Royal Blood The Complete Collection

by Amity Cross

  He sighed before reaching out for me. His hand slid over my waist and tugged until I was flush against his chest. I had to admit to myself that it felt good to be in his arms. Good to be naked and accessible.

  “Hey.” He kissed my forehead softly, letting his lips linger.

  I felt like he was about to initiate a morning-after conversation, so I tilted my head upward and caught his mouth with mine. He had to stop putting labels on things that could not be categorized.

  Pulling away, I sighed.

  “Did you remember anything?” he asked, a note of irritation in his voice. He thought I’d used him to conjure the secrets locked in my mind.

  I could see how he assumed that was all I wanted from him, but it wasn’t the entire truth. I couldn’t deny the fact that something was drawing me to him. What that something was, I still didn’t understand.

  “No,” I replied, glancing over his shoulder and across the room.

  “Did you want to?”

  “I don’t need to.”

  “You’re full of contradictions, Lorelei,” he said, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

  He still didn’t get it. “Finding irrefutable proof and remembering are two very different things.”

  “Then why go after him at all?”

  “It’s not about looking back,” I said, returning my gaze to his. “It’s about looking forward or not at all.”

  “And forward is Lafayette?” he asked.

  “He will be able to confirm my father’s story about my captivity. Once I get what I want, I can end his operation and his life. There’ll be one less man in the world who’s profiting from putting women into involuntary slavery.”

  “Is that really what you want?”

  I wondered if he was hurt because I hadn’t remembered what we’d supposedly shared. Even if I did, I’d changed too much.

  “And what do you want, Vaughn?” I asked, turning his question back onto him. He narrowed his eyes, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “You don’t know.”

  “I want you,” he snapped.

  “I come with a shitload of baggage. I can’t predict what will happen once I leave this place. Who I will become.”

  Taking his hand, I guided his fingertips to the crude tattoo on my wrist. The one I suspected had marked me as a commodity, a thing, to be bought and sold.

  “I don’t want to believe it,” I whispered as he traced the numbers that had been scarred into my skin. “But I have to know if it’s true. I have to know what happened to me and why my father made me this way. It’s all I can think about.”

  Vaughn’s brow furrowed slightly, but it was the only emotion he allowed to show. If he was outraged or ambivalent, I couldn’t tell. He just traced the tattoo over and over, like he was committing it to memory for all time.

  “Vaughn?” I prodded.

  Finally, he asked, “And I can’t come with you?”

  “I have to do this alone.”

  He let my wrist go and rolled onto his back, taking his warmth with him. “What about my closure?”

  “Your closure?” I asked, not understanding.

  “He is the last living man who took everything from me, Lorelei,” he snapped. “This story is not just about you.”

  I sat up with a scowl, clutching the sheet against my naked chest. “If I were to believe everything I’ve been told, then I should be seeking revenge on you,” I hissed. “Logic tells me you and your ability to manipulate my fickle heart were to blame for all of this. Do I seek to kill you in your sleep, Hangman? No, but I could.”

  Vaughn sat up, his expression beginning to pale. “Lorelei, I—”

  “This is my story now,” I said. “I’m going alone. The only thing you’ve proven yourself to be this last month is a liability. Feelings get you killed. You will die, Vaughn, and it will be your own fault.”

  I slid out of the bed, and as my bare feet hit the carpet, his hand wrapped around my upper arm.

  “Lorelei,” he said, his voice firm and commanding.

  “You can’t command me, Vaughn,” I spat back at him. “I am my own woman. You’re either with me or against me. It doesn’t matter which. I will still be leaving this place. It’s your choice as to how it will go.”

  I didn’t wait for his reply. Striding into the bathroom, I turned on the shower and allowed my fingers to drag through the stream of water as it warmed. I’d always worked alone in this life. I’d never needed any assistance getting what I wanted.

  Vaughn wanted to come because he was afraid I wouldn’t come back.

