Young Love Murder Part 26

Looking at the weapons we've laid out in the trunk of the car, I pick up a Micro submachine gun and hand it to Gabriel. Then I grab the waistband of his tan cargo pants and slip in an automatic pistol. Opening the side pockets in his pants, I slip in extra cartridges for both guns. Once I clip a sheathed Bayonet knife onto his waistband, I'm satisfied.

Hearing laughter from behind us, I look back to see Jackson and Brent with their heads bent together, watching me and Gabriel. Let them make fun of Gabriel, at least I'll know he's protected. I hope they both get shot in the a.s.s today.

Having already chosen their weapons, Jackson and Brent are just waiting on us. We're parked about a half-mile down the dirt road leading to the isolated, sprawling house that our targets live at. We've been unable to do much surveillance, but Jackson and Brent scoped out the place last night while Gabriel and myself, um, spent a little quality time together. I so refuse to grin like an idiot in love right now. That would lead to questions I don't want answer and more teasing.

These criminals are almost always locked up inside that gated house a little ways outside of Sydney, like they're expecting an attack at any moment. Well, I guess they're right, because today's the day. From what we've been able to find out by bribing a maid who comes in a few days a week to clean, there are no children in the house. Besides our targets, we expect to come across a few hired minions and a couple the targets' girlfriends. The information from Simon on the girlfriends only confirms that they're no innocent victims. They're the count the dirty money, carry weapons of their own type of criminal girlfriends. If they have to be taken out along with the targets, then so be it.

I pull the strap of a light machine gun over my head and let it fall to my back. Handing Gabriel a pair of gloves to slip on that match my own, I lift out of the trunk an airburst grenade launcher. This should make the boys' job down the hill much easier. I hand Gabriel a sniper rifle to carry for anyone spotted escaping from the house. I feel really nervous about taking Gabriel with us. Maybe he isn't completely helpless, but neither is he in the same league as us, or even the targets.

Probably sensing my worry, Jackson calls out, "Hey don't worry, Annie! Gabriel can probably handle any of the girlfriends we run into!" Brent starts snickering and nudges Jackson like he's the funniest guy ever. So annoying. And Simon thought I was the one who needed babysitting?

Gabriel looks both irritated and uneasy. "I'm not really comfortable with us killing women."

I give him a look of disbelief. "These aren't normal women, Gabriel. They condone what their men do, which includes murder. Sometimes they even join in." Touching his forearm, I attempt to ease his mind, "Don't worry, you won't have to deal with what goes on down below. You'll be up on the hill with me."

He points to the grenade launcher in my hand. "And you'll be using that up on the hill?"

I heft it from one arm to the other. "Yep, this and most likely the sniper rifle too."

He grimaces, but doesn't comment.

All of us are wearing bulletproof vests. I tried to put a combat helmet on Gabriel, but he refused to wear it if no one else was going to wear one. Plus, Jackson and Brent's taunts didn't help my cause.

Jackson is eyeing my grenade launcher enviously. I hold it up in the air towards him. "Jealous?"

He gives me a dirty look. "I haven't gotten the chance to use one of those yet."

"No one outside of the armed forces has, Jacks. This new model is state of the art, secret military technology. I don't know how Porky managed to get his hands on one of these." I goad him some more by laying my cheek against the barrel of the weapon, wearing a blissful expression.

Brent sighs dramatically. "Porky works in mysterious ways." Brent's expression turns thoughtful, but he's smiling as he says, "I wonder if Diana used any torture techniques on him yet."

"Diana's hot," Jackson announces, grinning, "I'd let her torture me any day."

I still feel bad about allowing Porky to take off the other day with Diana hiding in the back of his SUV. Maybe we should drive back to Newcastle tomorrow and check on him.

"Let's do this!" Brent shouts out. I totally concur, the sooner this job is over and I have my Gabriel back in the hotel safe and sound, the better.

We part ways, Jackson and Brent going down the beach to get in position to enter the compound and Gabriel and me trekking up to our point on a hill that both overlooks the house and is conveniently adjacent to the ocean.

The sun has just about to set when I tell Gabriel to put on his safety gla.s.ses. I pull my own pair out of my cargo pants and place them over my eyes. At 4:53pm, as planned, I launch the first grenade. It hits the gate, on the side facing the beach. The sunlight's dim, but I see two dark figures enter through the hole I just opened up.

