by Amity Cross
But that was the loophole, right? MI6 couldn’t operate on British soil, so they would have handed the investigation off to MI5, the domestic division of Military Intelligence. Anyone with a brain knew they were useless against a threat like Moltke. Ex-MI6 black ops with an axe to grind.
Which was why the late Agent Alexander Folsom had palmed the task off to Mercy, Jackson, and me in the first place. Shit, what a mess that had become. The only way this was ending was in a big fucking pool of blood. Darkness against darkness.
While the guard was daydreaming, I slipped through the open chain link gate and ghosted along the side of a shipping container that had been dumped haphazardly in the yard. My boots thudded softly against the asphalt, hardly making enough sound to warrant any more care on my behalf.
Eyeing the guard around the edge of the container, I waited until he’d finished his cigarette. He straightened up as he inhaled the last of the foul smoke, flicking the butt onto the ground. I darted across the last open space between me and him as he scuffed his boot on the lit filter, extinguishing the smoldering flame. Before the fucker even knew I was there, I wrapped my arm around his neck, capturing him in a chokehold. He struggled, opening his mouth to call for back up, but my hold was too firm. The words died in his throat as I squeezed the life from his body, and then I twisted his head to the side. Short and sharp. A dull crack signaled his neck had snapped, and I let him go, his limp carcass flopping to the ground.
Stepping over him, I disregarded the gun. Too noisy and flashy. I moved through the loading bay and into the interior of the building, scanning every nook and cranny the place had to offer, my search coming up absolutely empty. No Veltium-34, no light, no movement…nothing. There had to be something or someone here. Otherwise, what the hell was that guy doing out back?
All that was left was the factory floor.
The space would be open with no cover, so if anyone was there, I’d have to be quick about it. Pick them off one by one in a blaze of glory.
My head snapped to the side as the unmistakable roar of Moltke’s deep voice echoed through the dark warehouse. That, I was not expecting. I just wanted to steal his toy like a poltergeist to begin with and mess with his mind. The spirit of Xavier Blood reappearing like a reaper, weaving a trail of death and destruction in his path… That would fuck him up real good. Right until the point I stood before him and took his life in retribution.
I was going to play the master at his own game and win.
Edging toward the service door that opened onto the main floor of the factory, I eased it open and peered through the gap, my gun heavy in my hand. My shoulder stung as I applied pressure on it, but now wasn’t the time to bitch and moan.
Scanning the area immediately in front of my position, I made five armed men, one of which was Moltke. He was holding a gun to a woman’s head, her dark hair hanging limply around her face, obscuring her identity. At first, I wondered if it was Banshee—the mysterious mercenary who had all but disappeared in the wake of our encounter in Berlin—but there was something familiar about her…
“Get in,” Moltke snarled, forcing her to her feet.
The woman’s hair fell away from her face, her chin jutting out defiantly as the light from the halogen lamps illuminated her features, and my heart stopped beating. For what felt like a full minute, it stopped.
Mercy.
The last thing I expected to see was the love of my life being forced into a pine box. A box that looked exactly like a coffin.
Quickly, I assessed the situation, my gaze running over the assembled group and the lay of the factory around them. There were too many… I couldn’t kill them all without Moltke putting a bullet into Mercy. Whichever way I ran the numbers, she’d wind up dead at the end of it. I couldn’t get her out.
I couldn’t save her. Not here. Not now. Then how? How?
God fucking damn it, Mercy…
Chapter 20
Mercy
X was gone.
Ripped from my soul. Taken. Stolen. Just…gone.
“Mercy?”
I opened my puffy eyes, and Jackson came into focus. He didn’t call me Miss Reid. When he saw the photo, he didn’t call X Mr. Blood, either.
Shit, X.
Another wave of anguish rose in my stomach at the thought of him. He was gone.
