Thug and Idol: 10X Rewards Second Identity System

Damien woke up again when Tristan drove into his city. It was almost sunrise by then, even though Tristan drove as fast as the inter-city highway's speed limit allowed.

The man blinked drowsily, stretched his arms, winced, looked out of the window, and then turned toward Tristan.

"You drove all night, chief? Did you stop at all during that drive?"

"No."

Damien shook his head.

"You are a fucking perpetual motion machine, I swear. Do you ever sleep?" He waved his arm before Tristan could comment. "What's the plan when we arrive on the site? You got Michael's address, yeah?"

Tristan nodded.

"Yeah."

He couldn't do it himself since he was driving, but he had sent the information he got by hacking to Kevin, who had done a background check. Michael had been watching Tristan from a cheap hotel.

The place was on the opposite edge of the city from the Hayes family mansion, but it was still much closer to it than Los Angeles.

"But we are going to split into two teams, and this time, they will go to different addresses," Tristan added. "You will lead the second team, Damien."

"A second address?" Damien frowned.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Tristan glanced at the back view mirror and clenched his hands tighter on the steering wheel.

It was inevitable that some of his subordinates were going to find out. Some probably even knew already from their quiet background checks and digs for information, but were smart enough to not tell.

It didn't have to mean anything, but Tristan still hated to share his personal information.

"I have family in the city—family I'm estranged with. But Michael had found out about them and threatened to kill them," Tristan explained. "The first team, led by me, will go there. If Michael isn't at the hotel, then he will probably come to my parents' mansion. That's where I will catch him."

Damien's eyes widened.

He opened his mouth to add something, but upon seeing Tristan's expression changed his mind. A moment later, he spoke again, "So, Michael wanted them to be hostages, but you are making them a bait?"

Tristan nodded.

"Yes."

"Ouch, that's cold." Damien clicked his tongue. "Not that I judge. My ol' pa was a piece of shit—I know how it can be. Well, except for the 'mansion' part! You must have some good breeding, eh? No wonder you have an actual taste in decor—unlike some people I know."

Damien chuckled, and despite his dark mood, Tristan smiled a little.

He was relieved to have Damien's support. For all his faults—like too much boldness toward his superiors—he offered his shoulder for support when Tristan needed it.

"You will need to be careful out there, Damien," Tristan added. "But you might get lucky enough to take Michael out yourself. Don't risk taking him alive. Just shoot him on sight."

Damien grinned.

"Gladly, boss."

Tristan's car was arriving closer and closer to their meeting point with the second team.

***

Half an hour later.

Now Cutout sat next to Tristan in the car instead of Damien. He was dressed in dark clothing that covered his weapons and a bulletproof vest—like the rest of the team.

Damien was replaced by a man from the team supplied by Leon. Tristan had a passing worry about how Damien will work together with unfamiliar people, but at the first glance, he seemed to deal well enough.

And Tristan had bigger worries. They grew and grew as he approached the rich districts of the city.

He heard the wail of the sirens from afar. Then he overtook a firefighting truck on the road.

'Shit.'

Tristan pressed gas, going past the speed limits. His heart pumped fast, but he blamed it on the speed with which he drove.

Even if the roads were almost empty and his skill at driving made maneuvering effortlessly easy, Tristan still felt a jolt of fright whenever he saw an obstacle or a turn approaching rapidly ahead.

Then he saw lights and heard more sirens.

From behind the rows of other mansions, each of them painfully familiar, Tristan saw the one that had been his home for most of his life.

And it was on fire. Thoroughly so.

The roof was burning, and more fire was coming from inside, both on the second and the first floor. A thick column of black smoke was rising into the sky, standing out next to the first rays of sunrise.

Half a dozen people, all but one in what must've been their nightclothes, were standing or sitting on the sidewalk nearby. Tristan recognized some of them—they were live-in servants of the family. The only dressed person appeared to be a security guard.

He was pouring water from the garden hose at the fire, but for all it was doing, he could've just pissed at it. Next to the guard, an elderly woman was sobbing and trying to tell him something.

From other houses on the street, more people were watching. But none of them tried to approach and help. They just watched with morbid curiosity and occasional worry or alarm—thought, perhaps that worry was for their own property.

"Fuck," Cutout commented at this picture so eloquently. "Fire."

Tristan scowled.

He pressed the brakes, bringing the car to a sharp stop next to the burning building, and walked out. With a gesture, he ordered the rest of his team to stay back.

"We will keep watch from here," Cutout said through the earpiece in Tristan's mouth.

For this mission, both teams were equipped with them.

Tristan marched toward the nearest of the people on the sidewalk.

It was one of the family's maids—he couldn't remember her name now, even though he knew it at some point. She looked incredibly shaken, sitting here in just her pajamas. She didn't even notice Tristan's approach.

"Miss," Tristan said. "Miss, what happened here? Where are Mr. and Ms. Hayes?"

The woman blinked and looked up at him. Her eyes went teary.

"They are… they are inside. They are going to purify themselves from their sins." She let out a sob. "God, what have we all done?"