The Black Wolf

by J. A. Redmerski

  The red glow of her brake lights light up the darkness as Emily drives away.

  “You think she heard anything about the guy in my trunk?” I hear Dante say nervously when I step back inside the house.

  I shake my head. “No, she didn’t hear anything about that.”

  Dante makes a breathy noise with his lips.

  “That’s a relief,” he says. “But are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I tell him, confident in my ability to read a person; it is, after all, part of my job. “She wasn’t afraid,” I go on. “Just disappointed.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry, boss—she seemed like a nice girl.”

  “She was.”

  “Well hey, you can do better,” Dante says, and I really wish he would just stop talking and bring the man in from the trunk. “You don’t need a nice girl anyway—shit boss, you need someone like you.”

  Perhaps I wasn’t giving the guy enough credit—that’s the first intelligent thing I’ve ever heard him say.

  I head for the shower with bloodshed heavy on my mind.

  Izabel

  “Do you think he’ll show?” Nora asks, sitting next to me on the private jet.

  Ten minutes before we’re to leave, and still no sign of Niklas. I glance over at a tool of a woman named Blythe who stands near the entrance of the plane wearing military boots and dark mauve lipstick and eye shadow; long dark hair tumbles over both shoulders; a scowl is etched on her mouth. Blythe looks about as much the submissive type as Nora looks weak and vulnerable. But Victor believes in her ability to pull off a Jekyll and Hyde act, so I guess I should have more trust in his judgment—I just don’t want her taking my place on this mission.

  “He’ll be here,” I answer Nora, feeling only about forty percent confident anymore. Anxiously I glance at the time on my phone in my hand.

  Another operative from the First Division stands outside the plane, waiting; some guy named Elric, who’s supposed to be the fill-in for Niklas if he doesn’t show up.

  I look over at Nora sitting by the window. She doesn’t look convinced.

  “He’ll be here,” I repeat.

  I glance down at the time again and my confidence begins to plummet.

  Nora shrugs with an if-you-say-so expression.

  Minutes later Blythe’s statuesque form finally moves when something outside garners her attention. She moves down the stairs and out of the plane. I get up immediately and cross the aisle to see out the window on the other side, my heart beating two hundred beats per minute.

  Relief washes over me when I see Niklas, dressed in a black suit, striped tie, and dress shoes, walking toward the plane with two briefcases, one clutched in each hand and a garment bag tossed over a shoulder—definitely not used to seeing him in a suit.

  “He’s here,” I tell Nora quickly as I’m leaving the seats and make my way to the plane’s entrance.

  I head down the stairs and onto the tarmac.

  “You’re late,” I say, stepping up.

  Niklas looks at the thick, expensive Rolex on his wrist. He says nothing in return, turns away from me and gives Blythe and Elric all of his attention. It pisses me off for about two seconds, but I’m just glad he’s here.

  After Niklas sees Blythe and Elric off, he steps up to me, his bluish-green eyes sweeping over me from top to bottom in a scrutinizing manner.

  “What?” I ask, puzzled and uncomfortable.

  “You’ll need to change on the plane,” he says. “I hope you brought something more suitable to wear—can’t be dressing in shit like that.”

  I give my tight black bodysuit and tall boots a quick once-over.

  “I didn’t plan on it,” I say with offense. “I brought a whole wardrobe practically. But we’re not there yet, so it doesn’t matter what I wear.”

  Niklas walks out ahead of me and I follow.

  “From the second you step off that plane in Italy,” he says, “you’ll need to look and act the part.” He stops on the bottom step of the little staircase and turns back to look at me. His eyes are dark, rapt with insistence. “As far as I’m concerned, this plane will be one of few places where the truth about us is safe. You’ll need to remember that, Izabel—forget it once, even for a second, and it could be the death of us all.” He starts to ascend the steps, but stops and adds, “And if you get me killed, Izzy, there’ll be hell to pay in your afterlife.”

