An Inconvenient Arrangement

Chapter 42: The Phantom

Raphael was feeling barely human by the time he had tortured a confession out of the only survivor of the five men who had tried to break into his home. It had not taken much to get that man to spill his guts about the man with the scar down his face and across his mouth who had offered them a hefty sum for the kidnapping of a child.

They had not even made it inside the house, thwarted by the men he had guarding the house before they could even breach the front gate. Explaining the noise to his neighbors would be a hassle but he'd make up a story about malfunctioning fireworks, or something of the sort to mollify them.

Then he'd taken his anger out on the lone survivor until the man had been begging for the release of death.

Jane and Sylvie were unhurt, that was the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity.

But someone had dared to try and harm them. They had signed their damned death warrant.

Rafe no longer cared about due process, he no longer cared about gathering enough evidence to convince The Major. He didn't give a damn if he'd be charged with treason or if they'd sack him. The Viper was a dead man walking. He had set out to find The Viper almost immediately, barely stopping to tell Sylvie to keep the doors locked and stay with Jane in a single room.

It was almost too damn easy, and that would have bothered Raphael had The Viper not grinned at him, his scarred mouth parting in a mocking way.

"Going through all this trouble for a man who wasn't even in his senses?" The Viper jeered, his knife parrying Rafe's smoothly, knocking his hand to the side as the other came to strike Rafe's face. Rafe ducked and avoided the blow. "You've come to get yourself killed tonight, and for what? Mad Tommy and his ramblings?"

Another strike, another parry. Another lunge, another dodge.

"You betrayed us!" Rafe roared as he charged once more. "You let the Frenchmen have us!"

The Viper looked entirely unimpressed, stepping away from the sharp end of Rafe's weapon, countering with a slash of his own.

It felt like they had been at this for hours, fighting in some damn alleyway in the dark, both of them trying to gain the upper hand, neither able to. They'd both been trained the same, they both knew each other's technique far too well from all the years that they had worked together. Sparred together. Saved each other's hides.

It's what made it worse, this betrayal. Rafe would have laid down his life for his comrade once upon a time. The Viper had once taken a bullet for Rafe. They weren't friends, but very few people on this earth understood what the life was like. There was a kinship he shared with all members of The Collective. Rafe would have trusted him blindly- which was exactly why he hadn't looked as closely as he ought to have. He hadn't been as suspicious as he ought to have been.

What Rafe lacked in brawn, he made up for in speed, but his advantage was marginal. They'd been taught the same things by the same people and The Viper had several years of service plus a much sturdier frame on Rafe. He caught The Viper across the shoulder, cutting through the shirt and making a gash on his skin that welled with blood. In return, The Viper's leg caught Rafe in the stomach, followed swiftly by a fist to the left side of his face. Raphael tasted blood as he slashed blindly, feeling his weapon sink into the tough sinew of The Viper's shoulder. His opponent swore, jerking away, giving Raphael an advantage. Rafe advanced, slamming his body forward, forcing his opponent to collide with the wall.

"I'm going to fucking gut you," Raphael snarled, pushing his knife deeper into The Viper's shoulder as he felt the slickness from his blood coat his hand. "I know you did it, bastard, you killed Thomas."