“I’ve said goodbye to him plenty of times. Never helps, he keeps coming back,” Marc joked.
“That could be the last time you ever see him, you know. What if he gets killed on his next job? What if someone finally collects on the hit on him?” Lily asked, sitting on the foot of the bed.
“Then I will tell his mother and I will go to his funeral. But until that day actually happens, he’s alive, and I’ll treat him like that. Have to keep moving, sweetheart. Can’t dwell on ifs or buts,” he informed her.
“Easier said than done,” she complained.
Marc took a deep breath, then squatted down in front of her. He placed his palms on her thighs, patting out a rhythm at first, then sliding up to the hem of her shorts. He dug his fingers into her flesh and clawed his way back down to her knees.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, and she was instantly on guard.
“That’s never a good thing.”
“What’s next for us?” he asked.
They hadn’t really discussed it. Lily was almost scared to broach the subject because not only was she not sure of exactly what she wanted, but she had no clue what he wanted. Rejection was almost scarier than having a gun to her head, as she was now acutely aware.
“What do you want to be next?” she countered, not willing to crack first.
He looked away from her, his gaze staring out the window. He was silent for a long time, then a smile began to play across his lips.
“Pemba.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“What?”
“Remember that house? That night? I told you about that place, off the coast – Pemba Island,” he explained. Of course she remembered. How could she have forgotten?
“What about it?” she asked cautiously.
“We could still go there. Maybe take a vacation. You like the beach.”
He remembers, too.
“I would love to take a vacation with you,” she whispered. He nodded.
“Alright. But there’s some things we need to clear up.”
His voice went back to its usual loud, commanding tone, and he stood up, pacing around the room.
“Like what?” Lily asked.
“You don’t hardly exist in this world, but I’m a big player. Stankovski isn’t just going to let me walk away from this, not now that the diamonds are gone. I need to go back to Liberia, take care of loose ends there. And then I need to disappear. Pull all the assets I have, make sure all my contacts know that I’ve gone dark. I need to make us as safe as possible. I need to become invisible,” he explained.
“Okay, I get that, but does that have to happen right now?” she questioned.
“Yes. I have no doubt that he’s already taking steps to freeze any accounts I have, cut me off from my money. I have a large chunk buried somewhere, I need to go get that, if we want to survive. I need to do this now, as quickly as possible. If I don’t, we could be dead before we start,” Marc warned her. Her chest warmed at his use of the plural, “we”, “us”.
Hardened criminal transporter, and you still get giddy when a boy holds your hand and implies that you’re together.
“I understand. So we go to Liberia, and -”
“Not you. Just me.”
“Why can’t I go!?” Lily demanded.
“Because you’ve done enough, sweetheart, and I’m sorry to say it, but I’ll move faster without you,” he told her. She felt her blood start to boil, but before she could let loose on him, he kept going. “In ten days, we’ll meet there. Ten days, to get rid of all the skeletons in my closets. Ten days, and we can become new people,” he told her.
“New people,” she echoed, longing for the idea so much that it was almost physically painful. So much that it blocked out her concerns.
“New people, together.”
Sold.
In Lily’s mind, she’d always kept the idea of them “being together” at bay. He was a ruthless mercenary, she’d watched him kill multiple people, he couldn’t possibly want to be with her. He’d never once mentioned anything about feeling any type of way about her. Only that he liked sleeping with her, that was it. She was a greenhorn, someone tiptoeing around in his natural habitat. As badass as she thought she was, she still felt like she didn’t quite live up to him. Why would he want to be with someone he didn’t consider an equal?
But maybe none of that mattered. Maybe he was ready to change his lifestyle; maybe he was ready to take a chance on something else.
On her.
“I wouldn’t slow you down,” she said cautiously. He shook his head.
“You would. And even if you didn’t, I wouldn’t want you with me.”
“Why not?”
“Because seeing Ivanov almost kill you was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. I can’t handle that happening again, and there’s a chance it could if you’re running around with me. I just can’t, Lily. If anything happened to you … I would go insane.”
Forget blushing, Lily’s whole body caught on fire, and she looked up at him. Into those blue eyes that were staring back at her so hard.
“You’ll come back for me,” she whispered.
“I never want to be away from you,” he whispered, dropping to his knees in front of her. “But I have to do this.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I know.”
“Okay,” she sighed. “So. You said ten days? We’ll meet in ten days?”
“Yes. There’s a resort, I’m going to book us a villa. Private, on the beach. You’ll go there ahead of me, relax. Call your parents. Wash away the last five years. Then when I’ve got all my ducks in a row, I’ll meet you there.”
“Promise?” she asked.
He hesitated, his gaze so intense that she felt like he was reading her mind. Was hearing just how badly she wanted this from him. How badly she wanted him.
