As promised, below is the blurb and first chapter of Chance Assassin 4: Old Wounds. A little side note, the formatting may show a little strange on Goodreads. If so, you can read the first chapter on my blog
here.
Partners in life and partners in crime, Frank and Vincent always had
each other. They were ready to take on anything as long as they were
together. But now the world Vincent knew, the world Frank taught him,
has changed. The war has come to their doorstep and no one is safe.
Things once taken for granted may no longer be dependable, alliances
will be questioned, but their vows still ring true: In sickness and in
health, until death do them part.
Spoilers below:
Chapter
One
With
any war there are casualties. But no amount of crying or throwing of
breakables on my part, or simmering insanity on Frank's, could've
prepared us for what was waiting on the other side of the Atlantic: a
battle that was already over. One that hadn't even begun.
Roger
Foster, former client of Adler and Associates, was arrested for the
murders of Gideon Adler and Margaret Evans. The murder weapon, a
semi-automatic 9mm, was found wrapped in a blood stained cloth under
his porch. He'd been threatening the firm for weeks. It was such a
strong case against him, not even Gideon could've gotten him off.
Open and shut. Guilty. The end.
But
not for us.
It
should've really been a relief that it wasn't connected to Assassin
War and therefore wasn't Frank's fault, but somehow being your
average every day double murder actually made it worse. Not only had
Maggie and Gideon not been assassinated, their deaths could've easily
been prevented if they'd just let us do what we did best.
And
now we were on our way to see the bereaved, to undoubtedly do what we
did worst: act like human beings.
Joe
solemnly drove us from the airport back to Casey's apartment after
giving us the lowdown on the unfortunately mundane murder situation.
Frank said nothing. He hadn't spoken a word in hours. I had a
migraine that was quickly growing in severity so any silence was good
silence as far as I was concerned, but one glance at him in the
rearview mirror proved this silence was far from good.
Frank could handle guilt. He
was used to guilt. After eighteen hours of traveling he'd prepared
himself to admit guilt. He'd probably even come to terms with
the fact that if Simon had killed them, we would sooner
or later have to let Casey know the truth: that this never would've
happened if he hadn't ignored Frank's request and drawn everyone's
faces in the sketchbook he subsequently misplaced around
Malkolm's handler. Frank wouldn't lie to Casey again, not after what
happened last time, but saying “I told you so” over the barely
cold bodies of your parents would've been far less severe if it could
be said while holding the severed head of the man who killed them.
Now all that planning and plotting was completely wasted. It wasn't
Frank's fault, it wasn't Casey's fault, the man responsible was
safely behind bars, and Frank looked bewildered in a way that
would've been pitifully adorable if it wasn't so unsettling.
Tilting
the rearview mirror back where it belonged and following my gaze, Joe
cautiously asked, “Is he okay?”
“Can
we swing by the jail to kill this guy and a minimum of twenty other
people on top of it?”
“No.”
“Then
no. And when he sees Casey upset he's gonna completely lose
it.” He'd already lost it enough not to notice that we were
talking about him.
Joe
parked in Maggie's old spot in the underground garage, and because
I'm a shitty person I automatically wondered whether I got to claim
her 1968 sea green Cadillac convertible. She had been scared of me,
but I didn't think I'd be written out of her will. She probably
didn't have a will, and that thought more than anything else made me
tear up all over again.
It
wasn't fucking fair. They weren't the kind of people who got
murdered. I should know, I was intimately acquainted with those
people.
Quickly
getting out of the car lest Joe see me cry, I announced that we were
gonna take the stairs to the eighth floor since that was kinda
Frank's thing. Frank followed me to the stairwell while Joe shuffled
his crippled body to the elevator. Frank kept looking around with
that same lost, confused expression, like we'd arrived at a hit site
and our mark was nowhere to be found. “I know, babe.” I
reassuringly squeezed his shoulder and he habitually put his arm
around me, but he was so far gone he didn't even question my
reference to our lack of murderistic opportunities being basically
the same as “Lucy pulling away Charlie Brown's football.”
Frank
paused at the front door of the apartment he'd been paying for since
he met them, buying his way into Maggie's trust and the only chance
he'd ever get at having a normal life. That unspoken promise he'd
take care of Casey in her absence. He heaved a sigh and squeezed his
eyes shut in the way that usually ended with his hands around my
throat. Then he spat, “Fuck!” and went on in.
