Prime, p.1
Prime, page 1
part #13 of Nathan K Series
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Also by Stuart Jaffe
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
FROM STUART JAFFE
About the Author
Copyright Information
Prime
a Nathan K thriller
Stuart Jaffe
For Dino
every author should dedicate at least one book to you,
so, here you go
Also by Stuart Jaffe
Max Porter Paranormal Mysteries
Southern Bound
Southern Charm
Southern Belle
Southern Gothic
Southern Haunts
Southern Curses
Southern Rites
Southern Craft
Southern Spirit
Southern Flames
Southern Fury
Southern Souls
Southern Blood
Southern Graves
Southern Dead
Southern Hexes
Nathan K thrillers
Immortal Killers
Killing Machine
The Cardinal
Yukon Massacre
The First Battle
Immortal Darkness
A Spy for Eternity
Prisoner
Desert Takedown
Lone Star Standoff
The Puppeteer
Blowback
Prime
The Ridnight Mysteries
The Water Blade
The Waters of Taladoro
Waterblade
The Malja Chronicles
The Way of the Black Beast
The Way of the Sword and Gun
The Way of the Brother Gods
The Way of the Blade
The Way of the Power
The Way of the Soul
The Parallel Society
The Infinity Caverns
Book on the Isle
Rift Angel
Lost Time
Pages of Glass
The Bold Warrior
City of Infinity
Gillian Boone novels
A Glimpse of Her Soul
Pathway to Spirit
Stand Alone Novels
After The Crash
Founders
Real Magic
Short Story Collections
10 Bits of My Brain
10 More Bits of My Brain
The Bluesman Complete
The Marshall Drummond Case Files: Cabinet 1
The Marshall Drummond Case Files: Cabinet 2
The Marshall Drummond Case Files: Cabinet 3
For more information, please visit www.stuartjaffe.com
CHAPTER ONE
Eight targets. That had been the deal. Eight targets and then freedom. Or join. Whichever he decided. But as Nathan K followed a tattoo-covered ex-con through the crowded streets of New Orleans, he kept trying to uncover the true motivations behind the deal. Nothing about it made sense.
Live music competed for attention from one bar after another as bursts of laughter and joyous screams ignited the hot, late-night air. A few more hours and it would be early-morning. It was said New York never slept and that was true, but New Orleans never stopped partying.
The target stood over six feet and was built like a wrestler. Chest wide enough that his huge arms never rested at his sides, thick legs that bowed a bit as he strutted along the street, and a head so cleanly bald that the nightlife lights reflected of its surface. People stumbling towards him, no matter how intoxicated, had enough self-preservation to step aside.
Nathan maintained focus on the target as the crowd thickened and thinned like waves on the beach. Whenever a band finished a song, people would roll into the street. Whenever another band started a new song, people would roll out back to the bars.
He hated this — hunting a man. But his heart also raced with excitement. Cold and calculating, he strode along the sidewalk, weaving around the throngs of drunken college students. Though he didn’t know the city well, he had been here only a few times, he knew enough — his target had turned down an alley that connected to the less desirable sections. At least, less desirable for tourists. Those seeking unconventional entertainment eventually found their way to the streets ahead.
Feeling Maggie, his 10mm Wilson Combat Classic, pressing against his lower back, Nathan wondered how much noise could be blanched out by the young crowd’s revelry. But no. The plan had been to do this by hand. Larkin had given the target, but Nathan intended to make sure this failure of society truly deserved to die. If so, then he would be able to sleep fine with this death on his shoulders. After all, he had a lot of deaths on his shoulders. As long as they were justified, he could go on.
Out of the alley, they entered a narrow street lined with buildings still abandoned after Katrina. Drug dens now. A few addle-brained users sat on a stoop, a plastic haze over their eyes. Further down the street, in the direction the target strutted, three makeshift brothels catered to any taste for any client no matter how perverse.
At least, that was what Larkin’s tech guru, Clockwork, had led Nathan to believe. According to the intel report, the target’s name was Bill “the Drill” Brasky. Though it sounded like a porn star’s name, Bill’s moniker came from his tendency to punish the women and children who worked for him with a power drill. But Nathan had been tailing the oversized mass of muscle for a full day and had yet to see anything which validated Clockwork’s intel. In fact, until this recent excursion to the seedier side of the city, Nathan had considered that the target might be innocent of his supposed crimes.