“I know it hurts,” Jackson said, kneeling beside the bed. The bed in the seedy hotel he found in central London after Moltke’s assassin almost ripped us to shreds. The assassin who had a photo of X in his pocket… I was useless, so Jackson had led me to this place. Jackson.
“Mercy,” he said again, and I swallowed, my throat feeling like sandpaper. “We still have a mission to complete.”
“He’s dead,” I murmured, trying to keep as much of the pain at bay as possible because once I was sucked under, I’d never surface again “I can’t… I can’t survive without him.”
Jackson frowned. “You can, and you will.”
My gaze sharpened. “What?”
“Don’t you want revenge? I know I do.”
Revenge? My whole life had been about retribution. Sykes, Greggor, Weiss, The Watchman…the entire fucking world needed to burn. And Moltke… Did I need to end him to avenge X? X left to protect me, but it had all been pointless. Even if I could kill Moltke, what peace would that bring me? X was dead, so I was dying. It was that simple.
“Mercy,” Jackson snapped, taking the blanket off me. “I don’t want my family to die. You are the only person who can help me protect them. Get the fuck up and help me.” He grabbed my arm and pulled, sending me sprawling to the floor.
Shoving to my feet, I turned on him, my eyes blazing. “What the hell?”
“There,” he declared. “That’s the Mercy I know. Now let’s get to fucking work.”
I watched as he spun on his heel and strode from the room, my senses starting to ignite. Marcus Jackson had just pulled me out of bed and said the word ‘fucking’ at least three times in the same sentence. Shit.
The longer I stood there, my emotions starting to warm up, the more I knew he was right. I could die alone…or I could take that murderous bastard Moltke down with me. X wouldn’t want me to waste away. He’d want me to paint the world red.
Striding from the room like a woman possessed, I said, “You better have a fucking clue, Jackson.”
He glanced up from his perch on an ugly floral couch and nodded to the empty space next to him.
I hadn’t taken any notice of the room he’d gotten us. I’d just curled up in bed and let myself fall apart, not giving one fuck about the world around me. The room was old and smelled like piss, but it was on the large side for the middle of London with two separate rooms and a bathroom. He’d probably paid a great deal of money for it.
“How long was I in there?” I asked, sitting gingerly beside him.
“A few hours,” he replied, tapping on his magic laptop.
Only a few? It had felt like an eternity already. I’d spent a lot of my life jumping in and out of random men’s beds. I’d been with them, but not…and after X… I don’t know. X had been more than just sex or companionship. He’d even been more than love. What we’d shared was a deep understanding that was unexplainable. Now that connection was severed, and a darkness had developed inside of me that was so devoid of everything I couldn’t comprehend it.
“I’ve got a lead that might be the big bang,” Jackson said, breaking me out of another wave of self-induced nausea.
“What?” I asked, blinking hard. “How?”
“I have a hacker friend who works with the NSA—”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “You’re asking America for help?” The NSA was the National Security Agency. Notorious information spies who were always ruffling feathers over scanning people’s text messages searching for keywords that could link them to terrorist threats on US soil. They had no jurisdiction internationally…unless they were doing it illegally. That was a can of worms I didn’t want to deal wit
h.
Jackson shrugged. “No. I’m asking a friend who works there for help. You’re not the only one who takes advantage of back channels.”
“But how can they do anything on British soil?”
“Everyone has a range of pies,” he mused. “Peach, apple, cherry, mango… Most people don’t want to share and keep their stash secret. Get my meaning?”
“Everything’s a grand scheme with a giant fucking web of duplicitous secrets and lies.”
He clicked his fingers. “Bingo.”
“So what did your mango pie reveal?”
“Someone has been poking around places they’re not welcome,” he explained. “My friend picked up a trail that led to a guy looking for something very familiar…” He flipped the laptop around, and my eyes widened as I scanned the message Jackson’s contact had sent over.
“The Veltium-34,” I said.
