Then she knelt at the foot of the bed and took the baggie of diamonds out of the pack. She let the stones spill across the bedspread. She spread them out, making a flat layer, then she leaned forward, lacing her fingers together and resting her hands on the bed, her chin on top of them.
So much trouble. So many rocks. Such little rocks. She’d never seen them all out before, spread out like they were. They didn’t seem quite as impressive. No weight, no heft. Just individual stones, tiny and insignificant.
Just individual days, tiny and insignificant.
They looked so pure, so clear, that to think of what they represented was such a contrast. Illegal mines. Indentured slaves. Gang wars. Bratvas. Mafias. Corporations. Murders. Theft. Her life. Marc’s life. Her precious five year plan.
What did it all mean?
She was getting revenge for her sister. For Kaylee. But how often did she even think about that anymore? How much of it was purely for revenge, and how much of it was because she enjoyed what she did now?
Kingsley had told her she was good at what she did; even Marc had admitted it. Both had warned her that revenge would not help her. That it would most likely get her killed. Both had warned her that she wasn’t ready for something so drastic. Both had told her that she had other options. Her life didn’t have to be about this plan. It could be so much bigger.
“… we don’t have to be these people anymore …”
She buried her hands in the diamonds, clenching her fingers together. Squeezing so tight, she could feel some of the bigger rocks cutting into her skin. Drawing blood.
I don’t. I don’t want to be this person anymore.
She knew what she had to do.
DAY SEVEN
He could’ve made it back to Nouakchott in one long push, it was only about sixteen hours away. But Marc was stopped short, what with Kingsley asking to be dropped off in Dakhla.
“What?” Marc asked, not sure he’d heard right. He’d been daydreaming. Thinking about red hair and green eyes.
“Stop here, mate. I left most of my gear here,” Kingsley explained.
“Okay, we can grab it, then get some lunch.”
“Let’s eat first.”
They found a restaurant and made themselves comfortable. Kingsley ordered tea and Marc ordered food, then they sat and waited. Avoided talking about the person they were both thinking about.
“I’m heading down to Nouakchott, and I’m gonna try to get some documents while I’m there, try to fly out. Are you gonna fly with with me?” Marc started. Kingsley shrugged.
“Not sure. Do you think that’s a good idea?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“What if you fly out and then she calls you, needing your help,” Kingsley suggested. Marc scowled.
“That won’t happen. Besides, I don’t think she’d call me. She’s too pig headed, she thinks she can do it all on her own.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Fuck you.”
Kingsley sighed.
“Look. I like you, mate,” he started. Marc groaned.
“Don’t fucking start. I already feel like shit.”
“I know. But I still have to say this. You’re making a mistake. I genuinely thought we’d make it a couple kilometers before you’d realize what an idiot you’re being, and you’d turn back,” Kingsley explained.
“Well, I guess you thought wrong.”
“No. I just had higher expectations of you. Now I’m going to be completely straight with you. I don’t want to hear any bullshit. Not a word. Just hear the truth from me, and we’ll be done with it,” Kingsley offered.
“Alright, but then it’s done,” Marc stressed.
“You are making a mistake,” Kingsley stated, for what felt like the millionth time. A waiter came with their orders, and as soon as he left, Kingsley started in again. “You care for that woman, and there is nothing wrong with that. It does not make you weak. It does not take away from all you’ve accomplished. If anything, I’d say it makes you better, having a little humanity. And that woman cares for you, as anyone with eyes could tell you. She is also very lost, and needs help. Your help.
“You think you are helping her by staying away? You are sending her into a situation she is completely unprepared for, and completely unable to properly handle on her own. You are doing that. You could’ve asked her to come with us – I bet she would’ve said yes. You could’ve asked her to run away with you – she would’ve gone for it, this time. Yet you did none of those things. You are either scared, or stupid. Neither is complimentary.”
It was a lot of information to unload, and Kingsley did it all in almost one breath, his posh British accent taking on a hard edge. He was stabbing at the table top with his finger, pounding out his points. Marc leaned back in his chair.
“You’ve known her for a grand total of what, two days? Maybe three? You haven’t seen her in action the way I have, Law. A couple days ago, she stripped to her underwear and pretended to be a prostitute in order to steal us a car, after which she hung out of said car and shot out the tires of a pursuit vehicle, all while half naked. And the day before that? While doing sixty miles an hour and driving backwards, she fired a flare into a car full of hired thugs. The woman has no problem handling herself,” Marc assured him. Assured himself.
That has to be true. I almost got her blown up. She has to be better without me.
“I’ve said my piece. You sent her off with a bag full of perfect stones, but you really had a diamond in the rough in your own hands. And you let it go. I think she is going to get to Tangier. I think the Bratva will show up. I think they will show her what this lifestyle truly looks like. And I think they will kill her.”
At the words “kill her”, Marc felt a sharp, stabbing, burning pain in his stomach. He scowled and looked away, wondering where the nearest bottle of Maalox was.
In one week, the bitch managed to give me an ulcer.
