Valkyrie Reborn

by Allyson Lindt

  He let go as quickly as he’d grabbed her, and walked away without looking back.

  She lingered in the hallway long after he was gone, processing the words, numbness fighting with nausea. She didn’t care about the insult. What bothered her was he was right—she’d just unleashed his wrath on someone else.

  Chapter Three

  Now - Brit

  Brit adjusted the strap of her backpack on her shoulder, as she meandered along the downtown sidewalk. The rifle case inside dug into her shoulder blade, but it had been doing that for years. She’d be more concerned if she didn’t feel the twinge of pain.

  It was 7 am. If they were someplace like New York City or Tokyo, her path would be blocked by throngs of people. Here, there was breathing room. A blessing when because she and Mark were heading toward the spot where they’d set up to assassinate their target. A curse because fewer faces meant more of a chance someone would notice them.

  “Why would I even do that?” she asked her partner.

  This conversation hadn’t changed in a few years. The details did. It was like MadLibs. Normally, she hated the fill-in-the-blank coercion that was Mark’s brand of flirting. Today, she welcomed it. The grind was a reminder of why her plans were different this mission, and she didn’t have the focus for a witty discussion. She needed to keep her facade in place until the last possible millisecond.

  It had taken her more than three years of careful planning, to get to this spot. After half a lifetime of training with TOM, of killing on their behalf, and of putting up with this asshole’s abuse, she was walking away from this life. She wouldn’t fuck up her chances now. She’d have her vengeance on Mark, and whatever came after that had to be better than this hell.

  “I’m not saying you would. I’m just asking you to think about it.” Mark kept pace with her. She knew without looking that behind his sunglasses, his gaze swept the block every few seconds.

  It was another part of their training that came as naturally as breathing, and she did the same. Searching for anything out of place. Any familiar face that might be a threat. Any obstacle that would need to be removed before they executed their mission. “I’ve thought. The answer’s no. Surprised?”

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Revulsion raced through her, but that was familiar as well. She rested her head on his shoulder, never breaking her surveillance. She was all too aware of the picture they painted. Her blond hair fell in a single braid down the back of her T-shirt, and her jeans were strategically faded and very designer. Mark was dressed in a similar manner. His Tee stretched tight across a defined torso, and his jeans showed he had the ass to match. To anyone else, they’d look like a twenty-something couple on their way to breakfast, or possibly trying to catch the train up to the university.

  It was a mask. Everything about this life was a mask. Brit hated it. And today, she was going to rip it off and stomp it into the dirt.

  “Not surprised. Just wounded.” He nodded at the building up on their right. The one next to the bagel shop their target would stop at in about forty-five minutes. “Why would you pick Cabo over drinks with me Down Under?”

  He was really going to make her spell it out? “Even if I didn’t already have my tickets, and even if they were refundable, and even if I had any interest in visiting Australia during the winter, why would I spend my vacation with you?”

  He brushed his lips over her ear, voice low. “Let’s just call it wishful thinking.”

  “Not my wishes,” she muttered. She’d suppressed her shiver so many times, it only nudged her gut with a hint of acid reflux. Behind her mirrored lenses, she rolled her eyes.

  A trickle of doubt raced through her, as they headed toward the building. She’d told Starkad TOM would be here today. She didn’t say it would be her, but that was part of her plan. The hunter who’d been taking out Brit’s counterparts would be looking for this morning’s team.

  This wasn’t the right place to be. She needed to survive long enough to beg for asylum. “Not here.” She tangled her fingers with Mark’s, leaned her weight into him, and nudged him across the street.

  “What are you doing?” An edge crept into his voice.

  Nope. She’d blocked out the torment years ago. The never accidental groping. The verbal taunts. The uninvited sex. But this was her team, and he did not get to determine where she shot from. “Making an executive decision and ensuring we don’t become the ninth casualty.”

  “It’s too crowded here.” He walked with her, despite the protest.

