Contracts - Matt Rogers (chromebook ebook reader .TXT) 📗

Sometimes they irritated the shit out of each other, but each knew their boundaries. He wasn’t entirely over Ruby Nazarian. She’d been something unique in the midst of his monotonously violent existence, and he’d honestly thought it could have led to something permanent down the road. They just … clicked. For the first time in a long time, he’d hoped to end the emotionless womanising and try something more stable.

But life’s not a fairytale, and she’d bled out on the streets of San Francisco, fighting alongside Slater and King to prevent the worst mass shooting in history.

She’d died a hero.

Which meant nothing if she wasn’t around to hear the praise heaped upon her.

King said, ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Slater said, but he placed a hand on the side of the SUV to steady himself.

Utsav noticed, and dashed forward. ‘Will, are you—?’

Slater held up the other hand, stopping him in his tracks. ‘Fine, Utsav. Thank you.’

The guide nodded, sensing his presence wasn’t desired, and melted into the background.

Slater battled down something very close to misery and steeled himself. Then he adjusted his jacket against the evening chill and followed King into the reception.

They were given a pair of simple two-bed rooms on the third floor. Utsav asked if they needed anything, and they both shook their heads. The guide knew the general gist of why they were here, but details had been kept sparse for obvious reasons. He knew not to push it. This wouldn’t be an ordinary trek. They would need to set a pace that not even a seasoned Nepali guide could maintain, so he’d help them get to Phaplu and then see them off at the starting line.

It’d push Slater and King to their physical and mental limits, but they’d spent most of their careers operating on the outskirts of those limits, so what was a little more pain other than a simple inconvenience?

King disappeared into his own room with the muttered promise to meet in the courtyard an hour from now, and Slater trudged into his own quarters, alone with his thoughts.

Just the way he liked it.

There were miniature bottles of spirits in a bar fridge underneath the small desk.

He dumped his bags down, eyed the alcohol, then took out the two small bottles of whisky and emptied them into a plastic cup. He swirled the amber liquid around, sipped at it, and sat on the edge of the bed.

He should be apprehensive. There was foul play afoot in the mountains, and a violent kidnap involving murder and betrayal was nothing to scoff at. But that was the issue, and Slater knew King would be quietly grappling with the same problem. In small circles amidst the upper echelon of the U.S. government, they were considered the premier operatives in the country. The best of the best, and their orders were filtered accordingly. They were tasked with matters of the utmost priority, and this just wasn’t that. In all likelihood it was the case of a bodyguard who got greedy and figured a remote inaccessible hiking trail would be the perfect location to stage such a risky stunt against his employer. That was bad, but it wasn’t King-and-Slater business.

They were the last-minute cavalry, the stone-cold killers sent into a salvage a situation that had been deemed unsalvageable.

They didn’t do this.

So he’d get drunk tonight. He was already halfway there, and the whisky helped him right along. That way he wouldn’t need to mull over the details for hours on end, pensively wrapped up in his own thoughts until the doubts threatened to eat him alive. He’d just succumb to the pleasant dullness of the alcohol, and deal with the consequences in the morning.

He didn’t realise he’d been sitting on the edge of the bed for close to an hour until he glanced up at the clock. He put down the empty cup, shook himself out of the semi-trance, and went downstairs.

King was there, in a change of clothes, sitting around one of the circular tables by the bar. He’d showered and shaved, and there was a pint of beer in front of him.

Slater felt strangely unclean as he joined his friend and closest ally.

King said, ‘You realise there’s showers here, right?’

‘I’m a little distracted.’

‘By the job?’

‘Trying to distract myself from the job.’

‘It’s worrying you?’

‘The fact that it doesn’t worry me at all is worrying me.’

‘Been there,’ King said.

‘You talked to Violetta?’

‘Briefly.’

‘What’d she say?’

‘There’s works at the airport preventing us from getting a flight to Phaplu. Looks like we’ll be in a jeep all day tomorrow.’

‘How long’s that going to take?’

‘Around ten hours if we make good time.’

‘Bumpy ride?’

‘I’d bet on it.’

‘Did she tell you anything else?’

‘No. She’s still putting the report together. She wants to hit us with all the information at once instead of drip-feeding it to us. We’ll have all the time in the world to get the details tomorrow.’

‘You really think Parker’s up to something?’

‘I don’t know him,’ King said. ‘I’m not ruling anything out.’

Slater shrugged.

King motioned to the beer. ‘You want one?’

‘Better not.’

Slater could sense eyes on him. Boring into him. Drilling deep.

King said, ‘Been hitting the minibar?’

Slater drummed his fingers on the table, and didn’t answer. Then he lifted his blurry gaze to meet King’s. ‘Do you think I have a problem? Be honest. I want to know.’

King looked at him in the same way. Drilling deep.

He said, ‘No.’

Slater kept tapping his fingers. ‘I’m starting to think I might.’

‘Given what we do, I’d say it’s understandable. I’m starting to think I’m the one with the problem for having a grip on it.’

Slater nodded. ‘Do you think about what we’ve done? What we’ve been through?’

‘All the time.’

‘Does it affect you?’

‘How wouldn’t it?’

‘I always thought you were the shining example of how to deal with this life.’

‘I’m the shining example of how to mask your problems,’ King said. ‘I wouldn’t claim to be much more than that.’

They sat back and watched the scene around them. There were groups of tourists dotted across the tables, laughing and drinking