  Stepping into the shower, I closed my eyes as the water beat down on my back, rinsing away his scent. Grabbing the bar of soap, I began scrubbing at my body.

  I knew he thought he’d laid some kind of claim over me last night, but he was arrogant to think I would submit so easily. He was also a fool to think I would submit at all. I was my own woman, and no man would own me ever again.

  Movement caught my attention, and I glanced up as Vaughn shuffled into the bathroom. He was still naked, his body almost completely healed from the beating he’d suffered at the hands of Royal Blood. All that remained were a few yellow splotches on his side and stomach from the bruises that had been deep shades of bluish black. Even his bloodshot black eye had returned to normal. It took all my willpower not to invite him into the shower and into my body again.

  “I will remain in contact,” I said as he leaned against the doorframe. “The SIM card to your burner is in the top left-hand drawer of the dresser in the other bedroom.”

  “Can I call out on it?”

  There was no use leading him astray anymore. He’d had plenty of time to kill me or leave. If this was a long game of manipulation, even I couldn’t see through it. I highly doubted that Vaughn was that good.

  “You’ve always been able to call out on it,” I said as I turned off the taps.

  He snorted as I stepped from the shower and wrapped my body in a towel.

  “You want to come with me, yet I see no reason to allow you to accompany me,” I said. “You’re blind, Vaughn. You’ve lost the edge that brought you here. Until you can show me that you won’t act irrationally, you will never get what you want.”

  “You need to trust me,” he said, his voice thin with frustration. “I’ve done nothing but bend to your whims.”

  “I can’t trust a man I can’t remember,” I snapped. “And I do not have whims. There’s always a reason.”

  Moving into the bedroom, I began dressing. Dark jeans, black knit jumper, leather jacket, fingerless gloves, boots. The uniform of an assassin.

  Vaughn pulled on a T-shirt and sweatpants. “If I can’t come, then when can I expect you to return?”

  I considered the time it would take to reach my destination and meet with the informant. “A day, maybe two.”

  He followed me downstairs. “And if you don’t return?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Then don’t wait around.”

  Grabbing the duffle I’d packed and stashed in the hall closet the day before, I opened the front door and stepped out into the world.

  I was ready to get back to work.

  Chapter 13

  Lorelei

  The first thing I learned about being an assassin was that the world is rarely black and white. It exists in shades of gray. The full spectrum. People did bad things just for the hell of it just as much as they did them for the greater good. In real life, it was difficult to peg one’s motivations as good or evil. Everyone always thought they were right, that their way was the only way to enlightenment or a better world. Someone had to be wrong, and it was always the other guy.

  Had I been good? The girl I was before might have been, but the woman I was now certainly wasn’t. What was good anyway? Normal, abnormal…it was all relative. All I could focus on was now, and even that felt like I was like sinking in quicksand.

  I made my way into London, attempting to push Vaughn and his clinginess to the back of my mind. There was an ache in my muscles that
was deep-set, an echo of how he’d tried to bring me back into line. We’d both used each other in a way. He wanted to claim what we’d once shared, and I wanted to fill the darkness with something, anything, that made sense. It was a great deal of fun, but I was still unsure what part he was playing in my story.

  The city loomed around me as I flowed with the morning traffic along the motorway. I was to meet the informant at a pub in Dulwich, in London’s south, called The Maid and The Master.

  The exchange was scheduled for that evening, so I spent the remaining hours surveilling the area. This part of the city had always been Necromancer territory, but that was until Mercy Reid had killed Sykes. His organization had broken apart in the wake of his demise, and Royal Blood had picked his carcass clean. Now that they were gone too, the whole south side of London would be a free-for-all.

  The Maid and The Master could be the local of a lone shark trying to make some quick cash, or a trap set by the inner circle of Royal Blood, or one planted by Lafayette himself. I could be walking into a trap, or I could be walking into open arms. Regardless, I needed the intel, and it was my only lead to finding the illusive human trafficker. The risk was worth a little gunfire…if it came down to it.

