by Amity Cross
“Easy as pie,” Mercy said cheerily.
“Mei gave us a hall pass,” X retorted. “Don’t get used to it. Next time, it’ll be guns blazing.”
“You need to stop playing on her heartstrings, X,” Mercy chided him. “It’s not cool.”
“She needs to work on her willpower.”
“Men never get it,” she murmured to herself.
I allowed myself to doze off as the car’s movement lulled me into sleep. Fitful visions appeared of blood…blood on Lorelei’s face. Blood everywhere. The Hangman was not afraid of blood…until now. I’d never be able to watch it flow from flesh in the same way ever again.
“Vaughn?”
I jerked awake, pain burning through my gut.
Mercy’s form loomed above me. “We’re here.”
She helped me sit up in the backseat, and I placed my feet on the ground, leaning against the rim of the door to catch my breath. We were in another parking garage.
X leaned against the boot, watching the space around us while Mercy knelt on the ground at my feet, a black duffle bag sitting between us. It looked like Lorelei’s.
“Where are we?” I asked, already knowing the answer to the question.
“Heathrow Airport,” she replied.
I nodded. Good. The sooner I was gone, the sooner I could find a safe place to recuperate and plan the rest of my life.
“We’ve got you new identity papers and a passport,” she said, ticking things off her mental list. “There are meds and extra dressings. Oh, and legit paperwork for customs to take it with you. There’s also a change of clothes and some basic toiletries.”
I pushed to my feet and held my palm over the bullet wound in my stomach. I had everything I needed to disappear and never be seen again. It was a nice little package, but it was bittersweet without the ribbon on top.
Taking the bag from Mercy, I said. “I’ll never be able to repay you, you know.”
She rose to her feet and smiled. “Of course not. Never expected it.” Leaning forward, she placed a kiss on my cheek. “Now get the fuck out of here. I never want to see your ugly face again.”
X sidled up beside her and shook my hand. “Good luck, Vaughn. See you in the next life.”
“Here’s hoping.”
Without another word, I turned on my heel, shuffled into the terminal, and got on the next flight out of the UK.
As the plane took off and the lights of London faded into the distance, all I could think about was Lorelei. My stomach hurt far less than the pain in my heart. There was no medicine known to man to fix the loss of the love of your life.
I had to have faith she was still out there, and she would come looking.
Lorelei.
I’d love her forever.
Chapter 31
Vaughn
One year later...
* * *
The hot, tropical sun beat down on my exposed shoulders, warming my skin as I worked.
Sanding the hull of a twenty-foot boat by hand was bloody hard work, and at first, my muscles had protested, but now the movement had become second nature. Who needed a fucking gym membership when you had hard labor to tone your muscles.
Nine months in Jamaica and my pale, British skin had toasted itself enough that I’d developed a nice tan and a tolerance to long stretches of UV exposure.
It was a different way of life, a sleepy way, and everything I’d done to disappear from The Hangman and his legacy had been successful. X had my back like he’d promised, and I hadn’t been bothered…yet. I was a new man embarking on a new life. Was it atonement or something else? I didn’t know, but I had accepted that this place was my home.
“That’s a nasty scar, Mr.,” Lamar said, pulling my attention back to reality.
Glancing down at the bullet hole that marked my stomach, I smiled sadly at how such a thing could fondly remind me of everything I’d loved and lost.
“I was shot,” I said, glancing back up at the Jamaican man who’d come to work for me. “Home invasion.”
“That’s terrible,” he said. “But I’m sure you’re stronger for it.”
I shrugged, holding my hand out. “Can you toss me up that sanding block?”
When I’d told the men at the local bar that I planned on restoring a boat by hand, they laughed at me. Why do that when I could plug in an electric sander, they’d said. Of course, the Englishman was mad, but one man had spoken up saying there was nothing more satisfying than accomplishing something with your own two hands. It was a notion I could relate to. The problem I’d been having was turning that skill into something constructive, like carving wood instead of flesh.
That man had been Lamar, a sixty-eight-year-old Jamaican who’d earned his due on the ocean, fishing and working the ropes, since he was ten years old. The beach and this country were the only things in his blood, and when we got to talking, he’d revealed he was on hard times. I needed help getting set up with my boat, and he had the know-how.
That’s how he came to be helping me sand the massive hull of the beast I was currently slaving over. I’d saved it from the scrapheap for a bargain price and had it propped up on the beach out the back of the little house I’d bought, and we’d worked on it for eight months solid. There was a long way to go, but I had time. I had all the time in the world.
I thought about Lorelei often as I worked. After X told me she’d escaped from custody, I’d hoped she’d find me, and we’d disappear together. I’d hoped for a great many things that had never came to pass.
Remembering the night in the cottage when I’d told her about this place, I wondered if she’d even remembered or if it had disappeared into her changing mind, never to surface again. All I could do was hope that she lived and she was happy. I couldn’t leave to search for her, not unless I wanted to be picked up by Interpol or MI6. My hands were tied.