  He goes up the steps.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t believe in an afterlife,” I call out bitterly from behind.

  Nora smiles at Niklas cunningly as he walks down the aisle to find a seat. He takes the roomy section with a table and plenty of space to stretch his long legs. He sets his briefcases down, one on the seat, the other on the table and then takes off his suit jacket, laying it over the neighboring chair.

  “Strange seeing you in a suit,” Nora says. “Not to say that I don’t like it.” A carnal gleam is evident in her brown eyes.

  Niklas doesn’t reply.

  Instead, he reaches up and loosens his tie around his neck, afterward breaking apart the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

  I take a seat across from Niklas.

  “Thank you for doing this,” I say.

  Niklas’s eyes meet mine briefly, then he looks away and flips open the latches on the briefcase on the table.

  “So…” I pause, trying to find the words, and hoping to stir the awkward silence, “…Victor says you’re the best man for this job. Care to tell us why?”

  His attention stays on the briefcase in front of him; he retrieves a tablet computer and flips open its leather cover like a book.

  I glance over my seat at Nora. She sits quietly reading a magazine, her legs crossed, her long blond hair pulled into a ponytail at the top of her head, falling down one side of her bare neck. I can’t imagine why she hasn’t said much. Maybe she’s staying out of it to let me do my thing. After all, she agrees that I know Niklas better than she does, and that between the two of us, I’m the only one he trusts—or likes, even if only on tolerating levels.

  Niklas closes the briefcase.

  The plane takes off.

  “When we were in The Order,” he begins, “I was never sent out on missions like my brother. He was the ghost in the shadows you never saw before he killed you. I was the one sent to play the roles, to get information from the inside.” I notice his eyes veer off in Nora’s direction momentarily. “I played a lot of roles,” he goes on, looking back at me, “just like the one I played in the beginning with Claire. Fun fuckin’ times those were.” That last part was riddled with bitter sarcasm.

  Niklas leans back in his chair, propping his right ankle on top of his left knee. He sets the tablet computer in his lap.

  “So then you’ve played these types of roles before,” I assume. “With women like Francesca Moretti? And what’s in the other briefcase?”

  “No,” he says without having to think about it. “Not like Francesca Moretti. I’ve played master to women before; I’ve been the buyer of girls”—I flinch inwardly with his admission—“I’ve even played the seller. But with Francesca Moretti, the stakes are higher, the risk greater, and the game deadlier. I don’t know why Victor would let you do this. And a million in cash is in the other briefcase.” He peers down into his tablet, running his index finger over the screen.

  “Because he knows I can,” I say, trying to hide the ice in my voice. I suck it up and stay on the subject. “OK so then what’s the plan?”

  “You mean you don’t already have one?” he asks, though it came out more like a mildly surprised comment. He doesn’t look up from the glowing screen. “Thought Victor and his new play-toy back there would have everything figured out by now.” Nora and I glance briefly at each other.

  His comment stung me. Victor’s play-toy? But I was the one who brought her into our Order. I was the one who wanted her here—not Victor. But then why did Niklas’s comment sting so damn much?

  The subject—s
tay on it, Izabel, I scold myself. I refuse to let Niklas get to me because I know that’s what he’s trying to do.

  Niklas swipes the screen a few times before putting the tablet down on the seat next to him. Then he drops his foot back on the floor, leans forward and props his elbows on the tops of his legs.

  “Look at me, Izabel,” he says, and I do, immediately attentive to his coming words, and that serious look on his stubbly, hardened face. “I don’t take these missions lightly,” he begins. “I may joke around and lose my shit sometimes when we’re on some kill-and-be-done-with-it job, but this”—he points absently at the floor; his eyes grow fiercer—“this is my area of expertise, and you’ll see a side of me you’ve never seen before. I just hope you’re capable of playing your role without fucking it up, because I won’t break character. You need to remember that. I never break character.” His piercing eyes never leave mine until many long seconds later when he feels like he’s gotten his point across. He presses his back against the seat again.

