The Assassin's Prayer

by Mark Allen

  Kain nodded. “Sounds like she finally got some payback.”

  “And then some,” Cobb said. “So you can scratch him off your list of worries.”

  “You catch the names of the two bodyguards?”

  “Yeah, uh, just give me a minute.” Cobb’s brow wrinkled for a few moments, then he snapped his fingers. “Torlini,” he said. “Andrew, maybe? Can’t think of the other guy’s name, but I’m pretty sure it was French or something like that.”

  “Jean-Luc?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Jean-Luc.”

  Kain leaned back in his chair. Hard to imagine Jean-Luc dead; the big guy had seemed almost unkillable. But it was just as well, because the bond of brotherhood between Jean-Luc and Pierre had been deep and once Jean-Luc found out Kain had blown his brother’s head off, he would have stopped at nothing to have his revenge. Which meant Kain would have had to put a bullet in him. Better that his blood had been shed by strangers.

  Kain leaned forward again, hands wrapped around his cup of coffee, the chipped porcelain warm against his palms. “So Silas is still alive.”

  “You don’t know that,” Cobb countered. “From what you told me, there’s a good chance he’s worm food by now. And even if he is alive, you took out his eye, for god’s sake.”

  “All the more reason for him to come looking for me.” Kain watched a moth, drawn by the light, thump against the window, beating its powdery wings to tatters against the glass.

  “He really hate you that much?” Cobb asked, taking a sip of coffee.

  “When it comes to me and Silas,” Kain said, “hate might not be a strong enough word.”

  Cobb set his cup back down on the table. “Been my experience that there comes a time in every man’s life when he has to bury the past so he can face the future.”

  Kain’s eyes automatically went to Larissa, but he didn’t even let the thought take hold. His fingers tightened around his cup. “Tell you what,” he said to Cobb. “I’ll think about burying the past right after I bury Silas.”

  Cobb’s eyes narrowed. “If you think vengeance will make you feel better, you’re a fool, Kain.”

  “It’s not about vengeance,” Kain said. “It’s about justice. It’s about tipping the scales back.”

  “Bullshit! Don’t play word games with me, boy. You and I both know that the day you put a bullet in Silas’ face the only thing that’ll be on your mind is revenge. You call it whatever you want so you can sleep better at night, but it won’t change the fact that killing Silas is about cold, hard vengeance. Nothing more. And certainly not anything as noble as justice or the damn scales.”

  “And why shouldn’t I have my vengeance?” Kain said hotly. “I’ve killed for the government. I’ve killed for money. So why shouldn’t I kill for my own reasons?”

  “I never said you wouldn’t have your vengeance,” Cobb replied. “I just said it won’t make you feel any better.”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  “Enough,” Larissa interjected. “I didn’t come all the way out here to listen to you two bicker. Travis, we need to get your head stitched up or you’ll have one nasty scar.”

  Kain and Cobb stared at each other across the table. Not in animosity, but mutual respect, each trying to understand the other. Kain knew the old man meant well, but he didn’t have all the facts, didn’t understand just how deeply Silas had betrayed him. To Kain, the thirst for vengeance was as natural as breathing, a dark impulse deeply rooted in his heart and soul. He could no more let it go than he could lop off his own leg.

  Cobb ended the moment by standing up, going to the sink, and pouring the remains of his coffee down the drain. “Well,” he said, “I think I’ll get out of here and leave you two alone. If you don’t mind, I’ll take Joe’s truck.” He chuckled. “Guy loves that Dodge. Maybe I’ll tell him I found it dumped in the woods. He’ll be so happy to have it back, he’ll probably give me a reward. There’s a beat-up old Toyota out back if you need it for some reason, but she runs cranky when she’s cold.”

  “Grampy,” Larissa said, “what are you talking about? There’s no reason for you to leave. Stay here with us.”

