Chapter Twenty-Five

This is just another job. But even as Storm waited with his friends, he knew that wasn't the case. His head had to be in the game – he knew that, and he was grateful for his friends' support, but with his mate, who could no longer be seen, although his hand was a light pressure on his shoulder… no, I have to ignore that, too. This was the moment Storm had been waiting for since he was fifteen years old.

The shack the men were holed up in was rickety – a lot like the hut he'd found Pax in – was that just a week ago? There were two lights flickering through the cracks in the boards. Someone had covered the broken windows with trash bags. The place was a dump, to quote Python's words.

But it was the reason those men were there that was important. In my territory, staking out a spot as if they had a right to. Storm already felt Pax was a permanent fixture in his life and in his heart, and no one was going to threaten the happiness he found in the feisty pixie. That thought was more than enough to do what he had to do.

There was another reason. Storm gave a passing thought to his mom. The person he wanted vengeance for all those years ago. A soft spoken woman, her shoulders usually hunched as if wishing she were invisible. She'd never done anything wrong – putting up with Razor's infidelities, his rages, and his temper because she wanted to be around her kids. Her loyalty was what led to her losing her life, but Storm never forgot her. If he ever needed a reason for the life he was about to take, he had them in spades.

The assassins rarely worked as a group. It usually wasn't necessary. One man could easily go in and take out a group if they were quick, quiet, and careful enough. But as if they worked together their whole life, the entry went off seamlessly.

Flint led the charge. A well-timed kick with his boot, and he was in the door, the shots from his large gun rattling around the walls. He was the distraction, designed to make the people in the shack scatter. His friends ran in afterward, all of them scanning what was an unknown situation and moving toward the nearest threats.

Storm was at the back. That was intentional. Razor's crew, his offspring, would all leap to the front so they could protect their leader. Storm trusted his friends would take care of them. He felt a flicker of alarm as his now invisible mate's hand disappeared from his shoulder, but again he had to trust in Pax's ability to stay out of the way. His only focus was with the man sitting in the only armchair toward the back of the room. Arrogant bastard hadn't even bothered to get up. Their eyes met, and Storm caught the flicker of surprise in the old man's face before he sneered.

"Those are some fancy friends you're running with now, Shaz."

"The name's Storm, and I'm about to unleash a tornado of hell on your ass."

He leaped. He'd always been fast and strong, even as a fifteen-year-old. But Storm had honed his skills over the years. Being an assassin who liked living made that sort of thing important. Razor was clearly shocked. Perhaps he expected a monologue, for Storm to demand answers from him, or maybe he'd been surrounded by those who never questioned his authority because he ruled them with fear.

But Storm wasn't afraid. He wasn't even angry in that moment. An emotional assassin went in for the kill at a disadvantage. Every emotion Storm ever had was tightly controlled. As his body collided with Razor's, everything else fell away. The yells and screams of the other crocodiles – they hadn't even shifted – the stench of cigarette smoke and Chinese food littered around the floor in containers – none of that mattered.

Arms wrapped around Razor's neck as the chair tipped over backward and they both fell to the floor. Storm knew his old man's habits. The leather vest and pants were ones Razor probably wore when Storm was fifteen. The guy would have a knife or three on his person, and that's without the claws. But as they wrestled, Storm couldn't sense Razor's animal side at all. It was like rolling around on the floor with an old man. A man who was doing his best to cling to life, but there was none of the underlying strength – that presence an animal spirit lends to their human half.

And the man hadn't stopped talking, even as Storm was squeezing the life out of him. "You can take over for me now. Protect the legacy. Run my crew."

"Your crew is dead to me, just the same as you." A sharp wrench and Storm heard the snap of Razor's neck. The man was still gripping at his hands when the light died out of his eyes.

Storm waited. There was a part of him that expected Razor's crocodile to emerge, for the man to literally come back from death. He realized in that moment that over the years he'd built his dad's image into one that could never be beaten. But as Razor's body slumped, Storm got up knowing that he had actually won when he was fifteen. The only reason why Razor was still breathing five minutes before was because his "crew," the family Storm grew up with, had protected him.

And now it's done.

Dusting off his pants, Storm looked around. His friends were all waiting by the door, the bodies of his brothers scattered across the floor.

"They didn't even shift." Flint sounded disgusted. "What's up with that shit?"

"Can't you feel the magic in this room?" Pax appeared, hovering near the ceiling, his wings brighter than the dim lamps. But his hands were twisting nervously in front of him. "Python, you can feel it, right?"

"Hmm." Python wrinkled his nose. "I was trying to block my senses. Clearly none of these guys believe in using bathroom facilities." He looked around, and Storm felt a wave of his powers. "The pixie's right. Check the bodies for talismans or marks."

"Gods, do we have to." Devon shivered, but went over to pull one guy from the floor. "I got this one." He ripped the t-shirt from the dead man's chest. "Yeah, that's probably suspect." He dropped the man and moved back, holding both hands in the air.

Storm frowned as he saw the tattoo around the man's belly button. It was in the shape of a compass with what looked like runes plastered at the top of every point. Bending over Razor, Storm flipped the body, moving his leather vest aside. "I got the same tattoo here," he said, standing upright again. "Whatever the spell was, it seems to have died with the wearer."

"I've seen that symbol before." Pax fluttered closer, still staying well above the bodies. "It's on my uncle's desk planner. He told me it was a soul catcher."

No one said a word as what Pax said sunk in. Even Levi and Calvin who were usually louder than most after a kill, looked worried, leaning on each other, their faces grim.

Cyrus flicked back his hair and wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm. "Get a photo will you, babe, and let's get out of here. I'll warn the cleaners to be careful."

"Bullet carrying a gun makes sense now. You gave up your animal half?" Storm looked at the body of his dad in disgust. "What the hell did a magic user promise you, for you to do something stupid like that?"

"Do you hate me now?" Pax floated closer, but he was still out of arm's reach. "Because I knew what this was?"

"This wasn't you, little one," Python said, pointing his phone at Devon's kill's belly, and then striding over and taking one of Razor's paunch as well. "This is death magic. This is evil to the core."

"Storm?" Pax still sounded hesitant, and Storm wanted to slap himself for causing his mate distress. It was just his crocodile, an animal primed for a fight that should've been so much more, was grieving the spirits of those who'd gone before the assassins had even entered the building.

"Come here, please, precious." Storm opened his arms. "None of the shit in this room is on you. None of it." His heart settled as Pax flew into his arms, resting his head on Storm's shoulder.

"I thought they might want us to torch this place," Cyrus said, looking at his phone. "But the powers that be want a closer study of the bodies. It's time to make ourselves scarce."

"Well, if we can't toast marshmallows," Calvin said, "Bozeman is about ten minutes' drive from here. Let's see if anything's open. I want cheesecake."

"Does that sound good to you, precious?" Storm carried his mate out of the building. He was worried when Pax just nodded. But that didn't stop him looking back, studying the faces of his brothers and his dad one last time. They all look so old and tired, which was shocking. Yes, Razor was old when Storm was born, but a shifter didn't start to even look like they were aging until they were five centuries or more. But even his brothers, the ones Storm grew up with – they looked as old as Razor did, and that wasn't normal.

That's what happens when you don't respect your animal spirit. His crocodile was still grieving, and Storm knew his other half wasn't complaining at him. But it gave him a lot to think about on the drive into Bozeman.