  They’d had weeks to study the city. Especially this block. She knew exactly how busy the gym was this time of day, and which offices on the upper floors were empty. “Then I’d better hope you’re as good as you tell all the trainees.”

  He was. She might not trust him with her sanity, or even care for him, but like her, he was the best at what he did. And he had her back.

  Only one of their classmates had been better, she’d died years ago. Kirby.

  Brit swallowed the abrupt surge of emotion that came with the name. Today wasn’t the day to let the past choke her up.

  They strolled through the front door, as if they walked this route every morning, and strode past the gym without pause.

  No one gave them a second glance. Most people would assume Brit and Mark worked here. Maybe they were stashing something in their offices, before coming back down to work out.

  Brit didn’t care what anyone assumed, as long as they forgot about her a few seconds later.

  Stone pillars led to marble floors, which blended into a combination of both, lining the circular stairs. The mechanical floor counters above the two elevators in the lobby made her think the place hadn’t seen a renovation in almost a hundred years. It must suck to be here in extreme temperatures, if the HVAC was the same.

  A handful of people milled near the elevator, most likely having entered from an underground or back-lot parking.

  She and Mark bypassed the pack of four and cut a straight line for the stairs. No one gave them more than a glance. Despite the urge to sprint to the next floor, she kept her pace even as they climbed. Seconds later, they stepped into a new hallway. To the left was a blank wall, and to the right was exactly what she anticipated—a door with a For Lease sign stuck to it, but no windows looking into the hallway.

  Brit tuned her ears to every tiny sound that didn’t belong to them. Once they were inside, it would be Mark’s job to watch their surroundings and everything, while she focused on the target. Until then and after the job was complete, surveillance and awareness fell to both of them.

  Except today, she’d watch her own back as she left, and he didn't realize he was her real target.

  He wiggled the handle on the office door, and the clink of metal rattled through the corridor.

  His glance and raised eyebrow said it all. Locked.

  There was no one coming from the other end of the hallway. He leaned his shoulder into the door, and she casually turned her attention back toward the stairs.

  From behind her, she heard a soft grunt, followed by a quiet thud as Mark strong-armed the office open. The locks were as old as everything else in this place.

  They stepped into the vacant space and silently closed themselves off from the rest of the building. The time for public performance and idle chatter was over. From this point on, their only communication would be what was necessary to get the job done.

  A maze of filing cabinets led to a stack of waiting-room chairs, lining the far wall. Other than that and the dust floating through the air in the morning sun, the room was empty.

  Without exchanging words, she dropped to one knee and pulled off her backpack, while he made his way to the window. He fiddled with three latches until one gave way without protest and cracked open six inches on the bottom. Another thing to love about the older buildings. The new high rises didn’t have any opening widows.

  She extracted a black polymer case from her bag, lay it on the ground
, and opened it. She pulled several metal and plastic components from inside.

  Mark peered out the window at something on the street below. “Clean shot. Less than a hundred meters.”

  She snarled at his back, and let the irritation slide into her voice. “I need a more accurate range, and check the GPS for wind speed and direction.”

  “Ninety meters. A hundred meters. What’s the difference?”

  He did this every fucking time. Compared to most of his bullshit, it was tame. Except that here, their lives were on the line. “Those ten meters are the difference between a clear head shot and only getting your ear blown off.”

  Today, ten inches would get his head blown off. She kept the thought from her expression.

  “Fine. Ninety-four point nine.” He stepped back from the window.

  She arranged the parts in front of her in the same pattern that repetitive training had drilled into her, and then set about assembling the AUG-HBAR-T sniper rifle.

  She took her spot at the open window. Sliding behind her weapon, she opened the bolt. She stopped for a moment to bow her head. Vidar guide my hand and escort my enemies to Hel.

