The car comes into sight, and I feel adrenaline coursing through me, urging me on.
Just a little further, and I’m in the clear.
This was for you, Mom.
Charity
Distantly, through the thick fog of terror and shock clouding around my head, I can make out the frightened, panicked screams of my fellow party-goers. I can see their faces twisted into grotesque masks of fear, mascara-black tears tracking down porcelain cheeks. Composed, well-medicated, tipsy people from the upper echelons of elite society crying out in true mortal dread for probably the first time ever in their easy, comfortable lives. Sheltered people running for shelter.
And even though I am certainly not wealthy like they are, I am sheltered. I have never felt anything like this before. I have never watched a man die. Not even in the movies. My parents never let me watch that kind of thing. Besides, even if I had, there’s no way a fictional death could possibly hold up to the sense of watching it unfold in real life. Watching the power and presence of a human being dissipate into thin air.
It happened so quickly. The man, whose name I can recall from the dossier in the woods was Gerald Callahan, was standing and beaming brightly one moment, his eyes locked on the burst of bright red fireworks. And the next moment, there was another shock of bright red—this time from the bullet bursting through his unsuspecting skull.
That spray of blood, so surreal and yet viscerally grounding at the same time, will surely be locked away into my deepest, darkest vault of memories for the rest of my life. A big smile, a loud crack, and then he collapsed. Like a popped balloon, he fell defeated and deflated to the ground next to his horrified wife.
There was nothing anyone could have done to stop it. Even the hulking presence of his two bodyguards could not protect the bad man from meeting a cruel, but swift end. He suspected that something terrible might happen to him. He was concerned about his safety. He did what he could to prevent his own death, but it doesn’t matter now. I am realizing now that if death wants you, it will take you where you stand, wherever or however that may be.
No matter how much money you have squirreled away in the bank, no matter how strong or wise or cocky or powerful you are, death can find you and take you away in an instant. A big man in life is just a bigger corpse in death. More wasted oxygen. A broader grave to dig.
I just can’t seem to process how quickly it all went down. He was up and full of life, and then in an instant that life—with so many years and so much experience tucked away—was snuffed like a blown-out candle. And the worst part of it is that the man responsible for his death, the grim reaper of tonight’s event, is the same man who is pulling me along by the hand right now.
The same man who kissed me and gave me pleasure beyond anything I ever could have imagined. The same man who has protected me and treated me like a princess today.
And for whom I still feel a twinge of affection. Despite everything.
What is wrong with me?
“Charity, come on!” he says urgently, tugging at my hand. Those dark brows are furrowed together in worry, his green eyes flashing, pleading for me to move faster. I’m not intentionally trying to drag us down. I don’t want to get caught either. I mean, at this point, I’m more than just an unwilling hostage.
I am an accomplice. I’m the cover story. I am Jake’s supposed alibi.
I know that’s why he bought me this dress and encouraged me to make myself pretty, to drink champagne and chat with the other guests. I’m just here to make him look less suspicious. To lubricate the sticky situation and make it easier for him to carry out his diabolical murder plot.
And I did.
I played my role like a true actress, without fighting back at all. I gave him what he wanted, and now, as a result of my actions, a man is dead. His wife is a widow. Sure, he was a bad man and I can try to tell myself she’s better off without him but… I can’t know that for certain.
“Hurry,” hisses Jake again, “we have to get out of dodge.”
I want to pick up the pace. But my legs feel like they’re made of lead. My whole body is going numb with shock, my mind drifting away to a safer, quieter place, far from the wreckage of this dramatic scene. Out of reach.
“I-I’m trying,” I manage to choke out, my throat aching with a hard lump. I’m doing my best to keep from crying, until I realize that I already am. The tracks of tears on my cheeks feel cool in the night air as we move along, the breeze drying them into thin, sticky streaks.
