Page 85 of Sacrifice
"I didn’t know he came back, but… I need you to come back in one piece. That’s all I need."
"I'll do my best."
"Your best better be good enough."
"It always has been before."
"Before you didn't have a bullet hole in your arm."
"Flesh wound," I correct. "Barely counts."
She's not amused. "Emil, I'm serious. If you die out there?—"
"I won't."
"But if you do?—"
"I won't." I frame her face with my hands. "I've survived worse than some Los Coyotes scouts. I'll be back before dawn, blood on my hands and victory in my heart. This I promise you."
She searches my eyes, looking for doubt she won't find. Finally nods.
"Then go. Kill them all."
"Every last one."
I leave before the temptation to stay becomes too strong. The others are waiting by the bikes, geared up and ready.
Body armor strapped tight, weapons secured, game faces on.
We don't talk—everything necessary has been said.
This is execution now, pure and simple.
Tor hands me a small bottle. "For the arm. Combat cocktail—painkillers, speed, little something extra to keep you sharp."
I dry-swallow two pills. Can't afford weakness tonight.
"Let’s go," Rio hollers.
The bikes roar to life in unison, a war cry in the darkness.
We roll out in formation, disciplined despite the bloodlust humming in our veins.
The streets are empty except for the occasional drunk stumbling home or tweaker searching for a fix.
Nobody who'll remember seeing us.
The ride to the motel is cold and dark.
No moon tonight, clouds covering the stars.
Perfect conditions for what we need to do.
The highway's empty except for the occasional long-haul trucker.
Fifteen miles pass in focused silence, nothing but wind and engine noise and the promise of violence.
I run through the plan again, visualizing each step.
