War Games (The Hanged Men Book 2) by Daniel May & Augustus Roth

Author:Daniel May & Augustus Roth [May, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Daniel May
Published: 2022-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN — JOSEPH PASCAL

Joseph Pascal stirred.

He woke, but didn’t yet open his eyes. Instead, he let out a slow breath — almost a sigh — mourning the good dream he’d been having.

He reached sleepily out for Nerva.

He didn’t find him immediately, but kept feeling around unbothered, fingers filtering through the sheets. It was a big bed. Lots of blankets. Eventually his fingers would light on that one spot of warmth, and then he would draw closer, and become properly warm himself.

...still nothing.

Gradually his feeling of sleepy ease faded, and he lay there in the fuzzy confusion of the half-awake, coming to wonder what had woken him.

It had been something distinct.

Some noise...

He tried to open his eyes and found they resisted. He had to rub them with his knuckles to break the seal of sleep, wincing and only then realizing just how long he must have slept, and how deeply.

...when had he last slept at all?

He couldn’t remember, but he knew — he hadn’t slept soundly since the last time he lay at Nerva’s side.

And in that snap of a moment, Pascal remembered.

He sat up with a jolt.

The noise had been a gunshot.

The realization was followed by another shot, and the distinctive sound of a car windshield shattering.

He was off the bed and on the floor in a second.

He moved swiftly across the room, under the level of the windows exactly like some hunched, enormous spider. His hands hooked onto pants with the belt lolling out, shirt, boots. He stuffed himself into the clothes and rolled out into the hall.

Mars skidded around the corner and tossed him something; Pascal’s fingers snatched the gun out of the air before his brain knew what it was.

“One car,” said Mars. “Your ex is in it. Rich fuck’s looking car — god damn Ferrari.” His face was flushed, expression chaotic. “Fuck.” He spat the word. “Someone out there shooting at it. Don’t know who.”

Pascal knew.

He was on his feet, he was passing Mars, he was checking his gun.

Mars followed. The hallway swept past them.

At a protected spot by the front window, Louis Yeun stood armed, straining to get a good look at something.

“This visibility is trash,” he said, sounding genuinely angry. “When was the last time they sent someone out with a weedwacker?”

Pascal’s eyes ticced around the room and found the source of Lou’s anger.

Melissa David was not there.

He crossed to a similarly protected spot and peered outside.

The Ferrari Mars had mentioned sat in the gravel, both its back and front windows shattered. It was bright red — almost blood red, like a violent splash in the otherwise colorless lot.

Pascal could see two figures hunkered down in the front seats.

A fresh flash of color drew his eye, and he looked up to see the missing David suddenly stepping on top of an old bit of stone wall. Wind, whipping up in the coming night, stirred her clothes and her red hair, but she stood completely still. Exposed.

“What is she doing?” Lou demanded.

For a moment, Pascal had the grace to pity Lou; the man had all the fear of a true friend in his voice.

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