“Wait! Nobody leaves until the police arrive!” bellows a booming voice from somewhere behind us, breaking out over the din of screaming guests. I gasp and whip around, wild-eyed, to see one of the bodyguards glaring out over the parked cars, his broad chest heaving and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He is glancing around with crazed suspicion, and when his eyes lock with mine, my whole body stiffens up.
He narrows his eyes and his mouth hardens into a flat line as he leaps off the marble steps and starts barreling in our direction.
I scream in terror, which makes Jake glance back over his shoulder. When he sees the bodyguard coming after us, he swears, “Shit!”
He starts running faster, but I can’t keep up. I trip over a rock and go flying through the air with a startled yelp. I close my eyes and brace myself for a painful impact, but instead, Jake effortlessly catches me in his arms and hoists me over one shoulder, carrying me off to the rental car. He unlocks the car, all but tossing me into the passenger seat before sliding behind the steering wheel and throwing the engine into gear.
The enraged bodyguard is just a few feet away when Jake yanks the lever into reverse, slams his foot on the gas pedal, and whips out of the parking space. The car peels out down the long driveway, with the bodyguard bolting athletically after us, shouting and shaking his fists.
I can’t stop trembling and whimpering in fear as Jake expertly weaves the car in and out of the choked line of vehicle traffic and foot traffic along the way. There are people running alongside the car, crying and hysterical, making their way toward the front gate just like we are. Jake is glancing in the rearview mirror with a strained expression, trying to shake off our assailants. But I’m staring straight ahead, watching the wrought iron gates start to materialize out of the shadowy darkness.
And when I see them, my mouth falls open and my eyes go wide.
My heart sinks.
I gasp and reach over the console to flail at Jake’s chest with my hand, breathless and desperate to get his attention. “J-Jake! The gate! The gate is closing!” I cry out. Someone in the mansion must have activated the gate’s controls to close and therefore keep any and all suspects from fleeing the scene. The gates are very slowly closing, but the space through which we could fit is narrowing right before my eyes.
His own eyes flit back to the driveway ahead of us and he murmurs, “Fuck. Hold on.”
He slams his foot down on the gas pedal and leans forward, dodging and weaving as other cars and fleeing guests appear out of the darkness. I clutch both sides of my seat, praying desperately while tears stream down my face.
I can’t stop murmuring to myself in full-blown panic while my heart races along. “There’s no way we’re going to make it,” I whimper. “We are going to be stuck here and the police are going to come and they’re going to arrest us and we are both going to jail and my parents will be so disappointed and—”
As the gates start to wrench closed around us with a gut-twisting metallic creak, the back bumper of the rental car just barely squeaks through unscathed. Still in total shock, I whip around in my seat to look out the back windshield, gawking at how close a call that was. The gate clinks closed with a definitive scrape of metal on metal. Countless vehicles screech to a halt, trapped within the bounds of the estate while Jake pilots the car out of sight down the quiet road.
“We made it,” I breathe, still shaking all over.
“Yes. We did,” Jake confirms. “Close call, too.”
; “But you—but we—we killed that man,” I whisper, tears rolling down my cheeks.
Jake glances over at me with a stern look on his handsome face. He shakes his head. “No, Charity. I killed that man. Not you. Don’t carry this burden yourself,” he warns me.
But I’m too far gone, the guilt rising up to swallow me whole. “I-I went along with your plan. I was your cover. I did what you told me to do and now a man is dead!” I gasp.
“You knew that was the plan from the start,” he says quietly.
The emotions bubble up inside of me and I can’t hold back, screaming at him, “You killed him! You killed that man right in front of me!”
“He deserved to die,” Jake insists. I cradle my face in my hands for a moment, my whole body coursing with sobs. This is too much for me to process.
“Jake, you can’t do that. It’s a sin! And it’s against the law,” I counter, my words slightly muffled by my hands.
“The law is not always fair,” he says.
I look over at him, horrified. “The law is the law! There’s a reason laws exist. We have to follow the rules or—or bad things will happen,” I murmur, feeling lightheaded.
