The Executioner: Part One

by Ana Calin

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.

  Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com

  Copyright 2017 – Ana Calin

  The Executioner

  Ana Calin

  Dedication:

  Dedicated to my husband – the man who inspired Damian’s character – and my son, Jonas.

  Prologue

  Hawk extended his hand and brushed away a hanging leaf. His other hand shot up, balled tightly into a fist, signaling the team behind him to freeze. One of the men bumped into his shoulder.

  “S-sorry, boss,” Crin Păduchi muttered.

  Hawk cursed under his breath. Sloppy newbie. He turned his attention back to the venue just ahead of him, the old Romanian castle with its haunting beauty in the dusk. A shame it was now the headquarters of the science mafia. He narrowed his eyes to take better focus, the mud-encrusted facemask chaffing the skin on his cheekbones.

  Mercenaries in bulletproof vests strolled along the ramparts, Kalashnikovs in their hands. Hawk brought his own rifle to his eye and took aim on each of their faces – they looked tired, hungry, mean and fully human. Relief washed over Hawk.

  He screwed the silencer onto the end of the barrel, pulled the trigger, and the first bullet hissed out of the tube. It hit its target right in the forehead, knocking the man backwards. He fell, his body hidden behind the crumbling crenels. Hawk took aim again, and another mercenary tumbled off the wall. He hit the ground with a meaty thud.

  “That’s it, we need to hurry,” Hawk said. His team shot down the remaining guards as they advanced on the manor, marching through the shrubbery with their weapons close to their faces. Keeping their presence a secret was no longer a priority – the guards were mere flesh and blood.

  Hawk approached the castle’s main arched doorway. The place seemed deserted, but he knew better than to believe it so. He advanced slowly, the rifle practically glued to his eye, pointed into the blackness between the half-open doors. So far so good. He signaled his men to take the sides of the building, searching for other entrances. Only a few stayed behind him.

  He gave one of the doors a light push. It rasped a little wider, only enough for Hawk to slip in, rifle tube piercing the darkness ahead of him. He could hear the newbie’s breathing close behind, and imagined the guy peeping over his shoulder like a curious child playing hide-and-seek. Hawk gritted his teeth and restrained the urge to swing around and ram a dagger right into the guy’s throat. Nerves had no place in a situation like this.

  Instead, Hawk focused on the darkness ahead. Here and there dust spread like mist through beams of light from the overhead windows. Hawk listened hard for sounds from the hall, but all he picked up was his own men’s hushed voices as they emerged from different directions. All had their weapons hanging at their sides.

  “There’s no one here,” one of them said confidently as he walked over to Hawk. “They must’ve gotten wind of the operation and left.”

  “That explains the light protection outside,” Hawk muttered to himself. He lowered his rifle and raised his head, his eyes sweeping over the sagging gallery above. The stairs were mere ruins.

  “What the fff –” the newbie whispered somewhere close. Hawk’s eyes leveled to the man’s masked face, then followed his gaze. A black-clad figure stood in the middle of the hall, dust swirling around him in a beam of light that fell on him from a window in the sidewall.

  Hawk didn’t pause to think. Orders were clear. The science mafia’s killer-boy was to be shot on sight. Don’t give him a chance to fight – he’ll win, they’d said. Hawk yanked his rifle up, calling out, “shoot, shoot, shoot!”

  His men cussed, guns clicking and firing wildly through the air. Too late. The black cloak flapped upwards, like a raven taking flight, but the clang that bounced off the walls made Hawk realize the boy must’ve kicked open a hatch under his feet. The shooting stilled.

  Hawk slowly approached the spot where the shadow had disappeared. Indeed, a black hole yawned in the ground. Hawk swiped up his flashlight from the holster at his hip, and stuck it in the darkness below.

  “Was that him?” one of the men whispered. There was reverence in his voice.

