by Aisha Tritle
Sophia frowned. Here Ilya was, severely beaten, and Jonathan seemed to care more about her grazed shoulder.
Jonathan pulled a heavy-duty syringe out of his back pocket and pulled off the cap.
“What are you giving him?” asked Sophia.
Without a word, Jonathan thrust the syringe into Ilya’s chest. The blond man jolted awake, his blue eyes wide with panic.
Jonathan had just given Ilya adrenaline. Sophia’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “We could’ve carried him.”
Ilya sat up, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
Jonathan shook his head. “No, he’s too heavy for me to carry on my own. And you can’t help with that shoulder of yours.”
“But my shoulder isn’t that bad—“
Jonathan was already half out the door. “I’ll be in the car.”
His attitude had been so nonchalant…they really could have carried him. Did he hate Ilya? But why?
Sophia turned her attention to Ilya. He looked as if he’d just woken from a bad dream. She handed him the bottle of water. “Here.”
Ilya took a few sips before stopping. “Did that prick just give me adrenaline?”
Sophia helped him up. “Yeah.”
Ilya let out a frustrated growl. “I’ll get him back for that.”
They walked out to the car, Ilya leaning on Sophia for support. It was a large SUV. Completely black with tinted windows—but one of the windows was missing. It looked as if it had been shot out.
“I cleaned out the glass,” said Jonathan as they got in. “But there might still be a few tiny pieces lying about.”
Sophia looked out the back window as they drove away. The chateau was half of what it had been.
“Looks like The Org found us,” she murmured to herself.
To her surprise, Jonathan heard. “No,” he said. “They didn’t.”
13
Jonathan had said nothing the entire eleven hours they’d been on the chartered plane, just typing away on the laptop in front of him.
Sophia stretched herself out and readjusted her blanket. She’d done her best to interrogate him in the car, but he’d never given a satisfactory answer.
“There are simply some people after me,” he’d said.
Ilya had glared at him in silent disregard for a few hours before falling asleep. His face was completely swollen now; he was all but unrecognizable.
So it wasn’t The Org that had found them. But if Jonathan was telling the truth, and it was because of him that they’d been put in danger, surely she and Ilya deserved a proper explanation.
Sophia scanned the man in front of her. What was the best way to draw information out of Jonathan?
There’d been something in the way he spoke…he was hiding something. He was probably hiding a lot of things. But when he spoke, there had been pity in his voice, as if he’d only been saying the words to protect her from something. She was tired of him keeping things from her.
Sophia buried her face in her hands for a moment before leaning forward. “Jonathan,” she said.
His green eyes stared at her for a moment before closing his laptop. “Yes?”
“I want you to be completely honest with me.”
Jonathan leaned forward and looked at Sophia squarely. “Why do you think I owe you complete honesty?”
Sophia shifted uncomfortably. Not quite the answer she’d been expecting. “If it’s because of you that Ilya and I were put in danger, I think we deserve an explanation.”
A small smile crossed Jonathan’s face. “I see,” he said.
He wasn’t going to tell her. His cool exterior was still intact. Sophia clenched her jaw. “Also, you owe me.”
“I owe you?” asked Jonathan, confused.
Finally, a small crack.
“I didn’t get myself into this,” she said. “You did.”
“You would’ve been killed—“
“Yeah, and did you ever think that maybe I’d rather have been killed than mixed up in all this shit you got me into?”
Jonathan sat back and studied her. “No,” he said. “I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I know you, Sophia.”
Something in his voice made a chill run down Sophia’s spine. “Well, then you have an unfair advantage,” she said. “You know me. But I know almost nothing about you.”
“Yes, this is true.”
Sophia stifled an urge to punch him in his beautiful face, but her cheeks flushed red. Suddenly, Jonathan’s face blanched.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“You are?”
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve put you in an unfair position.”
Why such a sudden change of attitude? Not that Sophia could complain.
“You can ask me anything about my past, but I can’t tell you who those people were,” he said.
“Why not?”
“I need you to trust me, Sophia.”
Sophia scoffed. “Why would I do that?”
Jonathan hesitated before replying. His gaze shifted towards the sleeping Ilya. “I have something,” he said quietly. “Just let me find it.”
He pulled his suitcase down from the compartment. Sophia’s curiosity was piqued. “Where did you learn how to kill?”
“That’s quite the question,” said Jonathan, unzipping his suitcase.
“You said I could ask you anything.”
Jonathan let out a small laugh. “I was in the Special Air Services.”
Sophia’s jaw dropped. Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been that he was a part of the special forces unit of the British military. He seemed too…pretty for that.
“You’re ex-SAS?”
“I’ve only been out for a couple years.”
He pulled a small envelope out of a zippered compartment. “Here,” he said, handing it to Sophia.
The envelope looked weathered. There was a thin layer of dust it hadn’t quite managed to shake off, and a corner was bent.
Sophia opened it. There were two photos from some twenty years before. Jonathan was watching her intensely.
“Do you recognize anyone?”
Sophia stared at the photos; not quite comprehending what she held in her hands. “Is that you?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Do you recognize anyone else?”
