Ditching the sniper rifle, I pull on the strap to move my light machine gun to my front. Pulling out the pistol in my boots, I move it to the front waistband of my pants and start sliding down the steep hill.
I hear Gabriel call out, “Where are you going, Anna?” Still pissed, I ignore him.
When I get down the hill, someone has opened the main entrance to the gate and I’m almost on top of the guy before I see him. Bringing up my light machine gun, I stop and put a few rounds into him. I see no one else around, so I cautiously edge towards the front door. Once there, keeping my back to the wall, I quickly reach out to the front doorknob to fling it open. Thankfully, it’s unlocked. Not that I wouldn’t have just shot the door open if it wasn’t. But it’s nice when things work out my way.
I pull the pistol out of my pants and wait for the first unlucky motherfucker to walk through that door. As I see a balding head pop through, I start to extend out my arm to line up the shot with the guy’s shiny noggin. Before I can get off a shot, another one rings out and the guy slumps to the ground in the doorway.
I whip my head around so fast that my ponytail brushes my face and see Gabriel with a smoking pistol in his hand. He still has it raised and his face is pale with shock. I take a few steps forward and grab a hold of his arm, pulling him against the wall with me. “Don’t just stand in an open doorway waiting to be shot!”
“I shot him,” he croaks out, looking pale. “In the chest.”
Trying to lighten his mood, I smile mischievously at him. “Yeah, I know. Thanks for saving me the trouble.”
“He was a bad man?” he asks and I can feel his entire body shaking against mine.
“Yep, one of the worst. One of the main targets actually. Good job, Gabriel.” I reach down and squeeze his free hand in a gesture meant to offer comfort.
He looks at me seriously. “I’m sorry about throwing your grenade launcher into the ocean.”
I peck him on the cheek. “I forgive you. But I won’t protect you from the teasing you’re gonna hear from Jackson and Brent.”
He makes a sour face and I detect a little color returning to his cheeks. “I guess I deserve it.” Damn right he does, I’m going to have nightmares about losing that weapon.
The shots inside start to quiet down, more and more time passes in-between firing. When a whole minute goes by, I pull out my cell phone and call Brent’s number. He should have his phone on vibrate. He picks up, “Annabelle? What happened to the rest of your launches?”
I glance at Gabriel. “I sort of lost the grenade launcher. Gabriel and I are at the front of the house.”
“We’re sweeping the house now. Why don’t you clear the front rooms?” Then his voice starts to sound irritated, “Why don’t you send Gabriel back to the car, he’ll just get himself hurt.”
“He took out one of the targets,” I say pointedly into the phone.
“Whatever. Don’t shoot me on your way back here,” he retorts and hangs up.
I tell Gabriel to follow closely behind me, despite his protests of wanting to lead the way, and we slowly make our way into the entryway of the house. This house may be big, but thank god it sprawls out in only one story. I wouldn’t want to deal with people shooting down a staircase at me.
Gabriel and I easily clear the front rooms, being that there’s no one there. I feel like I might be showing off a little in front of him, teaching him how to do it, making sure he keeps his back to the wall and his gun to the room. Once we’re halfway through the house, we come across the body of a dead woman. Gabriel looks like he’s about to throw up.
“She’s no different than the men,” I remind him. He just swallows convulsively and lightly nods his head.
“Found him!” A male voice shouts out nearby. I rush into the next room with Gabriel at my heels. Just in time to see Jackson place a boot on a guy’s chest and a bullet between his eyes. Over his shoulder, I see movement and red hair. Without thinking twice, I lift my pistol and put two rounds into the chest of a woman about to shoot my brother in the back.
Gabriel finally loses his lunch in the corner behind a chair.
Brent stalks into the room. “The house is clear! Let’s torch the place!” Then he notices Gabriel heaving in the corner and looks both disgusted and amused.
Defensively, I say, “He just made his first kill tonight. Don’t act like you didn’t react the same way on your first mission.”