  She reached for the high-capacity magazine. Leaning the weapon forward and up, careful not to disturb the bipod’s footing, she slid the ammunition into its receiver. She angled the rifle down with practiced precision and put her shoulder into it, trying to ignore the ambivalence the action always filled her with. Reaching forward, she removed the caps covering both ends of the scope, then peered through. The fire zone was clear and unobstructed.

  Even better, with the foot traffic light, she should be able to spot the target, accomplish her goals, and beat a hasty retreat before anyone realized the shot came from here.

  She rested her finger on the trigger, closed her eyes, and exhaled. Is this all I am? The question echoed in her mind, as it did during every mission. She shook the thought away. “Status?”

  “Time is O-seven-thirty-five. Range is ninety-five point one meters. GPS check as of O-seven-twenty-two reported the temperature at thirteen degrees, steady winds from the North-Northwest at three point two kilometers per hour, and clear skies with thirty-two percent relative humidity.”

  She twisted two of the knobs on the scope, one click each, and turned her head toward him, memorizing where he sat.

  She raised an eyebrow as he hooked a pair of fragmentation grenades into the waistband of his jeans. That was unusual for him. Did he know what she was up to? No. He was taking precautions, the same way she had by choosing this spot.

  “Overkill, much?” she asked.

  He tapped the plastic handle of the MP-5 lying on the table next to his open bag, eyes never leaving his range-finder. “It never hurts to be prepared”.

  “For what? The Huns?”

  “You have your job, I have mine. Fire zone is clear. Our guest should arrive in approximately— On the clock, shooter.” His tone changed mid-sentence. “Target spotted, one hundred twenty-four meters, east side of street, heading north at a casual pace. Target is alone.”

  Her cheer vanished. She turned her head and buried her right eye in the scope. A familiar head of strawberry-blond hair—identical to the photos—filled her sight. “Target confirmed. Safety off. Tracking target.”

  The target continued on its route, occasionally obscured by the heads of the other people on the street. The tension of the moment stretched the perception of time in the abandoned office. After a brief eternity, the target stumbled and dropped her purse.

  “I have a shot. Engaging target.” She spoke the words, but didn’t apply pressure to the trigger. She had a blink to get this right. To announce she was firing. Ensure Mark was focused on the street below. Pull the pistol from the holster at her waist and shoot him.

  “Wait. Target has a little friend.”

  The unexpected statement startled her, but she maintained her focus. “Where?”

  “In our old spot. Fuck. Change target priority,” Mark ordered. “Second floor. Missing window pane, three windows in, one pane down.”

  Brit ignored his command. He was distracted, and she just needed to say her lines. “Engaging target one.”

  She reached for her pistol. Something collided with her shoulder, and pain jolted through her body. The impact threw her back. She tried to reach for either weapon, but her fingers didn’t work right. Why did it hurt so much? “Status.”

  “Grenade,” Mark shouted as he hooked an arm around her waist and half-dragged her behind the filing cabinets.

  They crashed hard onto the floor, Mark’s 100 kilos knocking the wind out of her. A blinding flash filled the room, as a concussion wave drove them into the far wall. Another burst of pain erupted through her shoulder.

  Her world turned cold and gray, and sparkles danced across her field of vision. Mark’s movements seemed slow and deliberate. The sounds that reached her ears were distant. Filtered. She felt weightless.

  I must be diving. Mark floated above her, an unusual look of fear and concern on his face.

  Is he actually worried about me? The question surfaced from nowhere and made her gut churn. It didn’t help her make sense of the patterns his lips formed, though. She focused with what intellectual resources were available to her.

  Oh. I know that word. A chill ran the length of her spine and a drop of reason trickled into her thoughts. A single word passed through her mind and made her blood run cold, before pain stole her consciousness. Kirby.

  Chapter Four

  10 Years Ago - Kirby

  Kirby lay on her top bunk, listening to the breathing of the other students in the room. She waited until it was all either steady breathing or low snores.

  Tension cranked through her. No one knew she did this. If they found out, the past two years here would be nothing, compared to the torment and ridicule she would receive.

