by Aisha Tritle
Occidis
Sophia Moreau, Book 1
Aisha Tritle
After Glows Publishing
Occidis
© Copyright 2017 Aisha Tritle
* * *
Published by: Opal Moon Press
PO Box 224
Middleburg, FL 32050
OpalMoonPress.com
* * *
Cover by Syneca Featherstone
Formatting by AG Formatting
* * *
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
OpalMoonPress.com
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
About the Author
Note from the Publisher
Occidis
Sophia Moreau, book 1
* * *
At the age of ten, Sophia was offered a choice: join Program Occidis and train to become an assassin, or let her mother die.
Seven years later, Sophia’s life serves one purpose: to do the bidding of the narcissistic Danish billionaire who controls her, Norbert Alexander. But her panic attacks keep getting in the way of her job, and when she witnesses the death of another Member, Sophia knows her time of sanity is running out.
When the handsome new member of Occidis, Ilya, kidnaps her while on a job and tells her she’s been chosen to take down the man she’s served for almost half of her life, Sophia reluctantly accepts. Things start to unravel, however, and Sophia finds herself fighting to balance her attraction and distrust when the details of Ilya’s mysterious history come to light.
With her life threatened at every turn, Sophia goes on a transatlantic mission to destroy the man responsible for the deaths of so many.
1
A girl, no older than seventeen, clad in a black shirt and a pair of pants that seemed to have more compartments than one would ever need, silently made her way through the underbrush. Her shoes, though soft-soled, provided adequate protection against the surrounding thorns and bristles. Light from the full moon filtered through the tops of the surrounding trees and provided just enough illumination for the girl to get a good grasp of what lay around her.
A lock of chestnut hair clung to her damp forehead, and she brushed it away with her gloved hand. Pulling a bottle from the small pack on her back, she drank the contents as if quenching a day-long thirst. The sound of a soft rustling behind her caused her to quickly put away the bottle and wipe the sweat from her face.
“You alright, Sophia?” asked a low, male voice.
Sophia nodded. “I’m fine.”
She turned to her companion—a compactly-built, freckled, strawberry-blond boy of nineteen dressed in very similar garb, except for a pair of sleek goggles that sat atop his narrow-bridged nose.
His name was Simon. He’d been the first one chosen for Program Occidis….and the first one to fail.
“Sure you don’t need these?” he asked, pointing to the goggles.
“It’s fine. I can see.”
Sophia stole a quick glance at him before moving forward. A knot was growing in her stomach. She and Simon on this job?
Something was wrong.
Sophia stifled the trembling in her left hand. Sending two Members on a job was common, but sending the two screw-ups of the program? The Org would never risk such a high chance of failure.
But this job had such a high risk that it was unprecedented in Program Occidis. Maybe that was why they chose Simon and her; they were worthless—expendable.
Sophia snapped out of her thoughts. They’d reached the end of the forest. She stood for a moment, observing the target site. It was a two-story Colonial-style house, in the middle of a smooth acre of grass. No lights shone in any of the windows, the only occupant presumably asleep.
Simon stepped next to her and nudged her shoulder.
“You clear on everything?”
“Get in, plant it in the middle of the house on the first floor, get out, detonate, make way to the field a mile northwest,” recited Sophia, her voice flat.
Simon’s gaze rested on her for a minute, and Sophia knew a concerned gleam shone behind the sleek night-vision goggles. Any other night, she would have appreciated it.
“What are you waiting for?” she snapped.
The strawberry-blond boy held up his hands in apology and backed towards the house, his gaze still on Sophia.
“Sorry, sorry.”
Sophia followed him, quietly padding along. There was still a minute tremble in her left hand. She couldn’t stop it, no matter how much she tried.
Simon pulled a folded, black lock-picking kit from his pack; his gloved hands unfurled the dark leather.
His hands were steady.
Sophia clenched her fists. She was worse than Simon tonight. What had she turned into?
As they neared the front door of the house, a pang of heat appeared in the middle of her back. The house was devoid of extensive security measures, which was surprising considering the prestige of the individual, and the importance of the documents that lay inside.
Simon inserted his wrench and pick into the lock. Sophia knew he’d done it a million times before…but she never had. They never sent her on jobs like this, until now. She never worked with bombs. So why was she here?
Sophia shuddered as the door clicked open. Rubbing her arms as if to add warmth, she stepped over the threshold.
