CALLEN (Second Chance Novels Book 3) (24 page)

When he walks by my hiding place, I notice another person looking at several yogurt varieties, damn it. My body tenses at the ready for that customer to leave the area before Spades, but the opportunity never comes.
 

Damn it!
 

I set aside my frustration and focus on the fact I don't fear for the mission. Spades has two more typical stops on his Sunday errand run, and we've scouted each. Contingencies, as always, are covered.
 

I slip through the back exit before I signal Riggs to the next point. Mason's job is to follow Spades while I set up at the third location, prepared for Riggs' possibility of a similar miss.
 

Exactly eight minutes and twenty-two seconds later, Riggs signals his miss along with my need to set up at our next point. Part of me wonders if Spades is onto us. Two misses? Not likely. No matter how skilled we have been at hiding our intentions and our current surveillance, Spades is damn good. He may have been privy through this entire process. Panic never registers, though. There is simply planning and execution, whether he's been planning a counter-mission or not.
 

Originally, I had set up the grocery store mark for a headlock/injection/drag scenario to experience up-close his inability to best me. Sadly for me, though, I load my tranquilizer gun for a separated injection instead. At least with this strategy I can look him in the eye when I render him impotent to stop me.
 

I make my way to the final stop on his usual route and set myself ready. The assignment to tail Spades on the way here fails, and Mason's signal solidifies my assumption. Spades knows.
 

With the tranq gun in my double grip, I wait in stealth outside a mildly-populated home improvement store, prepared for Spades in the event he hasn't honed in on our plan. This is the location which carries the most risk, but we have no choice at this point. Either I take him today or the planning starts again. I need this to be
fucking over
, and my resolve is strengthened again.
 

As I sit ready to put him down like a rabid dog, I feel a muzzle at the back of my neck. I almost smile in pride that his training served him so well.
 

"Spades," I greet mildly.

"Bash," he returns as calmly.

"
Bash
," I chuckle. "I always liked that name. It has more meaning than some random poker reference. Your lack of character should have been obvious from the beginning."

"Are you trying to get in my head?"
 

I can nearly hear his eyes rolling.
 

"No, just musing to myself. You are as pointless as a card game for anything other than entertainment now. I'm going to enjoy killing you, because you are a goddamn empty, soulless, fucking worthless piece of shit. It all makes sense now."

He takes his turn to chuckle. "Maybe so, but nonetheless, I don't want to kill you, Bash. I'll spare your life, as long as you let me walk."

"Can't. Not after what you did to Evvie."

"Come on, you know how it works," he lectures. "
Bennett
did that to Evvie. I was merely the weapon. He pulled the trigger. If I'm a soulless piece of shit, so are you."

"Maybe I am, but I never beat an innocent woman bloody before I strangled her to death," I say, working hard to keep the emotion out of my voice.
 

A moment passes calmly before I snap my body quickly around and strip the gun too easily from his hand. Only a split second passes before I process his intentions. Spades wants a fight, and stands ready for attack and counter-attack.

"One thing first," I start. "You have betrayal issues like a jilted little high school girl. It's pathetic. I taught you to be stronger than that."

"Ha!," he chuffs bitterly. "You taught me a lot more than that, like how to walk away from your brothers without a backward glance, and how to leave them with a new team, barely trained."

He pulls his pant leg up and shows me the prosthetic leg he has attached at the knee. My God. I suppose I should be impressed again that he managed to hide it.
 

"You're saying it's my fault you're a gimp and a sadistic bastard? Ha!"

He glares, but I continue.
 

"
New, barely-trained team?
You were a goddamn Delta Force soldier, and if you weren't so fucking empty you'd have stepped up and lead. It's what I fucking did when I got saddled with your worthless
new, barely-trained
ass."

I think of the subtle devolution of this soldier and I wonder how I missed his fall. In my entire career, I've never had to watch a subject over time, nor have I ever needed to watch a teammate for signs of betrayal. I stand off the mark completely, and I'm sick again.
 

With no more reason to speak, I attack. As I anticipated, he countered with a twist of his torso and attempt to plow his shoulder into my gut. He may have relied on his training these past two years, but I've studied further. I counter-strike his defense, and break his arm clean. His hand hangs limply from his forearm, but he betrays no pain.
 

He continues to fight, but is now limited in his abilities. In a final two strikes, only one of which he can counter, I have him on the ground.
 

One swift move later and the syringe from my pocket is plunging into his neck.
 

Cold water and a few sharp smacks to Spades' face rouse him from his drug-induced haze with shock.
 

"What the fuck?" he asks before he remembers his last interaction. Then he chuckles. "Right. The
League of Justice
here to save the world."

Mason glares darkly, Riggs tenses, but they both understand this is my op. No matter how much we all hate him for what he's become, Spades' greatest wrong in this world devastated me the most deeply. Riggs and Junior, as I've called Mason on every op I've been on since knowing him, take on my pain as their own, as any brother would. Out of respect, they keep themselves back to honor my need for this revenge.

