Twenty-Seven Tobias

Istood frozen, my heart heavy with regret as I looked at Abel. I'd promised to protect him, to keep him safe from harm, yet there I was, the cause of his agony. Anger bubbled within me, directed not at Abel but myself. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. "I said, fucking go!" I barked.

"I hate you," Abel fumed, his voice shaking.

My stomach dropped. I fought not to meet his eye. I couldn't bear to see him hurt any longer. How could three words hit me harder than a bullet to my chest? Abel hates me. The distance between him and I was a blessing so he wouldn't see how his words affected me. I thought he'd be thankful for knowing the truth about Orcus and his plan, but I was fucking wrong.

"What are you waiting for, kid? Leave!" I had to let him go so he wouldn't witness me crumble if I couldn't bring myself to drown his words with the defense I'd mastered to keep everyone believing I didn't give a shit.

"You're an asshole. I can't believe Dad ever trusted you!" he shouted. "I can't believe I trusted you." Abel jogged toward the trees and disappeared into the shadows.

I didn't know I was still capable of feeling any emotions, but Abel's accusation had ripped open old wounds I'd buried years ago. Everything he said about me and his father was true. I did turn my back on Oliver when he needed me the most, when he tried to get his family out of the cult. I was ashamed to admit that my recollection of those days were hazy, fragments of my past I chose to forget. I was in a dark place and in no shape to help anyone when Oliver needed me. I could barely help myself back then. I'd spent most of those days passed out drunk, and when I was sober, I obsessed over finding Aurora's murderers. I was a mad man on a mission, and my relationship with Oliver—my best friend and the only family I had left—was collateral damage. By the time I got my shit together, Oliver had stopped calling and I never reached out. He probably hated me. I couldn't blame him.

I tucked my head between my knees and pulled my hair, silently screaming my frustration. How could a simple mission of taking Abel and his family out of The Creed turn into a complicated mess? I never should've let my sorry ass get entangled with their lives. I should've accepted Archer and Heath's offer and dragged the Marshalls out of here on day one. But I was The Savior and never needed anyone to rescue me. I doubted Abel would've let us drag them out of here without a fight—he was determined and stubborn.

"Y'all can die here. I'm out." That was a lie. If I didn't care about Abel's fate, then why was my heart dreading the idea of him stepping into that ring, battling for his life? I needed him to think of me as ruthless so he could forget about me when all this was done.

Maybe I was pushing him away for my own sake too. I enjoyed his presence too much for my comfort. As much as I hated to admit, I looked forward to seeing him every day at practice and at night when we were alone. I craved his touch, and his laughter that remained innocent despite the chaos around him. Being with Abel made me forget how miserable my life was.

The pain inside me doubled when I realized that I hadn't thought about Aurora the way I used to since I'd infiltrated The Creed. I'd been trying to deny my attraction to Abel, but I was kidding myself if I said I didn't want him. He consumed me, and I needed it to end before memories of my late wife drifted away to the abyss of no return. This was my out. They could fend for themselves, and I could go back to my not-so-merry life.

Get them outta there, Tobias! Oliver's words replayed in my head.

I owed him this. I wouldn't let him down again.

I wouldn't let Abel down.

***

My dark living room reeked of vodka and regret. I didn't know what day or what time it was; my only concern was how much more alcohol I could drink before I blacked out and forgot everything. I slouched in a cushioned armchair, holding a bottle of Grey Goose in one hand while the other rested on the armrest pointing a gun at the door, hoping the fuckers who killed my only family would return so I could end them one by one. I wouldn't show mercy; they would suffer. I chugged heartily, each gulp pushing me closer to the brink of unconsciousness. It'd been weeks since Aurora's death and I was nowhere near finding the culprits. I had plenty of enemies; it came with the territory of being an assassin. But I'd been careful about concealing my identity, burning traces of my life after each assignment.

"It could be an isolated case. A burglary gone wrong," El Jefe, our leader, had said. That was a possibility, but my gut was telling me it wasn't. I had nothing to tie her murder to The Firm, and each lead I discovered steered me to a roadblock. I downed another splash. My eyelids grew heavy, yet I remained alert, fixated on the door. Frustration gnawed at me, so I fired shots, leaving holes as they pierced the door.