The interior of the house was polished and modern, in stark contrast with the historic exterior. Geometrically-inclined tables were scattered about, and leather chairs were in abundance.
“Come on,” whispered Simon.
Sophia stifled a scoff. She wasn’t even needed here, why had The Org insisted she come?
Maybe it was because Simon had collapsed on his last job, maybe because he’d almost let his target get away…
Or not.
Her hand was shaking violently now. She couldn’t let Simon see. Her feet came to a standstill, and Sophia closed her eyes.
“You’re fine,” she muttered between deep breaths. Desperately, she reached inside her shirt to feel the silver locket that lay against her skin. Her fingers repeatedly brushed against the cool exterior. The shaking stopped. With a sigh, Sophia opened her eyes.
S
imon was gone. Great.
Still, it shouldn’t be too hard to find him. In the blueprint of the house, the study had been exactly in the center.
Sophia headed down a hallway directly parallel to the living room. She wiped the remnants of sweat from her face with the back of her glove. A blue runner-rug spread across the entirety of the hall. The study should be two doors down. But a low beeping sound cut her journey short. Sophia turned her head, her ears searching for the source of the sound.
It wasn’t coming from the living room—she’d just been there. And it wasn’t coming from the study. It was close…uncomfortably close.
Sophia knelt down and lifted the blue runner. Her brown eyes locked on the cherrywood floor.
There was a loose panel. She tried to pry it open, but the edges around it were too narrow for her fingers to fit. She pulled a pick from her pack and pried the edges of the panel. She slid her fingers under the board; her chest grew tighter as she pulled it up.
The sight that met her eyes froze every muscle in her body. A silver box sat beneath the floor, a timer attached to the top. There were 37 seconds left on the timer. She watched in stunned silence as it ticked down to 36.
Sophia dropped the panel. That wasn’t their bomb. They had to get out. She stumbled towards the study. The pick dropped from her hand and clattered onto the floor. Disregarding stealth, she roughly pushed the study door open.
“Simon,” she whispered hoarsely. But the study was empty; no one was there. Sophia backed away, her face and hands damp with sweat. Where had Simon gone?
She ran down the hall, frantically searching each room. “Simon!”
It didn’t matter anymore if her screams woke the man sleeping upstairs. All that mattered was getting out, but Simon was nowhere to be found. The beeping flooded Sophia’s head; there was little more than ten seconds left.
She sprinted back to the living room. The pang of heat originally in the center of her back spread across her entire body, searing into every part of her flesh. Both of her hands trembled.
“Simon!” she screamed helplessly.
No reply. And there was no time left.
Sophia ran out of the house, feeling as if her heels had been set alight. She had barely made it down the gravel walkway when a thunderous roar met her ears. A great blast of heat knocked her off her feet, and she slid down the gravel, her cheek scraping against the rocks.
Hot air filled her nostrils. Convulsing with coughs, Sophia slowly pushed herself up. Her bloodied face turned back to look at the wreckage, her eyes filled with horror. There was nothing left except black dust and smoke.
“No, no, no,” muttered Sophia. She hadn’t managed to stand yet. She knelt, her hands hugging her sides. She turned her head, searching the burnt rubble and the surrounding acre. There were no signs of life.
A solitary tear rolled down Sophia’s cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
2
“I’m fine. Really, I am.” Sophia restlessly slid around the room on the wheeled stool. There was a comfy reclining medical chair in the middle of the room, but she didn’t want to sit there.
Her scraped-up cheek had been efficiently bandaged. The dark clothes from the night before had been replaced with a blue tracksuit. Sophia’s fingers squeezed the silver pendant around her neck as if, held long enough, it would grant her salvation.
The room was typical of a clinic. The walls and furniture were stark white. A counter, cabinets, and sink lined one side of the room. A plastic holder with informational pamphlets sat on a table next to the chair by the door. The pamphlets covered every topic from antidepressants to teeth whitening.
A small, elderly man was leaning against the counter. Everything about him was round: his face, his body, his glasses. He solemnly pushed the glasses up his nose with a stubby finger. “We might have to try something…different,” he said, his voice colored with a thick German accent.
The stool Sophia was on rolled to a stop. She fixed her almond-shaped eyes on the doctor’s round face. “But I’m fine.”
Dr. Roth cleared his throat. “Look, Sophia, the panic attacks—“
Sophia forced a smile. It would have been enough to fool anyone who didn’t know her well. “I’m fine, really. The meds are working.”
