Author - Skip Williams

her arms, tilting her head.

"Half-baked?

That’s an understatement.

You’re lucky they didn’t have more guys posted
at the gate.

And what if Barstow had set a better
trap?" "Then I’d have sprung it and improvised,"
he replied with a shrug, glancing at her
briefly.

"Worked out okay, didn’t it?" Julianna’s lips twitched
into a smile despite herself.

"You’re impossible.

You know that?" Jake opened his mouth to
retort when Julianna’s sharp gasp cut him off.

"Jake!" Julianna’s eyes widened at the dark stain
spreading across his jeans.

"You’re bleeding!

Why didn’t you say anything?" Jake glanced down,
his brows furrowing as he noticed the blood
pooling beneath him.

"Huh," he muttered, almost dismissively.

"Guess I got clipped back there.

Didn’t think it was that bad." "Not that
bad?" Julianna’s voice rose, sharp with disbelief.

"You’re practically marinating in your own blood!" Pull
over, now." Jake hesitated but then saw the
determination in her eyes and relented.

A sign for a small roadside motel loomed
ahead, with a Walgreens visible across the street.

He pulled into the lot, parking near the
far end where it was shadowed by the
streetlights.

The room was small but clean, with faded
floral wallpaper and a faint smell of bleach.

Jake tossed the keys onto the table while
Julianna grabbed her wallet.

"I’ll be back," she said, pointing toward the
Walgreens.

"Stay put and don’t you dare bleed out
while I’m gone." Jake grinned faintly, though his
face was pale.

"I’ll try to keep it together." A short
while later, Julianna returned with a bag full
of medical supplies.

She dumped them onto the bed, pulled Jake
into the bathroom, and made him sit on
the closed toilet lid.

"Alright," Julianna said, snapping on a pair of
gloves.

"Let’s see the damage.

Pants off." Jake arched a brow, smirking despite
himself.

"Didn’t think you’d make the first move, Jules."
She smirked, pulling a pair of scissors from
the bag.

"Trust me," Julianna quipped, brandishing scissors with a
flourish.

"This is strictly business." With a wince, Jake
unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down
far enough to reveal the wound.

The bullet had torn through the fleshy part
of his backside, leaving a ragged hole.

"Well," Julianna said, examining the injury.

"It went straight through.

Lucky for you, nothing vital was hit." Jake
groaned.

"Yeah, lucky me.

Just make it quick, okay?" She cleaned the
wound with antiseptic, ignoring Jake’s sharp intake of
breath.

"Wow, for a guy who charges mansions and
dodges bullets, you’re awfully sensitive," she teased, dabbing
the wound with antiseptic.

"Let me shoot you in the ass, and
we’ll compare notes," Jake grumbled, wincing.

Julianna laughed her first real laugh in days.

"Oh, trust me, I won’t tell anyone you
got shot in the butt.

Wouldn’t want to ruin your tough-guy image." Jake
managed a chuckle despite the pain.

"It’s not funny.

If this gets out, I’ll never hear the
end of it." "Who am I going to
tell, Jake?" she said, threading a needle.

"It’s not like I’m posting this on social
media." Jake’s laugh turned into a wince as
she began stitching the wound.

"Geez, could you be a little gentler?" "Nope,"
she said with a grin.

"Consider this payback for scaring me half to
death back at Barstow’s." Jake fell silent, his
sharp retort dying on his lips as he
watched her work.

The precision of her hands, the determination in
her eyes, she was steady, even after everything
they’d been through.

And damn, he was grateful for her.

Her humor, her resilience, even her gentle hands,
all reminded him why he couldn’t let her
go.

Once she was finished, Julianna stepped back, peeling
off the gloves.

"There.

Good as new." Jake stood carefully, testing his
weight.

"Thanks, Doc," he said with a small smile.

She tilted her head, smirking.

"Just don’t make a habit of this,

---

Part 86 of Sympathy for the Devil

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took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, and
then screamed at the top of her lungs,
"Help!

Please, someone, help!" Julianna screamed, her voice raw
and desperate as she waved frantically at the
few patrons in the lot.

"This woman needs an ambulance!" Her voice echoed
across the lot, drawing nearby patrons' attention milling
about.

A grocery store manager, a wiry man with
thick glasses and a concerned expression, rushed out.

"What’s going on?" He asked, his voice trembling
slightly.

Julianna turned to him, tears brimming in her
eyes.