  “He’s the only one they left behind to cover their tracks,” Hawk whispered back, frowning at the underground tunnel. “It can only be him—the killer-boy. They say that little monster can take down a whole squad by himself.” He grinned provokingly. “Let’s see if there’s any truth to that legend.”

  The guy who’d asked swallowed hard behind Hawk. Surely he’d heard a shitload of stories about the young assassin.

  Hawk prepared to jump into the tunnel. The newbie put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Let me go, boss.” Zeal filled his voice.

  Hawk gritted his teeth, barely masking his disgust. “It’s Sir. And no.” He threw the man a glance full of contempt. “He’d slice you into ribbons in a matter of seconds.”

  He flexed and leaped. His feet hit sludge. He skidded, and stopped a fall by slapping his gloved hands on the narrow walls. Shit, this place was tight. Hawk hated tight, unless it was that sweet warmth between a woman’s thighs.

  He advanced like a stalking lizard, but still he was sure the faint sloshing gave him away. He couldn’t hear anything at his turn though, so the killer boy must’ve left the tunnel already – couldn’t blame him, it stunk like hell.

  As he reached a cobwebbed spiraling stairwell in an alcove, his heart rate sped up. For a moment he felt enthusiastic, wasn’t careful, and stepped on something. Pressure coiled around his foot. Hawk looked down at a snake looped around his boot. He cursed, got a grip, and kicked it off.

  His heart rate now in check again, Hawk emerged slowly back in the main hall, this time looking at it from a dark alcove at the far end. He could see the half-open doors. This is where the killer must’ve have observed them from, and he’d had a damn good view. It made Hawk feel stupid. He spat angrily, got a grip again, and climbed further up to the first floor, silently.

  The gallery looked unstable to say the least. Hawk slalomed with the gracefulness of all his training among chunks of stone with exposed pieces of iron running through them like rusty veins. The mafia bastards must’ve blown the place up before they left, or never really used it. Only baited the Forces with it.

  His gear was too heavy, so he let go of some of it to feel lighter and move with more ease. He kept only his daggers and the automatic gun just to be sure. The young assassin was notorious for preferring blades anyway, so Hawk shouldn’t have any bullets to worry about.

  Moans to the side made Hawk’s well-trained eyes dart to seek the source. He followed them to a door he pushed open, and stared at the scene before him. One of his men dangled from a rope tied to the dusty chandelier. His tongue stuck out, and his face was swollen under the army paint.

  Hawk helped him down. Once on the floor, the man coughed wildly. The skin around his eyes went from purple to crimson, and as the danger of strangulation passed, he started yelling as if someone stabbed him. He howled every time Hawk touched him to look for wounds. Soon Hawk realized the guy had a lot of broken bones. Surely, it would it be more humane to put the man out of his misery?

  He touched the blade at his th
igh, but then he thought again. The guy’s moans-turned-screams would let Hawk know if the killer-boy was back in this room. He bent down and whispered in his ear, hand still on the blade.

  “I’ll be back for you, brother.”

  One experienced step in front of the other, Hawk slunk along the walls to a room that looked like the study of Sigmund Freaking Freud. There was even a dusty picture of him on the far wall, right behind the desk and between two impressive bookcases made of carved wood. There was a skull on one side of the desk, and a couch by the window just like in shrinks’ offices. Yet the only things that seemed regularly used were the books – they didn’t appear to have any dust on them.

  Hawk approached a bookcase, and discovered the newbie on the floor between it and the desk, no facemask, his mouth agape and his eyes like eggs. He looked scared and seemed to be choking. Hawk squatted down to him, but something rustled behind. He turned and . . .

  . . . threw himself backwards as a blade lashed at his face, landing on top of the newbie and making the guy squeal in pain. The shadow stood over him, much taller than Hawk would’ve thought. This couldn’t be a child.

