Their Obsession (Four Mercenaries 2)

Jerry thrashed in the chair, but the bindings allowed him no way out. “I told you what you wanted!”

Clover approached Drake and stood behind Jerry, looking down at the man’s sweaty hair. The smell of blood made the air thick, yet it wouldn’t change Clover’s decision. Scum like Jerry didn’t deserve a chance. The bastard tried to scream, but Drake grabbed his face, reaching around Clover, almost as if they were embracing.

“Shut up, or we’ll make it long and painful.”

Clover had never seen Drake in this kind of action, but he had no doubts that Drake was capable of making people suffer without feeling the smallest bit of remorse. He saw Boar, who sat still, covering his mouth with one hand, but Clover knew he needed to do this. Use his own hands, not rely on anyone else’s.

When Jerry had been reduced to loud sobs, Drake’s chest pressed against Clover’s back. Drake cupped the back of Clover’s left hand, gently directing it to Jerry’s hair. They both clutched at it and pulled back his head to expose the throat.

Clover’s head was an echo chamber of pulsing blood. The only thing he felt in that moment was the lead of Drake’s body, and the warmth of the knife handle in his other hand. Drake had him grab it and then tightened his own grip on top, propelling it to the vulnerable flesh.

The whole world sped up around them when Drake led the motion, right under Jerry’s Adam’s apple. Skin and cartilage stood no chance against the blade, but it was Clover’s fingers around the grip when they cut into Jerry’s neck, opening it up to the world and showing everyone just how ugly the man was inside.

Clover could feel the warmth of blood even through the latex glove, and as life seeped out of Jerry, the man made a final gurgle.

Drake was right. Jerry should have been happy his death was fast.

Clover’s entire body buzzed with adrenaline when Drake stepped away, breathing noticeably harder. Before Clover could turn toward him, he rushed through the door and shut it with a loud thud.

Clover’s breath caught, his attention back on the corpse that hadn’t yet lost its warmth. He moved forward with no intention, but the big mouth opened in Jerry’s neck to spit blood made him look at the floor again. He didn’t want to see how Jerry’s face appeared in death, but the growing red pool was a wakeup call. The air thickened with the coppery scent of Jerry’s ugly essence, and Clover dropped the blade mindlessly.

Tank took a big inhale. “Enough, boy, or do you wanna learn about clean-up too?”

Clover’s feet guided him to Tank on their own accord. “I-I will help, b-but I’ll just go talk to Drake first?”

“No, stay outside. You’ve seen enough for one lesson,” Boar said, opening his backpack and pulling out a roll of thick plastic sheet.

Pyro patted him on the back in passing. “Good job.”

Maybe they were right.

Clover nodded, unable to speak just yet, and went outside to find Drake sitting cross-legged in the corner of the yard, a cigarette in his shaky hand. Since when was he bothered by death?

Clover approached him, still disbelieving what he’d done. He’d spent a year preparing for it, yet actually committing murder felt unreal.

“Is everything okay?” Clover asked and, after a moment of hesitation, he sat next to Drake.

A snort left Drake’s mouth, but it didn’t seem to express amusement. “I must look fucking terrible if you think you should be the one asking,” he said and brought the cigarette to his mouth, breathing in the smoke.

Clover swallowed and put his latex-clad hand in Drake’s leather-covered one. It seemed appropriate for two killers. That was what Clover had become. After all, people were not what they thought they were, but what they did.

“You don’t seem… like yourself.”

Drake’s toes curled in his soft fabric shoes. “Have I told you how I got trafficked?”

Clover swallowed. So this was what bothered Drake so much. He must have heard about the people Jerry had sold and it triggered all the bad memories. “No.”

Drake didn’t look his way, gaze wandering as if he wasn’t seeing the shabby yard but some place only he knew. “My parents sold me. To a guy called Apollo.”

Clover froze and squeezed Drake’s hand tighter, but his heart beat all too fast. “We’ll get to him.” Now not just for himself, but for Drake too.

Chapter 9 – Drake

Drake’s head throbbed with images he craved to forget. No matter how much he would have preferred for his memory to blur, his brain had the sharpness of his blades.

He’d been six when his mother sold him off to Apollo. Drake had stayed in the man’s ‘care’ a couple of weeks. He’d slept with four other children in a room with walls painted to resemble a meadow, and every night, My Favorite Things from The Sound of Music was played to them at bed time. Three times. On a loop.