Price to Pay
He had never enjoyed the kill. Not like some did. Not like how Mr. X or the new recruit Fox savored it. He killed because it was necessary. It was fate. Some were meant to die with a bullet in their chest. He was meant to pull the trigger.
Every aspect of his life was given to The Fraternity. His birthname, his faith, his loyalty, everything was a part of the brotherhood. Everything save one; he kept one thing for himself.
His son.
He hadn't thought much at first. She was pregnant, so what. Everyone had kids, even those who shouldn't. It had been just another responsibility, just another step.
Then he saw him.
He held his baby against his chest, so small that he only needed one arm. Tiny hands curled against his jacket. The searing thrill of love tore into him deeper than any bullet ever had.
He knew then that he had to leave when he wanted nothing more than to stay. Siring a child does not make a man a father. That was something earned through undying love and protection.
He wanted to be Wesley's father, and to do that he had to leave.
Placing his son back in the basonet and walking out the door as he started to cry was the hardest thing Cross ever had to do.
He tried not to think about what he would miss, and his son would never know. He tried not to think that she might marry, and his son might call another man dad. Most importantly he tried not to think about how that child would grow to hate him. To think he left out of cowardice and not love.
What he did think about was how his son would never hold a gun, never feel the burn of a bullet wound, never know the emptiness that accompanied stealing someone's life. He would control his own destiny; his father had given him that right.
Cross stepped aside as a young man stumbled down the sidewalk, fumbling with his cell phone.
"I'm sorry," he said, glancing at Cross before hurrying off.
Cross didn't respond, though he had everything to say. He didn't regret his decision. He would never hold his son again, but at least he would live.