The doctor pushed a chair across from Sophia and sat down. His round eyes peered through his glasses and rested on her bandaged cheek. “If we had medicated you enough for you have to kept a clear head, perhaps you would have been able to prevent the turn of events that resulted in the death of Simon Graham.”
The smile disappeared from Sophia’s face. They were blaming her. They were blaming her for Simon’s death, when it wasn’t her fault…or was it?
Dr. Roth cleared his throat again. “You need to have a better handle on your panic attacks, Sophia. I know they only started a few months ago and that you don’t know how to deal with them properly yet. So believe me when I say the only option you have right now is different—or stronger—medication.”
Sophia slowly pushed her chair back with her foot. They wanted to numb her even more. Completely strip her of the feelings that made her a liability and fashion her into the sleek weapon they wanted.
“Maybe you’re right,” she muttered. She’d been strong when she first arrived at this place, but she wasn’t strong anymore. Sophia dug her nails into her palm. She was weak, disgustingly weak.
Dr. Roth reached over and pried her fingers open. “Now, stop that. We don’t want you getting any scars,” he chuckled. “Thankfully, that pretty face of yours should heal up nicely. Only superficial abrasions.”
Sophia scoffed. Much good her face did her. “I wish it would scar.”
Dr. Roth’s mouth straightened into a grim line. A glimmer of tenderness shone through the spectacles that sat atop his round nose. “It’s not good for you to think like that.”
Sophia roughly pushed his hand away, then froze. She had to be careful; every move she made was being thoroughly inspected.
“Sophia,” began Dr. Roth, his tone indicating that he was about to tread on sensitive territory. “I think we should talk about Colin.”
A chill ran down Sophia’s spine. “Why should we talk about Colin?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, his was the first death of a Member that you…experienced.”
Sophia scoffed. “The first death of a Member? Really?”
“At least, the first death of a Member that you were close to. When he took his life, you were greatly affected. I know you had something of a…special relationship but—”
“I thought the year of therapy that followed meant that we’d never have to talk about it again, Dr. Roth.”
The doctor paused, his mouth half open. It was rather a common expression for him. Sophia knew he was carefully deliberating what to say next. But she wasn’t going to stay around and wait.
She brushed her hair out of her face and stood up. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Really.”
The doctor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You know you can talk to me, Sophia.” His voice held genuine concern.
Sophia knew she probably could talk to him. He’d known her for almost half her life. Nine. That was how old she’d been when she first arrived.
She’d been strong back when he met her. But this place was slowly killing her; every year took more and more of herself away. And Dr. Roth had done nothing to help except pump her full of drugs.
“What is there to say?” scoffed Sophia. Her deep brown eyes seared into Dr. Roth.
The old man seemed to shrink under her gaze. “Sophia, I know your mother’s medical situation causes you a lot of stress. But if your misplaced angst and anxiety are about her…” The doctor’s voice drifted off.
Sophia felt a chill run down her spine. He really was despicable. “I’ll see you before I leave again. Do what you want about the medication.” She stormed out the door, desperate to escape. The med rooms were horrible, soulless places.<
br />
Outside in the hall, Sophia let out a sigh. The floor beneath her feet was finished cement, as were the walls. There were no windows anywhere because it was underground.
It had been eight years since she came to this place—BASE. She had been recruited by a group of individuals called “The Organization” for special placement in Program Occidis, a program designed to develop gifted children into highly trained assassins, tools for corporate espionage and manipulation.
Nobody actually called it “The Organization” though. That sounded pompous. No, Sophia and the others simply called it “The Org.”
They’d been plucked out of their lives and homes. Filed into Program Occidis, as children or teens, with promises of a better life for those they left behind.
Sophia leaned against the wall, the sullen expression she’d held within the med room melting into one of sorrow.
Simon was dead.
He’d been the first recruit, but he certainly wasn’t the first to go. At one point, there had been twelve Members of Program Occidis, but their numbers had dwindled down to a measly five, including Simon. Now, he was gone. That left just four.
A low grumble pierced Sophia’s thoughts, and she turned her head.
The grumble came from a long-limbed, blue-eyed man who went by the name of Lund. He observed Sophia mercilessly over his hawk-like nose.
She jumped in surprise. She hated Lund. Or rather, Lund hated her. He was one of six or so “handlers.” His job was something of a supervisor, or security. As the Members of the program had matured, however, his duties had diminished, and Sophia noted with satisfaction that he was now really just a slab of muscle to be used however The Org wished.