“I think you’re wrong. I think she’ll get there, they’ll show up, and those diamonds will be her bargaining tool. She won’t show them unless she’s guaranteed safe passage – the girl is smart, Law. They care more about their investment. I don’t think she’ll pull the trigger in Moscow, but I’m glad about that. She’ll be fine,” Marc stressed. Kingsley abruptly stood up, stubbing out his cigarette as he did so.
“I’ve said my piece. I told you, I didn’t want to hear any bullshit. I’m going to go stay at the same hotel we left behind yesterday. If you bother me, I’ll shoot you in the leg,” he warned him.
“Fuck off with your condescending bullshit, Law. You forget I know you, know that you don’t have the fucking right to lecture me about anything, least of all how I should or shouldn’t be treating a woman,” Marc called after him, but Kingsley was already on his way out of the restaurant. He didn’t even look back.
Marc finished his food, glaring at the table like it had been the one to offend him. When he was finished, he pushed away abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. Several people turned to look at him, but didn’t say anything.
Fuck Kingsley Law. What did he know about Lily? He’d only known her for two fucking days! A couple meals, and he was acting like a lovesick puppy dog, trying to do everything he could to get “mom and dad” back together.
Why can’t he see that I’m doing this for her? She didn’t stop me. She didn’t beg me to go with her. She drove away first …
… because it was the right thing to do.
DAY EIGHT
Marc was dreaming. He was in the water, and the harder he swam, the deeper he sank. There were sunbeams breaking through the surface, but he kept getting farther and farther away. Everything was getting darker. Before he completely faded into blackness, he could’ve sworn he saw a flash of red …
He sat up abruptly, yanking his gun out from underneath his pillow. The door to his hotel room burst open, and he put two bullets in the wall next to the head of the person barging in on him.
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br /> “Get up!” Kingsley shouted, not even phased by the gun shots. He threw a bag onto the foot of the bed.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” Marc demanded. They hadn’t spoken since Kingsley had walked out of the restaurant.
“I just got a call, we need to move,” the other man was breathing hard as he grabbed Marc’s duffle and put it on the bed as well.
“What call? What are you talking about? Why?” Marc asked as he jumped out of the bed. He grabbed his pants and yanked them on at the same time as he pulled his other t-shirt out of his duffle bag.
“You know that hit on you?” Kingsley reminded him.
“Yeah. What, another guy decided to take a shot at me?” Marc groaned, though he was surprised at Kingsley’s concern. Marc could more than handle himself with some greedy hit-hungry assassin.
“No, not you.”
“What does that mean?”
“The bounty has been removed from your head.”
“Is this a joke? That’s a good thing, it means I can go back to bed,” Marc groaned, stopping his frantic rush to pull on his shoes.
“Now there’s one on Lily.”
Marc jammed his foot into his shoe.
“What!? Why!? How did you learn this!?”
“My guy out of Brooklyn, he called me. Told me not to bother with you anymore, and that her bounty is twice what yours was. De Sant, people are going to be all over this. A lot of these blokes are already in Africa, looking for your ass. With her, they already have a location. I was told the target was known to be arriving in Tangier today,” Kingsley broke it down.
“Fuck. Fuck. Why would they do this!? It’s fucking stupid! If one of these quick-draw playroom assassins finds out she has a bag full of fucking diamonds, they’ll shoot her and just take them,” Marc said, heading out the door. The other man followed close behind.
“No mention of the stones. All that was said was dead or alive, though if the target could be acquired alive, there would be a bonus,” Kingsley explained, jogging up to their car and throwing his gear in the back seat.
“Fuck. How far are we from Tangier!? Goddammit, how did this fucking happen,” Marc was cursing.
They peeled out of the parking lot, leaving burning rubber in their wake. Marc did the math in his head. They were about a day’s drive from Tangier. They had left Lily in Tarfaya the day before, which was only about 15 hours from Tangier. She should’ve gotten there the night before, but the bounty instructions had said she would be arriving in Tangier today. She must have stopped somewhere for the night.
Good girl.
A day was a long time. How far was she from Tangier? Casablanca was a major city between Tarfaya and Tangier, as was Marrakesh. It was a safe bet that she’d stopped in one of those places, which meant she was only a couple hours from Tangier, six at most. He was twenty.
FUCK.
“We can’t do anything if you get us killed before we can even get there,” Kingsley pointed out, gripping the side of his door as Marc passed dangerously close to a horse-and-cart.
“Let me worry about the driving. Is there anyone here that would help us out?” Marc questioned. Assassins and mercenaries didn’t exactly have club meetings, or a union, but they did run into each other from time to time. Friendships and bonds were formed. There weren’t many people Marc claimed as friends, less than he could count on one hand. But there were some.
“No. The Swede is in Bangkok, and no one’s heard from Advay in about a month,” Kingsley answered.
“Shit.”
“We’re on our own. What’s the plan?”
“We have to get to her before one of these other guys do. She’s good one-on-one, but her situational awareness is non-existent. She won’t know she’s being tailed till she’s got a bullet in her. We also need gear. I don’t have anything, just what I’m wearing and two handguns. Make some calls, find somewhere in Tangier or Casablanca that we can just dip in and out of,” Marc prattled off. Kingsley took out his notepad and began jotting things down.