"We found her like this!

She’s barely breathing!

Please, call 911!" The manager’s face turned ashen,
and his hands fumbled as he yanked his
phone from his pocket.

"An ambulance is on the way," he assured
her, glancing nervously at Agnes.

"Do you know her name?" Julianna shook her
head dramatically.

"No!

She was just lying here when I arrived!"
As a small crowd gathered around the commotion,
Jake slipped away, motioning discreetly to Julianna.

She nodded, wiping away her feigned tears before
turning back to the manager.

"Thank you," Julianna gasped, her voice trembling as
if on the verge of tears.

Moments later, Jake and Julianna melted into the
shadows, disappearing into the night.

Minutes after the ambulance arrived, two paramedics knelt
beside Agnes, checking her vitals.

"She’s coming around," one of them said, shining
a flashlight into her eyes.

"Ma’am, can you hear me?

What’s your name?" Agnes groaned, her eyelids fluttering
as she slowly came to, her eyes bleary
but filled with groggy defiance.

"Agnes," she rasped, her voice barely audible.

As the paramedics rolled up her sleeve to
administer an IV, they froze.

Scrawled in bold marker on her arm were
the words: "Please return me to the FBI.

Call Special Agent William Carter – (504) 555-1212."
The two paramedics exchanged stunned glances.

One of them pulled out his phone and
dialed the number.

"Special Agent Carter," came a gruff voice on
the other end.

The paramedic hesitated, still staring at the message
on Agnes’s arm.

"Uh, are you missing a little old lady
named Agnes?" There was a pause, followed by
a sharp intake of breath.

"Where is she?" Carter demanded.

"In an ambulance heading to Mercy General in
New Orleans," the paramedic replied.

"She’s alive, but…you might want to come get
her." Agnes, now slightly more alert, chuckled weakly.

"Told you," Agnes rasped, a ghost of a
smirk tugging at her lips.

"I’m a VIP." As the ambulance sped toward
the hospital, Jake and Julianna vanished into the
night, the glow of the city on the
horizon.

Their mission wasn’t over, but their resolve burned
brighter than ever.

Chapter 48: I'm Alright "You holding up, babe?"
Jake asked, his voice hoarse with exhaustion but
edged with quiet concern.

Julianna glanced over at him from the passenger
seat, her face illuminated by the passing glow
of highway lights.

She shifted in her seat, brushing her hair
back.

"I’m fine," Julianna replied, her voice quieter than
usual.

She paused, pushing the memory away.

"Barstow roughed me up a bit that first
night.

Left some marks." Her words wavered for a
moment before her jaw tightened.

"But I knew you’d come back for me.

I never doubted it." Jake’s lips twitched into
a faint smirk.

"Leaving you with that bastard?

Not in this lifetime." Julianna shook her head,
a mix of admiration and exasperation.

"But seriously, Jake," Julianna said, her tone equal
parts admiration and disbelief.

"What the hell was that?

Charging into Barstow’s mansion like some action hero
with a death wish?

You’re either the smartest or luckiest man I’ve
ever met." Jake chuckled dryly, keeping his eyes
on the road.

"Maybe I’m a little crazy," Jake admitted with
a shrug.

"But leaving it to fate’s never been my
style.

I’d rather take my chances with a half-baked
plan than sit around waiting for miracles." She
crossed

---

Part 85 of Sympathy for the Devil

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erupted from the pursuing convoy, a barrage of
bullets peppering the SUV.

One round punched through the rear windshield, shattering
it in a cascade of jagged glass that
glittered in the dim moonlight.

Julianna instinctively ducked, cursing under her breath as
she fumbled with a gr***de from the stash
at her feet.

"Hold it steady, Jake!" she shouted, yanking the
pin and tossing the explosive out the window.

Jake veered left sharply, the SUV tilting precariously
before righting itself.

The gr***de detonated with a thunderous roar, lighting
up the night like a flash of hellfire.

The lead car swerved too late, flipping end
over end before slamming into a ditch, engulfed
in a plume of flames and twisted metal.

"Nice throw!" Jake called, gripping the wheel tightly.

Julianna smirked, adrenaline pumping.

"Thanks, but we’re not done yet!" In the
rearview mirror, two more cars emerged from the
dust cloud, their headlights bouncing on the uneven
terrain.

The second car was closing fast.

A sharp turn loomed ahead, and Jake timed
it perfectly, pulling the emergency brake and spinning
the SUV 180 degrees.

