? From who? From …
“Derringer,” Alek muttered aloud. “You were the only other fucker who knew I was here.” He looked at Frank’s body, and in a fit of range, kicked him in the ribs. “You broke my favorite toy!” he screamed. “I wasn’t done with Frank yet!” He kicked Frank in the ribs again. “He was mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine! Mine!”
Alek kicked him once more, and staggered back, falling to the ground. Alek flailed in rage and frustration. If one didn’t appreciate the brutality and lethality of his rage, there could have been a comparison to a baby wailing in hunger and sadness. Instead, Alek was all rage and fury and homicidal intent, roaring out his wrath to the sky, pounding on the earth until it was properly subdued. He had nowhere to go, no one to hurt. Not yet.
In a burst of energy, Alek rolled to all fours, and bounded to his feet. “Derringer,” he growled like a feral dog. I don’t care how many of your fucking Forsaken there are between you and me. You are going to die. I’ve got a gallon of napalm with your name on it. I’m going to shove it all so far up your ass, you’re going to think its lube right before I rape you to death with a thermal lance! When I am done with you, you will beg me to die. Who will pray that there’s a God who will show mercy enough on you to send you straight to Hell. Nobody breaks my toys but me. NOBODY.
Alek turned to where Derringer must have stood to put those holes in Frank, and didn’t have to go far. Only a few feet from him was a handgun. It was a distinctive looking weapon with a big blocky grip for a large magazine. In fact...
It’s a merc gun. Alek smiled. Derringer was going to frame the mercs for killing me. If my guys went after the Mercs, the mercs would start hunting down my guys, and they would have to run for help. And Derringer would have been right there waiting for them, wouldn’t he? Oh, that dirty, cocksucking little fuck. I am going to burn his balls to the ground. I’m going to...
Alek blinked. Then he smiled. I wonder if the mercs would be happy to hear what Derringer wanted to do. Oh, that’s going to be so much fun when I tell them. Derringer has no idea what hell on Earth he’s unleashed. Time for him to find out.
About the Author:
Declan Finn lives in a part of New York City unreachable by bus or subway. Who’s Who has no record of him, his family, or his education. He has been trained in hand to hand combat an
d weapons at the most elite schools in Long Island, and figured out nine ways to kill with a pen when he was only fifteen. He escaped a free man from Fordham University’s PhD program, and has been on the run ever since. There was a brief incident where he was branded a terrorist, but only a court order can unseal those records, and really, why would you want to know?
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