Page 79 of Chad's Chase
FOURTEEN
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail…
One hundred minutes later, I was thoroughly fucked.
By some miracle, the over-virile Chad was flagged, which left us knotted in a tangle of arms and legs in his super-comfy California King.
This place, I wanted to live and die here. In his arms, that is.
His bedroom was, for lack of a more impressive word, huge. Why did one man need this much space, I had no idea. But it was nothing less than what you’d expect of someone dwelling in the affluence of San Francisco. Sparsely decorated in warm shades of brown with earthy tones here and there. He didn’t seem to dig clutter, as every piece of furniture was just necessary, nothing decorative, which explained the sparseness. Weird enough, though, maybe because of the dark woods, the room didn’t feel cold or clinical, but warm and soothingly comfortable.
Entangled in his heat, I was starting to doze off when his chest vibrated against my ear which was pressed against it. “I was fourteen when I was thrown into training.”
I stopped breathing, then blinked once. Hell on earth, he was telling without me asking. He must be in a really good damn mood, or balancing on the verge of sleep, conscious but not exactly.
“But why, though?” I asked, not wasting the opportunity. “Why would your own father force this on you?”
“As punishment,” he offered. “Before now, the leaders’ descendants used to be exempted from enrolling for assassination training. But it could also be used as long-term punishment.”
The hell’s he talking about?
“Leaders?” I asked his chest. “Leaders of what?”
“The Organization.”
“What organization?”
“The organization is called The Organization.” His chest expanded with a breath, then eased back down, my head on his chest moving with the motion. “They’re an international organization which doesn’t answer to anyone but themselves; not even the Government. Americans and Russians have equal and leading standing within the organization, but it consists of a member from every single country around the world, representing their turf.
“For this reason, every member of The Organization has to pledge neutrality where politics are concerned, because whenever world-changing decisions are to be made, there has to be a unanimous agreement before actions are carried out, and sometimes a member has to sit back and watch their country take a hit. Put simply, The Organization is the organization of every organization. Government goes to them, not the other way around. They make decisions that impact the world—negatively. Decisions like man-made earthquakes and tsunamis. Lives lost, countries destroyed.
“But these destructions come years and years apart, which leaves them being a worldwide assassination organization in the interim. And not for petty shit like a wife wanting her cheating husband dead, but governments, politicians, corrupt pastors etc. They are anonymous, known about by only really, really,reallyimportant people. And while they pay their assassins, The Organization itself does not take money for assassination requests, they claim they do it for the ‘good’ of the world.” Chad emitted a grunt, as if to say,Yeah, right. “But in my opinion, far too many evilly corrupt members are in The Organization now for it to be any good.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Chad said. “Very few of The Organization’s assassins are volunteers. The majority are convicted criminals snagged from inside prison walls, homeless bad boys yanked off the street sides, or people like me and you, thrown in as a form of punishment. The forced ones are usually the better killers. Their anger and fear make them sharp, clean, infallible assassins—for them, it’s survival. Volunteers are too eager to please: for them it’s a rush, so half the time they either fail, get caught, or die on the mission.”
Chad and I were forced, which explained why we were still alive. We did it for survival.
“Jhay?” he said, hesitantly. “What you experienced is not how The Organization operates. Do you understand?”
I sighed instead of answering. “I figured. When I was rewarded freedom to walk the grounds, I found I was the only unhappy camper there. Everyone else had luxuries and seemed fine with their situation: they threw parties and sparred with each other. On Fridays a bus would drive on campus and all who lived on my block would pack into it and go wherever.”
“And they trained together, right?”
“Yep.”
“Either my father was trying to give you a slow death, or he wanted to make your life as miserable as possible. That Mr. D you spoke of, The Organizationdoes notoperate like that. Everyone trains together, by a set of Chinese mavens whocontributesto The Organization—they don’t take ‘payments’ for their services. All this bullshit leads me to believe the Pinnacle had no knowledge of you being thrown into their training system.”
The what? “Pinnacle?”
Chad chuckled a little. “Yes. Your opinion in The Organization matters depending on your position. And there are only seven high leaders who have unlimited opinions: four Heads—the lowest of the seven, two Heights—the highest of the seven, and the Pinnacle—the man with the gavel, the last say, the man whoownsThe Organization.”
“And what’s Rafail’s position?”
“He’s a Height…” Chad trailed off, paused, before adding, “And he’s the one in charge of the assassins in training and the compound.”
“So that’s how he was able to keep me a secret.”
