by Jesse Jordan
When we finally can move again, he releases me carefully before lifting me in his arms and laying me on the bed on my side, letting my back and ass feel the air rather than the impossible to deal with sting of even my silk sheets. He comes around, laying down in front of me, his eyes swimming with emotion. “Larissa...”
“Sir,” I murmur, smiling sleepily. “My true sir… thank you.”
“Thank you,” he whispers, cupping my cheek. “Larissa, there’s something I want to say, but now isn’t the time. But I’m also man enough to admit I’m afraid there won’t be a chance to say it in the future.”
I put my hand over his, shaking my head. “Keep it. If you haven’t told me, it’ll give you the motivation to get through this. Trust me, I will be more than willing to listen when the time is right.”
He nods, leaving his hand where it is. “Okay then. Then for now, sleep my beautiful lady. For tomorrow, we go hunting a Lord.”
The woods are thick, beautiful old English style woods that ring the estate of one of the most powerful men in the country outside the royal family. Perhaps even more powerful than them.
“Nice estate,” Stephen whispers as we set up our sniper’s nest. It’s not my normal method of assassination, but then again, getting close enough to fuck him and poison him isn’t in the realm of possibility. “How much money does this fucker have again?”
“Enough to not have to worry about how much money he has in his account,” I whisper in reply, keeping low. The Ghillie suits we’re wearing are hot, and we’ve spent twelve hours creeping the distance needed to get close enough for this shot. I don’t want to blow it. Sadly, even with all of our prep, we’re still nearly six hundred meters away, at the range where so many things can go wrong, I’m nervous.
Thankfully, I’ve got the best rifle in the world on my shoulder, and Stephen’s acting as both my spotter and my security, his M4 not giving him range, but plenty of firepower to go with my AWM rifle. In some ways I wish Stephen could take this shot, but this rifle was tuned and outfitted for me. Besides, this man turned my life on its head, this is my shot.
“He’s scheduled for a fox hunt in an hour,” Stephen whispers while I extend my rifle’s bipod legs. “He should be emerging soon.”
“If not, he’ll be back afterwards,” I whisper, slowly extending my rifle into position. I hope that we’re in time, the longer we sit in these suits, the greater the chance one of the other animals in the area, or even one of the other hunters, will find us. Besides, I don’t like fox hunts, not the way Harlow does them. Half a dozen men, on horses with three hounds each to go after one fox? Hardly sporting, in my opinion.
There’s a bit of movement ahead, and Stephen brings up his scope, scanning the area while I look through my scope. “An attendant, leading a horse. Nice mount.”
“That’ll be Harlow’s horse,” I reply. “He always has been a horse lover. Breeds the damn things actually.”
“We’ve all got our hobbies, I guess.”
We wait as the attendant gives the horse a final brush down before saddling it. Other attendants start to bring their mounts out, none of them as fine as Harlow’s horse of course, and time ticks by at an agonizing slowness. Finally, just when I’m getting fully into the mental state ready, I see the back door of the estate open, and Lord Harlow leads his friends out for their hunt. He’s dressed traditionally, a red hunting jacket along with tight breeches and knee high boots that look only slightly ridiculous with their old fashioned stylings. He exchanges a joke with one of his friends, and I almost take the shot, but he’s too close to everyone else. I want one shot, one kill, no mistakes.
“I’m ready,” I whisper, waiting while in my scope the ten times magnified image of Harlow goes over to his horse, disappearing behind it for a moment before his hand emerges and he swings himself smoothly up and into the saddle, adjusting himself quickly before looking around and smiling down at one of his companions.
The tension comes out of the trigger under my finger as I barely stroke my finger, his red hunting jacket providing a perfect target for me to aim at. Everything’s perfect as the rifle surprises me with the shot, just like I’ve been trained, and at that instant I know that I’ve got a hit. The .338 Magnum round hits with enough force to devastate even military grade body armor at this range, and Harlow has nothing on except for worsted wool covering his chest as the round hits him at supersonic speed, the bullet tearing through him so quickly that it’s in and through the other side before he can even react. He seems to look surprised at first as his chest explodes, his heart and lungs erupting out of the twin holes as their liquidated contents start to jet for a moment before he falls out of his saddle, bouncing off the turf.