Next, I carefully take aim at the back door of the house. I launch the grenade and the entire doorway is blown away as pieces of the door and house fly through the air. I can no longer see them at this point, but I'm sure Jackson and Brent make it inside. Especially when I hear the gunfire start up. It's a good thing this house is isolated. Jackson and Brent know to keep clear of the prearranged areas of the house that I plan to hit. I'm about ready to launch at one of the side windows when it opens and a woman starts crawling out.

"Wait!" Gabriel shouts and yanks the weapon forcefully out of my hands.

"Dammit, Gabriel! Give it back!" I yell at him.

"I won't let you kill that woman, Annabelle." He starts backing away from me.

What the h.e.l.l? I wasn't going to if she was only trying to get to safety. I was going to wait until she cleared out of the way. Taking a step towards Gabriel, I'm about to tell him just that when he turns around, pulls back his arm and hurls my $25,000 favorite new toy into the Pacific Ocean.

"G.o.ddammit, Gabriel! Do you realize what you've just done? Jackson and Brent are counting on me to take out certain parts of that house." I can hear the sound of shots continuously firing down below. p.i.s.sed, I point a finger at him. "Stay here or go back to the car!"

Ditching the sniper rifle, I pull on the strap to move my light machine gun to my front. Pulling out the pistol in my boots, I move it to the front waistband of my pants and start sliding down the steep hill.

I hear Gabriel call out, "Where are you going, Anna?" Still p.i.s.sed, I ignore him.

When I get down the hill, someone has opened the main entrance to the gate and I'm almost on top of the guy before I see him. Bringing up my light machine gun, I stop and put a few rounds into him. I see no one else around, so I cautiously edge towards the front door. Once there, keeping my back to the wall, I quickly reach out to the front doork.n.o.b to fling it open. Thankfully, it's unlocked. Not that I wouldn't have just shot the door open if it wasn't. But it's nice when things work out my way.

I pull the pistol out of my pants and wait for the first unlucky motherf.u.c.ker to walk through that door. As I see a balding head pop through, I start to extend out my arm to line up the shot with the guy's s.h.i.+ny noggin. Before I can get off a shot, another one rings out and the guy slumps to the ground in the doorway.

I whip my head around so fast that my ponytail brushes my face and see Gabriel with a smoking pistol in his hand. He still has it raised and his face is pale with shock. I take a few steps forward and grab a hold of his arm, pulling him against the wall with me. "Don't just stand in an open doorway waiting to be shot!"

"I shot him," he croaks out, looking pale. "In the chest."

Trying to lighten his mood, I smile mischievously at him. "Yeah, I know. Thanks for saving me the trouble."

"He was a bad man?" he asks and I can feel his entire body shaking against mine.

"Yep, one of the worst. One of the main targets actually. Good job, Gabriel." I reach down and squeeze his free hand in a gesture meant to offer comfort.

He looks at me seriously. "I'm sorry about throwing your grenade launcher into the ocean."

I peck him on the cheek. "I forgive you. But I won't protect you from the teasing you're gonna hear from Jackson and Brent."

He makes a sour face and I detect a little color returning to his cheeks. "I guess I deserve it." d.a.m.n right he does, I'm going to have nightmares about losing that weapon.

The shots inside start to quiet down, more and more time pa.s.ses in-between firing. When a whole minute goes by, I pull out my cell phone and call Brent's number. He should have his phone on vibrate. He picks up, "Annabelle? What happened to the rest of your launches?"

I glance at Gabriel. "I sort of lost the grenade launcher. Gabriel and I are at the front of the house."

"We're sweeping the house now. Why don't you clear the front rooms?" Then his voice starts to sound irritated, "Why don't you send Gabriel back to the car, he'll just get himself hurt."

"He took out one of the targets," I say pointedly into the phone.

"Whatever. Don't shoot me on your way back here," he retorts and hangs up.

I tell Gabriel to follow closely behind me, despite his protests of wanting to lead the way, and we slowly make our way into the entryway of the house. This house may be big, but thank G.o.d it sprawls out in only one story. I wouldn't want to deal with people shooting down a staircase at me.

Gabriel and I easily clear the front rooms, being that there's no one there. I feel like I might be showing off a little in front of him, teaching him how to do it, making sure he keeps his back to the wall and his gun to the room. Once we're halfway through the house, we come across the body of a dead woman. Gabriel looks like he's about to throw up.

