by Amity Cross
I was a fool. All this time, I was a fool.
I’d gone to her funeral, her very real-looking funeral. I was on the run from Royal Blood, from the Necromancers, from Intelligence, so I’d remained in the car, watching them lower her casket into the ground from afar. I’d been a shell of a man for so long that when I’d reawakened from my haze, it’d been into something else. A darker version of myself.
Without a normal life to maintain, I could be anything I wanted to be without fear of being exposed. I could be a murderous psychopath and revel in it…and I did.
We both died that night, and both of us were reborn from the misery that followed.
Chapter 3
Lorelei
Xavier Blood had ripped my father’s heart out.
I’d stood in the door of the room watching them fight, and then his hand was in my father’s chest. He tore, screamed, ripped, grunted…and coated himself with blood. He held the still warm organ in his hand and looked me right in the eye. No remorse.
Unless you’ve been hardwired not to care, there isn’t a handbook on how to deal with something like that.
Xavier Blood stood there holding my father’s heart and told me he knew what I was about to go through and how he was just like me. He told me The Hangman needed protecting, and he could bring me back.
Vaughn can save you. You just have to be strong enough to let him.
I didn’t need saving. Everything was so out of control. I didn’t remember the life I had. It was just gone...shattered.
How could I be certain The Hangman was telling me the truth? It could just be another grand lie like the one my father had told me. My flesh and blood. The man who’d made me. Father had thought he was protecting me?
The assassin who needed her daddy to protect her. Pathetic.
Glancing across the motel room, I frowned. The Hangman had been in the bathroom for almost an hour. He still had to be there because there was only one window, and even I couldn’t fit through it. There was no way The Hangman was weaseling his way out of that room in his condition. At least, not without a jackhammer and a lot of noise.
Standing, I strode across the room and wrenched the door open. I found him standing over the sink, his shoulders sagging.
He was bare from the waist up, his toned body covered in lacerations and dark bruises. From the way his skin was torn up, it looked like the boys had dragged his naked body across tiny granules of broken glass. Instead of focusing on his muscle definition, which was rather pleasing to look at, I should’ve dwelled on the fact that his injuries needed to be assessed and his back cleaned a lot more thoroughly. It was clear he looked after himself and was used to some kind of refinement, despite his job description.
He was wringing out his shirt in the sink, the water brown and murky with blood and filth. Glancing up at me, he acknowledged my presence with a raised eyebrow, and then went back to his task.
Not a day ago, he stood before me, imploring me to see that his love was real, and now he’d dismissed me with a raised eyebrow? Had it been a game to get me to release him and Mercy? If it was, then he’d pay.
Snatching the damp face washer from the counter, I stood behind him and slapped the material onto his back. He winced, hissing through his teeth as I began to clean the grime from his broken skin.
“You don’t need to do that,” he said.
“Yes, I do,” I spat, already thoroughly annoyed with the man. “You can’t seem to do it yourself.”
“What happened to your face?” he asked, frowning at me in the mirror. My eyebrow was split, and my cheek was marred with a dark yellow blotch that was stark against my ivory skin.
Narrowing my eyes, I retorted, “It was necessary for a job.”
“You let yourself be beaten for a job?”
“I do what is necessary to gain the results required.” This man was positively exasperating.
I’d allowed myself to be hit repeatedly in the face by Bronx, one of Royal Blood’s strong-arms, to make my time in captivity with Mercy Reid more believable. We needed her to crack, to take to The Watchman’s ministrations and find out the whereabouts of Xavier Blood, and playing on her emotions had been the way we’d intended to break her down. I’d had to be convincing.
Obviously, none of that mattered anymore.
Reaching around The Hangman, I pulled his sopping wet shirt out of the sink and tossed it in the bin, and then I pulled the plug out of the basin and let the putrid water drain away. I turned the hot water tap on and wrung out the face washer before wiping at his back again.
“You’re throwing my clothes away,” he complained.
“They’re ruined.”
He needed a shower. Fuck the dirty clothes. They reeked of filth and piss and needed to be incinerated. I could get him more in the morning.
“Get in the shower,” I commanded.
“You want to see me naked, don’t you?”
I stared at him blandly. “It’s a penis. I’ve seen plenty before, and I don’t give a shit about your dick, Hangman. You stink. It’s either a shower or a slit throat. Take your pick.”
He raised his eyebrows and undid the button on his jeans. “You really have changed.”
“I don’t know who that person is. The person you say I was before this,” I replied. “I only know what I am now.”
“What you are now?” he asked, shucking off his jeans and shoving the waistband of his underwear down. “What, like a thing? Not who?”
I retrieved his clothes and stuffed them into the tiny bin with his shirt.
“Lorelei?”
“There is no who.”
It was that simple. I had a purpose, and that purpose was to kill who I was told to kill. The chain of command had been broken, but I was still the same. I either had to find a new master or become my own.
Vaughn stood naked before me—handsome and probably willing—and all I could think about was blood. If we’d shared something great, then I had no desire to rekindle it.
