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  SILAS

  Assassins, Book Three

  by V. J. Chambers

  Silas Drake doesn’t do commitments. Or second dates. Or guilt.

  Yeah, he used to be an assassin. He used to kill people. And yeah, he breaks girls hearts on a routine basis. He’s an asshole. So what?

  When Rolf, a dangerous man from his past, arrives in Morgantown, Silas is itching to go after him. The only problem is that he’s the best man in his friends’ Griffin’s and Leigh’s wedding, which is a time-consuming distraction.

  Things get more complicated when Silas finds out that the random girl he took home the night before is actually Griffin’s little sister, Christa. For some reason, Griffin isn’t keen on Silas’ getting involved with her.

  When Rolf captures both Silas and Christa, he uses them in deadly game of cat and mouse, hunting them down for his own entertainment. They’re in the woods, on the run. Rolf has a gun, and he’s chasing them.

  Silas has to do everything in his power to protect Christa.

  But trying to keep her safe might be easier for him than facing the fact that he’s developing feelings for her.

  **Recommended for mature readers due to explicit sexual situations, coarse language, and disturbing violence.**

  SILAS

  © copyright 2013 by V. J. Chambers

  http://vjchambers.com

  Punk Rawk Books

  Smashwords Edition

  Please do not copy or post this book in its entirety or in parts anywhere. You may, however, share the entire book with a friend by forwarding the entire file to them. (And I won’t get mad.)

  SILAS

  Assassins, Book Three

  by V. J. Chambers

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You never showed up for your fitting,” Griffin said. He was standing in the foyer of my house, a garment bag draped over his arm. “So, hopefully this is the right size.”

  “What’s the right size?” I said. I didn’t have time to deal with whatever he was talking about right now. Things had just gotten really serious, really fast.

  “The suit,” said Griffin.

  I gazed at him blankly. “Suit?”

  “For my wedding.” He looked at me with concern in his eyes. “You okay, man? You been hitting that homebrew of yours so hard that you blacked out the fact I was getting married?”

  Right. Griffin’s wedding. I was the best man. “Fuck,” I muttered. “The wedding.” I ran my hand through my hair. “It would really piss you off if I backed out of that, wouldn’t it?”

  He let out a short laugh. “That’s a joke, right?”

  I turned away from him and went back into the kitchen. It was a nice kitchen. My twin sister Sloane and I took turns on kitchen duty, so we made sure it stayed clean. I went to the island and picked up a piece of paper. I was going to take it back out to Griffin, but I saw that he’d followed me in here.

  He draped the garment bag over the back of a chair at the table.

  I handed him the paper.

  He peered at it. “‘See Derek Rolf on Wildlife Preservation Tuesday at Seven,’” he read. He looked at me. “So?”

  I took the paper back. “Derek Rolf is the reason I’m in West Virginia.”

  “Who’s Derek Rolf?” said Griffin.

  “You don’t remember the name? He was only one of the biggest clients at Dewhurst-McFarland. Everyone at Op Wraith licked his boots. He bought all kinds of guns and weapons, mostly for hunting.”

  Griffin shrugged. “I never paid much attention the clientele at Dewhurst-McFarland. I just went where they told me and shot who they told me to.”

  Griffin, Sloane, and I used to work for a covert wing of the arms corporation Dewhurst-McFarland. They were working on a project to create supersoldiers by injecting people with a serum that made it impossible to kill them unless you severed their spines. The project was ultimately abandoned on an official level.

  Unofficially, a group called Operation Wraith began gathering up people, injecting them with the serum, and training them to be assassins-for-hire. We had been those assassins. All three of us had worked for Op Wraith.

  Until Griffin took the whole operation down two years ago. Nearly a year ago, we’d blown up what was left of it, killing the last few people who ran Op Wraith.

  “Well,” I said. “Derek Rolf is really rich and really twisted. And I came here to kill him.”

  Griffin folded his arms over his chest. “We don’t kill people anymore, Silas.”

  “Maybe you don’t,” I said. “But I’ve been planning on killing this guy for a very long time. I’ve been waiting and waiting, and he finally showed up.”

  “You can’t do that,” he said. “We can’t call attention to ourselves. You could get arrested. And if the authorities find out that you’ve got the serum, they’ll treat you like some kind of science project. You’ll never get free of them.”

  “I won’t get arrested. Give me some credit.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t get it, Silas. Killing is what they made us do. It’s not what we volunteer to do. I never liked killing people.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s you,” I said. “I happen to be good at killing people. Really damned good. Maybe it’s the only thing I’m good at. And if anyone deserves to get killed, it’s this guy.”

  Griffin slowly nodded in sudden understanding. “This is revenge.”

  “Damned right it’s revenge,” I said.

  “What did he do to you?”

  “Not to me,” I said. “To someone I knew. He killed her.”