The screeching tires sent up a haze of
smoke, and as the pursuing car came into
view, Julianna leaned out the window, her r***e
aimed and ready.

"Lights out," she muttered, squeezing the trigger.

The pursuing car's front tire blew, sending it
careening into a tree with a sickening crunch.

The final vehicle remained relentless, its driver weaving
to avoid obstacles and closing the gap.

Ahead loomed a narrow wooden bridge, its planks
weathered and creaking under the weight of time.

Jake’s eyes narrowed.

It was their only shot.

He punched the gas, gripping the wheel tightly
as they barreled across.

The bridge groaned under the weight, the wooden
planks rattling beneath them.

As the pursuing car reached the bridge, Jake
slammed the brakes, wrenching the SUV into a
fishtail.

The tires screeched in protest, sending gravel and
debris flying in a blinding cloud.

Julianna lobbed another gr***de onto the bridge behind
them.

The explosion sent splinters of wood flying, and
the final car skidded wildly as the gr***de
blast tore the bridge apart behind them.

Wood splintered and groaned before the vehicle veered
off course, plunging nose-first into the murky bayou
with a resounding splash.

Jake exhaled sharply, the tension releasing slightly as
they finally left their pursuers behind.

He eased up on the accelerator, and the
SUV hummed steadily down the open road.

"She still breathing?" Julianna asked, her voice sharp
as she glanced at Agnes slumped like a
rag doll in the backseat.

Jake’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.

"Still out.

She’s tough, though.

She’ll wake up pi**ed, with a headache to
match." As they approached the outskirts of Baton
Rouge, Jake pulled the SUV into a dark
side street.

"We need to switch vehicles," he said, scanning
the area.

Julianna nodded, her gaze locking onto a shiny
sedan parked under a flickering streetlight.

Without missing a beat, Julianna slipped out of
the SUV, her movements precise and practiced.

In less than a minute, the sedan’s lock
clicked open, and the engine roared to life
under her deft touch "Let’s go," she said,
motioning to Jake.

They transferred their gear and Agnes into the
stolen car before speeding off into the night.

Hours later, they pulled into the parking lot
of a brightly lit shopping plaza just outside
New Orleans.

The lot was mostly empty, save for a
handful of late-night shoppers and employees heading home.

A large grocery store dominated the plaza, its
neon sign flickering intermittently.

"This will do," Jake said, pulling into a
shadowy corner.

He turned to Julianna.

"You ready?" Julianna nodded and opened the back
door.

Jake lifted Agnes out gently, cradling her as
though she were a sleeping child.

They carried her to the line of shopping
carts near the store entrance and laid her
down carefully.

Julianna

---

Part 84 of Sympathy for the Devil

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out to take Agnes from Jake.

It was the moment Jake had been waiting
for.

In one fluid motion, Jake shifted his hold
on Agnes, drawing the silenced handgun from beneath
her body and firing.

The guard didn’t have time to react; the
shot was clean, precise, and fatal.

The man’s body crumpled, and Jake caught Agnes
before she could hit the ground.

In the chaos, Julianna bolted toward the SUV.

Jake didn’t hesitate.

He tossed Agnes into the back seat, his
voice cutting through the cacophony of gunfire.

“Julianna, move!” he commanded.

Bullets pinged off the SUV’s reinforced body, each
impact ringing out like a war drum.

The guards among the trees opened fire, bullets
ricocheting off the SUV’s armored exterior and pinging
against the stone steps.

Jake dove into the driver’s seat, slamming the
door shut as the windshield cracked under the
barrage.

“Julianna!” he yelled.

She was already in the passenger seat, her
hands now free, reaching for the stash of
weapons at her feet.

She grabbed an explosive, yanked the pin, and
lobbed it toward the nearest guard.

The gr***de exploded with a deafening roar.

Dirt and shrapnel ripped through the guards' formation,
leaving chaos in its wake.

The gunfire faltered, replaced by shouts of confusion
and pain.

“Hang on,” Jake said, gripping the wheel with
one hand and before he hit the gas,
he pulled out a small detonator from his
pocket with the other.

With a grim smile, he pressed the button.

A chain of explosions ripped through the pristine
lawns, the shockwaves tearing ancient sycamore trees from
their roots and hurling guards through the air
like ragdolls.

The manicured perfection of Barstow’s estate disintegrated into
a scene of fiery ruin.