  Watching the world go by from my vantage point in the car, I found myself wondering how different my life must have been. Going to work, going out with friends, falling in love…trivial things compared to what I faced now. The normal world existed in a stream, ever flowing, oblivious to the current right beneath it. Never intertwining, never acknowledging the other’s existence. Normal seemed so far away for someone like me.

  Watching an older woman walking down the street, arm in arm with a younger version of herself, I frowned. Mother and daughter. I must have a mother of my own someplace. What happened to her?

  As the sun began to fade, I moved the car three blocks over from the pub’s location and stashed my gun down the waistband of my jeans, the metal cool against my lower back. I walked a circle around the area, making one last sweep before approaching the meeting place. The street was empty of anyone unsavory, the coast clear for the moment, but I wouldn’t be long. In and out with a quick handover of intel before anyone caught my scent.

  Opening the door to The Maid and The Master, I stepped inside, casting my gaze over the interior. A bar with a dozen taps and all kinds of liquor bottles showcased behind took up most of the wall to the right. The rest of the available space was crammed with tables, and the floor was coated with green carpet that had seen better days. A low ceiling with exposed beams topped off the whole thing. The original building was old. Perhaps late sixteen hundreds.

  A group of old men sat at the rear of the room, several empty pints on the table amongst their refills. Nothing but a group of old local boozehounds that had settled in for the long haul. Behind the bar was a man with hard features and gray hair that was pulling a beer for another man who sat on a stool with hunched shoulders.

  Business must be slow these days, but in the wake of the underground shake up, I didn’t doubt it.

  I’d met with the informant several times over the past few years, so I recognized him instantly. Crossing the room, I slid into a stool next to him and gestured to the bartender. A moment later, a pint of beer appeared in front of me, and I tossed the guy a fiver.

  The informant glanced at me. “I didn’t think I was goin’ to see you again,” he drawled in his thick South London accent before raising his glass to his lips.

  “Then you underestimate my abilities,” I retorted, keeping one eye on the bartender.

  He laughed at my dryness like he’d been expecting nothing less. “Nice to see you again, Lorelei.”

  “Gardener.”

  Gardener’s gaze followed the bartender as he moved away and began picking up the empty pint glasses from the old guys at the back. He was an ugly son of a bitch with a bad head, hard jaw, and a missing tooth from years of brawling as a kid. He’d told me himself on many occasions that he’d been an angry little shit picking fights with the bobbies because he was an unemployable skinhead yob. He’d come up in the world of information since then and was wealthy enough for it.

  “What have you got?” I asked, cutting to the chase. Sliding an envelope of cash into his lap, I raised an eyebrow.

  “A name. Simon Ballinger,” he replied, understanding my need for a swift exchange. “He’s a suspected runner for Lafayette’s organization here in the UK. Operates in the South London area.”

  “Do you know his whereabouts?”

  “Not exactly. Word has it he operates around Brixton and Clapham. The coppers have been on his tail for years, at least twice as long as those ponces in MI6.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “When you say he’s a runner, what exactly does he run?”

  Gardener glanced at me with a raised eyebrow. “Wot you think, love?”

  I sucked in a sharp breath as I realized he ran commodities. Product.

  “He’s a bit rough around the edges,” Gardener went on. “Lone shark. Know wot I mean?”

  I knew exactly what the asshole meant. Ballinger worked alone when he was on a job, just like me, which meant he was smart, capable, and slippery. If I was going to catch the fucker alive, I’d have my work cut out and then some. If this was a hit, then I’d be a little more cocky about it, but I had to bag and tag the guy to get to the ultimate prize.

  I felt something land in my lap, and I curled my hand around an envelope. Without glancing at it, I shoved it into the inside pocket of my jacket.

  “That’s wot I know,” he explained. “Not much, but it’s somethin’. Knowin’ wot you are, that should be more than enough.”

  “Knowing what I am?” I asked with a sneer.

