Royal Blood The Complete Collection

by Amity Cross

  “She operates in Continental Europe and Russia mostly,” he explained, “targeting corruption and the odd terrorist or arms dealer.”

  “Great. A vigilante with a chip on her shoulder.”

  “Do you think she’ll be trouble?” Mercy asked.

  “Hard to say,” I replied. “Now we have a photograph, we can keep an eye out for her.”

  “Just another piece of an elaborate puzzle,” she mused. “I wonder what her interest in Moltke is about?”

  “I’ll be sure to ask again next time she fucks up a tail,” I retorted.

  “I’ve also got a lead on that if you want to hear,” Jackson said, waving his hand to get our attention.

  “Spit it out,” I demanded, my interest zeroing in on our slippery target. He could surface anywhere, and we had to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. If there was a lead, we were following it to the end.

  “Bateman is going to the UK,” Jackson said. “I picked up some chatter.”

  “But Gruber…” Mercy began.

  “Seems they found the puddle,” he replied with a shrug.

  “I assume he’s going to meet with his employer about a contingency plan,” I said. “Since Moltke’s precious bomb was ruined and melted its maker.”

  “That’s the thing…” Jackson said slowly.

  “What?” I barked.

  He shrank back from my tone and pressed his finger on the keyboard.

  “We have an alternate source for the compound.” Bateman’s voice filtered from the laptop speakers.

  “Good. The time for the meet has been arranged.” Moltke. “I don’t need Gruber.”

  “Where?”

  There was a slight pause before Moltke replied, “Tilbury.”

  “The—”

  “Eleven p.m.,” Moltke interrupted. “Don’t be late.” Click.

  I glanced at Mercy, and she straightened up. “Tilbury, as in Greater London?”

  “How did you…” I stared at the laptop and wondered how the fuck Jackson had gotten all that information out of the stupid brick.

  “I know a thing or two about decoding elaborate software encryptions over a phone line,” he said with a shrug.

  “We need a specific location,” Mercy said. “How—”

  “Already on it. Agent Folsom gave me a protocol for contacting him below radar,” Jackson explained. “He can look into the intel and see if MI6 has picked up any additional chatter.”

  “There’s a dock at Tilbury,” I mused. “Container ships. There’ll be storage… Highly industrialized…”

  “Plenty of places to hide some Veltium-34,” Mercy added. “I’m sure Folsom can task a satellite or whatever it is they do to find the meeting point.”

  “Uh, guys?” Jackson said, sounding panicked.

  “What is it?” I hissed.

  “Folsom… He’s…” Jackson paled further.

  “He’s what?” Fuck it to hell, that man’s penchant for stuttering his words…

  He turned around the laptop, and Mercy and I stiffened as we beheld the crime scene photograph. One shot directly in the head.

  Jackson swallowed hard and declared, “Folsom is dead.”

  Chapter 12

  Mercy

  Folsom turning up dead had thrown a dirty great big fucking spanner in the works.

  He’d been right about a lot of things, the big kahuna being that Moltke had fingers in MI6’s pie. He knew Folsom was onto him, so he’d broken into his home and executed him. It brought back a lot of memories that I thought I was done with, but bad guys were forever shooting one another in the fucking head— like Sykes had murdered my family and how I put an end to him.

  BAM. Right between the eyes.

  Folsom being dead meant Moltke knew we were hunting him. Not just the whole fucking world but us specifically—X, Jackson, and me. He’d probably always suspected we would, but now he knew for sure, and that would make this much harder than it already had been. He knew our strengths and weaknesses from working at Section Seven. He knew what made us tick, and he’d use every last shred of intel against us.

  The only ray of light was that Jackson’s family was safe. Their location hadn’t been compromised, and the agents assigned had been loyal to Folsom. They’d be well looked after until this was over, just like they’d been promised.

  This whole thing seemed like a bridge too far…if you know what I mean. I had a bad feeling we were being set up, and this meet with Bateman was an elaborate ruse to flush us out like rats.