Stepping around him, I turned on the shower.
“I’ll get you something new to wear in the morning,” I said. “For now, clean yourself up and rest.”
“That’s it?” He asked it incredulously like he was surprised I hadn’t taken the bait of his semi-erect penis.
Stepping into the room beyond, I replied, “Yes.” Then I closed the door behind me, separating us.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I listened to the water running in the shower and the splashes that signaled The Hangman was doing what he was told.
What next? I had an opportunity to take Royal Blood, or I could follow the trail that led to Jacques Lafayette, the man my father had said he’d liberated me from. The man who sold women into sexual slavery. A human trafficker. Scum of the earth. I could track him down and find out once and for all if the story of my demise had any grain of truth to it.
Glory and riches or answers and identity. Those were my choices.
Then there was The Hangman. What was I going to do with him? He held a key to my past, or so he said. He spoke riddles about loving me, about revenge and longing. I wasn’t sure if I could ever love. I could take pleasure in a man’s body and fuck hard, two bodies intertwined aching for release, but that was just physical. Emotions… Well, they were nothing to me.
The water cut off, and I listened to the sounds of The Hangman drying himself off.
Emerging from the bathroom, he was still naked and didn’t do much to try to preserve his modesty. Reaching for the blanket I’d retrieved from the cupboard, he wrapped himself in the scratchy material and sat on the bed with his back resting against a pillow and his head leaning on the headboard.
Now that he was clean, I could see him clearly. His hair was dirty blond with a dusting of gray at his temples. I guessed his age to be thirty to thirty-five—not too old that he was jaded by this life and not too young that he was reckless with his decisions.
“Do you know why they call me The Hangman?” he asked, his b
lue eyes watching my every move like the predator he was.
“Yes. You hang your victims by their ankles and cut them until they bleed dry.” What was that to do with anything?
“Yes, to a degree,” he said, his eyes drooping. “But it’s not the real reason.”
I assumed I was going to hear about it whether I wanted to or not.
“A deal I was about to close went sour,” he went on. “Sykes—”
“Sykes and Jacques Lafayette,” I said, the pieces beginning to come together. Xavier Blood, Mercy Reid, The Hangman… They’d conspired to kill one of my father’s greatest rivals and had succeeded.
“Sykes was desperate to do business with him, and I had an in. It was around the same time I met you.”
“You know Jacques Lafayette?” I asked forcefully, turning to face him completely.
“I never did business with him, Lorelei.”
“Was it true?” I snapped. “Was what my father said true?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Then tell me why you thought I was dead.”
“The deal I was running with Sykes went sour. I wanted out because of you,” he said. “A week with you and I wanted to give it all up.”
“A week?” I scoffed. Pathetic. Love was just a disease that rotted a man’s core. It had rotted Vaughn’s soul.
“You wanted the truth,” he shot back, clutching the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Sykes took you before I could get you to safety. You agreed to come with me, Lorelei. You wanted it just as much as I did.”
“So Sykes murdered me because he couldn’t get his meeting with Lafayette.” I rolled my eyes. Children. Murdering people because of a temper tantrum.
“I was going to give my empire for your safe return…but…” He took a deep breath. “He was never going to let you go.”
This was the part where things got hazy for the both of us. The Hangman’s story would stop, and then mine would pick up months or years later. There was this whole block of time that was just darkness. Darkness that my father took away from me. Darkness that he said was to save me from all the hurt and pain I’d suffered at the hands of Jacques Lafayette.
“You were hanging from the ceiling,” The Hangman whispered. “Limp, dripping with blood. It’d pooled beneath you on the concrete. You were dead. There was no pulse. You were dead.”
He lowered his gaze from mine, but not before I saw the pain that he still held. Whatever happened in his past had scarred him so deeply, he may never recover from it. In my line of work, that was a weakness which could be exploited. I might need it before this was over, whatever this was.
“The woman I knew is still in there,” he whispered. “I saw it in that room only last night.”
I closed my eyes, my head beginning to ache. I just wished he’d shut the fuck up.
“She’ll always be a part of you, Lorelei.”
“She’s gone,” I snapped. “That woman is dead. Stop holding onto false hope, Hangman. It will only get you killed.”
He squared his jaw, his blue eyes blazing. “If she’s gone, then why did you save me?”
I didn’t know. I didn’t know what had gone through my mind when he’d pleaded with me to release them from their prison. Him and Mercy. Was it the promise of more? More what? I didn’t know.
I narrowed my eyes. “Because I’m having a mental break.” The Hangman didn’t say anything. Thankfully, the man knew what was good for him. “The Watchman screwed with my mind and now it’s all coming apart, or so you keep telling me. Or you could be trying to manipulate the holes in my memory to your own advantage.”
“I’d never—”
“If you want me to believe your words, you have to prove your worth to me, Hangman. Until then, anything you say to me is baseless lies.”