“Bad things happen in spite of the laws all the time, Charity. That man, the one you’re mourning for right now, was an evil man. A true, real-life villain. He hurt people. A lot of people. The world is better off without him,” Jake explains calmly.
“That’s not your choice to decide,” I protest. “That’s—what is it called? Vigilante justice. You can’t take the law into your own hands. It’s wrong!”
“Charity, I know you think the world is black and white, but that’s not how it really is. Everything is complicated. Everything is difficult. And every person has to live by a moral code. Sometimes the law can’t catch up to true morality. Sometimes it’s not perfect. Bad men slip through the cracks all the damn time, and if the law can’t bring them to justice and make them pay for their mistakes, then someone else has to. It just so happens that this time, it’s me,” Jake tells me passionately.
He glances over at me, those green eyes bright even in the darkness of night. I’m shaking my head, unable to come to terms with the events of tonight.
“You saw his file, Charity. You know what kind of a brute he was,” he adds.
“I just don’t understand why you have to be the one to make it right,” I mumble softly, looking out the window as tears roll down my cheeks. Suddenly, I just feel so exhausted. So overwhelmed. I haven’t slept in far too long, and my body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. I’m too weak to fight, but I need to keep trying.
We ride along in tense silence for a few minutes, and then Jake speaks again, this time in a low, cautious voice. “Do you want to know the truth?” he asks.
I drag my eyes away from the window, turning to look at him. “Yes. I-I need to know, Jake. I want to understand,” I sniffle.
He sighs, staring hard out onto the road before us. “That man in the hotel room, the one who hired me, he is paying me a lot of money to carry out these executions,” he begins.
“I know that part,” I remind him. “You kill for money.”
“Right. But you don’t know why,” he goes on, looking over at me for a second before turning back to the road. I stare at the side of his face expectantly.
“Go on, then,” I prompt him.
He takes a deep breath and admits, “I need money. Specifically, I need money to give to my mother’s doctors. She… she’s sick. Really sick. We lost our insurance. They won’t pay for her medications anymore. She needs those meds to survive. Without them—without them she can’t keep going on. My mother is dying, Charity, and unless I get a lot of money very quickly, I am going to lose her.”
It takes me a couple seconds to register what he’s telling me.
“You need the money for your mother?” I repeat. He nods.
“She’s sacrificed so much in life to raise me and take care of me, and now it’s my turn to save her. We don’t have the money. We don’t have any other choice. The medications she takes, the ones that keep her alive while she’s waiting for a transplant, they cost hundreds of dollars a day. The doctors’ visits cost hundreds. The diagnostic testing costs thousands. And she can’t work right now. She can’t earn money—and she shouldn’t have to. Not now. Not while she’s just barely struggling to survive. It’s not fair. She’s a good woman. An angel. And yet these rich assholes get to cause so much pain and suffering in the world and nobody stops them. Nobody puts the money where it’s meant to go. Nobody cares about the good people like my mother,” Jake explains, the emotion in his voice making my heart surge with pity and understanding.
“But you do. You care,” I say quietly.
He nods.
“Yes. It’s all on me to make things right. I can’t change the whole world, but I can do this small thing. I can finally punish two evil men and remove them from the world to make it a better place, and at the same time, I can save my mother.”
“Two birds, one stone,” I whisper.
“Exactly,” Jake agrees. “I know you don’t get it. I don’t expect you to. But this is what I must do, Charity. I don’t have any other choice.”
“No. I do understand,” I reply honestly. He looks at me, surprised. I can feel myself softening, warming up to him again. Even more now that I know why he’s doing this. He’s not being selfish or vindictive. He’s trying to bring a little balance back to this dirty world.
I think about my own mother, about how much I adore her. She’s not perfect, but she tries to do right, and she’s always taken care of me, even if she pushes me too hard or holds on a little too tight. If my mother was dying, I think I might do the same. I would do anything in my power to save her.
