Chapter 4

FOUR

Phoenix

I 'd barely made it twenty miles along the motorway when a buzzing started in my pocket. With a groan, I pulled my bike over in the lay-by and tore my leather gloves off.

The screen lit up with a number I didn't recognise.

Ignoring it was tempting. I could be back on the boat and tucked up in bed within the hour if I headed straight for the dock. My ass ached from the hours I'd spent on my bike throughout the day, and my clothes reeked of smoke. A hot shower called out to me like a siren.

Yet, the buzzing didn't stop, and curiosity got the better of me.

Clicking the green symbol, I hauled off my helmet and pressed the phone to my ear.

‘Is that… Phoenix?' A man's voice said on the other end of the line, his words slow and hesitant.

I waited. If he knew who I was, he wouldn't truly expect an answer.

‘I've got an urgent job that needs taking care of. In Manchester. Entire house needs to go up and fast. Four bodies with gun-shot wounds. I'm more than happy to pay your going rate.'

Closing my eyes, I inhaled through my nose. Every part of my body screamed to say no, to curl up in bed. I didn't need the money, and I'd already had my fix of destruction.

But there was a kernel of burning need awakening deep in my soul. A need to please. A need to be useful. A need to not be alone again.

So many days stretched out, filled with nothing but me and the expanse of the ocean.

What was one more job?

I promptly hung up and ignored the call that had rung almost immediately after.

Pulling up a text, I set out my terms.

I need the address. How much time has elapsed since the incident?

A light rain kicked up, sending a sheen of tiny raindrops scattering over my phone screen.

Twenty minutes. Oak Grange Manor. I'll send a pin that should get you directly to it.

￡100K

The reply bubbles danced for a few minutes as I waited.

That's double the fee I was told.

You can take it or leave it. I was about to head home.

Another full minute of waiting.

Fine. But make sure it's thorough.

I'll need a name, and for the wire to clear by the time I get there.

Why do you need my name?

Insurance. Just in case anything should happen to me.

Working for someone new who could afford my services and had a habit of killing people was always a risk. Being implicated on either side of a war could prove positively fatal. I wanted to keep breathing, despite my better judgement.

Being dead might well be better than the life I lived.

I'd been cheating death for longer than I deserved. Some day, he'd catch up.

The game was how long I could outrun him.

My phone buzzed once more.

Massimo Ricci

The wire transfer for one hundred thousand pounds arrived as I fitted my helmet back over my mask. Good thing I always travelled with extra supplies.

T wo muscle-clad heavies stood by the front doors of the pretty, if soulless-looking, new-built mansion. The driveway and surrounding lawns were almost too perfect. Not a single blade of grass dared stand out of place. Cold air whispered over my ass where I'd grown sweaty against the bike. The journey had me wiped before I'd even started the job.

Balancing my helmet on the saddle of my bike, I ran a hand through my sticky hair and down over my masked lower face. My skin itched to feel the cold air on it, but it wouldn't happen until I was back safe on my boat, miles from civilisation.

One man came towards me as I pulled my gas mask and supplies from my backpack.

When I glanced up at him, he startled, before coming to a halt.

‘Mister Ricci is inside.'

I nodded once before continuing to prepare for the incoming blaze.

My gas mask fitted neatly over my face, and I pulled the rear straps until it fit tightly against my skin, making a seal to protect me from the destruction I brought.

Massimo Ricci lounged back on a dining room chair, his feet up on the table while he sipped at a cup of tea.

He didn't look up when I walked into the room, just kept on drinking.

The wall to my left was awash with sopping pink globs of brain and bright red droplets of blood. A blonde woman lay slumped forward on the table, a crimson puddle leaking from her concealed face and spread out halfway across the table. Massimo's shiny black shoes sat crossed just beyond where the red trail ended.

A younger adult male's body hung off of another ornate dining chair, his skull half caved in at the temple.

The one I presumed to be the head of the family—a squat, mousey, brown-haired fellow—had made it almost out of the dining room before being taken out. His fingers remained clenched around the stock of his gun. He'd tried to fight for his family, at least.

