Ineffable ꕥ Joost Klein ꕥ

28.

The WRX and Lancer pulled off at the next exit. Outside of Amsterdam, country roads and large fields replaced the condensed streets and tall buildings. The chase had continued far out of the city where streetlights were few and far between.

Headlights were left on as the doors were thrown open. The flick of a lighter sounded and its flame reflected in a pair of silver ski goggles. Puffs of smoke bellowed from the German's mouth before he took the cigarette between his fingers.

The man with a buzzcut trailed after Nathan, the Belgian stopping beside the smoking blonde. His gaze flickered to the two men that had stepped out of the WRX with the German but remained beside it's open doors. There was never a moment where he didn't see the blonde accompanied by the menacing faces dawned with frowns and arched brows.

Nathan pulled out his own cigarettes and didn't ask to share the lighter. Instead, he lit up his own and his driver stood awkwardly beside the Lancer.

'He's good,' the German commented, looking out to the fields. 'Really good.'

Nathan said nothing. He knew that he was referring to the man they had just lost along the motorway. Joost Klein was the best driver in The Netherlands, perhaps even in the whole of Western Europe. Tonight proved this despite Nathan's best attempts to try and take him out on the road. He was almost glad that Joost had made the WRX swerve, catching the Germans inside off-guard. It showed them that Nathan hadn't been dramatic in his struggle to complete the task he had been given.

Exhaling in a bitter relief, Nathan didn't turn his head when the German held his cigarette between his lips to free his hands. The gunshot rang out through the field and the drop of his driver's body made him want to groan aloud.

'But your man should've been able to ram him,' the German let the gun drop by his side as he spoke. 'Start again.'

'There is no one else. You've shot them all.'

The recruitment had been a grueling process and in a matter of two weeks, all of Nathan's amateurs were dead. Roan Colijn's termination had been out of necessity. The man had failed to follow through with the job he assured Nathan would be easy. All he had to do was hide the money in his girlfriend's apartment and when the German touched down, they would use the central location to finalise their deal.

Nathan should have known that when Joost Klein turned up that things would go wrong. And when they did, he had no choice but to get rid of the main fuck-up. Now, all of the men Nathan had recruited were gone, all because of the man smoking beside them.

'I shouldn't have to be doing all this for you. It shouldn't be this hard for you to do your fucking job. And yet, here we are, in the middle of a Dutch field with Joost Klein being a bodyguard for my fucking money.'

The German's sneakers kicked up dirt as he moved to stand in Nathan's space. He was so close that he could see his reflection in his goggles. His protected identity made him all the more intimidating, the accessory now notorious throughout Europe. Even Nathan was unnerved and it took everything in him not to break out in a sweat.

'I didn't let you live just so you could fuck around,' he lowered his voice into a sinister growl. His fingers holding the cigarette jabbed into Nathan's shoulder, making ash drop onto his tanktop.

'Get the girl and that'll get you the money. Might want to hurry it up because the Dutch police are on your case. But you'll be thankful for a Dutch cell if it means you won't be the next Belgian I dismember.'

Flicking his cigarette into Nathan's chest, the German turned away to get back into the WRX. His men retreated with him and set off back towards the city. Nathan was left with a tight jaw, a hole in his shirt and a corpse in the way of the Lancer.