  A nervous knot sits deep in the pit of my stomach; another one stays lodged in my throat.

  “Well, I for one,” Nora finally speaks up, “am glad to hear that.” She walks over to us and sits in the seat directly behind me.

  Niklas finally looks at her for longer than a few seconds; aversion seethes beneath the surface of his otherwise uninterested expression.

  “Personally I prefer the role to be as real as it can be,” she adds. “And I never break character, either.”

  A smirk, almost too faint to be seen, tugs one corner of Niklas’s mouth.

  He smiles and says coldly, “How did you get in, anyway? I’m sure your pussy isn’t made of gold, so how’d you convince my brother to let you in?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snap. I’m not even sure what my question really is, I just know I didn’t like Niklas insinuating that Victor would ever consider letting Nora in because she fucked him.

  “I’m the reason Nora got in,” I cut in coldly before Nora has a chance to answer. “If you want to know the truth—Victor let her in because it’s what I wanted.”

  Niklas smiles—why is he smiling?—and then manipulates the inside of his mouth with his teeth. I wait, suffocated by the tense silence, for him to make some sarcastic comment about what I told him, to be the mouthy asshole that only Niklas can be. But instead, he just shakes his head with some kind of knowing expression that leaves me perplexed. And uncomfortable. And I don’t even know why. Oh right—because Niklas’s real expertise is knowing how to get under my skin with very little effort. This is going to be a mission to remember. Or rather, one I’m pretty sure I’ll want more than anything to forget.

  Nora and I spend the next twenty minutes telling Niklas everything that happened after he left our Boston headquarters that night. From how I recruited Nora, to Victor’s acceptance of my decision, to Fredrik’s torture of Dorian, and to Victor’s decision to meet with Dorian’s employers and see what they have to offer. We fill him in on every detail, small and large, but I refrain from telling him anything about the conversation Victor and I had about why he killed Claire. Not only does Niklas make it clear beforehand that he doesn’t want to talk about it, but I know it’s not my place to, either. I know I have to let Victor and Niklas work this thing out between them. And I know that we don’t have the time to spare discussing it, or arguing about it. It is a waste of time at this point; focus only on the mission. Victor was right. And even Niklas feels this mission is too important, too dangerous, to waste time arguing about Nora’s recruitment, or expressing too extensively his dislike for her.

  For the time being, he’s tolerating her. After this mission is over, granted we’re all still alive then, I can only wonder what kind of retribution he might serve.

  “Nora,” Niklas says, “what experience do you have with the slave trade?”

  The plane hits a bit of turbulence, but settles quickly.

  Nora, sitting next to Niklas now in his roomy section of the plane, crosses her long legs and makes herself more comfortable. Without looking at him she answers resolutely, free of smiles or seduction, “Not much. When I was nineteen, I was sent on a mission to Dubai where I was sold as a sex slave to a wealthy sheik. My job was to kill his son. Needless to say, that’s exactly what I did.” She brings up an arm and rests it across the back of the seat, propping the side of her face on her fingertips. “It was my only mission of that nature,” she goes on, “and my owners were also undercover and I endured little abuse by the sheik before I got the job done, but I can assure you that I can pull this off, play whatever role I need to play. I learn fast.”

  Niklas smiles, thinking to himself it seems.

  “But how far will you go?” he asks, the question laced with challenge.

  Nora’s smile is cunning and confident; never an ounce of fear.

  “The lengths that I will go to for a mission, Niklas, are more than you would ever do yourself.” She tilts her head to one side gently, her long fingers sliding away from her face as she brings her arm back down, dangling it over the back of the chair. “You will learn that about me soon enough.” Nothing about Nora suggests now that she’s still trying to seduce him—she’s all Nora Kessler, the dangerous banshee not to be trifled with.

  “I’m sure I will.” Niklas’s face remains unexpressive. “It’s good to know you have no limits.”