  “Her?” Griffin furrowed his brow. “This was a girl.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And he did it in the most fucked-up way possible, dude. He hunted her down like an animal. Him and his buddies. That’s what they do. They get a bunch of guns, they release people into the woods, and then they chase them. It’s their idea of fun, and they’re too fucking rich for anyone to touch them, even if anyone does find out.”

  Griffin looked confused. “You had like a relationship. With a girl.”

  That was what he was confused about?

  I glared at him. “Not really. It was not exactly like that. But it was kind of like that. The point is that he’s a dick. And I’ve always known that his little hunting ground was somewhere in West Virginia, which is the whole reason I came here to go to school in the first place. I was hoping that at some point, his path would cross mine. And that’s happened. So, now I kill him.”

  “So, you didn’t have a relationship with this girl, but you still want revenge for her?”

  “It was kind of…” I didn’t want to talk about that part of it. “You know what, that’s not important. What’s important is that this guy needs to die.”

  “Call the police,” said Griffin.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No, I’m not. We’re not assassins anymore, Silas. We’re college students. So, if you know this guy is bad news, tell the police what you know and let them hunt him down and lock him up. It’s not our problem anymore.”

  “Bullshit—”

  “And before you go on about how it’s got to be you that does him, I want you to really think about how satisfying it is to kill someone. Do you really like it?”

  “I’d like killing him.”

  “Trust me, revenge is not all it’s cracked up to be. It doesn’t make anything better. Mostly, it makes things worse.”

  I studied my shoes. I knew that Griffin had tortured and mutilated the guy who’d raped him prison, and it had practically destroyed his relationship with Leigh. They’d worked through it. They were getting married, after all. But I didn’t want to say anything that would invalidate his point of view, because I knew it wasn’t easy for him to talk about all of that.

  I li
fted my gaze to meet his. “I have to kill him, Griffin. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but I do.”

  He sighed.

  “The police can’t get to this guy. You have no idea how rich he is. How many politicians he’s got in his pocket because he’s bought them off. He’s untouchable.”

  “Silas, you need to lie low,” he said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  You know what? It was stupid of me to think he’d understand. I took a deep breath. I went over to the garment bag and unzipped it. The suit was inside. I pulled it out. “Why is there a t-shirt in here?”

  “That’s how we’re doing it,” said Griffin. “It’s a suit jacket and pants over a t-shirt. Leigh and Sloane dreamed it up. They said it was casual chic or something.”

  “I don’t have to wear a tie?”

  “Nope.”

  “Cool. Always makes me feel like I’m being choked.” I zipped the garment bag up. “I guess you’re right. I should lie low.” Well, I should pretend I was lying low anyway. It had been dumb of me to think that Griffin would be on board with my killing some guy. Especially not right before his wedding.

  “You should,” said Griffin. “Tell me you’re not going to go after this guy.”

  “I’m not going to go after him,” I said. What Griffin didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  He looked visibly relieved. “Thanks, man. You were freaking me out there.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.” I opened the refrigerator. “You want a beer while you’re here or anything?”

  “No, I should probably go,” he said. “I was just dropping that off for you.”

  “All right,” I said. “See you around.”

  “Try the suit on. If it doesn’t fit, then…” He sighed. “Well, I don’t know. Make it fit. Because Leigh is so stressed out right now, that I’m not going to tell her if anything else goes wrong.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a simple, informal wedding.”

  “Yeah, me too,” he said. “But I think women have a different idea of what simple means.”

  I laughed.

  He ducked out of the kitchen. “See you.”

  “Bye.” I got a beer out of the refrigerator for myself.

  He paused in the doorway. “So, you had a relationship with a girl? Because I thought you didn’t do relationships.”

  I set the beer down, glaring at him. “It wasn’t exactly a relationship.”

  “But you cared about her,” he said. “You want to kill the guy that killed her. I guess I can’t blame you. If something happened to Leigh—”

  “It wasn’t exactly like that, okay?” Why did I open my mouth to Griffin? “Definitely wasn’t anything like what you and Leigh have.”

  “Is she the reason you don’t have relationships now?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t have relationships because I’m too young for that crap. That’s all. Also because they’re way too much work, and they make everyone miserable. I mean, you complain more about Leigh than anything in the world.”

  “I do not,” he said.

  “You do.”

  He laughed. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about this girl—”

  “I don’t.”

  He nodded. “Got it.”

  * * *

  I liked craft brews. I liked local beer. And that meant that the brew pub, officially The Morgantown Brewing Company was one of my favorite places to hang out. I dabbled in brewing beer myself, so at any time, I usually had a batch of something or other brewing in the basement of my house. I was getting better at it, but one of the things I still never seemed to quite get right was the carbonation.

  I was chatting with one of the brewers there about it that evening. He often hung out after hours at the bar, and I was somewhat of a regular.

  Most people have a bar that’s sort of their home bar. They might visit other places, go out drinking and bar hop. But there was one place where they could go and feel comfortable. Kind of like a second home, where all the faces are familiar. The brew pub was that place for me.

  I was sitting at the bar, chatting with my buddy when someone brushed up against me.