"She's no different than the men," I remind him. He just swallows convulsively and lightly nods his head.

"Found him!" A male voice shouts out nearby. I rush into the next room with Gabriel at my heels. Just in time to see Jackson place a boot on a guy's chest and a bullet between his eyes. Over his shoulder, I see movement and red hair. Without thinking twice, I lift my pistol and put two rounds into the chest of a woman about to shoot my brother in the back.

Gabriel finally loses his lunch in the corner behind a chair.

Brent stalks into the room. "The house is clear! Let's torch the place!" Then he notices Gabriel heaving in the corner and looks both disgusted and amused.

Defensively, I say, "He just made his first kill tonight. Don't act like you didn't react the same way on your first mission."

Brent shakes his head. "I told you to send him back to the car."

"Should have tied him up in the hotel room," Jackson jokes.

Just because they're p.i.s.sing me off and because I want to annoy them back, I smirk, telling them, "Gabriel and I already played that game last night."

Jackson makes his own fake barfing sounds. Brent scowls and pulls two plastic bags filled with gasoline out of the black backpack he's carrying. He hands one to me while Jackson and Gabriel, having gotten himself together, make one final sweep through the house. They'll work their way back to the front of the house when it's completed.

Brent and I start in the back of the house behind them, first lightly dousing the kitchen. We make a line of gasoline going all the way to the entryway, stepping over bodies on our way. Finally, at the front door Brent lights a match and the line of gasoline flares up. A river of fire quickly streams back into the house. Jackson's already grabbed the guy that was laying halfway out the front doorway and pushed his body further into the house. His body is the first to be cremated.

Spinning on my heel, I start to walk away. The others follow. I wonder if Porky would be willing to give me another one of those grenade launchers.

Chapter 32.

Gabriel Stockholm, Sweden - June 23rd As you grow up, the knowledge that you'll someday have to watch your parents die is always there. It's hidden behind your immature thoughts and, often times, sense of invincibility. Sometimes you think they'll always be there when you need them and sometimes you fear the day that they'll leave this world, and you, behind.

When my dad died, of course the shock and reality of mortality was there. There have been times when I've handled things badly and there've been times that I believe I've acted the adult I now am.

Have I forgiven Annabelle for murdering my dad? I think so. I've definitely been slowly getting over the past, telling myself that it wasn't completely her fault, that she was obviously misinformed and misguided. I love her and decided that I had to choose between her and my anger. I chose her. Revenge was no longer an option if I wanted to keep her in my life.

Just like life changed so suddenly all those months ago when I suddenly found myself with a dead father and a girlfriend to blame, life has changed again. I've been worried about my mother's deteriorating mental health and, as a direct result, deteriorating physical health. My aunt and Max have been kind enough to keep me up-to-date on her situation while I've been traveling with Annabelle. The news from a couple days ago was that they'd gotten her to eat more and medicate less. News came again about an hour ago.

My mother is dead, killed by her own hand. Well more like, killed by the gun she held in her hand.

Since I got off the phone an hour ago, I've been sitting in this hotel suite in Sweden, trying to hold off the anger. Staring at the plush furnis.h.i.+ngs, the silk comforter covering the Egyptian cotton sheets, I'm disgusted by the surroundings that blood money can buy.

When Aunt Lucy called, I figured it would be another routine call, mostly consisting of me being rea.s.sured that my mother was improving. Instead, it was me trying to hold it together as my aunt gave me a play-by-play of a maid finding my mom in the bathroom, with her brains splattered against the wall and the resulting chaos that ensued. Come home, Gabriel, my aunt had pleaded with me.

Of course I'll go home. While I hurt when my father died, it was nothing like what I'm feeling now. My mother was the one that raised me. Despite being married, she was basically a single mother most of the time. My father was constantly out of town on business and she was the one to care for me. Love me.

How do you say goodbye to the person who was the single greatest influence on who you are? No, I shouldn't be burying both of my parents so early in life, less than a year apart. I still remember the valedictorian at my graduation blabbering on about how, at eighteen, our lives are just beginning. Why does it feel more like an ending?

Right after getting off the phone with my aunt, I began sobbing out my sorrow. My mom didn't deserve this ending. The chain of events that led to her taking her life should have never happened. The sorrow lasted about five minutes until a numbness settled over me. When the numbness wore off, the rage came.