“I never expected to have someone along for the ride with me,” he says, reaching over to take my hand. “It was never supposed to happen this way. I swear. I was supposed to act alone. No witnesses, no accomplices. But you just fell into my arms. I could never have predicted that. Neither of us meant for this to happen, but now that you’re here, we have to adjust. I need to know if I can trust you, Charity.
“I need to get paid and give the money to my mother before the cops can catch up with me—if they ever do. But that means I have to rely on you to keep this secret and follow along with me.”
“You need me to cover for you,” I reply.
Jake nods, and it looks like this suggestion pains him, but he has no choice.
“Yes. I do,” he admits, then turns to look at me with pleading eyes, vulnerable for the first time since I met him. The power is in my hands. I have to decide what to do with it.
But the answer is simple. I don’t even have to think twice.
I give his hand a squeeze and answer softly, “I’ll do it. I’ll help you.”
Jake
A couple days later, I’m standing over a hot griddle in our hotel suite in the city of Lancaster, glancing out the window at the rapidly fading light of the overcast Pennsylvania skies. The clouds cast an ominous light over the industrial red brick that so much of the city is made of. There’s a very specific kind of mood cities like this one convey, and I’m not poetic enough of a person to put it to words. I can’t even decide if it’s more good than bad.
The spam and eggs sizzling on the pan in front of me most definitely smell good, though.
“I...didn’t think the smell of spam would ever make me hungry,” Charity says, making her way into the kitchenette and getting herself a bottle of water from the fridge.
“I figured we could use some comfort food that didn’t make us feel like garbage after eating it,” I said, giving her a gruff smile. “I usually don’t turn my nose up at fast food, but sometimes you really need the smell of something hearty cooking in a kitchen to keep you grounded when you’re on the move.”
“Or on the run, I guess,” she adds, and I chuckle.
“Well, I wasn’t going to put it that way, but…”
We left the hote
l in Climax after a hasty checkout. “On the run” was a very modest term for our state right now. We made our way east as fast as possible after turning in the rental car and getting back on my bike, and told her I dropped off our fancy clothes and the engagement ring at a charity. It was tempting to just drop everything and run without taking care of those loose ends, but that was a dead giveaway for someone suspicious. Hired guns left a trail of unfinished business behind them. Honest, law-abiding citizens followed the rules as they fled.
Local news is covering the hits more than any other story. When I walked into the store in the pre-dawn hours of this morning to pick up the supplies we needed, I saw my own handiwork being covered on the television. That never gets old.
Still, this is the biggest splash I’ve ever made by far. Gabe was right. If I can survive the fallout from this bang, I could have some real clout in the criminal underworld, muscling in next to some of the biggest fish in Philly. At least, I could, if that was what I wanted.
But all I really want is to put all this behind me, take my paycheck, and fade into the shadows. That’s what I’ve wanted since I started this whole ugly business, and the finish line is right in front of me at long last. I’m not about to make some rookie mistake and serve jail time for trying to do the right thing for someone I care about. At least, not until the money is safely where I want it to be.
“I’ve always heard it’s good fried, but I never really tried it,” she says.
“Don’t make me sound like a commercial for it,” I say, serving up a couple of plates as she pads over to me and looks over my shoulder, sniffing. “But I ate a lot of it growing up. I just think of it as pure protein to keep you going, minus some of the grease you’d get at a burger joint.”
She takes a drink of her water as I fix her plate and hand it to her, and she carries it over to the couch and takes a seat against one of the arms, stretching her legs out over the cushions. As I watch her, I feel my manhood stirring between my legs. Being this close to Charity for the past few days has been messing with my senses. She’s an incredible distraction, even if we haven’t done anything since I tasted her in the hotel room before the hit. I’ve started to notice the more subtle things about her over time, like the way she plays with her hair, the way she shifts around when she’s standing, and the inflections of her voice when her mood changes.
The Assassin’s Heart Page 11