The last time I’d seen Lorelei Lansford clearly, was when she’d held me with bloodstained hands and declared her love. It wasn’t the perfect memory, but it was all I had, and I clutched to it like a life raft in the middle of a storm.
“Mr.?” Lamar prodded.
“What is it?” I asked, a little shaken by my memory of the love I’d lost not once but twice.
He set down his sanding block and pointed down the beach.
Following his gaze, I stilled as I caught sight of a slender woman walking toward us. Her skin was pale, her bare arms and neck covered in intricate designs. Designs that I knew she’d put there for some kind of spiritual protection in the wake of the scars that had changed her.
Her hair had grown since I’d last seen her. It swept around her shoulders in soft waves, the bright Caribbean sun bringing out the flecks of red that ran through the chestnut coloring.
Dropping my sanding block, I stepped forward, wondering if the image before me was a mirage. My heart began to beat faster and faster, pounding inside me like a hammer as I walked down the sand to meet her.
Finally, she stood before me, glowing like an angel, her smile wide.
Reaching up with a trembling hand, I cupped her face. She was solid, warm, and very real.
“What took you so long?” I murmured, my voice almost lost in the sound of the ocean lapping at the shore.
“I had to be sure,” Lorelei replied, leaning into my touch.
I cocked my head to the side. “Sure of what?”
“Forever.”
Blood and Bone
Royal Blood #6
Part I
Blood Lust
“Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.”
- John Webster
Chapter 1
Mei
The first time the love of my life walked away from me, it was involuntary.
He’d just been clobbered by a bunch of international criminals hell-bent on revenge against his entire family. He was taken, tortured, and conditioned to forget his entire past. He became a different man, and the one I
knew died in the process.
The second time he walked away from me was eight years later. I’d just found him after what felt like a lifetime of searching, but he’d already been claimed. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at her. She was his epic, soul-crushing love.
He’d never looked at me like that even though he’d said the words.
I love you.
I supposed there were other kinds of love when it came down to the crunch, but moving on from any of them was hard. I’d tried, but he’d always be a part of me.
He was Oliver Cassel in a past life, an MI6 agent. He’d since taken the name his captors had given him, Xavier Blood, and ran with it. He was a different person. Ruthless, callous, and almost unfeeling. The torture he’d endured at the hands of the manipulative man known as The Watchman had changed him irrevocably, and the man I now worked with at Section Seven was no longer the Oliver I knew.
Striding through the streets of London, my boots thudded on the paved footpath as I weaved through the throngs of suits on their early morning commute. For all intents and purposes, I looked exactly like everyone else, blending into my surrounds like a chameleon. To any passer by, I was just another white-collar schmuck on her way to some office to push paper for a higher up in their fancy office suite.
I’d never thought there was much in my appearance to set me apart on a good day. My mother was Japanese, so I’d inherited her Asian features and long, stick straight, black hair, and my father was British, which was why my skin was so damn pasty white. I was tall, athletic, and plain. A boon in my line of work. It wasn’t every day you came across a spy, right?
I was coming up to my fifteenth anniversary as a MI6 agent. Well, technically, I wasn’t anymore. Section Seven was black ops—top secret and off book. We dealt with the threats to national security that were too hot for Military Intelligence to handle without a hell of a lot of red tape. We could go in, deal with it, and get out without anybody realizing we were ever there. The only drawback was if one of our agents were caught, they’d be on their own. The government would deny all association.
There were risks with this line of work, but black ops were the riskiest of the lot.
A man walking in the opposite direction thumped his shoulder against mine as he passed, and I turned. Our gazes crossed, and I found myself checking him out. He was underwear-model handsome, his brown eyes meeting my own as we shared an appreciative smile. Before the stranger could open his mouth, I melted away into the crowd like the ghost I was.
Talking about risky behavior, relationships outside of the agency were bad news. No one could know about the work I did or who I really was. Lying came with the territory, and to lie about the very person you were to a man you may or may not eventually marry or fall in love with was more trouble than it was worth. Loved ones were a tool the enemy could use against you. I guess that’s why most agents dated other agents even though it was frowned upon. Lucky for us, we were experts in subterfuge.
Section Seven headquarters was located in the subbasement levels of a mostly empty office block in the City. The east side of London was mostly corporate businesses, development going forth with fervor. Skyscrapers were shooting up into the sky, and cranes were a common part of the horizon.
Punching my code into the door and letting the biometric scanner do its thing on my retina, there was a click and a buzz as I was granted access through the loading dock at the rear.
Working my way through the offices, I passed Jackson’s domain. He was our head tech guy and had one of the highest IQs in the world. He totally put Einstein to shame. His social skills weren’t quite up to scratch, but give the guy a paperclip and a screwdriver, and he could do just about anything.
He was bent over his workstation, fiddling with wires and circuitry, his shirt and tie all askew, and I smiled as I passed. I’d worked with him at MI6 on many a mission, and I couldn’t imagine life here without his technical backup…and his awkward run on sentences.
