Killer Instinct

For information on upcoming releases, contests, freebies, and deals on future novels, head over to- www.bradleywrightauthor.com -and join the reader team. I don’t write often, and I will never spam you or share your information. Thanks for being a part of the team. Talk to you soon! Also By Bradley Wright Tom Walker Killer Instinct Holy Water Alexander King THE SECRET WEAPON COLD WAR MOST WANTED POWER MOVE ENEMY LINES SMOKE SCREEN SPY RING Alexander King Prequels WHISKEY & ROSES VANQUISH KING’S RANSOM KING’S REIGN SCOURGE Lawson Raines WHEN THE MAN COMES AROUND SHOOTING STAR Saint Nick SAINT NICK SAINT NICK 2 Copyright © 2023 by Bradley Wright All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission. Bradley Wright/King’s Ransom Publishing www.bradleywrightauthor.com Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. KILLER INSTINCT/Bradley Wright. -- 1st ed. ISBN - 9798387778513 For Danica and Kade. Three 2. “The very essence of instinct is that it’s followed independently of reason. Charles Darwin “If the single man plant himself indomitably on his instincts and there abide, the huge world will come round to him.” Ralph Emerson 1 As soon as Tom Walker shut the car door, he knew that the three men who’d picked him up were going to have to die. Otherwise, it was going to be him. It wasn’t the driver sitting in front of Walker who gave it away; he’d known about Jim Randall for a while. He was the big man with the lisp. Intimidating in appearance, but not much more than a driver with a good right hand. It wasn’t Dan Reed in the passenger seat either. With his horseshoe bald spot and his grating Boston accent. Word was he had become more of the guy who handed out the next assignment rather than the cleanup man he used to be. Walker, however, didn’t know the man in the backseat beside him. All he knew was that it didn’t take three men to deliver an assignment. Walker was the assignment. Inside the black Lincoln Continental it was dark. Just as it was outside. Dan had been smoking before they picked Walker up. The stench was still clinging to the interior. He wouldn’t stop fidgeting in his seat because he couldn’t wait to have another. The air conditioning was cold. Jim was the kind of man who’d sweat in a refrigerator. He would be greasy whether it was eighty-five or forty-five. The back of his neck was glistening. It was embarrassing really. The man beside Walker? He was the professional. His large hands rested flat on his knees as he stared at the back of Dan’s head. He fit the same mold as Walker. Big and strong, but not so much that it took away his agility. It was easy for Walker to spot because for the last twenty years they’d been giving him top dollar to kill the killers. Walker couldn’t help but think that somehow these people had forgotten that that’s what they paid him to do. Jim had introduced the man in the seat beside Walker as “Trevor Sthimpsthon.” He must be one of their up-and-comers. He was young, but old enough to have more than a few jobs under his belt. He kept his light brown hair trim, same for his midsection. But his broad shoulders were where his intimidation factor came in. The problem this young man had in his current situation was that he didn’t know what he didn’t know. Walker had been the same way when he started. Up to now this young man’s talent had always been enough to survive his dumb decisions, but he had never been in a car with Walker. The only smart thing they’d done, other than keep the third man a secret until Walker was already in the car, was to make sure they picked him up just outside the airport. It would ensure that Walker had no weapons. Not that he needed any. They should have known that too. But Walker always had his pen with him. It wasn’t some James Bond gadget where a blade slipped out the other end with the push of a button. He used it to write, which he very much liked doing. And the pointed end would be plenty sharp enough to penetrate a man’s flesh. Walker fished it from the band of his watch, down into his left hand without Trevor noticing. By the body language from the two in the front seats—fidgety and restless—killing him was supposed to happen in the car. Walker was going to have to make his move before they made it to the spot where they were planning to bury him. Every so often the car tires would whoosh as they ran through a puddle. The conversation on the way to pick up Walker had probably been a happy one due to the rain; Dan probably told Jim it would be much easier to dig a hole for Tom Walker when the ground was soft. They’d been driving for about twenty-five minutes and hadn’t been on a main road for ten. They had crossed the state line into Kentucky just before they turned left. The trees had grown thicker as the road became narrower. Walker needed to pick the right spot to get out of the car. He needed a place to stay for the night and didn’t want to have to walk too far in case he was injured in the car wreck. “You guys always so talkative?” Walker said. Both men in front of Walker jumped at the sound of his voice. They were on edge. It was about to happen. Dan cleared his throat.