The garage, where Jake had planted several charges
days earlier, went up in a fiery blast,
consuming Barstow’s prized car collection.

Flames licked at the edges of the mansion,
smoke billowing into the twilight sky.

“Jake!” Julianna shouted, snapping him back to the
present as another wave of bullets slammed into
the SUV.

Jake slammed his foot onto the accelerator, the
tires screeched against the gravel.

The SUV shot forward, bullets ricocheting off its
reinforced frame as flames licked at the edge
of the driveway.

Guards scrambled to take aim, but Julianna kept
them at bay, firing off rounds from a
r***e she had grabbed.

“Hit the gate,” she yelled, her voice hoarse
but fierce.

The SUV barreled into the wrought-iron gates, the
impact sending them shuddering off their hinges in
a screech of twisting metal and flying sparks.

In the rearview mirror, the mansion stood engulfed
in flames, a crumbling monument to Barstow’s hubris.

Smoke billowed into the night sky, the glow
of the inferno staining the horizon.

But the night was far from over.

Jake’s grip on the wheel tightened, his eyes
scanning the dark road ahead.

The real fight was just beginning.

Chapter 47: I'm Free “They’re gaining on us,”
Julianna snapped, her eyes darting to the convoy
of headlights piercing through the smoke and chaos
behind them.

Jake’s jaw tightened; his focus locked on the
winding backroad ahead.

“Keep them off us,” he said, his voice
low but urgent.

Without hesitation, Julianna leaned out the passenger window,
r***e in hand, and began firing.

Tires blew out, vehicles swerved off the road,
and explosions lit up the night as she
lobbed gr***des at their pursuers.

“We’re not out of this yet,” Jake muttered,
gripping the wheel tighter as he pushed the
SUV to its limits.

In the chaos of the chase, one thing
was clear: Barstow had underestimated them, and Jake
wasn’t stopping until Julianna was safe and Barstow
was buried.

The fight was far from over.

The SUV tore through the narrow Louisiana backroads,
its engine growling like a beast unleashed.

Each sharp turn sent rocks flying, the vehicle
skidding dangerously close to the edge of the
gravel.

Gunfire

---

Part 83 of Sympathy for the Devil

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justice, delivered cold, brutal, and without mercy.

Chapter 46: Low Down Barstow sat in his
study, the crystal glass of bourbon in his
hand catching the light from the grand chandelier
above.

The room’s opulence, with its dark mahogany walls
and gold-accented furniture, seemed almost suffocating, a veneer
of control masking the chaos swirling in his
mind.

Jake and Julianna were irritants, thorns he could
eventually pluck.

But Agnes, Agnes was a noose cinching tighter
with every breath, her betrayal threatening to choke
the life out of everything he had built.

She knew too much, and if Jake was
audacious enough to keep her alive, it only
escalated Barstow’s urgency to end this once and
for all.

Jake’s sole focus was Julianna, her safety, her
freedom.

His own life, even Agnes’, faded into insignificance.

Every decision, every move, was a step toward
one goal: getting her out alive.

As he drove the SUV toward Barstow’s sprawling
mansion, his thoughts were a chaotic mix of
desperation and strategy.

Agnes was collateral.

Jake had long made peace with what might
happen to himself.

But Julianna?

She wasn’t just part of the mission.

She was the mission.

She had to make it out alive, no
matter the cost.

She was his anchor in this storm, and
he would do whatever it took to ensure
she made it out alive.

When Jake reached the mansion’s wrought-iron gates, he
dialed Barstow’s number.

The line clicked immediately.

“I’m here,” Jake said, his voice steady despite
the storm raging in his chest.

“Drive in slowly,” Barstow replied, his tone dripping
with smugness.

“We’re ready for you.” The gates creaked open
with deliberate slowness, the driveway stretched ahead, taut
with danger, like a fuse waiting to ignite.

Manicured lawns framed the path, and the towering
sycamore trees lining both sides of the driveway
seemed to stretch toward Jake like grasping fingers.

The sun cast long shadows across the grounds,
and Jake’s sharp eyes scanned the grounds, noting
the guards stationed in the shadows of the
trees.

Their stances were relaxed but ready, their r***es
glinting faintly in the fading light.

The mansion loomed ahead, a sprawling structure of
stone and glass.

In the center of the driveway’s cul-de-sac stood
a grand fountain, its cascading water glinting in
the fading light.