  He raised his gun, but the cloaked shadow kicked it from his hand. Hawk swiped up the dagger from his hip. He was fast and skilled with it, but the shadow was quicker to grab Hawk’s wrist, twist it, and force his torso to roll to the side, teeth gritted, eyes scrunched. Hawk dropped his weapon – the shadow was strong, he couldn’t move at all in its grip. The hand on his wrist felt like a statue’s, the fingers drilling into his palm like rocks. The rumors had been true—this thing wasn’t human.

  The shadow placed a knee on Hawk’s back to keep him down, and lowered its mysterious face close to his ear. Hawk tried to squirm, but his body felt bolted to the ground.

  “You picked the wrong side,” the shadow said. The words lacked the slightest hue of emotion, as if they’d been learned by heart.

  “I haven’t picked any sides yet.” Hawk strained, flexed his entire body, and made a superhuman effort to overthrow the shadow. But Hawk’s success wasn’t his merit – the shadow let him go and took a few steps back, allowing Hawk to come to his feet. As the Special Forces man rose, his eyes found his attacker’s face.

  Hell! Hawk couldn’t decide if the boy was a monster, or simply too perfect. Either way, he was frightening. Hawk felt the eyes of death watching him.

  “Join us,” the boy said evenly.

  Hawk waited for more. A more courteous invitation or maybe he wanted a freaking elevator pitch. But all the boy did was turn the slim dagger rhythmically in his hand. One, twice, three times as if he was winding a watch while he waited for Hawk’s response. Hawk felt grateful for his facemask. At least the boy couldn’t read the distress in his features.

  He narrowed his eyes, and measured his opponent from head to toes. Indeed, he was tall for a mere boy, maybe taller than Hawk. Not broader, though. Not yet.

  “Will they make me like you?” Hawk said.

  “Eventually.” Just as even. Cold. Detached.

  “Why do they want me?”

  “They don’t. They need you.”

  “I suppose I should be flattered, right?”

  “Flattered. Right.”

  What was this guy, the Terminator? Hawk snorted, laughed a raspy laugh, and rubbed the back of his head. “Well, I don’t know, young man. This is all, so . . . so sudden.” He laughed again.

  The next thing he knew, the shadow’s blade struck at him, crisscrossing and whipping the air in front of his face, forcing him back. He stumbled over the screaming newbie, but managed to duck to the side, bypass the shadow, and send a punch to its shoulder.

  Hot pain shot through Hawk’s knuckles, running all the way to his elbow. He could hear his own bones crack, and instants later the pain was unbearable. That thing was most definitely not made of flesh.

  Hawk fell to his knees, bracing himself with his one good arm. He screamed and cursed, while the shadow watched him.

  “Then take some time,” it said. “Think. And choose wisely.” The shadow kicked him in the face. Its boot cracked Hawk’s jaw, making his brain swim with pain. He fell to the ground, sight warping and shimmering.

  The killer-boy lowered himself to one knee before the now collapsed Hawk. He wore kneepads made of studded leather, which Hawk realized was what had dented his back.

  “You’re a good fighter,” the boy said. “The best they have, I hear. Don’t waste yourself.”

  He rose to his feet, and Hawk watched him through bleary eyes swipe the books off their shelves and into blue sacks. It was in the books. Everything his superiors wanted, it was in those books, and Hawk wouldn’t have thought about it. Even without this attack, he would’ve returned to base empty-handed.

  Hawk passed out. In the blackness his arm throbbed and hurt terribly, and the rhythmic moans of the newbie frayed his nerves. His lids opened heavily. He was lying on one side, right next to the heaving, weeping and moaning newbie. The young man looked scared, staring upwards. Hawk was relieved to discover his own facemask hadn’t been removed. He needed to lose the pain, he needed to black out, and the guy’s crying wouldn’t let him.

  He crawled on his good arm closer to him, and found his own dagger on the ground. Next to it glinted the killer-boy’s slim blade. Hawk picked it up in his gloved hand, rolled over, and slashed the newbie’s throat.

  Chapter One

  “Poor little rich girl.”

  “Tell me about it. Did you hear about that gold digging ex-boyfriend of hers?”