Rising from the end of the bed, I settled myself into the armchair by the entrance to the room, resting my foot against the door. If we had any unwanted visitors, I’d know before they could get too far inside.
“Lorelei—”
“Get some sleep,” I interrupted. “You’ll need your strength.”
Reaching up, I flicked off the light, plunging the room into darkness.
I left The Hangman sleeping in the motel room.
It was a test to see if at least part of what he had said was true. If he wanted to reforge some mythical love he’d lost, then he’d be there waiting with open arms when I got back. If he was gone, then I was truly on my own with the nightmare that was beginning to bloom in my brain.
Like it was a tumor, I knew it was there. The crack. The fissure. The sign that what had happened to Xavier Blood would also happen to me.
Walking into the central shopping district of Luton, I weighed up my options.
Royal Blood would be spinning wildly on its axis without a leader. That meant infighting was about to break out, and it would be bloody. In the scramble for power, the streets would run red…unless Intelligence had already gotten wind of Greggor’s death.
I doubted I could trust anyone in the ranks anymore. The men who were high in the hierarchy knew my identity and who Greggor had been to me. That would mean I was a target. It was safest to assume that the house I kept in South London was compromised. They would try to kill me and fail, but I couldn’t afford the attention. Not with The Hangman hanging on.
Then there was the reason I’d brought us to Luton. For the past three years, I’d rented storage space under an alias at the Lok’n Save. It was untraceable and would have everything we needed to disappear…or cause a lot of trouble.
Logic said to clear it out, stockpile and find a safe location to decide my next move. So I went with logic because it was the only tangible option that had presented itself.
First on my to-do list for the day was to find transportation. During my walk into Luton, I kept my eye out for a suitable car. One that was simple to unlock and hot-wire and wasn’t someplace I would be spotted while trying to break in.
I found a late model, slate gray sedan in a tiny lane, parked half on and half off the footpath. The predawn light was murky, and the houses overlooking the scene were dark.
I got the door open without much fuss. Inside, I ducked underneath the dash and pulled out the wires, working close in the poor light. Stripping the plastic with my teeth, I exposed the copper that would spark the starter motor.
Connecting the wires, the engine turned over and began to purr. Straightening up, I grabbed the wheel, disengaged the handbreak, and drove away. Minimal sound, minimal fuss. I would deal with the plates and distinguishing marks later. I had a few hours to organize myself before the police would be called.
I arrived at the storage facility just as it was opening for the day. I didn’t have my key with me, so I sweet-talked the woman on reception and gained entry without too much hassle.
The Lok’n Save had an indoor setup, with long hallways of orange reinforced doors toward the front, and roller doors toward the back, set against a bland gray backdrop. My footsteps echoed on the polished concrete floors as I walked the row searching for my number.
One-eight-seven.
Glancing up and down the hall and seeing I was alone, I unlocked the roller door and heaved it up. The noise echoed through the empty space around me, loud and harsh. Inside, I flicked on the light and Shangri-La was revealed.
Storage crates, lockboxes, and plastic containers lined each wall, meticulously organized, just as I had left them three months prior. It was untouched and still good to go.
Anything I could ever need for my line of work was in this room. Cash in multiple currencies, forged identity papers, weapons and ammunition, fake license plates and registration… Everything I needed to fool the system into believing that I was someone else.
Grabbing the box of black duffle bags from the back corner, I began filling them with as much as I could knowing I might not be able to come back here.
Making three trips, I carried the bags out to the car and
stashed them in the boot. I’d parked at the rear and just outside the field of vision of the security cameras. While the opportunity presented itself, I changed the license plates.
On my way back to the motel, I stopped at Primark and bought both myself and The Hangman two changes of clothing with cash—cash was untraceable. Around the corner, I bought two prepaid mobiles with a fake ID.
This was the part they never told you about in assassin school. The legwork far outweighed the moment. The moment being the hit. Hours and days of planning for a single shot that if you missed, would undo everything you’d worked for. Planning was far more important than the moment you pulled the trigger.
I wasn’t quite sure what I was planning for, but whatever it was, it was bound to be an eye-opener.
When I finally returned to the motel, The Hangman was still asleep, naked in his blanket.
So, there was a shred of truth to his ramblings after all.
Chapter 4
Vaughn
She was a gun for hire. Her father’s puppet.
She dealt with facts, orders, and logistics.
Tangible facts would get her to trust me, not blind faith. In the business of killing, faith that you’d hit your target wasn’t going to get the job done. You hit it or you didn’t. There was no room for error. A miss was a death sentence.
That was Lorelei now. The artist was gone, and in her place was a calculated killer. Lethal. If you were marked for extermination, you never laid eyes on her face because you were already dead.
Just like X had been, so was she. A nameless ghost, a specter of death.
Staring up at the ceiling, the yellow glow from the curtains, staining the room with its putrid light, told me I’d been asleep for a long time. It was day, maybe afternoon, but I wasn’t sure. The only thing I knew was that my entire body ached, and Lorelei wasn’t here. I was alone.