Brent shakes his head. “I told you to send him back to the car.”
“Should have tied him up in the hotel room,” Jackson jokes.
Just because they’re pissing me off and because I want to annoy them back, I smirk, telling them, “Gabriel and I already played that game last night.”
Jackson makes his own fake barfing sounds. Brent scowls and pulls two plastic bags filled with gasoline out of the black backpack he’s carrying. He hands one to me while Jackson and Gabriel, having gotten himself together, make one final sweep through the house. They’ll work their way back to the front of the house when it’s completed.
Brent and I start in the back of the house behind them, first lightly dousing the kitchen. We make a line of gasoline going all the way to the entryway, stepping over bodies on our way. Finally, at the front door Brent lights a match and the line of gasoline flares up. A river of fire quickly streams back into the house. Jackson’s already grabbed the guy that was laying halfway out the front doorway and pushed his body further into the house. His body is the first to be cremated.
Spinning on my heel, I start to walk away. The others follow. I wonder if Porky would be willing to give me another one of those grenade launchers.
Chapter 32
Gabriel
Stockholm, Sweden - June 23rd
As you grow up, the knowledge that you’ll someday have to watch your parents die is always there. It’s hidden behind your immature thoughts and, often times, sense of invincibility. Sometimes you think they’ll always be there when you need them and sometimes you fear the day that they’ll leave this world, and you, behind.
When my dad died, of course the shock and reality of mortality was there. There have been times when I’ve handled things badly and there’ve been times that I believe I’ve acted the adult I now am.
Have I forgiven Annabelle for murdering my dad? I think so. I’ve definitely been slowly getting over the past, telling myself that it wasn’t completely her fault, that she was obviously misinformed and misguided. I love her and decided that I had to choose between her and my anger. I chose her. Revenge was no longer an option if I wanted to keep her in my life.
Just like life changed so suddenly all those months ago when I suddenly found myself with a dead father and a girlfriend to blame, life has changed again. I’ve been worried about my mother’s deteriorating mental health and, as a direct result, deteriorating physical health. My aunt and Max have been kind enough to keep me up-to-date on her situation while I’ve been traveling with Annabelle. The news from a couple days ago was that they’d gotten her to eat more and medicate less. News came again about an hour ago.
My mother is dead, killed by her own hand. Well more like, killed by the gun she held in her hand.
Since I got off the phone an hour ago, I’ve been sitting in this hotel suite in Sweden, trying to hold off the anger. Staring at the plush furnishings, the silk comforter covering the Egyptian cotton sheets, I’m disgusted by the surroundings that blood money can buy.
When Aunt Lucy called, I figured it would be another routine call, mostly consisting of me being reassured that my mother was improving. Instead, it was me trying to hold it together as my aunt gave me a play-by-play of a maid finding my mom in the bathroom, with her brains splattered against the wall and the resulting chaos that ensued. Come home, Gabriel, my aunt had pleaded with me.
Of course I’ll go home. While I hurt when my father died, it was nothing like what I’m feeling now. My mother was the one that raised me. Despite being married, she was basically a single mothe
r most of the time. My father was constantly out of town on business and she was the one to care for me. Love me.
How do you say goodbye to the person who was the single greatest influence on who you are? No, I shouldn’t be burying both of my parents so early in life, less than a year apart. I still remember the valedictorian at my graduation blabbering on about how, at eighteen, our lives are just beginning. Why does it feel more like an ending?
Right after getting off the phone with my aunt, I began sobbing out my sorrow. My mom didn’t deserve this ending. The chain of events that led to her taking her life should have never happened. The sorrow lasted about five minutes until a numbness settled over me. When the numbness wore off, the rage came.
Finally getting up and out of the armchair, I strip out of my clothes and take a shower. Resolve and determination are guiding me as I get dressed in a charcoal pair of slacks and black crewneck sweater. I notice that my black shoes are a little scuffed, so I grab a washcloth and methodically clean them. As I pack my belongings into my two suitcases, I leave out a few essential items. A few minutes later, I’ve called the pilots for my dad’s private jet and have a car on standby downstairs.