Staring at my former brother as a target eats away at my gut more than I thought it would. Hatred and loyalty war within me, leaving me more conflicted but also more resolved than ever.
God damn you, Spades, for forcing me to stand before you as your executioner
.
 

Mason can't help but get involved in the conversation since I won't let him work his physical anger out on the bastard in front of us.

"How the FUCK could you do that?" Mason roars abruptly. "An innocent woman? The one who belonged to your fucking BROTHER!"

Riggs pipes in with his own rage, though darkly quiet and contained. "How could you ever allow your hands to beat a woman to death."

Though his words formed a question, they were spoken like a statement he already knew the answer to, and he shared that answer immediately following. "Because," he continues, "you're a jealous, weak piece of shit. What I don't understand is how the strong, noble man I knew could crumble so pathetically."

"Pathetic?" Spades chuffs. "Pathetic is following this asshole around like an obedient little dog after what he did to us."

I shake my head. "Riggs is right. You
are
jealous."

"BULLSHIT!" Spades finally yells. "I'm not FUCKING jealous of a man who would abandon his brothers and leave them under the command of Reginald fucking Griffith! YOU are the weak piece of shit!"

 
"Do you have fucking daddy issues?" Mason loudly breaks in again. "Did your fucking father leave you? Guess what! You're not the only one, and none of us turned on Bash."

"Ha!" Spades chuffs again. "You disrespected him as badly as I did when you left him high and dry. Bash left the
goddamn Army
for you and YOU fucking left him. You're both pathetic."

I shake my head and bark out, "Knock it off."

No matter how much rage I'm feeling, my old habit and instinct of keeping my men in line somehow surfaces amidst all this tension. I turn to Spades to speak plainly, but looking him in the eye causes my rage to build again.
 

"You think Mason disrespected me as much as you did? MY GOD!" I shout again. "YOU FUCKING KILLED MY WOMAN!"
 

I begin to shake again, as does Spades. I grit out another sentence. "You know,
no one's
ever followed you.
Everyone
must recognize how goddamn weak you are."

Spades shakes in anger at my words, then spits out his final words on this earth. "Fucking get this over with."

Mason steps forward as I knew he would, but speaks with a detached calm I've never heard from him.
 

"Jason 'Spades' Williams, you have been tried for murder, treason, and being a fucking mercenary. You have been found guilty and sentenced to death."
 

Riggs stands in dark anger. The set of his jaw and the arms folded across his chest seem to be the only barrier between himself and his own need to deliver this justice.

I have nothing left to say, but I take a step forward and throw my fist across Spades' jaw with more force than I've ever punched before. I hear his jaw break with a satisfying crack, then I repeat the move to experience the sound of his cheekbone crushed under my knuckles. Spades doesn't make a sound, not even as I choke him within moments of death. I allow him a sputtering recovery, only to pull a rope from beside his chair and add ligature marks to his neck. Another near-death experience at my hands has Spades wheezing for air.
 

A goddamn pipe makes a ring-like impression on his throat as I choke him again with the implement. I want him to feel the pain and fear Evvie did, and I want him to drown in that fear before I end his evil existence. I don't want to deprive him the terrifying experience.
 

Mason and Riggs watch as I stand and look down on Spades gasping for breath. Only a moment later, I look that murdering bastard in the eye and draw my Glock.
 

I can't speak. I can barely look.

Only one bullet straight through his forehead ends my revenge.
 

That same bullet tears me to shreds. I crumple to my knees as Riggs walks away without a word. Mason drops his head before he turns and does the same. I'm left to deal with the body.

QUINN

I can only assume Callen is still pondering his revenge, as I haven't heard from him. The last I got from him was another cold, empty pillow.
 

My mind has been spinning in both hope and worry since that moment. The beautiful spell of our weekend was broken the moment he chose to walk out.

I'm not one to chew my nails, but my fingers would be bloody right now if I did. I'm sick to know what's happening, possibly right now. I have no concept of what I'll say to Callen when he shows up here…if he shows up here at all.
 

I jump sharply at the opening of my front door. Did I leave it unlocked, or is he calm enough to have picked the lock to prove a point? My eyes dart to the door and I see nothing but exhaustion dripping slowly from his entire body. His eyes are half closed, and I've never seen his shoulders so low. He's not whole at all, but he came to me nonetheless.

In spite of every thought I've had over the past days, I walk to him and hold him around his ribs. He leans his head down on mine and wraps me up with weak arms.
 

"Come on," I murmur softly, in spite of my disappointment in losing my resolve. I expected myself to be ready for emotional combat if he came back as anything but the Callen I know him to be, but my instincts as a human, a lover, and a psychologist want nothing more than to comfort this man. I walk him to the couch and lead him to sit with me, but he slumps to the floor instead. I arrange my legs flanking his shoulders. His next movement breaks my heart.

He leans against one leg and circles his arm around my calf in a half-effort to hold me. His temple rests on my thigh right before his entire body loses all sense of place. Callen Reed sits before me totally empty.
 

My fingers stroke his hair gently, proving our connection, even in this most bizarre set of circumstances. After a long, quiet time, I finally speak.