  She didn’t have it as bad as some of the students. The unspoken rule was only the strong survive. So Kirby had ensured that she wasn’t just strong; she was the strongest.

  That made her a different kind of target. And it was exhausting—always sleeping with one eye open, being the cadet everyone wanted to best or silence...

  On nights when it got to be too much, when the pressure and torment and backhanded comments swelled to the point where her head and heart threatened to burst from the anguish, she waited until everyone was asleep, then snuck into the bathrooms and sought solitude.

  She hopped from her bed, hitting the ground without making a sound. Her footsteps were silent, as she crossed the room and slipped into the hallway.

  She paused, ears strained for any out-of-place sound. She knew what it sounded like when the foundation settled and the HVAC kicked on, and the weather was anything more than calm outside.

  Tonight, all was clear. She padded through the corridor. The community-style showers were too open for her to have any privacy, but there were stalls in the restrooms. She could lock the door to one on the end, pull her feet up so no one could see her, and enjoy the silence.

  As Kirby stepped into the room, she heard a faint sob echo off the tile. The noise vanished. She listened. Someone was breathing and trying to be quiet.

  There were no feet visible under the stalls, and some of the doors looked shut, but she wouldn’t be able to tell if any were locked without trying them.

  She stepped closer to the sinks, staying at a distance that would keep whoever was in here from seeing the shadows or her feet, and followed the noises to the far end of the room.

  Another tiny sob escaped from the other side of the metal door. Kirby knew the kind of hurt and frustration that caused that. It shook her to her core. “Hello?” she said softly.

  All the sound stopped. Even the breathing.

  She nudged open the adjacent door, hopped on the toilet, and looked down at a girl trying to make herself look very small. Brit was a year younger than Kirby, and fairly talented.

  “Hey.” Kirby kept her voice quiet. She shoved her frustration as
ide and focused instead on the way her heart broke for the other girl.

  Brit looked up, brown eyes wide and red rimmed. Her jaw dropped open, and she backed up against the wall. “Please, don’t tell anyone. You can hit me if you want. Just don’t let anyone know I was crying.”

  “I won’t tell anyone, and I won’t hit you. I don’t do that to anyone who doesn’t deserve it.” Kirby could pounce on the situation. Teach Brit how wrong it was to let her vulnerability show. But an empty ache throbbed in Kirby’s chest. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed a friend.

  Brit unfolded a little. “I deserve it.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Because I’m weak.”

  Kirby pulled herself the rest of the way up, hopped the dividing wall, and landed on her feet in front of Brit. “You’ll get stronger. That’s the point of training.”

  “It’s hard.” Brit wiped her hand across her face. “I’m trying, but my student teacher says I’ll never get better. And he’s right. Every time I think I’ve got it, he points out where else I’ve failed.”

  A sour taste rose in the back of Kirby’s throat, mingling with her sympathy for Brit. She knew that description all too well. Mark’s words mocked her. I’ll find another toy. One who’s fun. That’s on you.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “I’m not saying.” Brit’s eyes were huge again, and her terror-filled voice grew in volume. “It’s on me. I’m the one who needs to get better.”

  Kirby placed a finger against her lips. “Shh. Is it Mark?”

  “Why would you ask that? Everyone loves Mark. He’s one of the best. He teaches us to grow beyond our boundaries.”

  That confirmed it.

  Kirby crouched, to bring herself to eye level with Brit. “He’s an asshole and a bully.” She spoke so softly, she barely heard her own voice. “He gets off on hurting you. I guarantee it.”

  “I just need to get better.”

  Kirby rested a hand on Brit’s knee. “You do, yes. We all do. The way he teaches isn’t going to give you that. I’ll take care of this for you.” It wasn’t a question of maybe. She had to fix this. It was her fault Mark was focused on someone else, and she could bring that attention back to herself. She was far enough along in her training she could handle it.