Finally getting up and out of the armchair, I strip out of my clothes and take a shower. Resolve and determination are guiding me as I get dressed in a charcoal pair of slacks and black crewneck sweater. I notice that my black shoes are a little scuffed, so I grab a washcloth and methodically clean them. As I pack my belongings into my two suitcases, I leave out a few essential items. A few minutes later, I've called the pilots for my dad's private jet and have a car on standby downstairs.

I look around the luxurious suite once again. Annabelle's belongings are scattered throughout and it's the first time that I've looked at lingerie of hers and not been aroused.

Extreme highs and lows are all I've known since I first met her. Before that, my life was sort of like that movie where the guy wakes up every day to live out the same day over and over again. Routine, I guess would be a better description of it. I was going to cla.s.s every day, partying and self-indulging in every way possible. Basically, just being your typical spoiled, wealthy teenager.

Then, bam! I meet the girl of my dreams.

Then, bam! The gun goes off that ends my dad's life.

Since then, I've mostly known extreme lows, the occasional high and total unpredictability.

After the a.s.signment in Australia, we were off to Barbados. That trip consisted of Annabelle's next a.s.signment, Jackson's annoyingness and finally getting rid of Brent. His next a.s.signment thankfully took him elsewhere in the world. After the a.s.signment was completed, we spent an extra week there, making love on the beach, dancing at clubs and actually acting like two normal people in love.

Love. Even now, I still love her. I still love Anna.

What's so crazy is that I was becoming desensitized to my new environment, my new life. I didn't even ask the details of this latest a.s.signment in Sweden. I have no idea what the name is of the person Annabelle has been sent here to kill. I know that it's a female and that this female is guilty of some sort of heinous crime against humanity or society. Or so Annabelle says . . . .

Do I want this life? Do I want to be this kind of person?

First things first, I need to go home to bury my mother.

The thought has crossed my mind that my mother's soul is in jeopardy from committing suicide. My father was Catholic and my mom converted to Catholicism before marrying my dad. Of course, I was also baptized Catholic, but we didn't go to church much. Mainly just on the important religious holidays. According to our religion, when you commit suicide, you lose your chance to enter heaven. Because you didn't appreciate the life G.o.d gifted you with or something like that.

Is my mom in h.e.l.l? Will she suffer eternally in death because she chose to end her suffering in life?

I have to believe that isn't the case. I don't think G.o.d punishes you after death for not being strong enough to bear the pain in life. But why'd she do it? I know she loved my dad deeply, but she didn't need to give up. I would have even welcomed a new step dad someday so my mom could have love again. She was still so beautiful, had so much to offer. She had so much life ahead of her.

I know now I shouldn't have left her alone in Miami to go off on my quest to find Annabelle. If I had been there to keep an eye on her, maybe I could have coaxed her into better mental health. I could have somehow saved her. A change of environment may have helped.

Now, all there's left to do before I fly back to Miami is say goodbye to Annabelle.

She should be back shortly. She and Jackson left this morning to complete the a.s.signment and are expected to be done with it in a few short hours. Easy kill, was their description of the target. Strangely, or maybe not so strange after all, the words bring to mind my parents. Were they easy kills? Did I make it oh-so-easy for Annabelle to get to my father? I'm convinced of it. Will Annabelle get some sort of bonus for indirectly killing my mother?

You never know. My dad was supposedly some sort of drug lord, mob boss and murderer-slash-businessman. Maybe my mom ran a s.e.x slave operation while she wasn't busy being a socialite housewife. Maybe she drowned puppies and ran over homeless people.

To this day, I've never seen proof that my dad ever did anything illegal. I was hoping that one day, when our relations.h.i.+p wasn't still so new, Anna and I could have a talk about the mistake she made in killing my father. Maybe we could have investigated and hunted down the person responsible for hiring her. That's where I had thought the real villain lay, where justice needed to be served. During that same talk, I could have told Anna that I'd forgiven her. Then we could really put it all behind us.

Interrupting my thoughts is the beep of the key card being swiped at the suite door. The handle goes down and the door begins to open.

My suitcases are all ready to go and lined up near the doorway.

Annabelle walks in, smiling. Her hair is reddish-brown again, like when we met. She dyed it back to please me.

I raise the gun that I've been holding. Her brown eyes widen.

I fire.

Blood begins to bloom on her chest, soaking through her ivory s.h.i.+rt.

As she looks at me in shock, still trying to digest what's just happened, my own shock wears off . . . and I realize what I just did.

Chapter 33.