Only my extraordinary self-discipline allows me to keep the shock locked inside. Outwardly, I give no signs that Baron’s admission is even remotely interesting to me. But the fact that he managed to trail me for long enough to know about Calla without alerting me to his presence means one of two things. Either he’s far better than I gave him credit for, or my personal interest in Calla above all the other women I’ve snatched over the years means I took my eye off the ball.
My guess is on the latter. My instincts about Baron are correct. He’s a loose cannon, and when I end him, I’ll be performing a service to The Elite, one I won’t even charge them for.
“I shouldn’t have done it,” Baron continues when I keep up a stony silence. “But when Viper gave me an opportunity, one I know he expected me to fail, I had no choice. You know how much I want this, right, Hawk? If I hadn’t come back with a girl tonight, who knows when I’d have gotten another chance.”
“She won’t pass,” I state flatly. “Viper knows it. That’s why he was about to pull her before Typhon stepped in. So if you think snatching the girl is going to win you plaudits with Viper, you’re sorely mistaken.”
He falters, his overconfident smirk falling faster than if I’d wiped it off his face with my fist.
“She might,” he says petulantly.
“Not with Typhon. She’ll be lucky if she’s still breathing in the morning.” My chest tightens at the thought. I’m not saying that to scare Baron, although the way he’s gone pale means I have. But there’s a possibility Typhon will kill Calla. He’s killed before. All I can do is hope she somehow clings on and gives me the chance to snatch her while she’s being transported to a brothel.
“That’s not permitted, is it?” he asks, his tone laced with uncertainty.
“No, but Typhon doesn’t always play by the rules.”
“Then why is he allowed to stay on as a trainer?”
The way his voice rises an octave is yet more proof that Baron is completely out of his depth. I truly believe he hasn’t fully processed what goes on here, and what our part in it is. In a way, I feel sorry for him, and if he’d taken any other girl, I’d probably use it as an opportunity to lay out a few facts and hope he’d realize for himself how unsuited he is to this life.
But all that is off the table.
He took my girl. My Calla. The one I’d chosen for myself.
I sling an arm around his shoulder. “Take a walk with me.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Why would he? I’m his mentor and he trusts me. Fucking idiot. Yet more evidence of his unsuitability to this life, this world.
We meander down the narrow lane that leads up to the main building and then take a left at the end. It’s dark, and I use my phone to light the way. As we walk, I talk about Typhon and my take on why the rules don’t seem to apply to him. Mainly that I believe Typhon has something on one of The Elite members. Not the trainers, but members of The Elite themselves, and as such, they let him do what he wants as long as none of it taints them. Baron listens intently, unaware of how far we’ve come or how remote it is here.
I draw to a halt and take out another cigarette. I don’t offer him one this time. Returning the pack to my pocket, I light it and take a long drag, staring into the obsidian night.
“What have you brought me here for?” Baron asks, glancing around and seeing nothing but trees, woodland, and a fast-flowing stream at the bottom of the paddock that leads to a major river. I estimate that by the time the trainers have finished putting the women through the tests, Baron’s body will be long gone. There may be one or two questions from Viper—nothing I can’t handle—but soon Baron will be forgotten, and they’ll source a new tracker. One, I hope, that isn’t assigned to me.
Reaching for my knife, I drive it upward underneath his ribs in one quick movement. His eyes widen in shock, the unexpectedness of it all briefly holding the pain at bay.
“I brought you here to die, Baron,” I say, punching the blade even deeper into his body.
The blood loss is significant and swift. Mere seconds later, he draws in his last breath of sweet, clean air, and then a light goes out in his eyes. I withdraw the blade and shove him in the chest. His body rolls down the hill, and I listen for the splash at the bottom. Once I hear it, I jog down to the stream and watch as he disappears beneath the water.
I rinse my blade and return it to its holster, although I’ll need to clean it properly when I get home, and I’ll have to burn these clothes. Jogging all the way back to the facility, I make it to my car without being seen and drive back to my place. I shower, change into an identical black T-shirt and jeans, get rid of the offending clothing, and clean my knife in bleach, which will remove all traces of Baron’s blood. Then I head back to the facility. I enter the main building and amble into the kitchen, where I find Davenport and a couple of the other security guys drinking coffee.
“Where’ve you been?” Davenport queries. “Have you seen Baron?”
“Smoking and no,” I reply, grabbing a cup and the coffee carafe. It tastes bitter, but I can’t be bothered to make a fresh pot. I pull out a chair and casually put my feet on the table.
“Strange,” Davenport says, rubbing at the three-day-old stubble on his chin. “He said he was going to