  Staring at the rows of shipping containers through binoculars, I studied the ship docked closest to our position at the Tilbury wharf, the lights of Greater London stretching off into the distance across the River Thames. I’d counted as many as twenty vessels, from tankers to container ships to passenger liners. Chatter Jackson had picked up indicated Moltke and Bateman were to meet within the rows of containers being unloaded from the Maersk Norwich.

  “This is bad news,” I said, my gaze raking over the stern of the ship. The huge black letters read Maersk Norwich. That was the one. “This has been too easy.”

  “It’s a trap,” X declared. “Of course, it is.”

  Dropping the binoculars into his hand, I asked, “Then why are we walking right into it?”

  “It’s the only lead we have,” he replied. “We have no choice.”

  I snorted.

  “What we do have control over,” he continued, “is how we approach the problem. We know it’s a trap designed to eliminate us, so we have a chance to alter the outcome.”

  “By leaving our eyes and ears at home?”

  “Jackson cannot do anything more for us tonight,” he said. “Let him be with his family.”

  “Do you think that Banshee woman will be here?”

  “No,” X declared with absolute certainty. “I took her to be a smart woman.”

  “So we’re dumb?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

  “We’re knowingly walking into a trap, so yes.”

  “Tell it like it is, why don’t you.”

  “You know me, Mercy.”

  “Direct and to the point,” I replied, clamping my hand over his thigh. Staring through the windshield and across the wharf, I added, “Shall we get this stupidity over and done with?”

  X nodded and slid from the car. Following suit, we made our way in silence toward the wharf.

  Moving through the industrialized backstreets, we sidled up against the chain link fence that blocked off the edges of the holding yard, and forced our way through a break. For a yard meant to be secured for international goods waiting to be cleared by UK customs, security was pretty loose.

  We slipped through the shadows like ghosts, weaving through the rows of shipping containers searching for the rendezvous point. The hum of cranes and machinery operating on docks further into the Port Authority echoed through the silence, each turn we took looking exactly like the one before.

  I took point, making sure each leg of our advance was clear before moving. Relying on my training from both X and Section Seven, I guided us through the murky light to ground zero.

  Movement ahead caused me to halt, and X pressed against my back. Holding up a hand to let him know we were close, I peered around the corner.

  In the midst of the patchwork of shipping containers there was a clearing partially lit by the floodlights from the Maersk Norwich, which was looming above the scene like a silent giant.

  Three men stood in its shadow and a fourth, who I made as Moltke, emerged to join them. Recognizing Bateman’s refined, smooth, all business exterior from the market in Berlin, I signaled the body count to X. Moltke was alone, and Bateman had brought two of his boyfriends.

  All the players were in place.

  My gaze returned to our ultimate target, and I sized him up. Moltke’s stature had always been intimidating. Even if I hadn’t known about his past, the power and unpredictability he carried around in his psyche still radiated off him with the force of a thousand million s
uns. Now that we’d learned about his wife Vesper’s disappearance, it had just multiplied a trillion times.

  Knowing what X had gone through to find me after I’d been taken by Royal Blood and given to The Watchman, I didn’t doubt Moltke’s wrath one bit. What I didn’t understand was the part where he thought blowing up Section Seven was a good idea. There was no proof Vesper was dead. She’d disappeared, so there was every possibility she was still out there.

  Was this about her? Or was it something else entirely? I had no idea anymore.

  X laid his hand on my shoulder, motioning for me to hold position and wait for the exchange to happen. Nodding, I settled next to him, my gun at the ready in case things went south before schedule.

  Moltke glanced at the assembled men, his assessment of their strength unknown, then zeroed in on Bateman. “Is the chemical secure?”

  “It’s safe,” he replied. “But what I want to know is if our other arrangement has been fruitful.”

  Moltke smiled and smoothed down his suit jacket. “You vouched for Gruber,” he said, pulling out a gun from underneath his jacket. “He turned out to be rather stupid, yes?”

