Airel: The Discovering (Airel Saga Book Two)

Chapter IV

A SLEEK BLACK GMC Yukon sat under a scrubby pine tree in the mall parking lot. The man inside liked everything to be just so. With blackout tint on the windows, oversized rims, and forgettable license plates, the SUV looked like something someone in the mob would drive.

The back seats had been removed. Installed in their place were two reclining bucket seats made of hard plastic and equipped with locking five-point harnesses. There were restraints on the armrests and footrests. The extra-dark tinting and sound proofing ensured that even if the victim screamed after the doors were shut, not a sound would penetrate to the outside.

The man at the wheel took a drag from a hand-rolled cigarette. His window was cracked and a thin curl of smoke made its way out into the goldening sunlight, then fell downward onto the lines of the pavement. He looked up and down the parking lot with sharp eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.

He took another drag and thought about what he was going to do, what he had to do, and wondered if the boy was going to be any trouble. He didn’t want to take him, but it seemed he must. It would slow things considerably. He figured the lad would put up a fight, but he had no fear of being overpowered. He wanted the girl, and if that meant taking her beau as well, so be it. Truth be told, the boy had a part to play in this, though he was still curious to see how everything would turn out in end. He couldn’t see that far.

He studied the smoke from his cigarette, watching it wind around his hand. He really enjoyed smoking. He couldn’t understand why so many people these days were scared of their own shadows. It was too bad, he decided, and flicked the cigarette out onto the pavement.

He ran a hand through his hair. It had to be now. After all, he wasn’t the only one pursuing the girl, and he had done so much to get to this point by himself. Nowadays they called it situational ethics, but in days gone by, it was understood that killing a man wasn’t always a sin. He checked the revolver on the seat beside him. It had two rounds—at this he smiled, because it was poetic. Symmetrical. Two would be enough. If it wasn’t, he didn’t deserve her.