  He turns to me.

  “You on the other hand,” he says, “will just have to be careful and keep your mouth shut. I’ll take care of the rest. But keeping your mouth shut is more important on this mission than it’ll ever be. Think you can do that?”

  I smirk at him and cross my arms.

  “Just tell me what I need to do, Niklas,” I say coolly. “Drop the parental bully act with me for once and let’s do our job with a little more professionalism.”

  He smirks right back at me, but without disagreement.

  Then he passes the tablet over to me and I take it into my hand, peering down into the screen.

  “You may have personal experience in the sex slave trade,” he says, “but this will be a bit different. The girls in establishments like the one owned by Moretti, are, shall I say, classier.”

  I look up from the screen, a scowl on my face.

  “Francesca Moretti’s girls—her cyprians and those sold in her showings—are of the highest quality,” Niklas goes on. “They’re cared for like prized race horses—treated the same way, too. Hundreds of thousands of dollars are shelled out to make these girls—and guys—perfect: plastic surgery, medical procedures, special diets; they even have their own personal dieticians and speech and etiquette coaches. Their masters expect nothing less than perfection; and like a race horse, if they lose too many races or break a leg, they’re often put down.”

  “Yeah, that’s not exactly how things were done in Mexico,” I say. “The plastic surgery and etiquette coaches stuff, anyway. The ‘often put down’ part, unfortunately, was the way things were done. Sounds like classier is a much better deal.”

  “No,” Niklas says, “it’s not. Don’t mistake classier for safer. You need to remember that you’re never safe while you’re in the presence of these people—especially Francesca. I’m assuming Victor warned you about her reputation?”

  I nod. “Yeah,” I say, waving my hand dramatically in the air, “she thinks she’s the fairest in all the land.”

  “Good. Don’t give her any reason to want to kill you.”

  Niklas points at the tablet in my hand. “Nora should familiarize herself with those terms and rules; make damn sure you know them like the back of your hand by the time we land.”

  I peer down into the screen again; Nora moves to sit next to me so she can read the text.

  “You’ll need to be consistent. But we’ll keep it basic. Remember everything you see there and we’ll be believable. Fuck up once and we’ll either cast suspicion and have more eyes on us than we want, or they’ll kill us on the spot.”r />
  I read through the few rules quickly, absorbing each one as if I’m about to take an exam. When I get to number six, I swallow hard.

  Keep a straight, unemotional expression on your face at all times, unless you’re being pleasured, or hurt.

  I look up from the screen.

  “Pleasured or hurt?” I inquire nervously. “We’re not going to have to actually—”

  Niklas shakes his head with disappointment.

  “Is that what you thought?” he asks. “That you’d be sent on a mission like this and not have to play your role fully just because you’re the boss-man’s girl?”

  I bite down on the inside of my mouth.

  “No, I just thought that because Victor wanted you to go with us that…”

  Niklas laughs under his breath.

  “No Izzy,” he finally says, and I raise my eyes to his again, “no one’s going to touch you. And yes, that’s why Victor wanted me on this mission with you, because he knows that I won’t let anything happen to you”—he pauses, and a hint of a smirk appears on his mouth—“well, at least nothing that would be considered…unforgivable.”

  I nod slowly, and with relief, despite the uncomfortable chill the last part left me with.

  Niklas looks to Nora.

  “Now you, on the other hand,” he says, “I can’t make any promises.” He smiles.

  I get the feeling that he wouldn’t make promises where Nora is concerned, even if he could.

  “It’s just sex,” Nora says with a shrug. “Not that I’m in the habit of giving it away freely, but I do what needs to be done for the sake of a job.”

  Niklas nods.

  “But you’re playing our master,” I point out. “No one’s going to touch either one of us if you own us. Right?” I hope so.

  “Not without my permission, no,” he says. “But depending on the circumstances, it may be in our best interest that I give permission.”

  He looks at Nora again briefly, and a sly smile passes over his features.