Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“We thought you were dead,” Amon said, and Sam knew that by “we,” he meant himself and the others he’d been trained with. If they’d been “team members” once by virtue of the fact that they’d trained together, they weren’t any longer. Their work was solitary. And for that, Sam was grateful. At least he had been the only one affected by his own weakness.
Sam just shrugged.
Amon stared at him. “Do you need assistance?”
Sam let out a short laugh. He knew Amon was asking if he needed help killing himself, and a part of Sam was strangely touched by the offer. And a part of him wanted to take him up on it because he knew Amon would do a much better job than he had done himself, which was to say he’d definitely end up dead. “No.”
Amon had always been different from Sam. He’d not only taken to the training, he’d seemed to relish it. It was why he was sent on the most dangerous missions, the ones where violence was likely and hands-on combat might very well be necessary. If he was here in the city apartment, he was being sent on another job. It was where they stayed prior to departing for the location of their next assignment. He knew the location of this apartment had been chosen for the lack of cameras in the area, at least for the time being. If that changed, new technology was installed nearby, or any other number of reasons, the location would be moved. Sometimes two members stayed at the current temporary apartment, but rarely more than that. Their work was intermittent, and they had a whole group to divide it among.
Sam took off the ball cap and ran a hand over his choppy hair before putting it back into place. “Something unexpected came up,” he said in answer to Amon’s quizzical look about what Sam wanted if it wasn’t help with offing himself. “I’m dealing with it first.” There are apples to be picked, fences to repair, and I can’t seem to let go of a girl I barely knew once a decade ago. I can’t seem to let go of this world that she’s still in. Somewhere.
Amon’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he tipped his chin anyway. “I won’t call Doc and tell him you were here.”
Sam nodded, even if he was vaguely surprised. Amon was as committed to their mission as any of them were, and perhaps even more so. A buzz of suspicion vibrated very subtly somewhere inside Sam. Why was he willing to break rules now?
“Anyway,” Amon said, “I have to go because I have a job today.” He walked to the table near where Sam was standing and grabbed a piece of paper. Sam caught the word Deercroft and the number 1358. Before he read anything else, Amon crumpled the piece of paper, walked to the sink, brought out a lighter, and set it on fire. He watched it burn for a moment before dropping it in the sink, running water over the ashes and rinsing them down the drain.
Amon went to the bookcase and pulled out a drawer, loading a pistol into the holster at his side and pulling his jacket closed. He turned and looked at Sam. There was something in his expression that Sam had never seen before. A stark resoluteness that caused that buzz to intensify.
“A job,” Sam repeated.
Amon looked away, and Sam saw the very slight sheen of perspiration on Amon’s forehead. “Yes. A job.” He met Sam’s eyes. “We have to do what’s necessary. The mission is what matters. The mission is all that matters.” He moved toward the door, and Sam walked with him. “Goodbye, Sam,” Amon said, and Sam could tell he meant it as a permanent one.
Sam looked at the man he’d known for as long as he had memory. He had a sudden, vivid glimpse of Amon as a boy, maybe nine or ten, laughing at Sam who had slipped on a patch of ice and sprawled gracelessly yet unhurt. Sam had seen him laugh many times after that day, but there had always been an edge of menace in it, the shine—subtle at first and then distinct—of violence. That late winter day was the last time Amon had laughed with joyful abandon.
“Goodbye, Amon.” Sam didn’t shake his hand. Truthfully, though his gut instincts were telling him something was going on under the surface that Sam wasn’t quite grasping, he wasn’t worried for Amon, nor was he going to miss him. Sam was a monster, but so was Amon. They’d both been raised to be. Amon had just taken to it very naturally. And with more commitment.
A door behind him opened, and Sam turned, surprised to see Morana emerge from one of the bedrooms. Behind her, the sheets were rumpled, and Sam spotted some blood. Morana and Amon had obviously used each other. It was common. Those in the program all knew what to expect from each other, and many of them enjoyed being hurt. And doing the hurting. Sam had never participated. Sam had never touched any woman’s naked body. He’d been aroused before, but he’d attended to it himself. He didn’t like the feel of hands on his naked skin. But even more than that, he didn’t want to risk unleashing the monster inside him. He didn’t want to risk losing control.