The sound of my rifle shot finally reaches the group and the horses are startled, this hunt wasn’t to use guns but just dogs. Even Harlow’s horse is spooked as his rider tumbles, adding to the general chaos, and I quickly pull my rifle back, retracting the bipod and glancing at Stephen. “Evac time.”
Stephen nods, and we start creeping backwards, not rushing. We spend another twenty minutes going the two hundred meters backwards to give us a half mile gap on the now frantic scene before we get up, dumping our suits while keeping our rifles with us as we escape back through the woods, our car five miles away before we can start to feel safe.
“You doing okay?” Stephen asks as he drives, a different rental than what we’ve used, another security precaution, our rifles broken down and hidden in the sporting rack on the roof. “You’re quieter than I thought you’d be.”
I think, nodding after a mile or so. “I am. I thought my first shooting assassination would be different for me, and maybe this one was. But… I feel the same inside. I was a little worried that this one would change me.”
“How so?” Stephen asks, making the next turn smoothly. “Because of who it was?”
I nod, leaning my seat back to look at the roof of the car. “Part of me was worried that, while I’ve always said that all of my… uniqueness is because of who I am, that by taking out Harlow, I’d be taking out someone who made me who I am. That I’d find myself not wanting to be who I am. But as we made our way through the hills and back to this car, I kept thinking about one thing.”
“What’s that?” Stephen asks, and I look over at him, grinning.
“How much I adore the way my back feels after two days ago. That the sting is all the better because of you… sir.”
Stephen smiles and glances over, his eyes glowing. “Good. Because I would hate to have to let you go just after you said you belong to me.”
“One more step,” I reply, reaching for my cell phone. “One more target, this time yours. Ready?”
Stephen hums and drives while I dial, hoping that he’ll pick up, it’ll make it easier if he does. When the line is picked up, I’m surprised by the feminine voice that answers. “Well well my friend and teacher, what sort of hell are you raising now?”
“Hello Jessica... I need your help.”
Stephen
It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Maine, and coming in on a fishing boat that stopped just a little more north than it should to pick up a couple of new ‘passengers’ that came in from England provides for a unique experience. When we’re greeted at the docks by a man in an Armani suit along with a blonde woman who’s dressed to impress as well, my surprise is complete.
“Well, well, well… you certainly know how to make an entrance,” Larissa tells the man before the two of them start talking in rapid, liquid Italian that sounds like it’s pleasant at least. I look at the woman, who’s following what their saying, and it takes me a moment to recognize that the elegant necklace she’s wearing isn’t a necklace at all… it’s a collar.
She notices, and takes a step closer, smiling. “Hello. I’m Jessica. Don’t worry about them, ever since they realized they shared more than an interest in BDSM in common, they always have greeted each other like long lost siblings.”
“So that
thing around your neck isn’t just a fashion statement,” I ask, and she shakes her head, smiling gently.
“No, it isn’t. I have a wedding ring of course, but this… this means more to me,” she says. “Come on, it’s a little chilly on this damn dock, if we can?”
At her question the man turns, and I get my first look at Rodrigo. He’s a little taller than me, with black hair and a bit of natural tan to his skin that tells me his Italian might be native. “Of course, my love. And it’s a long ride back to New York.”
There’s two vehicles actually, and I’m surprised when Jessica puts a hand on Larissa’s shoulder and leads her over to the other one, while Rodrigo waves me over to the other car, a Lincoln Continental. “Jessica asked me on the way up here if she and Larissa could have some time together, just the girls. It’ll give us a chance to talk too.”