Jake rolled the SUV forward at a crawl,
his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

His mind cataloged every detail: the guards’ positions,
the lack of cover, the looming tension.

The mansion’s massive double doors swung open, and
Julianna stepped out, her hands bound tightly in
front of her.

Her face was pale, her hair disheveled, but
her eyes burned with defiance, a fire Barstow
hadn’t managed to extinguish.

Behind her, a guard pressed a gun to
her head.

Jake slammed the SUV into the park and
stepped out, keeping his hands visible.

“Everybody, stay cool,” he called out, his voice
cutting through the still evening air.

He moved deliberately around to the passenger side,
opening the back door to reveal Agnes, still
unconscious.

In her arms, concealed by her body, was
a silenced handgun.

Jake lifted Agnes carefully, cradling her limp form
as if she weighed nothing, his every motion
deliberate and controlled.

The silenced handgun now concealed beneath her body
pressed reassuringly against his palm.

As he carried her up the steps, the
tension in the air was electric.

Barstow watched from the shadows of an exterior
balcony; his lips curled into a smug smile.

“You’re playing your part nicely, Jake,” he called
out.

Jake didn’t respond.

He reached the top step, where the guard
held Julianna.

The man’s grip tightened on her arm, and
the barrel of the gun pressed against her
temple.

“Let her go,” Jake said, his voice calm
but firm.

The guard hesitated, glancing up toward Barstow, who
gave a small nod.

With one swift motion, the guard released Julianna
and reached

---

Part 82 of Sympathy for the Devil

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mercy of Barstow, gnawed at him.

Jake’s jaw tightened with resolve.

Whatever it took, whatever lines he had to
cross, he would get her back.

For now, he pushed those thoughts aside and
focused on the road ahead, disappearing into the
night.

Jake switched vehicles to a fresh SUV that
he had stashed, placing Agnes, still unconscious, gently
into the bench seat directly behind him.

Jake adjusted the rearview mirror, his eyes flicking
to Agnes slumped unconscious in the backseat.

He gripped the wheel tighter, the hum of
the highway beneath the tires doing little to
drown out the storm raging in his head.

As soon as he was clear, he dialed
Julianna’s number.

“Tell me, Jake,” Barstow purred, his voice thick
with venom.

“Is my little problem… resolved?” Jake’s jaw tightened.

“First, let me talk to Julianna.

I need proof of life.” There was a
pause, and Jake could hear muffled voices in
the background before Barstow spoke again, irritation creeping
into his tone.

“Wait a moment,” Barstow said, irritation bleeding into
his tone.

Jake could hear the faint rustle of movement
and the muffled voices of Barstow’s men.

The senator’s footsteps echoed faintly; each one a
reminder of the fragile line Jake was walking.

Jake could almost visualize Barstow descending from his
posh, upper-floor suite to the grim confines of
the basement where Julianna had been kept.

Barstow’s footsteps echoed faintly, followed by the groan
of a heavy door swinging open.

The air inside the makeshift cell was thick
and stagnant, and Julianna sat slumped in the
corner, her wrists bound but her spirit unbroken.

Barstow put the phone on speaker and held
it out toward her.

“Talk,” he commanded.

Julianna’s voice was faint but defiant.

“Is that you, Jake?” Jake’s grip on the
steering wheel tightened.

“Yeah, babe, it’s me.

Are you okay?” Her tone sharpened, fueled by
both fury and desperation.

“Jake, you hear me?” Julianna’s voice cracked, raw
with fury and desperation.

“Kill him!

Kill this sick bastard!” Before Jake could respond,
Barstow snatched the phone back, muting Julianna’s protests
as he stepped out of the cell and
locked the door behind him.

He spoke into the phone, his voice now
cold and measured.

“Well, Jake, what do you have for me?

Did you kill her?” Jake’s voice was steady
but laced with anger.

“Not yet,” Jake said, his tone cold, calculated.

“She’s in my trunk, alive, for now.

So, what’s it gonna be, Barstow?

You want her back, or should I deliver
her gift-wrapped to the nearest courthouse?” There was
a sharp intake of breath on Barstow’s end,
followed by a hiss of frustration.

“The deal was for you to kill her!

You have to finish the job!” Jake smirked,
though there was no humor in it.

“Now, why would I do that?

If you want her dead, you can do
it yourself, or I can do it for
you, after I have Julianna.” Barstow’s silence was
telling, a mix of fury and reluctant calculation.