Sophia didn’t reply.
“Sophia—“
“Those are my parents,” she said.
“That baby is you.”
Sophia shuffled the photos. “You’re holding me in this one.”
A lump had formed in Sophia’s throat. It’d been a while since she’d seen the faces of any of her family members—even in photos.
“I told you I knew you, Sophia,” said Jonathan.
This was awful. Sophia didn’t know why. But it was. She clutched the photos tight in her hand, not ready to give them back. “How?”
“Our fathers were good friends,” said Jonathan. “They were both a part of the same think tank.”
“No, that doesn’t make sense…my father was one of Norbert’s researchers. He wouldn’t be a part of—“
Jonathan cut her off. “Who told you that?”
There was something wrong.
“Growing up, I remember going with him to Norbert’s lab—“
“Who told you he worked for Norbert?”
“Norbert did.”
Sophia knew the Danish billionaire wasn’t the most reliable source. Still, there’d been no reason for her to question what he’d told her about her family. But Jonathan’s face was casting doubt in her mind.
“Did he lie to me?” she asked.
“No…no, he didn’t.”
“Tell me the truth.”
“I am,” said Jonathan. “I just didn’t know how much you knew about your family.” He held his hand out for the photos.
There it was again—the lack of transparency. The photos had done nothing to i
nspire trust in Sophia. She hesitated before giving them back. Jonathan put them back in the compartment before putting his suitcase back up.
“Maybe you can tell me more about them,” she said.
A small laugh escaped Jonathan as he sat back down. “It’s been a while.”
“So? You might remember things I don’t.”
Jonathan seemed not to hear her; his eyes fell on Ilya. “Listen, Sophia, I don’t want you to tell Ilya about this,” he said, kneeling down next to her.
“Why not?”
“You can’t trust him.”
Sophia’s frustration returned. She was getting tired of his enigmatic attitude. She wanted to scream, yell at him to give her the truth. But she had to be careful with him. Sophia felt if she said one wrong word, that could be the end.
“Why can’t I trust him?”
Jonathan took her hand; his skin was cold to the touch. Sophia wanted to pull her hand out and push him away. But she didn’t.
“He’s dangerous,” said Jonathan. “Make sure you’re always on guard. Never be without a weapon.”
“We’re all trained killers here,” said Sophia. “You could tell him the same thing about me.”
His grasp on her tightened. “You have no idea what he’s capable of. I need you to take this seriously.”
Sophia scoffed. Her anger was becoming too much to bear. So what if he killed her? It was probably where she was headed anyway.
“Why should I take anything you say seriously? I ask a question that you owe me an answer to, and you pull out old photos of my family as a distraction.”
Jonathan said nothing; his face was expressionless. Sophia glared at him.
“That’s a bit petty, don’t you think? You’re so opposed to being honest with me that you stoop to the lowest tactics.”
“I didn’t—“
“When were you going to show me those photos? You were saving them for when you were in a tight spot and needed a distraction to get out, right?”
Jonathan stayed silent.
“I don’t trust you any more than I did before,” said Sophia.
A grumble was heard from Ilya and Jonathan quickly retreated to his seat.
Ilya got up and began stumbling towards the back of the plane. Jonathan’s eyes cautiously followed him. Once the bathroom lock clicked, Jonathan leaned forward.
“I know I’ve screwed up royally, Sophia,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But if you do nothing else, I need you to keep a weapon on you at all times. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
“I suspect you don’t know what he’s capable of, either. Is that what’s scaring you? Fear of the unknown?”
Jonathan’s brows lowered, and his mouth straightened into a grim line. “You’ll see,” he said, “and you’ll be dead if you’re not careful.”
The bathroom door opened, and Jonathan quickly sat back.
Ilya shot a smile at Sophia as he walked past. At least, it seemed like a smile. His face was so swollen it was hard to tell. When he settled back into his seat, it was with a pitiful groan.
Sophia knew he was lethal…but he wasn’t evil. He wasn’t like his uncle. Surely he couldn’t be. She didn’t know. A knot formed in her stomach as she looked out the window.
She was on her own.
14
“Ilya, you should stay here,” said Jonathan.
They were back in the U.S., sitting in an SUV in the middle of a well-to-do suburban neighborhood. Sophia’s eyes were beginning to drift closed; she hadn’t slept on the plane. Jonathan’s uncomfortable presence had kept her too alert.
“That is such bullshit,” replied Ilya.
“I can’t have you going in there looking like that. You’ll scare him off.”
“Scare him off? Doesn’t he know what he’s gotten into?”
Jonathan sighed and opened the door. “Look, just stay here, alright? Come on, Sophia.”
He opened the door.
Sophia snapped awake and followed him. He was walking up the driveway of a two-story house shaded by pine trees. It was a respectable-looking house , well-kept, but not beautiful. Jonathan had said he had someone better than Norbert, someone more brilliant. Surely someone even more brilliant than Norbert would be recognized—have wealth and fame.
Sophia arched a brow. The house looked like it belonged to a boring middle-aged couple.