  Bateman eyed the weapon, his eyes widening slightly. “But—”

  “But what?” Moltke spat, clicking off the safety. He still didn’t raise the gun, letting it dangle at his side.

  Bateman didn’t reply, choosing silence over negotiating his way out of a very deep hole.

  Moltke snorted and shook his head. Before anyone could blink, he raised the gun and fired.

  Bateman stumbled, his arm dampening with blood, and he slapped a hand over the wound. His goons all cocked their weapons, pointing them at Moltke, who just stared impassively.

  “You shot me!” Bateman exclaimed.

  “You disappointed me,” Moltke said in return. “Next time, failure will result in death. Are we clear?”

  “You came to me,” Bateman snarled. “You do not get to order me around like I’m your lap dog.”

  Moltke laughed, casting his gaze around the clearing between shipping containers. This whole fucking thing was a show for our benefit. Moltke was showing us and everyone who was present how big and fearless his balls were. He was a crazy son of a bitch, single minded in his quest for…whatever it was he bloody wanted.

  “I own you, Bateman,” he declared. “Disappoint me again and I’ll make your death spectacular…and painful. Secure the Veltium-34, and find me a new chemist and bomb maker. My schedule remains the same.”

  So we hadn’t stopped his plan at all. Gruber melting himself had only caused a hiccup in the grand scheme.

  Running the odds through my mind, I decided we needed to end this as soon as possible. My line of sight was clear on Moltke, and with X covering my back, he could take Bateman and his heavies with three shots. X was a brilliant marksman. He could do it. This nightmare could end right here, right now.

  “I’ve got a clear shot,” I whispered to X.

  “Uh, no you don’t,” X said, and I turned, my gaze finding the gun pointed at his head. His eyes narrowed slightly, and I knew he’d make short work of the ugly dude who was currently smirking in triumph, poised beside him with a handgun loaded and ready to splatter his brains everywhere. I was sure it was about to be a short-lived victory.

  X glanced at the man, and I ducked as his hand shot up. His palm slammed into the barrel of the gun, forcing it up and away from his head. A boom split the air as it went off, a bullet ricocheting off the container and flying off into the dark sky. So much for the stealthy approach.

  As X put the guy flat on his back and gave him a bullet for his efforts, I leaned around the corner to see the group of men splintering and drawing weapons. Moltke had a smirk on his stupid face that said he’d been waiting for this moment all night. Bateman had legged it, his men melting into the darkness after his cowardly ass.

  “He’s alone,” I said to X. “I’ve got a sh—”

  X grabbed my arm. “No, we wait. Circle around and—”

  “I can do this,” I snapped. I shook him off, raised my gun, and stepped around the container.

  “Don’t!” X yelled after me. “It’s a trap!”

  I wasn’t listening. I could see Moltke fleeing ahead of my position, and I sprinted after him, my gun drawn and ready to shoot the fucker the moment I got a clear shot.

  Weaving through the maze of shipping containers, I stumbled back as a bullet clipped the steel beside my head. Holding position behind the cover of the container, I waited until the ricochet had subsided before leaning around and firing. Sparks littered the place Moltke had just occupied as my own bullet grazed his shadow, and I leapt into action.

  Following him, I ran, my boots thudding against the asphalt as my breath whooshed raggedly through my parted lips. I’d get him, and X would see.

  I rounded the next corner, the massive container ship coming into view. Before I could go another step, Moltke’s forearm slammed into my face, and my head snapped backward, sending me flat on my ass. Pain splintered through my body as I collided with the asphalt, stars exploding in my vision as my head cracked against the hard surface.

  Staring up into the darkness, I made out the shape of a dark blue shipping container dangling right over me. Glancing to the side, I realized it was being held aloft by a ship-to-shore crane…the metal secured to the machine by a giant magnet. It was meant to be offloaded from the ship that was currently in dock, but I knew what was going to happen long before my brain caught up. The same brain inside my stupid head that needed to tell my unresponsive limbs to move.