Massimo had said four bodies.

Looking around, I failed to spot the fourth.

‘Last one's upstairs,' Massimo said, standing and finally setting his stony stare on me. ‘I trust you'll make sure no-one can tell what happened here?'

I gave him a nod.

I knew perfectly well how to do my job. People didn't hand over wads of cash to an amateur.

‘Right. Well, I need to head off to my engagement party and make it appear as if my fiancee stood me up.' My skin bristled at the unwelcome touch. Clenching my hand into a fist, I waited for the front door to close behind him.

The three of them climbed into a black car and drove slowly down the long, winding driveway.

The home's interior was like a mausoleum. Everything was solid white, bar the great red sprays of blood that decorated the dining room. Hitting a light switch did nothing. The power was cut. Likely Massimo's crew to disable any cameras or alarms.

Saved me a job. I didn't need built-in smoke alarms to bring the fire crews too quickly.

Working methodically, I spread the accelerant through the home, opening the windows and doors while humming softly to myself. I always hummed when no-one was around, hoping the muffled noises might stop my vocal chords from atrophying from lack of use.

Not that I'd likely ever need them again.

Taking the stairs, I worked the accelerant up their glossy wooden bannisters, heading into room after plush room.

Clothes lay crumpled on the floor in one room, while another was perfectly neat. Expensive creams and perfumes lined the counters in an adjoining bathroom, while designer clothes stocked the walk-in wardrobe.

The waste always pained me.

Taking anything would provide a solid lead back to me, so I stuck to the plan.

Prepare. Burn. Leave.

A perfect plan that, in over a decade of working for myself, had never failed me.

Only one room was left on the upper floor, and I walked in, wondering if the final body Massimo had mentioned would be there. The room was feminine and pretty, with matching cases lined up at the foot of the bed. I guessed their owners' vacation had been cut real short.

Humming a tune I only vaguely recollected from my childhood, I worked the almost empty pot of accelerant over the furnishings.

An internal door in the room remained ajar, so I pushed it open with my boot. A bare foot greeted me. Along with a red puddle.

Sighing, I stepped into the bathroom. A beautiful woman sat slumped back against the wall, a bloody wound on her chest. Crouching down, I looked into her pretty face.

The accelerant squelched between my gloved fingers as I reached forward and spread some across her forehead.

A whispered groan escaped her lips, and I fell backward, almost shitting myself in surprise.

Holy fuck.

She was alive.

Backing up, I stared at her. Her face was pale, and her elegant white dress was stained with a streak of red down the front. Dark lashes flickered against her cheeks, and my breath caught within my mask as she opened her eyes.

Despite being unfocused, they were like great pools as big and deep as the ocean itself. I'd never seen eyes quite like them. Almost too big for her face, overriding her other features.

My pulse quickened when her gaze focused on me.

‘Please, help me,' she whispered in a hoarse tumble of words.

Leave no witnesses.

Leave no fucking witnesses.

She was as good as dead, anyway. Burning her in the home wouldn't make a difference.

Right?

Standing up, I stepped back right as she reached out for me. Her blood-stained fingers grazed my thigh, and I sprung back as her touch seemed to burn through to my skin.

‘Please, don't leave me,' she sobbed, her voice catching. A trail of wetness cascaded down her cheek, and the urge to touch the salty stream made me clench my fingers.

I wanted to take her.

No-one would know. She'd be a ghost, like me.

If she didn't die.

Shaking my head, I ruled out the insane idea. They'd expect a fourth body, and no matter how well I incinerated the home, they'd eventually discover a missing skeleton. Bones didn't burn well.

I resumed humming while spreading the remaining accelerant around her, her sweet sobs harmonising with my tune.

‘Come back for me.' Her rasping voice reached me as I stepped out of the bathroom. ‘Please?'

The words immediately transported me back in time. She wasn't the first to ask this of me, but the last time someone did, I had promised to help—and then broke that promise.

This time, I walked away without looking back.

You couldn't break a promise you never made.