Bella
and Sophie Durrant, the au pair, were in matching black dresses. Joe
and Miranda sat together on the sofa. Casey and the kid were nowhere
to be seen. Frank warily took everything in, on edge like this was a
surprise party and he was waiting for someone to jump out at him and
try to bring happiness and glee. There sure as hell wasn't any of
that to be had around here.
“He's
in the bedroom,” Bella said. She looked hangry, though I could've
been projecting. And now there was no one left to bake me peach pie.
My migraine got suddenly much worse.
Frank
glanced in that direction with a look of thinly disguised dread like
water was about to come flooding out the closed door à la The
Shining. A torrent of blood was precisely what we needed right
now. I would've settled for a little splash. Or just a sip to take
with my pills. Instead I swallowed them dry. It wasn't as if this
situation could get any more uncomfortable.
“Shall
we?” I asked.
Setting
his jaw in a way that he probably thought made him look mournful but
really just made him look murderous, he lowered his head and led the
way.
I'd
only seen Casey cry once before, after Bella spontaneously aborted
their kid all over me, and seeing someone fall that far from his
normal state of happiness was just as traumatizing as the unborn
child gore she'd left on my clothes. But I knew it was even more
traumatizing for Frank. Casey was the golden standard of joy for
him, a pillar of light untouchable by the demons that haunted Frank.
Formerly untouchable.
He
was lying in bed, curled up with his sleeping daughter, twirling his
fingers in her hair. The glow from behind us in the hallway and a
purple dinosaur nightlight plugged into the wall gave just enough
illumination to show that it was even worse than I'd imagined. He
looked like he'd been crying for weeks, not just hours. It looked
like he hadn't smiled in even longer. And never would again.
“Hey,”
Casey said quietly, his voice as hoarse as Frank's had been when he
broke the news to me, and I realized we'd been standing there staring
at each other for awhile. Or at least, he and Frank were staring at
each other. Frank hadn't moved, not even a nod in Casey's direction.
And just like that, Frank had turned a brand new shade of crazy.
There
was the calculating murderer Frank that I knew and loved, and the out
of his mind tearing his thumb off to protect me Frank that I liked
even more, but this was animalistic and desperate, chew his foot off
to get out of the trap unreasonable. And he genuinely looked
trapped.
“So,”
I started, glancing at Frank in a silent plea to stop me from saying
something I shouldn't as the tension increased in the room. He
didn't. “At least it's not your fault.”
Casey's
eyes drifted towards me and they were all swollen and bloodshot and
my idiot inner voice decided that the only logical course of action
would be to give him advice on being an orphan since I had way more
experience in that matter.
“This
sucks. A lot. Trust me, everything in your life is going to change.
Everything. I mean, your dad died already but that's not really the
same. Plus he was kind of an asshole. Being an orphan is like,
serious abandonment. But look on the bright side you've totally got
the jump on me with the whole assassin ward thing, with Frank and
with Bella, so it's not like you're going to have to go out and suck
cock—” By the grace of god I stopped myself, but god's grace was
momentary and not very thorough since I only gave pause long enough
to confirm, “she is asleep, right?”
Leaning
over her to check as if he wasn't fully aware of the possibility of
having to explain to a little girl why anyone would suck on a
rooster, he slumped back to the damp pillow. “Yeah. She's asleep.
Maybe you should go to bed too. You look tired.” It was the
nicest way I'd ever been told to shut the fuck up.
“I
have a headache,” I said, an excuse for my failed attempt at a
Hallmark Card sympathy speech while not actually apologizing
directly. I didn't want to say I was sorry. I kept thinking about
the dream I'd had about them, about Maggie calling me a killer. If
we'd done what we were supposed to, what was in our nature, we
would've killed Roger Foster and Maggie and Gideon would still be
alive. Casey wouldn't be crying and Frank wouldn't be...going and
lying down with Casey and staring helplessly into space the way Hugo
did when I was sick and he couldn't comprehend with his doggy brain
what to do to make me feel better, but every ounce of his oversized
being needed to fix me.
But
Frank spooning him just made Casey break down and sob, and even if I
could handle watching Casey do that while my head pounded there was
no way I could handle seeing Frank's reaction to it as his eyes got
more and more distant.
“Well
goodnight,” I muttered, swallowing another handful of pills as I
shut the door behind me.
Joe
was leaning against the wall, not close enough to eavesdrop but close
enough to be the first thing I saw when I left the room. “I've got
this. You go to bed.”
He
didn't have to tell me twice.