I bristle a little, reminding myself that Larissa said Rodrigo is a dominant as well, and can come off as a bit of an asshole at first. Instead of telling him to go to hell I nod, looking over with a little worry at Larissa, but she’s smiling and unconcerned, and when I finally sit down in the Continental, Rodrigo looks over from the driver’s seat, nodding. “So that’s how it is.”
“What?” I ask, and Rodrigo laughs.
“You’ve got feelings for her. I already knew that she cared about you, the way she would bitch about you for a while, then the way those complaints changed. You know, I never thought any man would tame Larissa.”
I glance over at Rodrigo, trying not to laugh out loud. “You must not know her as well as you say you do if you think Larissa can be tamed. And to be honest, it pisses me off a little that you’d even say something so fucking retarded.”
Rodrigo’s eyes flash, and I realize he’s not someone who’s used to being spoken to like this, but then he chuckles. “I underestimated you. It’ll be nice getting to know you.”
“I wouldn’t,” I reply, a trifle sadly. “You know that no matter what, this probably isn’t going to end well. For her or I.”
“What do you mean?” Rodrigo asks, and I shake my head, looking out on the late fall weather. “Seriously Stephen, I know I look like a fucking gangster, and most of the time I feel like one too. But I’m an agent too.”
I look out the window, watching as the miles roll by, trying to formulate the words that have troubled me ever since Larissa and I called him for help. “It’s not going to be over with what we came to do. I take out Kershaw, and it’s still not over. Larissa’s content with making sure the UK head is taken out, but there was another name that I read in the files on the flight over, someone that worries me more than Kershaw even.”
“Who?” Rodrigo asks, and I take a deep breath, knowing that I can at least reveal to Rodrigo the emotions that I’ve been unable to share with Larissa.
“I started a cross-reference search through the hard drives, by the way I have a copy for you in our bags, for anyone else that we might be missing. And there’s a codename that keeps popping up. Runway,” I tell him. “I can’t get any more information than that, whoever this Runway is, or maybe it’s a group, they seem to be some sort of transporter or something. But don’t you see, Rodrigo? One search gives us two names. And I take it one step more, and there’s another name, not even a name but a fucking alias! So what happens after Kershaw? We go looking for Runway? Or whoever shows up next? We’re taking about a group that’s smaller than your Network, but even more powerful, more connected, deadlier. And… I just have this feeling, like it’s not going to work out, that’s all. We’ll always be running from someone or something.”
“She sort of told me the same thing when we were talking in Italian,” Rodrigo says quietly. “Something I asked her about after she’d sent me an e-mail. I asked her if you were her knight in shining armor, and her reply is one of the main reasons I’m glad Jessica is taking Larissa with her back to the city.”
“What was her answer?” I ask curiously.
“She said that for girls like her, there are no knights, no happy endings. She said that in another time, another universe, maybe. But in this world, the most she can hang onto is knowing that she found a man strong enough for her, even if it’s only a little while. I won’t try and tell you what to do or to say, but if I can offer a little bit of advice. There aren’t too many women of Larissa’s quality in the world any more. Don’t let go of someone like her unless you have no other option. Even then, you might not want to let go.”
I think about it, nodding. “Still, I have family. My sister. She’s… she’s strange, and being with Larissa the way we have, it’s weird for me to even say that, and I think she wouldn’t understand Larissa. But at the same time, Vic needs me. I don’t know how I’m going to try and handle that. Never mind all the other bullshit about our lives.”
“You think the CIA is going to take you back?” Rodrigo asks, and I shrug. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, it doesn’t really matter. I’m trying to do the right thing, to stop girls like Larissa or Chastity Hendricks from being… well, what happened to one and nearly happened to the other. Maybe I’m just being a dumbass idealist, maybe I’m being emotional knowing how close Larissa has become to me… but she’s right, I don’t think there’s going to be a happy ending. If I can at least stop that, then I guess I’ll be doing the best I can in this situation.”