As I gulped another slush of vodka, memories of the day I joined The Firm surged. El Jefe had approached me on a questionable street in Detroit when I was in my early twenties. I'd been involved in a fist fight with a guy who stole my bag—my only possession. It wasn't much, but for someone who lived on the street and had to dumpster-dive for food, my backpack was everything. I learned how to fight for survival. Hand-to-hand combat was my specialty. With my strength, youth, and love for the warmth of fire, I was a force to be reckoned with. I also had nothing to lose, which made me deadly. Aside from staying alive in the underbelly of the streets' lawless order, I used my vigor and reputation to help others from falling victim to the worst of the worst, but a young guy like me could only do so much. I couldn't be everyone's savior.

Unbeknown to me, El Jefe had been scouting me for months. He told me that he saw my potential and recruited me to join an elite group of assassins called The Firm. It took me a year to learn who they really were and, by then, I wasn't willing to give up the life they provided for a future back on the street. So, without hesitation, I accepted my first assignment and completed the mission with flying colors.

Killing was hard to stomach at first, but eventually I became numb. I'd followed the rules when I was younger and that got me nowhere. With The Firm, I felt alive. Having someone's fate in my hands was exhilarating. I wasn't the weak prey everyone had picked on, but a predator everyone feared.

The shrill ring of my cellphone disrupted the silence in the room and the chaos of my inebriated thoughts. Oliver's name illuminated the screen. "Go the fuck away," I yelled, the walls echoing my words, a reminder of how empty my house was—mirroring my heart. The buzzing persisted. "I said, Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone." I downed the rest of the bottle then threw it against the wall, where it bounced to the floor then shattered.

The cell rang for the third time. My irritation and fury intensified. This time, I answered. "What?"

Oliver's voice trembled with urgency. "Tobias, I need your help. This place is bad news, man."

I was caught in a whirlwind of intoxication, frustration, anger, helplessness, and self-pity. "Can't—" I cleared the frog in my throat. "I can't help. Busy," I slurred, hiccuping. I hung up the phone and tossed the annoying device onto the sofa next to me. I closed my eyes to relieve the pain in my temple.

The phone buzzed again. Judging by the light outside, hours must have passed. I stood but fell on my knees after two steps. My head bobbed when I tried to steady myself. The world turned hazy. I crawled to the sofa and answered the call just to stop that piercing noise that grated my senses.

"We made a mistake coming here, Tobias. It wasn't worth Orcus's promises. They're after me, and I don't know where to go. Please, you're the only one I can trust."

I heard Oliver's voice, but his words didn't register through my drunken stupor. When I woke up the following morning, the night before was obscured by the vodka fog and I didn't remember much.

I was on my own. Again.

After a few more days of feeling sorry for myself, a switch flipped one evening and I'd had enough wallowing. I dealt with the mess of what Aurora's death left behind the only way I knew how. Avoiding the bed I hadn't slept in for weeks, I grabbed two duffel bags from the closet and stuffed one to the brim with my clothes. Next, I steered to the safe, entered the code, then packed all of my guns and ammo in the other bag. I pocketed a small detonator from the safe, and finally grabbed the framed picture of our wedding on my way out. Everything else in this house held no value. Not anymore.

I headed to the kitchen next and turned the four gas burners on before setting the timer of the detonator to sixty seconds. I raced outside and leaped into my truck, my foot slamming down on the gas pedal. A bright explosion flashed in the rearview mirror, burning the home I had built with Aurora to the ground.

***

I ran my hands over the cool earth under me, feeling rough dirt and rocks to keep me grounded. Just as despair began to settle in, a vivid memory of Abel's face flashed in my mind, emerging like a beacon of light amid the stormy sea, reminding me of what I had to do.

I stood abruptly. I had to get to Abel before he did something stupid, even if it meant confronting the demons that lurked in the dark recesses of my own mind.

Determination fueled my steps as I sprinted toward the path we'd traveled earlier, sliding over dirt as I rushed downhill. Planning mode kicked in and a strategy was formulating in my head. As I delved deeper into the heart of the woods, a familiar silhouette dashed between the trees in front of me. I sighed in relief. I could salvage this situation if I could get him to listen to me. I'd tie him down if I had to.