“I figure we can steal Moltke’s stash and lure him out,” he went on. “If he’s not there with it. If he is, it’s a good opportunity to give the fucker what he deserves.” His expression darkened. “For Mei, Section Seven, Folsom, my family…and for X. Fuck Moltke right up. Fuck him right to hell.”
My skin began to prickle. “You have a location?”
“Locked and loaded.”
“Then…” I rose to my feet, beginning to understand the monster inside of X. The monster he’d brought forth in his quest for revenge against Royal Blood. The rage the monster invoked that allowed him to tear Greggor’s heart out. I understood…and Moltke was about to suffer the same fate. I’d tear him limb from limb.
“Get angry, Mercy,” Jackson said, poking the monster awake. “Get angry for what he did to X.”
I tightened my fists, my knuckles turning white. “Oh, I intend to.”
The factory was dead quiet, darkness clinging to it like a blanket.
The only light that penetrated it was the orange glow of the street lamps along the road that weaved its way past the derelict building. Once this place had been used to produce canned goods, fruit by the looks of it, but now it was covered in graffiti, its windows shattered, and weeds were growing out of every crack that had opened up in the asphalt.
If it wasn’t for the truck that had just unloaded an empty shipping container in the yard, I would’ve thought Jackson’s NSA buddy was on drugs.
Speaking of Jackson, I was in this on my own. The area around the factory was blanketed by some kind of interference, and any radio waves we transmitted might accidentally give up my position. All I had was a 10mm pistol, a set of hastily memorized blueprints, and my wits. Hardly anything to call home about.
The building was easily infiltrated, which should have been my first clue.
The inner hallways and rooms were empty, which should have been my second tidbit of information.
But I was too determined to see this through and give Moltke a taste of his own medicine to double back and regroup. The only reason we’d even found him at all was because of the crumbs he’d purposely left out for us to follow. I just had to be smarter than he was.
I grunted as something heavy collided with the back of my skull. Falling to my knees, I tried to turn, my finger clicking off the safety on my gun, but I was struck again. Dazed, I lay on the ground as hands grasped my wrists. God fucking damn it!
I blinked, trying to clear my head and make my limbs work as I was dragged across the factory floor. Old conveyor belts and machines flickered in and out of my line of vision, then light as I was dumped on the ground. A pair of combat boots came into view, their owner standing before me.
Rolling onto my back, my gaze collided with Moltke’s. He smiled down at me, looking pleased as fucking punch. The cat that caught the mouse.
I swallowed a pile of vomit that had risen in the back of my throat, forcing my expression to remain passive. Give him nothing, I thought to myself. He’ll get no satisfaction here.
“Mercy Reid,” he declared. “Such a surprise you are. I didn’t count on you taking out that assassin.”
Yes, he did. He counted on me doing everything I’d just done. He wanted me to know X was dead; otherwise, why plant the photo in the guy’s pocket?
He nodded to someone I couldn’t see, and I was unceremoniously dragged to my knees.
“Fuck you,” I spat.
“Very original,” Moltke replied. “You’re pretty and all, but you don’t even come close to Vesper. No one does. Fucking you would be a pointless waste of time.”
“You took him from me…” I hissed, ignoring his filthy mouth. “You took X from me.”
“Now you know how it feels,” he snarled.
Vesper… It was all about Vesper. When would the endless cycle of revenge stop? It never would, it’d keep spinning and spinning… It’d never end.
“You don’t even know if she’s dead,” I said. “You don’t even know!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mercy Reid,” he said, his voice chilling me to the bone. “I saw what they did to her. I saw how they tortured and starved her to death. I saw the pain she went through at the hands of the British Government.” What he’d done to Lorelei was suddenly making complete sense.
“Why did you do that to Lorelei?” I asked. “What was the point? Or was that just another one of your fucking games?”
He just stared at me, not giving away a single thing. He was insane. The true definition of the word.