“Wait a second,” said Jonathan when they reached the front door. He carefully brushed Sophia’s hair out of her face and adjusted her jacket.
Sophia’s muscles tightened; such closeness was foreign to her. How could he be so casual?
“That’s better.”
He rang the doorbell. There was no answer for a few minutes. Sophia was tempted to press the doorbell again, but Jonathan remained still. “Just wait. He’ll answer,” he said.
Finally, the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged, scrawny, ruddy-complexioned man with a shaggy hairstyle who was clutching a half-empty beer bottle in one hand. Sophia’s jaw dropped. If she wasn’t skeptical enough before, she certainly was now.
“Jonathan! It’s so good to see you,” said the man as he enveloped Jonathan in a hug.
Someone who hugged Jonathan? Sophia’s eyes widened. Jonathan seemed like the sort of person you wouldn’t hug for fear of death by frostbite.
The man turned to Sophia, his eyes giving her a thorough study. “And who’s this lovely lady?”
“This is Sophia,” said Jonathan. “Sophia, this is Benny.”
“Pleased to meet you,” grinned Benny as he held out a hand. Sophia took it reluctantly. His grip was surprisingly strong for someone so scrawny.
Benny ushered them inside. “Come in, come in.”
The inside of the house was nice but mundane. Sophia brushed her finger along a bookcase. Kids’ books lined the shelves, and a squeak from a toy underfoot caused her to jump higher than she should. Maybe it wasn’t so much of a boring-middle-aged-couple house, as a prosperous-family-with-three-kids house. Sophia could feel Benny’s eyes boring into her.
“I’ve got a lot of nieces and nephews.”
Sophia shrugged; was she supposed to care? Benny led them into the kitchen.
“Do you want a beer, Jon?”
“That’d be great, thanks,” replied Jonathan.
Benny smiled at Sophia. “What about you?”
He was very jovial. Sophia couldn’t remember the last time she’d been around someone like him. “I’m good, thanks.”
Benny cracked open a beer and handed it to Jonathan.
“Alrighty then, shall we get down to business?” His skinny legs briskly carried him out of the room.
Sophia half expected him to lead them into a secure basement filled with high-tech devices, but he sat down in the living room and pulled out a simple laptop.
“Are you kidding me?” she whispered.
A bemused glint shone in Benny’s large eyes. “Looks can deceive, girly,” he grinned. “Take me, for example, I don’t look like a world-class stud, but I am.”
A flood of raucous laughter escaped Benny, and Jonathan joined in. Sophia stared, a little horrified, and not sure whether to take him seriously or not.
Benny wiped tears from his eyes. “Okay, okay, gimme a minute.”
He typed for a few seconds then leaned back. “Waiting time,” he said, sounding complacent and strangely satisfied.
Sophia stifled a yawn. “What?”
“I just sent a message to his phone,” said Benny, going into the kitchen.
Sophia stared at Jonathan, and her cheeks began to flush. “His phone? Are you kidding me?”
“Cool it, Sophia. Dr. Roth provided him with a separate phone that we used to contact him.”
If that were true, then Sophia wouldn’t need to worry. But she still couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Anyway, we seriously have to wait until Davey plants it?”
“Hush,” said Jonathan, holding a finger up to his lips. “Benny wo
rks in his own time.”
Was that really the answer he was giving her? Sophia’s hands curled into fists—Jonathan noted this with a smirk.
“I’m kidding,” he said. “It’s 1 a.m.. Norbert’s asleep, which means all his devices are lying around. So we get a good amount of data.”
“If it’s 1 a.m., Davey’s probably asleep as well.”
“He isn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Dr. Roth said he’s due to arrive back from a job—“ Jonathan looked at the Rolex on his wrist “—ten minutes ago.”
“When did you talk to Dr. Roth?”
Jonathan finished his beer and said nothing.
Sophia sighed. “Okay, well, whatever, but you left Ilya in the car.”
“Yes,” he said. “I did.”
Jonathan obviously had no intention of letting Ilya out of the car. Sophia’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re just gonna let him sit there? Even though this could potentially take hours?”
“Yes.”
Sophia growled in frustration and pulled her hands across her face. All she really wanted to do was have a little bedroom of her own where she could fall asleep for days. Something wouldn’t let her fall asleep around Jonathan, and it was killing her. But it was much too important of a time to be thinking of sleep…something else was bothering her…
“The surveillance in Norbert’s room…”
“What about it?”
“Did you make sure they wouldn’t see Davey plant the device?”
Jonathan snorted. “How on earth could I do that?”
Sophia felt her stomach drop. How could she be so stupid?
“So you’re saying…”
“Davey is smart, Sophia. I’m sure he took the precautions to cover his tracks beforehand.”
“That’s not how I understood this was gonna play out.”
“Well, obviously, you misunderstood.”
Sophia felt every muscle in her body begin to tense up. Davey was smart— and he did usually work with tech. All the Members were trained to check that their tracks were covered beforehand, but…what if he hadn’t? Handlers were usually the ones to take care of the details like surveillance. She hadn’t told Davey to do anything.
“He’s fending completely for himself?”