“I promise,” he replied. She smiled.
“Okay. So sometime within ten days, you’ll show up. We’ll be together. And then …?”
“And then,” Marc smiled as well and put his hands on either side of her hips, forcing her to lay down. “I’m going to defile you in ways you never thought possible.”
“Okay, and after that fifteen minutes is up, then what?”
He burst out laughing.
“You’re awfully obsessed with our future together. I think you have a crush on me, Lily,” he joked in a soft voice. She snorted.
“I have a massive crush on your body. You, on the other hand, I want to kill most of the time.”
“Pity, cause most of the time, I just want to devour you,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to her neck.
“Ten days,” she breathed, stretching out her arms.
“Ten days.”
“And then we’ll be together. We’ll be different people.”
“Different people.”
That’s all I ever wanted, to be someone else. Someone who could hurt. Someone who could kill. Who do I want to be now?
DAY TWENTY-THREE
Lily paced across a hotel room.
Looked out a window.
Paced back.
Looked at the satellite phone she had.
Paced back.
Where the fuck is he!?
*
Once she’d arrived at the resort, Lily had thought she’d be able to relax. But she couldn’t really. Staying in Africa made her nervous. It gave her anxiety. Tanzania and Zanzibar were very different from western Africa, they were huge tourist destinations, but still. She kept looking over her shoulder, and she paid for everything in cash, even her flights.
Marc had left her well provided for – he’d managed to get some of his money transferred to an international bank in Casablanca. Dangerous and completely traceable, but he’d said since they wouldn’t be staying there long, it didn’t really matter. He gave almost all of it to her, then went out and found her new documentation, a new passport, new ID. She was a whole new person, in less
than a day.
Saying goodbye had been hard. A lot harder than she would’ve thought. Ten days wasn’t that long, and they’d only been together for about the same amount of time. She tried to be strong at the airport, tried to show no emotion. But when he’d kissed her in a way that had made her heart hurt, she couldn’t help it. She’d shed a tear or two for him. For them.
She was booked into a seafront villa – the resort was stunning and expansive, all inclusive and exclusive. Marc had really spared no expense. But she was still nervous, so when she got to her villa, she thoroughly checked it out. She even crawled under the wooden walkway, looking for signs that someone had been there, maybe planted a bomb under the building. But she found nothing. The room seemed untouched.
It had been hard, at first, to be alone. It took her a while to get back into the swing of normality. Getting up every day, and having nothing truly important to do. She didn’t like it. Before, she’d had a specific purpose every day. A job to prepare for, training to do, a trip to make. Now, her biggest concern was whether or not to have fruit or oatmeal for breakfast.
She kind of hated it.
The only thing that made it bearable was Marc. He had given her an untraceable satellite phone, and he’d called her on their first day apart. Then he called the next day. And the next. Some conversations were only five minutes, just him checking in with her. Some lasted hours, going deep into the night while she listened to his voice. The voice that said all the words she’d been dying to hear.
But after a particularly long, sweet, phone call, they’d stopped coming. From the eighth day on, she didn’t hear from him. She had no clue why. Didn’t know if he was okay. He had warned her that he might have to drop out of communication at some point, so she hadn’t been shocked, at first. She figured he would call or turn up when he was able to.
Then the tenth day came. She sat in the villa all day, waiting for him. Sat through the evening. Sat clear through the entire night. In the morning, there was still no Marc. No word from him. No nothing.
It was now the twelfth day, and still no sign of him. It chilled her. Marc was invincible in her mind, but she knew in reality he was very human. Very mortal. She worried that he’d been captured, or hurt, or worse.
That can’t happen. He wouldn’t let it. He promised. He’s coming back.
She didn’t know what to do. The phone number stored in her sat phone, the one that Marc had been calling from, no longer worked. She felt like she had been cast adrift into the ocean. No bearing, no oars, no knowledge of sailing.
What in the fuck is going on!?
It was driving her batty. She’d spent five years virtually alone without any problems. One week with Marc and suddenly being alone was a big fucking problem. She spent the day pacing around the villa, not sure what to do with herself. Then she looked outside. Realized she couldn’t just stand around, doing nothing. She would go insane. So she went into the bedroom and started digging in her luggage. Well, it couldn’t really be called luggage.
It was the backpack that Marc had given her. The one he’d never been without. The one physical piece of him she had with her.
She was shocked to find she was almost nostalgic for their time together. It had been scary and dangerous and constant movement. Fighting and yelling and constantly trying to beat each other. He had challenged her, and ultimately, she had liked it.
Rolling with the nostalgia, she pulled out the shorts she’d bought when they’d been fleeing Tangier, on their way to Casablanca. She smiled at the memories. Kingsley teasing her. Marc touching her.