“You’ll pay, Moltke. You’ll pay for all the innocent lives you took. You’ll pay for taking X away from me. I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands.”
A sly smile pulled at Moltke’s lips. “That was one of the finest moments of my life, you know. Putting a bullet into Xavier Blood. I dumped his pathetic body into the Thames. If the gunshot didn’t kill him, he would’ve drowned within minutes.” I felt like throwing up as Moltke laughed. “Boo hoo.”
Fuck, it was going to end like this? X shot and drowned and me executed on my knees like an animal? It couldn’t end like this. Not after all the darkness and pain we’d conquered to get here.
“I hate to cut this party short, but time is not on my side,” Moltke went on. “In three days, I’ll have everything I need to weaponize the Veltium-34, and there’ll be nothing in my way from avenging Vesper’s death. And you…” He looked me up and down. “I’ve got things to do, love, and you’re still in the way, buzzing like an annoying little fly who just won’t get the hint.”
He clicked his fingers, gesturing to his men. Two disappeared into the darkness, gone to retrieve whatever he wanted like the obedient dogs they were.
“You knew I’d come…” I said.
Moltke smiled down at me. “Of course, I did. I planned it all. I admit this was a little impromptu, but it’s gone swimmingly, don’t you agree?” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “If only you’d been squashed when you were meant to.” He clapped his hands together, the sound making me wince, and laughed. “But it gave me an even better idea. One that will give me a thrill for years to come.”
The men had returned, carrying a long wooden box and placing it beside Moltke.
Was that…? It was.
Turning, he grasped the edge and flipped the lid off, the cheap pine banging loudly, the sound echoing through the empty warehouse.
Smiling like the sadistic bastard he was, he gestured to the coffin with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”
I hesitated, my gaze darting around the warehouse, looking for a way out when I knew damn well there wasn’t one.
“Get in the coffin, Mercy,” Moltke shouted, jamming his gun against my head.
Swallowing hard as terror threatened to overwhelm me, I scrambled to my feet and stepped into the coffin. Lying down, my life began to flash before my eyes. By life, I meant image upon image of X. We were meant to have a happy ending. That’s how love stories went. They didn’t end up like this… We were meant to ride off into the sunset.
Snatching a syringe from his henchman, Moltke pulled off the cap and jammed
it into my neck. I cried out at the pain, but it was useless. There was no way out of this.
As he pumped my body full of drugs, my vision slipped. At least I’d be with X again. In death, we’d never be ripped apart.
The last thing I saw before the darkness took me was the lid being placed on my coffin.
When I opened my eyes, I thought the darkness was what awaited on the other side of death.
Death was the door that took me from life, and this place was the hereafter.
Raising my hand, I reached out in front of me, expecting to run my fingers through a wall of nothing…but my knuckles collided with something hard. Flattening my palm against the rough surface, I coughed as a shower of dirt fell on my face, the grit sticking in my eyes. Fuck.
I wasn’t dead. Not yet.
Fumbling through my pockets, I found my phone still lodged in the inside pocket of my jacket. Bringing it to life, the dull light filtered out before me, illuminating my tomb.
I’d been buried alive.
The weight of the earth dumped on top of my pauper’s coffin was causing the pine to creak, the sound sending pangs of desperation through my body.
No, no, no, no!
I bashed my fists against the sides of my prison, screaming and thrashing, terror overriding everything. I was suffocating.
“Let me out!” I shrieked, tears streaming down my cheeks. I thrashed even though I knew deep down no one would hear my cries.
How was I going to get out of this… How…? I closed my eyes and calmed my breathing, knowing I only had a limited supply of oxygen.
I had a phone. I had a phone… I glanced at the screen, and my heart leapt as I realized I had two bars of reception.
Jackson! If anyone could find a way to track me down, it was him. He was the reincarnation of mother fucking Einstein.
I pressed his number in my call list and prayed.
Marcus Jackson was my last hope. Talk about a twist of fate.