  I turned to see a girl with long, dark hair swinging her purse off her shoulder. “Oh, sorry,” she said.

  She hadn’t realized that she’d touched me. I took her in. She was pretty. She had huge eyes. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans that hugged her hips and ass. She had a nice ass. I let my gaze travel higher to see that she had a small waist and nice tits too. I was impressed. I grinned at her. “Not a problem.”

  I didn’t often pick up chicks in this bar. This was my sanctuary. I came here to talk craft beer and be a little bit geeky about brewing. Generally, chicks weren’t into that.

  The girl dug in her purse and came out with her ID. She handed it to the bartender.

  He scrutinized it, looking back and forth from her to the ID. “Texas, huh?”

  She nodded. “Yup.”

  “You really live in Texas?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  He raised his eyebrows. “What’s the capital of Texas?”

  She made a face. “You think my ID is fake or something?”

  “Do you even know the capital of Texas?”

  “It’s Austin, which is where I go to school,” said the girl. “Can I have my ID back?”

  The bartender handed it over. “Sorry. I get a lot of underage kids here in here with fake out-of-state IDs is all.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, putting her ID back in her purse.

  My buddy, whose name was Adam, slapped me on the arm. “Hey, you gonna stare at that girl all night or are you going to answer my question?”

  I turned back to him. “Sorry. What question?”

  “You checked the temperature in your basement?”

  “Why?”

  “Because if it’s too cold for the yeast, that might be causing your carbonation problem,” said Adam.

  The girl leaned over the bar, grinning at Adam and me. “Sorry if I’m interrupting,” she said, “but I was wondering if you could recommend a good beer to try.”

  I slid her my glass of the IPA they brewed. “Try that.”

  She took a sip and wrinkled up her nose. “No, I hate IPAs. Too much hops.”

  Both Adam and I raised our eyebrows. “You know about hops?”

  She shrugged. “Sort of. It’s what makes it bitter, right?”

  “Actually, it does a lot more than that,” said Adam.

  I held up a hand. “You’ll bore the girl.” I leaned close to her. “He brews beer for a living. He can get a little obsessive.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. He got up from the bar. “You know what, Silas, she’s all yours.”

  “Hey,” I said. “Are you implying that I’m making the moves on this young lady?” I turned to her. “I would never do something that rude.”

  She grinned at me. It made her face light up. She really was pretty. “Oh no?”

  “Never,” I said. “That would be crass. And I am the opposite of crass.” I turned to the bartender. “Give her a blonde ale and put it on my tab.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re buying me a drink, but you’re not putting the moves on me?”

  “Weeell, maybe I was hoping you might sit down and talk to me while you nursed the beer I just bought for you.”

  The bartender set the beer in front of her.

  She tasted it. “That’s good.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “Not bitter?”

  She took another drink. “You’re cute.”

  “You think so?”

  She sat down next to me. “Good beer. Cute boy. I smell trouble.”

  I just laughed.

  * * *

  Her name was Christa, and we were heading into our third bar of the night. It had been a long time since I’d been so intrigued by a girl that I’d follow her from one establishment to another. Usually, I felt like the girls around here were interchangeable widgets. There were c
ute, drunk undergrads everywhere. If one left, another would be along soon.

  “ID,” said the guy at the door.

  I fished out mine, and Christa got hers out too.

  The guy took mine, read it, looked at me, and handed it back.

  Then he took Christa’s. “Texas, huh?”

  Christa laughed. “Why does everyone keep saying that? Yes, I’m from Texas.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re from Texas,” said the guy.

  “We moved there when I was a kid,” she said. “I’m originally from New Jersey. Not that it matters. You guys are so freaking suspicious.” She reached for her ID.

  He pulled it out of her grasp.

  “Hey, come on, man,” I said. “Just let us in. It’s not a fake ID.”

  “I think it is,” said the guy. He looked up at her. “According to this, you’re twenty-four years old.”

  “Yeah. So?” She made another snatch for the ID.

  Twenty-four? I eyed her. Yeah, she didn’t look older than me.

  “So, um, what’s your astrological sign?” he said.

  “You’re kidding me,” she said.

  “You don’t know your sign?”

  She sighed. “Oh my god.”

  I laughed. “It is a fake ID.”

  “No,” she said, glaring at the guy at the door.

  He shrugged.

  Her shoulders sagged.

  “You’re good,” said the guy to me. “She’s not.”

  Any other night, any other girl, I might have ditched her. But I’d been having fun with Christa. She was bubbly and fun. She had this way of turning away from me while she laughed, running her fingers through her hair. She had big, big brown eyes.

  She did the laughing thing right then, running her hand through her hair. She walked away from the door to the bar. “Whatever.”

  I went after her. “How old are you?”

  She bit her lip and gave me a look that said that she was wicked, and she knew it. “Nineteen.”

  “You swear?” I said. “You’re not really like jail bait or something are you?”

  She pulled another ID out of her purse and handed it me. She tapped the year she was born. “See?”