“Okay, what am I looking for.”
“Vest. Leg holsters, shoulder holster. Crowbar. Two way radios, a throat mic set. Two Colt .45s and a shotgun – shorty. Did you bring the big girl?” he questioned.
“I don’t leave home without her,” Kingsley chuckled.
“Make the call. I wanna make this drive in fifteen hours,” Marc explained, then pressed harder on the gas.
“Jesus. Just don’t crash.”
“I won’t. We’re getting there. We have to get there.”
Marc wasn’t sure if he was making a statement, or a prayer.
We have to get there.
DAY NINE
Being in Tangier made Lily nervous.
She went to the hotel Ivanov had instructed her to stay in, and she checked into the room he had booked for her, then went to a restaurant down the street and ate lunch. Hours later, she came back to the hotel and checked into a new room. Under a whole other name. Lily was still booked into Ivanov’s suite. Kaylee was staying in one of the cheapest rooms in the building, on the second floor.
What if Ivanov doesn’t believe anything you say? What if he says he wants to take the diamonds himself?
She shook away the bad thoughts and made her way to the roof of the hotel. She stared out over the city of Tangier, paying attention to the streets around the hotel. She looked for anything out of the ordinary. A motorcade in front of the hotel. Or maybe an out-of-place car, parked within surveillance distance of the hotel. Anything that might indicate that people were following her. But everything looked normal, as far as she could tell.
Still. She didn’t want to be caught off guard by anything.
I just want this to end. For one plan to work without a hitch. Marc, if this can reach you, come back for me. You came back every single other time. Come back this time.
After the sun rose, she headed back downstairs. Crept through service corridors, took emergency stairwells. The hotel was quiet and she didn’t run into anyone, not even a wayward maid.
Once in her room, Lily peeled off her leggings. There was a full length mirror, and she frowned at her reflection. She’d showered at the hotel in Casablanca and washed the bikini, but she still would’ve killed for some new clothing. Some nice clothing. Some normal clothing.
What’s normal?
She peeled back the scratchy comforter and laid on top of cool sheets, staring at the ceiling. Her eyes slowly fell shut, but she didn’t want to sleep. She wanted to sweep the hotel in half an hour, just as a safety precaution, so she tried to think of something that would keep her awake.
She thought of Marc.
They’d only known each other within their roles in Africa. A mercenary and a transporter in Liberia. Captor and captive in Mali. Allies in Mauritania. And … friends, through everything else. What would they be like if they met outside of Africa? Would he still like her? She thought back to the last time she’d seen him. Their last kiss.
She bent her legs at the knees, putting her feet flat on the mattress. Then she took a deep breath and put her hands behind her head. She imagined his sexy smile and his mean glare. The scar on the side of his chin, that made him look hard and dangerous. His large hands, that he knew exactly how to use. The way his teeth would skim along the edge of his bottom lip when he was looking at something he really wanted.
Her hand was in her bikini bottoms before she even realized it. She moaned, her toes curling into the blanket as she remembered their last night together. Remembered all their nights together. The time in the house, when he’d lost it from her talking dirty to him. She gasped, moving her fingers lower. The time in the car, when it had been more like an explosion than sex. Unable to stop, unable to think, unable to keep away. Her head tossed back and forth, one finger sliding in and out of herself. The first time, in Liberia, in his room. Doing it like it was something they’d practiced before, like it was something they’d done a hundred times together. Two fingers now, running
a race with her heart to see which would make her explode first. Her free hand was under her shirt, moving from breast to breast.
God, I wish he was here. I wish he could see this. He would love this.
The orgasm wasn’t as good as the ones Marc had given her, but it wasn’t anything to scoff at, either. She stretched completely out, her hands reaching above her head, and she smiled to herself. He wasn’t even in the same city, and he could still make her come.
He’d love that.
The moment was slightly ruined, however, when someone broke down the door to her hotel room.
DAY NINE
“Jesus, cart, left side!”
Marc yanked the wheel, narrowly missing a cart full of fabric, which was being pulled across the street.
“Thanks.”
“Do you have a death wish!? Slow the fuck down!” Kingsley yelled, one hand braced against the dash as they took a sharp right turn.
“I have a bad feeling,” Marc grumbled.
They’d been driving at a break neck pace all night. He’d been hoping to make it to Tangier in 15 hours, but it took them closer to eighteen hours. They’d had to stop in Casablanca to pick up Marc’s list of stuff, and that had been its own adventure which had ended with the black market gun trader being tied up and left in his own basement.
Then they’d continued on their journey, and they’d watched the sun rise as they entered the outskirts of Tangier. But the closer they got to the city center, the worse the pain in his stomach got; something was most definitely wrong.
“Well, then even more reason not to get us killed! We’re of no use if we’re roadkill,” Kingsley pointed out.
“Shut up. What was the name of the hotel?”
Kingsley’s contact in Brooklyn had come through with more information. Lily’s bounty was all over the network, information was flowing everywhere. It hadn’t taken long to figure out what hotel she was staying at, even which room. Ivanov had booked it, himself.
Best Laid Plans Page 24