“You guys have a plan?” Rodrigo asks. “You know, if you’re right, Kershaw isn’t going to make it easy on you.”
I nod, Larissa and I discussed the problem. “I know. I also know that it has to be done. The stuff we read, Rodrigo… Harlow was ready to hold the crown by the balls, plain and simple. Kershaw, we know what he’s done. I can’t sleep knowing that a man like that, who just casually ordered that Chastity Hendricks be kidnapped and… the other shit that happened to her before she was killed, I can’t let a man like that be the motherfucker deciding who gets to be the fucking President.”
Rodrigo nods, humming. “Okay then. Let’s get you two to a safe house I’ve got in the city, you can sleep off the jet lag, and then...”
“Then it’s my turn.”
I guess I shouldn’t think it strange that my target and Rodrigo live in the same city. After all, New York is the unofficial nerve center of the eastern US, and some people even call it the unofficial capital of the world. New York is the sort of place that a man like Samuel Kershaw can call home.
The building isn’t the newest building in the Upper West Side overlooking Central Park, but it is one of the most distinguished, and as I make my way in, the doorman gives me a haughty look. “The service entrance is in the back.”
“Oh, my bad,” I say, shifting my tool bag under my arm and looking a little lost. “You mind buzzing me in then? The Gilberts are chewing my boss’ ear off about their damn garbage disposal.”
The doorman rolls his eyes, and is about to call the Gilberts (thankfully Rodrigo knows someone who could give me a full listing of the tenants in the building) when Larissa walks up, dressed like a million bucks. “I’m here to see the property manager, I have an appointment? The name is Harbaugh.”
Larissa’s dressed so sexily that even I’m distracted a little by the deep valley of cleavage that she’s showing off inside her outfit straight from Fashion Avenue, but the doorman looks like he’s been slapped in the head with a large cushion or something, an understandable situation to any heterosexual man who’s getting the full Larissa effect for the first time. No wonder she was so successful as a seductress and assassin. With those violet eyes, dark lashes and knockout body, the doorman’s unable to resist as he practically trips over himself. Even her scar is mostly hidden by some judicious makeup, and what’s left actually adds to her exoticness.
“Of course, Miss Harbaugh. If you would please… oh, and just come in this way, try to stay quiet if you can,” he says over his shoulder to me as he walks Larissa through the door. Just before she disappears, Larissa looks over her shoulder and gives me a saucy wink, and I feel
bad for the property manager, whoever they are. She’s going to have them eating out of her hands in five minutes flat knowing her.
I take the service elevator up to the forty eighth floor, as high as I can go without needing a special key for the two floors that belong to Samuel Kershaw, and then use a lock pick to gain access to the stairwell. I’m glad that the doorman didn’t look through my tool bag. Although he probably wouldn’t have been able to figure out what some of this stuff is for, it certainly isn’t for taking out someone’s sink trap.
It’s a bit of a risk going into his penthouse during the day, but then again, with a man like Kershaw it’s maybe safer than doing it at night. Few people are going to question a plumber at three in the afternoon. Everyone questions a plumber at three in the morning, even in New York.
The security system is good, but I’ve got CIA level technology on my side, and it only takes me fifteen seconds to disable his electronic security systems. Considering what I know about Kershaw, I seriously doubt that he’s got internal cameras, or if they are they certainly aren’t being monitored by the guys downstairs.
I enter carefully, not knowing if there’s anyone else home, the compact .22LR pistol I’m carrying tucked in the long sleeve of my hooded sweatshirt. This isn’t a planned shooting, although I’m ready to do that if I have to. No, as I silently walk through the penthouse, looking for his bedroom, I feel another side of me come out, the side that at first I was disgusted with when I tortured Arthur Pinchot, but now feels like it’s totally justified. Kershaw is more than a corrupting pedophile, he’s more than a rapist. Whatever connections he’s got, he sent a CIA hit squad after me, and in doing so he hurt Larissa. No… this time I’ve got other plans for Samuel Kershaw.
