Page 58 of Scar
Muffled voices reach my ears. I turn to the men, holding up three fingers to indicate three guards. Attila, ever the strategist, nods and signals for two men to flank the exit. I tap my comms unit again but get nothing. I count down silently, and on three, I swing the door open and step into the kitchen, weapon raised.
The guards barely have time to react. Attila’s knife finds its mark in one guard's throat, while Brando's silenced pistol takes out another. The Jekyll has a guard in a chokehold, and I watch as the man’s body goes limp, and he slides down to the ground. A fourth man emerges from around the corner, alerting us with his happy whistling. The Jekyll has his gun out and a bullet square in his forehead even before the man’s eyes have achance to take in the silent carnage. We drag the bodies into the shadows then press forward, moving deeper into our home.
We navigate the familiar halls with practiced ease, every creak and corner imprinted in our memories. The house is eerily silent, a stark contrast to the bustling home it once was. My mind races as we approach the main hall, the place where I know we’re going to find Benita and her co-conspirators.
Rafi’s voice crackles in my ear, and I put a hand to the unit and press it into my ear, sure not to miss anything.
“Dining hall. 12 bodies.”
The doors to the dining room are ajar. I peek through the sliver of space between the doorframe at all the congregated faces, with my mother sitting at the head of the table. A twisted smile plays on her lips as she discusses business with our enemies; I could swear, in another life, my mother was a demon. My blood simmers to a boil at her betrayal, but I force myself to stay calm. There is no room for error here.
Brando places a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. We exchange a look – a silent promise to see this through to the end and let it be the close to a dark chapter in our lives.
Rafi’s voice comes over the comms again, telling me that Dante has just approached the gate.
This is the signal we’ve been waiting for.
Benita’s phone rings: she answers, irritated at being disturbed. Her voice is laced with shock and a certain level of fear when she squeals into the phone “Well, what does he want?!?”
“Ok. Ok. Wait five minutes; I’ll come out.”
Her voice is panicked now, and when she relays this new development to her friends, murmurs begin to erupt around the table. I can’t identify the voices as they speak, but I can hear in the cadence of their tones that everybody is in an uproar.
“Do you think he knows?” one hisses.
“Why is he here?” asks another. “What have you done now?”
“I knew I never should have listened to you…”
“Dante Accardi – now you’re messing with The Saint? That’s not what we agree…”
They’re panicked enough that they’ve lost their wits, which gives us the perfect opportunity to hit them. I nod, and we pile into the room, guns drawn.
Chaos erupts. We move with lethal precision, taking out the traitors one by one. Gunfire echoes through the hall, mingling with the shouts and cries of our targets.
My eyes lock onto my mother, who stares back at me with a mixture of shock and fury. The way she looks at me, it’s hard to believe that she’s my mother. There is nothing but contempt in her eyes, her voice laced with the sharpness of a thousand swords. This is my endgame. The same way that it’s her final resting place.
CHAPTER 51 – SCAR
The battle rages around us, our men mowing down our enemies. The Jekyll moves with deadly grace, his focus absolute as he clears the room, leaving only me and my mother facing each other, the final showdown between two lifetime enemies.
“Scar,” Benita spits, her voice dripping with venom. “I should have finished you off myself when I had the chance.”
“You'll regret not doing that,” I reply coldly. I don’t want to just kill her; I want to make her suffer. I lunge at her, but she’s faster than I anticipate, drawing a hidden knife and slashing at me. I dodge, barely, the blade grazing my arm. I hold my arm to my side as we circle each other, our eyes focused only on each other as we do our dance of death.
“Regret,” she hums. “What do you know of regret?” she hisses. She has a faraway look in her eyes, even though she has not made a move to break our connection.
“I know regret is the only thing father had before he passed. Regret that he didn’t kill you, as he should have.”
She shakes her head and smiles, a devilish grin that is more gloating than anything else.
“I should have killed him when I had the chance,” she scoffs.
My arm shoots out, the knife in my hand missing her by barely inches as she steps back from my swing. She’s fast, if nothing else. I will kill her, if only because it ever crossed her mind to hurt my father. My gentle giant.
My comms unit crackles in my ear, and Allegra’s voice flows through the earpiece as her soothing words reach my heart.
“Baby, don’t,” she coos. “Whatever she’s saying, she’s just trying to bait you. Walk away, let The Jekyll deal with her.”