The men had turned before the door even creaked, their hands already moving instinctively toward their holstered weapons. They were professionals, highly trained, and Jordan had expected as much. He had only pretended to step in, immediately slamming the door shut again, taking off down the corridor in a desperate sprint. The men were out the door, seconds later, their focus entirely on the retreating footsteps.
They were not here to guard Zeke - Strange. They were more interested in the one that approached him.
One raced after Jordan, while the other planted himself outside the door, staring down the corridor, completely unaware of the threat waiting in the shadows. Askai moved in swiftly and silently, the blade appearing in his hand as though by magic, its edge meeting the guard's throat with practiced, lethal precision.
He only had seconds before the other guard realized Jordan was nothing but a distraction. Askai pushed open the door and walked toward Zeke. The notorious gang boss was completely unconscious, courtesy of the medical drugs coursing through his veins.
Too bad. Askai wanted him to stare into his eyes, to recognize the ghost of the boy he had broken, as he finally rid the earth of the scum he was. Askai jammed the knife into Zeke's throat and quickly pulled it back as hot, sickening blood gushed out of the open wound. He wiped the knife on the sheets and made it out of the room. The entire ordeal barely took a minute, but that's all the time he ever allowed his opponents.
He walked back to the window he had climbed through and hoisted himself out onto the pipes. Now, he just needed Jordan to safely make it back. They had only given each other a strict fifteen minutes to finish their tasks and meet at the agreed spot—a creepy, shadowed dumpster behind the wing.
If either of them went more than fifteen minutes without contact, the other one was to pick up Kael and leave the city, vanishing forever. Only one of us needed to survive for that.
Askai's hand trembled as he climbed down the pipes, and this was not the fear of height. He had done this his whole life. This was the fear of the life he had just annihilated, and the new one he had just created for himself.
He jumped the remaining distance and pulled out his phone. There were still thirteen agonizing minutes to wait.
Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind in those few moments, and each one was scarier than the last.
He had no idea how he ended up here, back with a knife in his hand and blood on his shirt. He thought those days were far, impossibly far, behind him now.
Moraine would make life hell for them, now that Uncle Tommie was no longer in the picture. Things would be even more difficult for Jordan. Askai had no idea what Moraine had in mind for Jordan, but he would find Askai standing in his way, every step that bastard took.
There was the sound of muted footsteps behind him, and Askai straightened, every nerve ending screaming a warning. He knew Jordan's footsteps intimately, and those were not the ones he was hearing.
Fortunately, they were moving away.
He carefully stepped out of the shadow, taking a quick peek around the wall. His heart was thudding loudly in his chest, but instinct—the life-saving instinct of the street—told him he needed to see whatever was happening in the dark alley.
Those men again.
In crisp black suits.
A sleek black car suddenly appeared around the corner of that narrow alley. It halted right next to those men, and someone slowly rolled down the window. Askai couldn't see much because of the profound darkness, but the make and model of the car was unfamiliar.
A custom-built machine, if his eyes weren't failing him in the darkness. One that belonged to the Elites of the East End.
But what would one of them be doing here? They had many hired hounds and intermediaries to do their bidding in the West.
A man leaned in, and Askai assumed some brief, coded words must have passed. The car barely halted for seconds before suddenly speeding right toward him. Cursing, Askai ducked behind the nearest dumpster and held his breath as the sudden, overwhelming stench assaulted him.
The car sped by, the roar of its engine cutting through the night. As Askai's shoulders began to sag in pure, desperate relief, a hand closed like a vice around his shoulder.