  He grinned at me, his missing tooth making him look more mean than he was. “Word’s out, love. Your daddy’s organization went boom, and now nothin’s sacred. You’re lucky I liked Greggor, and he treated me all nice like. You, little miss Lorelei, have a price on your pretty skull.”

  Glancing around the pub, the old guys at the back were hastily putting on their coats and hats. Someone had tipped off someone. The bartender had been paid to make himself scarce, that much was clear. There was only a matter of minutes or even seconds before shit was about to go down. Was it Gardener? No. He didn’t know shit. He was clean.

  “How much?” I asked, more for vanity’s sake than anything.

  “One million pounds dead, two alive.”

  “Is that all?” I scoffed. “I’m insulted.”

  “Well, avoid capture a little while longer and the price’ll go—”

  There was a loud crack as the front window shattered, and Gardener’s head exploded in a shower of blood and bone. Cursing loudly, I slid to the floor, allowing my training to kick in. I scuttled around the end of the bar where I had sufficient cover from the shooter outside and began to weigh up my options. Pulling out my gun, I checked the barrel and clip before listening to the silence.

  Wiping the back of my hand across my face, it came back smeared with Gardener’s blood. Fuck.

  I could definitely rule out Gardener as a snitch, or at least, one didn’t know his head was about to be blown off. The shot had pierced the glass and disintegrated his flesh with only the slightest of sounds, so it had to be a high-powered sniper rifle. Military grade.

  MI6? No. They weren’t smart enough, or maybe they were now that Royal Blood was no longer on the scene. It was either one of my father’s inner circle and their hired guns, or it was one of Lafayette’s. It didn’t really matter one way or the other. Right now, I had to get the fuck out of this stinking pub in once piece.

  The front door swung open and crashed against the wall. I peered around the corner as three men filed into the pub, guns drawn and tracking the room in front of them.

  Doing a quick calculation, I deduced there was a fourth—the sniper—somewhere across the street with their sights on the windows. I’d have to be quick if I was going to take all three without getting caught in an
y crosshairs.

  Not wasting a second, I rose to my feet and fired. One, two, three. The sound split the air with a deafening boom, and the group splintered.

  Ducking as they opened fire, I cursed. I hadn’t hit any of them. How many weeks had I been out of the game? I was losing my edge as well as my mind. Weak bitch.

  Movement at my left made me turn sharply, and I reacted instantly at the sight of a gun barrel pointed at my head. I fired point-blank at the man standing over me before he could get a shot off, and my bullet embedded into his chest, the sound of the gunshot loud in the enclosed space. My ears began to ring as he fell to the ground, stone-cold dead.

  “Fucking bitch!” someone yelled, and I rolled my eyes. I’d been called worse.

  Leaning around the edge of the bar, I fired toward the speaker, who was an ugly looking man brandishing a 10mm Glock pistol. Quickly recalling the amount of shots that had been fired, I estimated he had six of his fifteen rounds left before he had to reload.

  Aiming at the ugly fucker, I fired, the bullet clipping his arm and embedding into the wall behind him. He roared in pain and fell behind a table out of my line of fire.

  Rising to my feet, I fired at the second man even though I wasn’t sure where he was. Reckless but I was pinned into position by the sniper I wasn’t even sure was still there.

  I ducked as he returned fire, the bar splintering above and showering me with shards of mahogany.

  “Leave her,” I heard a rough, male voice declare. The sound came from the right, which meant it was the one I’d injured.

  “But—”

  “I said, leave her.” The same man interrupted the second, and a moment later, there was a crash as they moved through the pub, tossing tables out of the way.

  Rising to my feet, I tracked the gun on their retreating forms and fired. One, two, three shots, which was everything I had left in my clip. Instantly, they returned fire, forcing me to duck for cover.

  Fuck. I didn’t like my chances going after them unarmed. They’d seen my face and knew exactly who I was. I didn’t like that they were out there with that kind of information, but I was screwed. I had to let them go.