I look around the luxurious suite once again. Annabelle’s belongings are scattered throughout and it’s the first time that I’ve looked at lingerie of hers and not been aroused.
Extreme highs and lows are all I’ve known since I first met her. Before that, my life was sort of like that movie where the guy wakes up every day to live out the same day over and over again. Routine, I guess would be a better description of it. I was going to class every day, partying and self-indulging in every way possible. Basically, just being your typical spoiled, wealthy teenager.
Then, bam! I meet the girl of my dreams.
Then, bam! The gun goes off that ends my dad’s life.
Since then, I’ve mostly known extreme lows, the occasional high and total unpredictability.
After the assignment in Australia, we were off to Barbados. That trip consisted of Annabelle’s next assignment, Jackson’s annoyingness and finally getting rid of Brent. His next assignment thankfully took him elsewhere in the world. After the assignment was completed, we spent an extra week there, making love on the beach, dancing at clubs and actually acting like two normal people in love.
Love. Even now, I still love her. I still love Anna.
What’s so crazy is that I was becoming desensitized to my new environment, my new life. I didn’t even ask the details of this latest assignment in Sweden. I have no idea what the name is of the person Annabelle has been sent here to kill. I know that it’s a female and that this female is guilty of some sort of heinous crime against humanity or society. Or so Annabelle says . . . .
Do I want this life? Do I want to be this kind of person?
First things first, I need to go home to bury my mother.
The thought has crossed my mind that my mother’s soul is in jeopardy from committing suicide. My father was Catholic and my mom converted to Catholicism before marrying my dad. Of course, I was also baptized Catholic, but we didn’t go to church much. Mainly just on the important religious holidays. According to our religion, when you commit suicide, you lose your chance to enter heaven. Because you didn’t appreciate the life God gifted you with or something like that.
Is my mom in hell? Will she suffer eternally in death because she chose to end her suffering in life?
I have to believe that isn’t the case. I don’t think God punishes you after death for not being strong enough to bear the pain in life. But why’d she do it? I know she loved my dad deeply, but she didn’t need to give up. I would have even welcomed a new step dad someday so my mom could have love again. She was still so beautiful, had so much to offer. She had so much life ahead of her.
I know now I shouldn’t have left her alone in Miami to go off on my quest to find Annabelle. If I had been there to keep an eye on her, maybe I could have coaxed her into better mental health. I could have somehow saved her. A change of environment may have helped.
Now, all there’s left to do before I fly back to Miami is say goodbye to Annabelle.
She should be back shortly. She and Jackson left this morning to complete the assignment and are expected to be done with it in a few short hours. Easy kill, was their description of the target. Strangely, or maybe not so strange after all, the words bring to mind my parents. Were they easy kills? Did I make it oh-so-easy for Annabelle to get to my father? I’m convinced of it. Will Annabelle get some sort of bonus for indirectly killing my mother?
You never know. My dad was supposedly some sort of drug lord, mob boss and murderer-slash-businessman. Maybe my mom ran a sex slave operation while she wasn’t busy being a socialite housewife. Maybe she drowned puppies and ran over homeless people.
To this day, I’ve never seen proof that my dad ever did anything illegal. I was hoping that one day, when our relationship wasn’t still so new, Anna and I could have a talk about the mistake she made in killing my father. Maybe we could have investigated and hunted down the person responsible for hiring her. That’s where I had thought the real villain lay, where justice needed to be served. During that same talk, I could have told Anna that I’d forgiven her. Then we could really put it all behind us.
Interrupting my thoughts is the beep of the key card being swiped at the suite door. The handle goes down and the door begins to open.
My suitcases are all ready to go and lined up near the doorway.
Annabelle walks in, smiling. Her hair is reddish-brown again, like when we met. She dyed it back to please me.