If Larkin had lied to him — but then, why should Nathan trust anything out of Larkin’s mouth? Except Octavia trusted the man. As Larkin’s right hand and Nathan’s mentor, Octavia had managed to straddle the line between them with deft skill. She also had managed to be truthful to Nathan throughout it all. But how long could that last? Even for Immortals. Still, one thing he kept in mind was that —
Nathan froze. He stood in a trash strewn alley, but he had lost track of Bill. Stupid. Nathan knew better than to amble in his thoughts while on mission. Dropping his situational awareness was bad enough, losing his target was worse, but he couldn’t even be sure where in New Orleans he now stood.
“Crap,” he whispered, as he turned to head back toward the nearest street. He figured once he got to a less dangerous area, he could pull out his phone and use its map to plot a quick path back to his hotel.
Bill’s sledgehammer fist had a different idea. The blow slammed into the side of Nathan’s head. The alleyway swooned as his shaken brain tried to regain its senses. Shoved against the brick wall, he fought to raise his arms in defense.
Meaty fingers clasped around Nathan’s throat, pushing his head hard against the brick wall. Bill’s snarling face came into focus. “Why are you following me?”
Nathan found only enough air to wheeze. Dots of color popped in his vision. However, Bill’s superior size and strength made him overconfident in his ability to control others. He left Nathan’s arms dangling loose. After all, even if Nathan mustered enough strength to form a fist, what real damage could he do?
But a bullet — that could do a lot of damage.
Nathan reached behind and pulled out Maggie. He didn’t bother with aiming. Just angled toward Bill and squeezed the trigger.
The gunshot was loud. Bill’s scream was louder. The bullet went right through the man’s foot — possibly cracked into the ankle. Nathan couldn’t be sure. Didn’t care. Gasping for a breath, he tried to raise Maggie again to take better aim. One more shot through the head would put an end to Bill the Drill, and hopefully, avoid drawing any notice.
Nathan’s lack of oxygen, however, made him sluggish. Bill roared, lunging forward. He body-checked Nathan back against the wall. One thick hand clamped down on Nathan’s throat again, while the other clenched around Nathan’s wrist.
“I don’t care if I go back to jail. Watching you die will be worth it.”
Nathan decided not to fight back. Let this thickheaded piece of scum have his moment. He would kill Nathan and let the corpse rot in the alleyway. But as he would walk away, cocky and confident, Nathan would rise again. His second soul would leave, he would heal, and he would stand with Maggie firmly gripped. There would be no further mistakes. One shot in the back of the head, and Bill would die wondering what had happened.
Yet as Nathan grinned at the surprise, Bill brought his face in close. The cruel prick really did want to watch Nathan’s life end. It wouldn’t be a long wait.<
Already, Nathan could feel the Darkness approaching. It crept in on the edges of his vision, it’s cold touch skulking along his back. For a second, he considered reaching out to the Darkness. Not in an attempt to ride the icy emptiness as he had foolishly done in the past but to walk alongside it, to use its power to shred Bill into pieces.
No. He could not do that. He refused. He only ever claimed that power when his situation looked desperate. But this was a simple man in a simple situation who would simply die through Nathan’s patience.
Nathan relaxed. Quit resisting. The faster his life ended, the sooner he could heal up and kill his target.
Except Bill’s hateful eyes opened wide. He stepped back, his grip loosened, and his jaw lolled open. A soft gurgle slipped from his throat.
The alleyway darkened like a thick cloak swirling over them. Nathan remained against the wall, unsure how he had caused this. He had not reached for the Darkness. He had not attempted to ride the Darkness. This had not been his plan. Yet the Darkness had taken hold, and a crack formed across the front of Bill’s face.
Nathan searched for the Darkness, for that connection between him and the entity, but he felt nothing. More cracks formed on Bill, cutting deep into him. Pieces of his cheek fell off like a clay vase slowly being crushed.
Bill managed one last utterance. Not a word, but a pitiful whimper like a dog knowing it would soon be put to sleep. His head flattened, caved into his neck, and he flopped to the ground. Empty. Soulless. As the Darkness dissipated, Nathan heard a new sound — one that explained everything. One that terrified him.
“Mmmmmmm.”
The Cardinal. He stood on the opposite side of the alley wearing the flowing, crimson robes of the office he held centuries ago. Nothing ever changed on this man, this creature, this Prime. He still wore dark, circular glasses that unnaturally reflected light even in the dead of night, and he still enjoyed his wide-brimmed hat with a flat top and four tassels dangling from the compass points.
He headed toward the street, his feet floating along the ground. In his deep, odd tones, he said, “Come, little worm. We must talk.”
