Page 63 of Deathless
Patroklos dragged in a breath and tried again. He stared straight at Jasper and forced the Russian out through a mouth that couldn't shape it, every syllable a wreck.
"He guarded the door." Jasper translated flat, with no inflection. "Says he never went inside."
I kept both barrels on him. The answer should have mattered. It bounced off me like a stone off glass.
I aimed at his chest. "Any last words, pendejo?"
Patroklos glared at me. He tried to stand. He failed.
"That's what I fucking thought."
I pulled the trigger. The shot cracked loudly.
"That's for Eight."
Patroklos rocked back but stayed on his knee. Blood spread across his chest.
I fired again.
"That's for Jasper."
He went down on both knees. The sickle clattered against the pavement.
I stepped closer and aimed at his head.
"And this is for me."
The third shot dropped him.
He fell forward onto the pavement and stayed down.
Smoke curled from the barrel. The gun burned hot in my grip.
I stood there with the gun still up until I was absolutely sure he wasn’t moving.
Jasper stepped up beside me. He slid the katana back into its sheath, slowly, and the click of the guard seating sounded loud in the quiet. Blood dried on his neck. He was alive, whole, here.
I lowered the gun.
I stood there. Owned what I'd done, carried it forward. That was the deal.
Jasper held out a cigarette.
I took it and our fingers brushed. The contact burned straight up my arm and into my throat. He lit it for me, cupping his hand around the flame, and I drew deep, held the smoke, let it go.
We stood there close enough that his breathing moved the air between us. The burning motorcycle crackled. Sirens started up somewhere in the distance.
"You ok?" Jasper asked.
"Better now."
We both stared at the street ahead, at nothing.
He reached over and took the cigarette from my fingers. The tip glowed as he brought it to his mouth and drew deep.
"Airstrip's three kilometers," I said.
Jasper turned toward the vehicle. "Then let's move."