I raise the gun that I’ve been holding. Her brown eyes widen.
I fire.
Blood begins to bloom on her chest, soaking through her ivory shirt.
As she looks at me in shock, still trying to digest what’s just happened, my own shock wears off . . . and I realize what I just did.
Chapter 33
Annabelle
As I watch Gabriel raise the gun and point it at me, a familiar sense of inevitability washes through me. It doesn’t lessen the shock of the moment, though. Death at the hands of the person you love most in this world is never easy to take.
Guess he doesn’t love me quite as much.
Unlike the other times, I can see in his eyes that he means to do it. There’s almost a crazed quality to the look he gives me. He has the gun fully raised now. The shot fires and, even though I had those few seconds to brace myself, my entire body jerks back, a rush of air leaves my body.
For a long moment, I look down at the red stain growing on my torso, then all strength leaves my body and I crumple to the floor. Falling onto my back, with my legs bent at the knees and to the side, I close my eyes. Opening them a moment later, I look up at the ornate ceiling of the suite. The sun from the large bay windows is reflecting off the gold molding above me, giving it a heavenly glow. I’m sure that’s all it is. I’m not so sure that heaven is for me. Not so sure that I even believe in it.
It’s so hard to breathe.
“Annie!” I hear Jackson call out from the doorway behind me at the same time I hear Gabriel shout, “Anna!”
As I struggle for breath, I rasp out, “No,” but I don’t know if it’s even loud enough to be heard. Ironically, I’m more fearful for Gabriel right now than I am for myself.
Jackson is going to kill him.
Gabriel’s face is suddenly hovering over mine. I feel no anger, just incredible sadness. In the back of my mind, I guess I always knew this was a very real possibility, but I just couldn’t let him go in order to save myself. Gabriel’s kneeling body is roughly pushed aside and Jackson’s face comes into view.
“No,” I manage to rasp out more forcefully, looking Jackson straight in the eyes. The difficulty of getting the word out causes me to cough. The feel of blood spraying out of my mouth and onto my face as I’m coughing confirms the severity of my wound.
Jackson just shakes his head stubbornly as I plead with my ey
es, not sure I have the air to speak aloud again. Finally, reluctantly, he nods.
Gabriel is safe.
I feel something being pressed against me and realize that one of them is putting pressure on the wound. “Hold this!” Jackson yells. The pressure is momentarily gone and then back again.
Jackson’s face leaves my sight and Gabriel’s is back. The horror and devastation in his eyes does nothing to make me feel better. It is what it is. I’m not one to romanticize situations like this. They just plain suck.
Through my pain and panic, I wonder about the shock on Gabriel’s face. What does he have to be shocked about? He’s the one who pulled the trigger. Did he not realize that my bleeding to death would be the result?
Why now? What finally set him off?
My eyelids feel heavy so I close them. I feel so tired and at the same time panicky and out of breath. Faraway sounding, Jackson starts yelling about paramedics and an ambulance, so I figure he must be on the phone with the front desk. I doubt dialing 911 would help here in Stockholm. Didn’t really think we’d ever need that info while here. I thought I was invincible . . . .
I know I’m panting, gasping for breath since I feel as if I’m suffocating, but I can’t hear it anymore. There seems to be a roaring in my ears. Feeling dizzy, I force my eyes open to see Gabriel again. Before I close my eyes for good, I have to tell him something.
His eyes are pleading with mine, with tears spilling over, and he’s saying something, but I can’t hear it. This is the end for me and him. Keeping eye contact with him, I have to tell him, I want him to never doubt it. When my mouth starts to move, he brings his face closer.
“Loved you.”
Gabriel
When Anna closes her eyes, I feel as if my whole world is crashing down. My heart is beating so fast in my chest that I feel as if it’s going to burst. Remorse, regret, pain, those words aren’t nearly strong enough to describe what I’m feeling. Though her, I’m feeling death.
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