CHAPTER TWO
The Cardinal led the way with patience. Nathan knew the man could rise into the air and soar to any destination, yet he chose to stay grounded. More than anything at the moment, that fact chilled Nathan. As a Prime — an Immortal that had never lost his original soul — the Cardinal had long since broken free of the bonds of humanity. He did not act or think like a human. Not even partially, as far as Nathan could tell. Yet here he behaved with the polite attention of a party host.
“Where are we going?” Nathan asked, unable to stop himself.
“Mmmmmm,” the Cardinal said. And nothing more.
Rather than return to the crowds on the main streets, the Cardinal turned further into the poor, ruined sections of the city. A few minutes later, they approached a low, stone wall with wrought-iron fencing imbedded into it — a cemetery. The Cardinal silently rose into the air, drifted over the fence, and lowered on the other side. He turned back and waited.
Nathan glanced up and down the street. No entrance on this side. With a sigh, he stepped onto the stone, grabbed hold of the fence, and climbed. Careful over the top where iron spikes pointed toward the night sky, Nathan slipped at the last and flopped into the cemetery.
“This way,” the Cardinal said, continuing deeper amongst the above-ground graves.
Holding back his grumbling, Nathan followed. He didn’t want to, but there was no point in running. The Cardinal could catch him with ease, and Nathan had not been prepared to deal with a Prime this evening. It would take a lot more than the rounds in Maggie.
When he finally caught up, the pale moon cast an eerie light amongst the graves. Add in some fog and this would have been perfect for a 1950s monster movie. They halted next to an 19th century grave that went several feet above his head. The Cardinal stood nearby, staring at Nathan, breathing slow and heavy, a sly grin barely perceptible.
“Why do you work for Larkin?” the Cardinal said.
“Why do you?”
“The little worm thinks impertinence a good strategy. The little worm is wrong.”
Before this turned ugly, Nathan shifted to a more conciliatory tone. “I meant no offense. But when we first met, you were chained on Larkin’s island.”
“By choice.”
“I never understood why back then, but perhaps I can now. Please, tell me, and I’ll explain about Larkin.”
The Cardinal rolled his neck to one side with a crackle. “I wanted to see if I was truly free. I wanted to know that nothing could control me but me.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve wanted.”
“But you, little worm, you killed Russo for your freedom, and you sought Larkin’s death for the same. Yet when our mutual friend, Octavia, brought you to him, you bowed your head and joined at his side.”
“I did not bow my head, and I have not joined him. I made a deal. I agreed to take down eight targets, and in exchange, he agreed no harm would come to my partner.”
“Mmmmm, the little worm’s friend. Curious to see an Immortal care about a mortal. Tell me, do you like snow?”
Nathan’s previous interactions with the Cardinal had taught him never to attempt a full understanding of a Prime. They were so rare and had lived so long that sanity had not come along for the ride. But he knew better than to dismiss what the Cardinal said, too. Besides, during this particular meeting, he appeared more mentally competent than in the past.
“Can’t say I’m fond of the cold, but I can appreciate a beautiful snowfall. Now you tell me something — why did you kill my target? I doubt you knew the guy. He isn’t the type to run in your circles.”
With a slight shake of his head, the Cardinal raised his arm and pointed at the grave. “There are four people buried in that family grave. The eldest at the bottom. The most recent at the top.”
Nathan squinted in the moonlight but could only make out a few dates, no names. “Friends of yours?”
“For a time.”
“I would’ve thought by the 1800s you had given up on us little worms.”
“They were eager for life. It was warm.”
Thinking of the Darkness, its emptiness, its depth of cold, Nathan understood. He even felt a sliver of empathy for the ancient creature. His stomach churned. “What am I doing here? What do you want?”
“They were poor. Begging for scraps to survive. Yet despite their suffering, they clung to whatever moments of joy they could find. Isabella, the youngest, loved her life the most. Even after I plucked her family to pieces, she never lost a sense of pleasure in life. You see? To her, these deaths were a natural course of living. Sad, yes. She cried. But a year later, she would be picking flowers in the fields, smiling at the neighbors, and even seeking love from a young man. I once approached her. I offered to educate her. She turned me away. I told her I could help her discover a purpose in life. This little worm said that she had no need for what I offered. She said that her family was her purpose. I have thought about that worm, that Isabella, ever since. Do you think that could be her real purpose?”
“You’ve been thinking about her for nearly two hundred years and don’t have an answer. Why would I be able to give you one after only a few minutes?”
“I always thought those so poor they barely survived could not have a purpose. They were too busy trying to live. Yet Isabella found one. I wonder if you have found yours yet.”
On instinct, Nathan stepped back. “Is that what want from me? You want me to tell you my purpose in life?”
“You are not poor, but you have spent years surviving. Does that struggle clarify your reasons or cloud them?”