  As usual, Cobb pulled no punches when speaking his mind. “I’m getting out of here for a couple of reasons. For starters, like I said, I need to fetch some groceries, so I can get that business taken care of in the morning. I’m friends with Joe and when I bring him back his beloved truck, he’ll let me stay at the motel tonight for nothing, so don’t sweat it. But most importantly, unless I’m seriously mistaken—which I usually ain’t—I think some time alone would do you two a world of good.”

  “Matt,” Kain said, “it’s not like that.”

  Cobb snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, kid, and maybe one of these days you’ll actually start to believe it. Now, where are the keys?”

  “Grampy,” Larissa said, “you can’t be serious.”

  Kain knew better than to argue with Cobb once the old man’s mind was made up. “Keys are in the ignition. Can I give you some money for groceries?”

  “You insult me by trying to give me money,” Cobb retorted, “and you’ll know how it feels to have a bunch of dead presidents stuffed up your tailpipe.” He went over and pecked Larissa on the cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lissy. Try not to give Kain too much of a hard time, huh? He’s not that bad a guy.”

  Larissa smiled, apparently resigned to the fact that Cobb was leaving for the night. “Don’t worry, Grampy,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I know he’s not.”

  Cobb shrugged into a light jacket and exited the cabin with a final wave. Kain locked the door behind him and watched out the window as Cobb made his way to the Dodge Ram, which started immediately. The headlights punched through the darkness as Cobb deftly executed a three-point turn and began the rumbling journey back down the rocky road. Even here, inside the cabin, Kain noticed how long it took for the sound of the engine to fade from earshot; noise traveled a long way out here in the wild. But eventually silence returned to the woods. They were alone.

  Kain turned away from the window and went into the bedroom, which consisted of two wooden bunks and a dresser with a cracked mirror hanging over it. Both bunks had foam mattresses, but only one had any linen. No surprise there; Cobb hadn’t been expecting company.

  Kain went back into the other room where Larissa was still sitting by the wood stove, holding her hands out to the warmth. “Find anything interesting?” she asked.

  “Found out why your grandfather insisted on leaving.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “There’s only two bunks.”

  “He didn’t need to leave just because of that. I think you and I are mature enough to share a bed without making a big deal about it.”

  “Well, the problem is solved. We each have our own.”

  “How’s your cut?” she asked.

  Kain reached up and felt his scalp wound. There was a thin crust of coagulation, but beneath the blood was wet and sticky. “Still bleeding a bit,” he said. “Need to get it cleaned and stitched.”

  “See if you can find the stuff and I’ll patch you up,” Larissa said. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

  Kain found some First-Aid supplies in the cupboard above the stove and a sewing kit in the dresser in the bedroom. Meanwhile, Larissa heated up some water. When it was warm enough, she had him sit down. She dipped a washcloth in the warm water, wrung it out, used her fingers to locate the cut, and then scrubbed away the dried blood as gently as possible. Kain felt fresh blood oozing from the gash. She picked up a bottle of iodine and poured some onto the cloth. “This is going to sting,” she warned, then pressed the iodine-soaked cloth against the cut.

  Kain heard the bubbly hiss of the antiseptic doing its work. “Yeah, that smarts,” he said.

  “That means it’s working,” Larissa said. “If you think about it, the most painful things in life are also the most cleansing.”

  Kain grinned.
“You sound like a fortune cookie.”

  “Joke all you want,” she said, removing the cloth from his forehead, “but it’s true.” She felt around until she located the needle and thread and handed them to Kain. “I need you to sterilize the needle and then thread it for me.”

  There was a box of wooden matches on the table. Kain struck one and it flared to life with a hot hiss. He then ran the flame along the length of the needle until he was satisfied it was sterile. He extinguished the match and tossed it in the sink.

  Threading the needle was tougher than he had anticipated. It seemed like the length of thread had a mind of its own, an evil mind that stubbornly refused to pass through the eye of the needle. It was worse than trying to cram a cobra through a keyhole. He could field-strip and reassemble an M-16 in under thirty-five seconds, but it took him over three minutes to get the needle threaded. His fingers felt clumsy as sausage links. But at last it was done. “There,” he said, handing the threaded needle back to Larissa.