Finally, he spoke, his voice dripping with venom.

“Fine,” Barstow hissed, his facade cracking for a
brief second.

“Name the place.

Yours or mine?” Jake’s smirk deepened.

“Your place,” Jake said, his voice laced with
quiet menace.

“And don’t bother trying to play coy.

I know your address better than your damn
mailman.” Barstow’s voice faltered for just a moment
before regaining its edge.

“Bring her to me.

And Jake?

Don’t try anything stupid.” Jake ended the call
without replying, tossing the phone onto the passenger
seat.

His hands gripped the steering wheel as a
wave of determination surged through him.

This was no longer just about Julianna.

It was about taking down the monster who
had dared to hurt her.

The SUV growled beneath him as Jake pressed
the accelerator, his gaze fixed on the dark
road stretching ahead.

This wasn’t just about Julianna anymore.

It was about

---

Part 81 of Sympathy for the Devil

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where he had a clear line of sight.

Over the next several hours, Jake observed the
comings and goings of the agents.

Around 5 PM, a shift change took place:
three agents left the house, and three replacements
arrived.

Jake’s jaw tightened.

He had faced far worse odds, but the
stakes had never been higher.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, he
rehearsed the steps of his plan in his
mind, steeling himself for what was to come.

At 10 PM, one of the agents stepped
out onto the front stoop for a cigarette.

Jake watched as the orange ember flared in
the darkness before the man disappeared around the
back of the house to continue his rounds.

At 11 PM, as the same agent made
his way to the rear of the house
again, Jake seized his chance.

He moved quickly and silently across the lawn,
slipping into the backyard undetected.

Scaling the house with practiced ease, Jake hauled
a duffle bag over his shoulder.

He reached the roof and positioned himself near
the chimney, his sniper r***e already loaded with
tranquilizer darts.

His pistol, also loaded with tranq.

rounds, rested snugly in his waistband.

He took a deep breath; his nerves were
calm but his senses were razor-sharp.

"Ready, Jake," he muttered to himself.

His finger hovered over the detonator’s button.

The night erupted in chaos.

The explosion tore through the silence, a sharp,
deafening crack followed by a fiery bloom that
consumed the sedan in a hellish blaze.

Flames licked hungrily at the air, casting flickering
shadows across the front of the house and
illuminating the panic of the agents within.

Jake’s lips tightened into a grim line as
two of the agents burst out of the
house, their hands instinctively moving toward their weapons.

They never had the chance.

Jake’s r***e hissed twice, the tranquilizer darts slicing
through the chaos with lethal precision.

The agents barely had time to register the
threat before crumpling to the ground like marionettes
with their strings cut.

Jake anticipated the third agent’s instinct to protect
Agnes, and he moved before hesitation could creep
in.

Grabbing the rope he’d secured earlier, he swung
silently through the second-floor window.

Glass shattered around him in a cascade of
jagged edges, the crash muffled by the roar
of the fire outside.

The glass shattered as his boots struck it,
sending shards cascading into the darkened bedroom.

Agnes let out a startled scream, but Jake
was quicker.

He fired a dart into her shoulder before
she could make another sound.

The door burst open, and the remaining agent
stormed in, gun drawn.

Jake remained in the shadows; his breath steady.

As the agent scanned the room, Jake fired
two darts in rapid succession.

The man staggered, dropping his weapon before slumping
to the floor.

Jake didn’t hesitate.

He slung Agnes over his shoulder in one
fluid motion, his steps swift and deliberate as
he navigated the house.

The heat from the burning car outside cast
flickering shadows on the walls, adding to the
chaos of the moment.

Jake exited through the back door, crossed a
neighbor’s yard, and reached his getaway vehicle.

He dumped Agnes unceremoniously into the truck and
climbed into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared to life, and Jake sped
away into the night.

His hands clenched the wheel, his mind racing
faster than the vehicle.

He glanced at the rearview mirror, watching the
glow of the fire fade into the distance.

Jake’s thoughts swirled in the quiet hum of
the SUV.

The mission was a success, on paper.

But the hollow ache in his chest told
him otherwise.

Each mile put more distance between him and
the burning wreckage, but it couldn’t dull the
sharp image of Julianna’s face, battered and defiant,
or the sound of her voice calling out
to him.

The image of Julianna, bound and at the

---

Part 80 of Sympathy for the Devil

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