  I sighed and stepped further inside the Ovidius University café. Would I ever live this down? It had been a year already, and the tongues were still wagging.

  Clutching my books to my chest, I hurried to the table where Leona Ignat waited. She looked up, arching one eyebrow. High cheekbones, silky black hair and a great body, Leona was everything I wasn’t – a real beauty queen. And yet she was the closest thing I had to a sister.

  “Lose the face, Alice,” she said, closing her psychology textbook.

  “Sorry, I don’t have a spare.”

  “Better get one. You won’t lure the lads wearing that scared mouse look.”

  I dropped my books onto the table with a thump. “All of a sudden I need to lure guys?”

  “You’ve been without a man for months now? Time to dust yourself off.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “Why are you bringing this up right now?”

  She gave me a mischievous grin, and leaned in on her elbows. The plastic table tilted a bit under her weight. “Turns out the medical students have moved to campus for a semester. The Old University is being refurbished. There are quite a few fine specimens among those future doctors, if you know what I mean.”

  “Okay, I’ll see what I can do to get my shine on,” I said with a smile, although truthfully I didn’t possess a so-called shine. I didn’t have much to offer aside from my father’s name, as famous as he was in Romania, and a set of freckles that made people go, “Aw, sweet,” rather than, “Wow, hot!” Foundation looked like unevenly distributed flour against my skin, or maybe that was just in contrast to my hair—galvanized wire as I saw it. Leona did her best with me but it didn’t matter because I wasn’t going to fight for attention.

  Or was I?

  I turned my gaze on him, much like everyone else as he entered the cafeteria. Tall, with waves of dark hair brushing his broad shoulders, and a remarkably well-muscled body under a white knit sweater. He was surrounded by a group of loud, boisterous boys with iron pumped chests, and he had all of the Barbies around him drooling.

  “Damian Novac, medical student,” Leona whispered in my ear. She tossed a strand of ebony hair off of her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. “They call him Bane ‘cause of the looks. Women’s bane.” Large grin.

  She smiled in his direction. I didn’t dare do the same. Instead I looked around like a fox wary of a hunter, thinking of strategies before dodging from the bushes. The last thing I needed was another bu
llet in the head or rather the heart.

  Damian didn’t notice me that day, or the day after. Being petite had its advantages when it came to matters of stealth, so instead I observed him from afar…for weeks. He was aloof, and yet his eyes were always intent, as if his thoughts were fixed on something far beyond those walls, and his cares far more serious than the infatuations of wannabe divas.

  His group of friends, nevertheless, always surrounded him, as if they were searching for his approval in everything they did. Even throaty laughs and slaps to the shoulder were accompanied by furtive was-that-all-right glances. So an alpha, I concluded.

  “No wonder we’re all leaving wet traces like snails when he’s around,” I whispered to Leona. She laughed her bold laugh.

  “I love it when you talk dirty, Alice.”

  We left the university giggling and headed home to get ready for a party at the dorms where there was a good chance Damian would show up.

  Leona took her role as an image consultant seriously, and right now she was working out her best scheme yet. Tonight, she said I would meet my destiny.

  ***

  I dropped onto the closed toilet seat and put my hands on the sides of my face. There was no hope. The rip in my pantyhose now crept up over my knee. I stood up and thrust my leg out.

  “Just look at this,” I said, and shook my head.

  Leona took one look into my teary eyes and smiled. “Just take them off!” She laughed. “Do you honestly think a man is going to care about that?”

  The door to the bathroom swung open and one of our friends walked in. “You said red wine, right?”

  Leona spun around. “Perfect timing,” she said. There was excitement behind her voice. “Showtime.”

  “I can’t. This is stupid. I’m not you, Leona. These pantyhose are a sign.” I hated the sound of the whine in my voice, but it was true.

  Leona shifted her gaze from my leg to my eyes. “In my experience, less is more. Now take them off. Honestly, all you need is this glass. This plan is fool proof.” With that, she kicked me into the party room.