The Unwanted by Brett Battles Read Free Book Online

pushed through a couple of bushes until he was standing at the edge of the rutted road. The highway was fifteen feet to his left, and the assassin's car was only five to his right.
Quinn raised the SIG and pulled the trigger without any further thought.
There was the all too familiar thup as his bullet passed through the suppressor, followed instantaneously by the crunch of the rear window safety glass as it was ripped from its frame. Red lights flashed as the assassin stomped on the brakes.
On the highway behind them, there was the double tap of a horn, a friendly "Hey, I'm out here" from the van, then a second later the sound of the larger vehicle as it passed by and continued on in the night.
Quinn stayed focused on the assassin's car. It was a four-door hatchback that could have been picked up at any rental place on the island. Only the good people at Hertz weren't going to be too happy with the blown-out window and whatever other damage Quinn's shot had caused.
The assassin had ducked out of sight below seat level. Going for his gun, Quinn knew. But he had no idea how many people he was facing, or where they were positioned. Any defense he would put up would be a guess.
Quinn took four quick silent steps through the brush parallel to the car. This being Ireland, the driver's seat was on the right, the side nearest him. As he drew level with the driver's side door, he could see the assassin hunched low. The man was checking his gun to make sure there was a round in the chamber.
Quinn squeezed the trigger of his SIG again, a warning shot through the driver's side window. It ripped the air only inches above the assassin, then exited through the window on the other side.
The man froze.
Quinn motioned for him to put the gun down.
Though they killed for a living, he knew of no assassin who had a death wish. When pushed into a corner, they would bide their time, and wait for an opportunity to use their skills in an attempt to extract themselves from a bad situation.
Quinn's new friend, though, seemed to be working from a different handbook.
At first he pretended to set the gun down, but as he did, the barrel turned toward Quinn.
Before the man could get a shot off, Quinn pulled his SIG's trigger for a third time. This time it was no warning. The bullet smashed through the man's palm and grazed the bottom edge of the pistol's grip, sending it spinning to the floor, out of the man's reach.
"I've gone almost a mile and haven't found anything," Nate said in Quinn's ear. "I don't think he's out this way. I mean, I would have seen him by now, right?"

CHAPTER
4
QUINN WAITED UNTIL NATE GOT THERE BEFORE doing anything about the wounded man's hand. He had Nate search the trunk for something that might work as a bandage.
"He's got an overnight bag in here," Nate said.
There was the sound of a zipper, then a few moments later Nate held up an expensive-looking black shirt.
"Hugo Boss," he said. "That work?"
"Perfect," Quinn said.
Nate tossed the shirt through the window at the assassin.
"Wrap that around your palm," Quinn said. "Probably should make it tight. You're quite a bleeder."
The man did as Quinn suggested. It wasn't easy, and he had to start over more than once, but no one was about to give him any help.
Quinn glanced at Nate, then looked back into the car. "You all right?" he asked.
Nate's face was sweaty, and even in the low light Quinn thought he could see red splotches on his apprentice's neck.
"I'm fine," Nate said.
Quinn looked over again, this time his gaze moving momentarily down toward Nate's legs.
"It's fine," Nate said, noticing Quinn's line of sight. "No problems. I just ran over a mile to get back here, for God's sake. You'd be sweating, too."
Maybe, Quinn thought. But he said nothing. He'd only allowed Nate to accompany him this time because he was tired of saying no. That, and Orlando had argued it was time.
"If you keep putting it off," she had said, "you'll never know what he can do. And after a while, you're