“Why does something have to be wrong?”
“Kyson. Tell me.”
I contemplate confiding in him. But I’m not sure what to tell him, so I keep it to myself. Zuko was the only one who knew, and now Kenzo does. But that’s it. That’s all the people who need to know. They don’t need me. They do just fine by themselves.
“Fine.” He hands me a piece of paper that disintegrates when it touches water. I look over the information and note the address and name. “Your brothers have plans, but I need this job done for a favor I owe.”
“Who’s the favor for?” I ask.
His head drops to the side as he studies me. “Why are you asking?” He’s right to question me. We never question a hunt, but as I said, things are changing.
“Is it a secret? You said it was a favor. I’m asking for who…” I pause, then continue, “Or is this one a secret as well?”
Pops is good at keeping secrets and has been for as long as I can remember.
A woman comes out from the hallway, and I don’t recognize her, which isn’t unusual. I never know who Pops has in his bed as he goes through so many women. Pops’s salt and pepper hair looks good on him, and the women he brings back all seem to love him. She waves as she walks past us, but his eyes remain firmly on me.
“It’s not a secret. The governor wants him dead. The mark has been going around saying he will be running next year and will most likely win with all the dirt he has on the governor. So, if you wouldn’t mind, I owe him a favor. Or would you like me to get your brothers in on it as well?”
I shake my head in answer, stand, and put the paper in my pocket.
Then I leave without either of us saying another word.
It doesn’t take me long to find the mark. He’s at a well-known restaurant not far from his apartment. He lives alone. Never been married. No kids. I can do the searching without Kenzo, but he’s better—I find basics, and he finds everything.
I watch him for a bit as he sits there drinking. He smiles when appropriate but seems to have a lost look in his eye. Walking past the restaurant, I head straight to his apartment. A man buzzes himself in, and I slip in behind him, making my way to apartment number three. I jimmy the lock, and it opens easily. The place is basic, with creams and whites everywhere. It’s small, but I guess that’s all you need when you live by yourself.
Why do I have such a big house, then? Because I want it, plain and simple.
Opening his bedroom door, his bed is unmade, and clothes have been thrown around. Shutting the door, I go to the window to check when he leaves the restaurant. I make my way to the door and wait. It’s not long until I hear the jingle of his keys, and he enters the apartment.
I hit him on the back of his head, and he falls hard and fast. Shutting the door behind him, I pick the mark up and place him in a dining room chair. Tying his hands behind him, I grab another chair and straddle it in front of him, waiting for him to wake. It takes his groggy mind a few minutes until he starts struggling, and when he stops, his eyes lock on me.
“Hello.” I smile. He tries to move back, but he can’t. “Just stay still,” I tell him. I watch him try to place me, but he won’t be able to. I don’t know him, and those who know me know better than to show pictures of my face.
“Hunter.”
Tickle me pink, I was fucking wrong.
“So, you do know who I am. Interesting.” I smile. “Do you know which one I am?” I ask.
He shakes his head and tries to wriggle himself loose.
“I’d kill you before you got your hands free,” I warn him.
He stops moving. “He wants me dead because I have evidence on them all,” he whispers. “Even the person who sent you.”
“Sorry, what?” I ask, thinking I didn’t hear him right.
“What do they call him on the streets? Um…Pops?” he asks, staring at me and waiting for a reaction. “I have enough dirt to send the force after them.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do.” I give him a bored look. Pops makes sure everything is done and disposed of. He is clean, remarkably clean.
“His women. He loves his women,” he adds. And he isn’t wrong. Pops does love women. “They talk, you know. Some were even sent in to gather evidence.”
“Where is it?” I ask, standing.
“You’ll let me live?”
“Where is it?” I ask again. “If I have to ask a third time, I’ll cut your fingers off.”
He nods his head to the kitchen cabinet. I walk over and swing it open, and all I see are glasses. Swiping them out, they all fall to the floor and smash. The tinkling of glass shattering continues long after I view a small slot in the back. You have to be looking for something to see it. Pushing the wood aside, I pull out a folder of paperwork. Turning back around, I sit down in front of him.
The first thing I see when I open the folder is a picture. You can barely make out the image, but I know it’s me and my brothers. I glare at him and see his face redden.
“I wasn’t going to use them,” he adds. “It’s the others I want.” He nods to the folder. “Keep going.”
I do as he says, rifling through. There’s evidence of the governor with what appears to be a teenager. Jesus! What a fuckhead. No wonder he doesn’t want this information to get out. She looks barely seventeen, whereas he’s easily in his sixties. Then I see Pops right next to him, a smile on his face, and another girl next to him the same age as the other.
“That’s not all. Those two girls? They’re dead.”
Hearing that someone is dead doesn’t bother me.
“He framed the detective’s son because the son was dating one of those girls,” he says. “You killed him, the detective… I’m guessing under Pops’s orders. He likes you all to clean up his messes without any of you knowing why.” I look at the detective’s picture and remember him—he was begging us after he fought hard to get away. Told us he had dirt on everyone. We don’t deal with that—we deal with money and death, and we are good at it.
And he is also right—it was on Pops’s order we killed him.
“Did you also know he is training again?” he adds, and that makes my head swing to him. Pops quit training killers after us because he told us that we were all he needed.
I guess that’s a lie.
“To kill you.” He smirks. “It’s all in there if you keep going.” I stand, lean forward, and kiss his forehead. I like to stomp my kills to death, but for him, I’ll be gentle. Reaching for the knife in my pocket, with a movement so fast he doesn’t see it coming, I swing it in his direction and straight across his neck. He bleeds quickly, his eyes wide, and I watch as the light leaves them. Then I get my shit and leave, evidence in hand.
I’ll send the pyros to torch the apartment in case there is any more evidence.
Twelve
Kalilah
Kyson didn’t come back that day or that night. But the following day, when I go down to the kitchen, I find him sitting at the table. He has a look of confusion and anger written all over his face, his brows tight as he studies something on the table.