  The container began to fall, and I lay there, frozen to the spot.

  Move, Mercy! MOVE!

  Three seconds and I’d be splattered underneath thirty tons of packed shipping container, but I could do nothing but watch my miserable life flash before my eyes.

  Hands grasped my shoulders, pulling me backward, and suddenly, my body began to respond. Pushing with my feet, I propelled myself faster along the asphalt until—BOOM!

  Air and sound rushed past me as the container collided with the earth, and I fell, covering my ears.

  “Mercy!”

  Hands pulled at my wrists as a bulky body appeared over me. Blinking up into the darkness, I knew it was X. He was the only crazy fucker out there who’d risk himself like that to save me. I’d been so fucking stupid. I’d been lured into a trap I knew was waiting and disregarded all the warning signs.

  Pride. That’s what it’d been about. I was just as capable as X, wasn’t I? Not if I was that fucking stupid.

  “The fuck…” X cursed, pulling me to my knees.

  “Go,” I said, waving him off. “We’ve still got a chance.”

  “They’ve gone,” he replied shortly. “This place is a fucking maze. Moltke could be anywhere.”

  I began to shake as I realized how close I’d come to a gruesome death, and a cold sweat prickled over my skin. Vomit rose in the back of my throat, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep myself from popping all over X’s boots.

  “Mercy,” he murmured. “Just let it out.”

  “No,” I hissed, shoving him away. “We can’t give up.”

  I moved off, reaching for my gun…but it wasn’t there. Glancing at the container, I knew it’d been flattened, and that’s when it happened. Bending over at the waist, I threw up, emptying the entire contents of my stomach all over the London Port Authority shipping yard.

  X’s hand pressed against my back, rubbing circles, and I almost hated his gentle touch. I didn’t want him to be fucking tender. Where was the wrath of his disapproval? Where was the assassin who had tried to kill me all that time ago? Where was the monster who would’ve been enraged by my stupidity?

  “We need to leave,” he said, pulling me upright.

  Shoving him off, I stalked off into the darkness, more angry with myself than him. I’d fucked everything up.

  Yeah, we needed to leave.

  Chapter 13

  X

  The enti
re meet had been a show put on for our benefit.

  We were meant to take the bait and open fire.

  We were meant to die at the wharf.

  There was no way of knowing that there was any Veltium-34 in play or that Moltke’s timetable had shifted. There were more smoke and mirrors at every turn than any mission I’d ever run. I was being pushed to my limits, physically and mentally, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like losing, and I especially didn’t like Mercy being in the line of fire.

  She was my everything. Without her, my soul would die.

  There was one advantage to our mission. Moltke would believe Mercy had been crushed underneath that shipping container…if I let him. It could be an advantage or a blessing. She had the potential to be safe from whatever end game he was working toward. She could outlive all of us if this went badly, and that was a good thing.

  Glancing at Mercy out the corner of my eye, I wondered if I could convince her to let me go this one alone, but even as I thought it, I knew she would never allow me out of her sight. I began to dwell on ways to combat that when I pulled the car into a dark, nondescript alley.

  The safe house was quiet when we returned.

  Instead of staying with Jackson and his family, Mercy and I had opted for a different location. It was in order to keep them safe and out of harms way, but it was also for a little privacy considering the kind of relationship we had. Our noisy relationship.

  The only other person who knew where we were holed up was Jackson, and he was due to meet us here in the morning.

  Mercy was quiet. She’d acted irrationally at the wharf and had almost paid dearly for it. I knew she was holding in her rage, and the pressure was currently building. She’d blow sooner or later.

  Closing the door behind us, I watched her as she stalked through the darkness into the bedroom. Following, I shucked off my jacket and placed it on the dresser just inside the room, laying my gun on top of it. She let her coat drop to the floor in a messy heap, her boots following suit.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she hissed, glaring at me.