  “I thought you were going to take all night,” she teased. “A blind man could have done it faster.”

  Kain gave her a look, which, of course, she couldn’t see.

  The next few minutes were spent in silence as Larissa worked, her movements deft and sure, belying her blindness. She squeezed together the edges of the wound and began sewing it shut. Kain felt the prick of the needle sliding in and out of his skin but barely registered it as pain. His was a life of violence; he had been cut by more knives and grazed by more bullets than he cared to remember, so a needle’s prick was nothing.

  Larissa leaned over to bite off the excess thread. In that instant, Kain felt something pass between them, an invisible but undeniable shift in the air. As Larissa’s teeth bit through the thread, her lips grazed his skin and Kain felt her hesitate, lingering for just a moment longer than was necessary. His pulse quickened and heat rushed through his veins. He fought for control, but it was as if the reins of his emotions had been ripped from his grasp. Desire rose up and battered down his resistance, urging him to surrender to the recklessness of the moment.

  Larissa’s hands came up slowly and touched his face in a soft, ghost-like caress. Her eyes, though unfocused, were stunningly bright in the soft glow of the gas lamp, sparkling gems that seemed to peer right into his heart. Kain felt breathless. But he still tried once again to resist. He reached up and took hold of her wrists. “Larissa, I—”

  “Shhhhhhh.” She hushed him, gently brushing away his hands. “I want to see you.”

  He knew what she meant, what she wanted. Her touch was now her eyes, the only “sight” she had left in the aftermath of Macklin’s bullet all those years ago. He let his hands fall to his side.

  As she leaned in close, Kain could hear the pounding rhythm of her heart. As she gently explored his face, reacquainting herself with the curve of his cheek, the angle of his jaw, the harsh bristle of his facial stubble, Kain tried to convince himself that he was still in control, that her touch did nothing for him, but he was just lying to himself. He could hear the desire in her ragged breath and knowing how much she wanted him only made Kain want her that much more.

  But it was more than just simple sexual desire; it was a yearning for a respite from the violence that haunted him relentlessly. For just a few moments, however fleeting, he didn’t want to think about Karen or Silas or Macklin or any of his other demons. Tonight he just wanted to touch and be touched, to hold and be held. Tonight he didn’t want to be alone. Tonight he and Larissa were just two desperate souls with no one else to turn to but each other.

  He stood up and pulled her close. Memories of their days together came rushing back and he remembered how good she had felt against him, how soft and warm and yielding her body had been, just like now. Her hands roamed, exploring his corded muscles, his powerful frame. Her touch made Kain ache with something he had not felt in a long time. Need and desire converged and slammed through him like a bullet, shattering the last vestiges of his hesitation.

  His hands slid beneath her shirt and he relished the silky feel of her skin. Her sigh of pleasure became a breathless moan when his hands rose to her breasts. Her arms slid around his neck, fingers running through his hair as he caressed her. “Oh, God…”

  Kain felt the passion rise swift and hot and sear away his demons, sloughing them from his soul like an ugly, unwanted skin. Tomorrow they might all come slinking back to sink their venomous fangs in once again, but for now their stranglehold on his heart was broken. He picked Larissa up in his arms, carried her into the bedroom, and laid her down on the bunk.

  He undressed her in the dark, the shadows pooling in the secrets of her body, and touched her with fingers and lips. He breathed in the scent of her skin and felt intoxicated and powerless by the spell weaving through his veins.

  He shed his clothes and joined her on the bed. She murmured softly as he lowered his body onto hers. Naked flesh slid together with the satiny friction of skin on skin. Larissa drew his face down to hers, her lips every bit as soft and sweet as Kain remembered. Her legs rose around him and he melted into her, lost in the moment. Her fingers raked at his back, clutching him tighter as he moved deep within her silken heat. He felt the warm, supple crush of her breasts against his chest as her mouth flowered open beneath his, their tongues writhing together in hot, sensual abandon.