Moltke was the director of Section Seven and who I was here to see. His office was separated from the rest of the floor by a thick pane of frosted glass. Sleek and modern, it was designed to keep eyes and ears out while being design friendly to the rest of the building’s interior.
Opening the door, I hesitated when I saw the scene laid out before me.
The safe behind the Renoir painting was open and empty, a block of C-4 explosives stuck to the wall next to it. Explosives that were armed.
“Moltke?”
He glanced up at me, his stormy gray eyes meeting mine, and there was nothing there. They were just…empty.
His tie was unfastened, the top button of his gray shirt was undone, and his black suit jacket was loose around the waist. He was always so refined and impeccably dressed, just like his emotional exterior, so his current state had alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind. He was handsome with his chiseled jawline and salt and pepper hair, but one hundred percent deadly and not a man you wanted to cross.
X was bad, but Moltke was worse. Before he’d been appointed director of our ragtag team of agents, he’d been MI6’s top agent for years, but that was before he went dark and disappeared. Five years later, he was brought in and debriefed, and here we are.
Who knew where he’d been in those years he was dark, splintered from MI6—the agency that had been his whole life. Who the fuck knew because now he was clearing out the safe and rigging explosives to the wall. Who knew where else he’d put them.
“What are you doing?” I asked, feeling the weight of my sidearm underneath my suit jacket. I didn’t want to use it, but I was trained for any contingency…even dealing with double agents.
“What does it look like?” he drawled.
Moltke had one of the best poker faces I’d ever come across in all my years working with Military Intelligence. Right now, he was anything but.
He’d just revealed himself to be the bad guy.
“Mei,” he murmured. “You weren’t meant to be here.”
His voice chilled me to the bone as I realized the whole time he’d been here as Section Seven’s Director was a lie. He’d been playing the long game this entire time, and he was so good, even I hadn’t picked up on it. I was his right hand, his confidant, and his operational director… How could I have been so blind?
My gaze raked over the C-4, the digital display flashing red at fifteen minutes. The countdown hadn’t begun yet. There was still time to stop this.
“I trusted you,” I said, returning my gaze to his.
“I’m sorry, Mei,” he replied, taking a step toward me. “You weren’t meant to be here.”
“Is that meant to mean you care about me?” I spat. “You’re betraying everything and everyone, Moltke. What do you have to gain by leveling the building? All those innocent—”
“They are not innocent.”
I flinched as the anger in his voice slammed into me. “You need to stop this.”
“There is no stopping this. It’s too late. Everything is in motion.”
“Explain yourself,” I demanded. “If we’re going to die, at least tell me why you’re betraying us.”
He shook his head and raised his hand, my gaze flicking to the detonator clutched in his palm. I stepped forward, but he jerked back and pressed the button. The timer began to move, switching to 14:59 and lowering.
He was about to murder hundreds of innocents. The people I worked with every single day. My extended family. The people who trusted their lives to Moltke. He was going to murder everyone, and for what?
It was a game I didn’t understand, but there would be time for that later… If I could stop him.
Like lightning, I reached for my gun, but he lunged for me, his shoulder ramming against my chest, and we fell in a heap onto the office floor. I heard the gun rattle as it skidded away from us, and I readied myself to switch to hand-to-hand.
The glass separating us from the rest of the open-plan office was bulletproof and soundproof, so we could b
e having a shootout right now, and no one would know. It was frosted, which closed us off from outside eyes. I was on my own.
We rolled, slamming against the desk, and the contents rattled violently as papers rained down over us. Gaining the upper hand, I straddled him and raised my fist, hitting him hard in the temple. He bucked, throwing me against the side of the desk, and my head cracked against the mahogany.
Wrapping his hands around my neck, he squeezed, crushing my airway as he slammed my skull against the wood.
Stars sparked in my vision, and I clawed at his face, but my fingernails missed his eyes and raked his cheek. He roared in annoyance as I jerked wildly, trying to dislodge his grasp. My legs were wedged underneath my body, Moltke’s weight pinning me down so I couldn’t move.
Fuck, I was gone. I was going to lose, and everyone was going to die.
Fumbling, my hands skidded across the floor, searching for something, anything I could use to break free. Finally, my fingers closed around something metal, and I struck, stabbing a letter opener into Moltke’s thigh.
He roared in pain, and his strength faltered. Shoving away from him as he yanked the metal out, I made a break for the door. If I could alert the agents outside, we had a chance.
A hand fisted in my hair, and I cried out as the sharp pain of metal entering my flesh stopped my forward trajectory. I didn’t fall like I expected I would. Halted by Moltke’s grasp, my scalp burned as I was hauled backward away from the door and the agents beyond who would have been my saviors.
He practically threw me back across the office, and my head slammed into the edge of the desk. I felt my body slacken as I hit the floor, my vision turning black around the edges.
“Moltke…” I moaned, trying to push myself to my feet.