  Their surrender was total and complete and without reservation. Larissa gasped as Kain began to lose control, his body moving with hers in urgent rhythms, mutual ecstasy burning them both to the breaking point. In the seconds before she was rocked by release, Larissa whisper-screamed, “Oh God, I love you.”

  Even lost in the smoldering throes of passion, her gasping declaration ripped at something in Kain. But then it succumbed to the all-consuming rush of his own release.

  After, they lay curled together in a tangle of limbs. Kain looked at her and saw sweat on her face. No, wait, not sweat—tears. “Hey,” he said, surprised by just how much emotion thickened his voice. “What’s wrong?”

  She brushed away the tears. “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  She took his hand, their fingers interlaced. She was quiet for a long time before she spoke. “I love you, Travis. More than you can ever know.”

  He squeezed her hand, but said nothing.

  Fresh tears glistened in her unseeing eyes. “You can’t say it, can you.” It wasn’t a question.

  Kain opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He could not say what she wanted to hear and anything else would be woefully inadequate.

  “I don’t understand.” Her voice was a whisper in the dark. “After all these years, what are the odds I would be in the apartment right next door to a bunch of mercenaries you were hunting? Have you even thought about what that means?”

  “It was just a coincidence.” Rain began to patter on the roof. Droplets streamed down the window, reminding Kain of the tears on Larissa’s face.

  “You can call it coincidence if that makes it easier for you to deny your feelings,” she said. “But you and I both know that it was something more. Call it fate, call it God, call it destiny, but we were meant to find each other again.”

  She clutched at him with something akin to desperation. He pulled her close and kissed her long and deep, then stared into her blinded eyes. “You might be right,” he said softly. “But right now this is all I can give you.”

  She smiled up at him through her tears and said, “If all we have is tonight, then I want to make it a night I’ll never forget.”

  They made love again, the fierceness of the first time now replaced by something more gentle and tender. As he gave himself to her, Kain felt their hearts connecting and didn’t try to stop it, knowing it was what she needed. Hell, maybe he needed it too.

  Shadows writhed on the walls and rain danced on the roof as they lost themselves in each other. Kain could feel his demons knocking on the door of his soul, but he refused to grant them entry. Not tonight. Tonight was for pe
ace, however brief. Tonight he was just a man like any other lying in bed with a woman. Tonight he was not an assassin, a cold-blooded killer for hire; no, tonight he was normal and as he made love to Larissa, he could not deny that he longed for the normalcy to last more than just one night. He craved a life free of bullets and void of blood.

  She’s offered it to you, an inner voice said. Why don’t you take it?

  I can’t.

  Can’t … or won’t?

  He didn’t know the answer to that.

  Would there ever come a time when his hands did something other than kill? Would his finger ever feel anything other than the cold curve of a trigger? Would he even know how to live that kind of life? Probably not, if he was being honest with himself. Live by the gun, die by the gun. That was his existence. Anything else seemed incomprehensible.

  And then he stopped thinking about anything other than being with Larissa. As they surrendered to each other again and again through the long, sweet hours of the night, he did his best to ignore the feeling that the stitches in his heart had begun to unravel.

  CHAPTER 15

  After leaving Kain and Larissa at the cabin, it only took Cobb about thirty minutes to drive to Joe’s Motel, but by the time he got there his bladder was begging for relief. It was that damned road. All that bumping and bouncing played havoc with a man’s innards. He should have just pulled over and watered the weeds, but the thought of exiting the truck’s toasty warmth for the cold of the night had convinced him he could hold it until he got to Joe’s.

  There was nobody behind the counter, so Cobb banged on a rusty silver bell for service. He had to bang it over and over again until Joe appeared, taking so long that Cobb was tempted to piss right there on the frigging floor. But despite hurling a litany of curses, the motel owner gave him a room free of charge when he found out Cobb had returned his precious Dodge Ram, which Joe wasn’t even yet aware had been stolen. “Just remember,” Joe said, “no orgies in the room.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” Cobb said. “Unless you’re invited.”