She pulled her clothing off and was slipping on the shorts when there was a sharp knock at the door. It snapped her out of her memories and she whirled around. It was six o’clock at night. She didn’t know anyone. Who could be visiting?
Marc!?
She wasn’t stupid, though, so she made her way to the front door with her Glock out in front of her. She tip toed up and looked out the peep hole. A man stood outside, dressed in the hotel’s uniform. He held a silver tray, with something on it. Something white, like a folded piece of paper. Lily narrowed her eyes, then yanked the door open, pointing the gun in his face.
“What do you want!?” she demanded.
He was a young man, and he was visibly frightened of her gun. Probably her whole appearance – she hadn’t bothered with putting on a shirt and was only wearing the shorts and a bra. She took another step forward and watched as he shuddered.
“You … you have a letter, ma’am … letter for you,” he stuttered, holding the tray up. It was an envelope that was on it, and Lily snatched it.
“Get the fuck out of here!” she snapped, then slammed the door in his face.
She watched out the peephole while he ran away, then she scurried back into the bedroom. The envelope had a watermark on it, the logo of the hotel in Casablanca, and her fake name was scrawled across the front in big letters. She tore it open and pulled out a piece of paper. It also bore the hotel’s emblem. Whoever had written the letter, they’d done it while she’d been in Casablanca. Done it while they’d been in that hotel. Not a good sign. She sat on the edge of the bed as she unfolded it.
Sweetheart …
She smiled, tracing her fingers over the word. She hated being called by pet names, had hated it when he wouldn’t use her real name. Now, she would’ve killed to hear him whispering it to her.
I told you it was beautiful, didn’t I? I bet you didn’t believe me. Such a bitch.
She laughed out loud.
I wish I was there with you now. I wish we were sitting in the sand. Laughing. Arguing. Anything, as long as it was with you.
But that’s not happening.
And it isn’t going to.
Lily held her breath.
You are very good at what you do, sweetheart, but you have a long ways to go, and this life just isn’t suited for you. Too temperamental, too naive, too easy to trick – this letter is a prime example of how easy you are to manipulate. Not a good thing, in my world. Beyond that, you have a goodness, at your core, and if I allowed that to become tainted, if I ruined that, I’d never be able to forgive myself. You deserve better than me. Someone who has real feelings and a real life. Someone who can grow with you and move with you and change with you. Someone who won’t put your life in danger, simply by being in a room with you.
It was incredibly sweet. Touching, really. But still.
She wanted to find him and punch him in the throat.
No one will ever be able to hurt you. I’m going after Stankovski. I’ll get him for you. I can do it faster than you could have, anyway. I can actually accomplish your goal. It’s better this way. No more jobs. No more doing something for no reason. I will make him pay, for everything he did to us. Everything he did to you. To your sister Kaylee. I promise. I don’t care if it takes me years, I don’t care if it costs me my life; you’ll never have to worry about him again. He’s no longer your problem.
I miss you. I miss your body. I miss being inside you. I miss your eyes. I miss you telling me what to do. I miss you making me laugh. And god help me, I miss being in a car with you. Any car with you.
I think I’ll always miss you.
Go home. Go home to your parents. Go home to your friends. Go home to your life. Please believe me when I say this is right. Please have faith in me that I will get your revenge for you. Go. Live. Be alive. Enjoy it.
Forget this life. Forget this man. Forget Africa.
Always,
Marcelle De Sant
Lily folded up the letter and calmly put it back into the envelope. She sat for a minute, staring at her hands. Then she got up. Put on a shirt. She stopped long enough to grab a cup of tea out of the kitchen, then made her way down to the shore. To the beach.
Her favorite place.
He’d tricked her. Fed her the dream of Pemba, the dream of them actually being together, in order to get her to do what he wanted. He’d led her to believe that they were in this toge
ther. That he was doing everything to be with her, though he’d never had any intention of being with her.
He didn’t think she was good enough to compete in his lifestyle, after all she’d done. After everything they’d gone through, she still wasn’t “good enough” for him. He would get Stankovski “for her”, would be “faster than her”, he claimed. Discounting all the work they’d done together.
He didn’t think she was cut out for his lifestyle. “Go home”, he’d said. Where the fuck was home? Ohio!? How? How, after everything she’d been through? Five years of her life, and for what? A working knowledge of crime rings that couldn’t be applied to every day life, and a wicked punch combo that wouldn’t help her back in suburbia.
And for what!? She had nothing to show for it. No illustrious career. No revenge. Not even Marc. Nothing. She got lied to, and she got abandoned.
She got dumped.
Five years of her life, wasted. One week of her life, to screw everything up. A few conversations with a man, to manipulate her into letting him go. And one lie, that left her alone on a beach, with a slightly broken heart.
I really believed him. I really wanted this. I really liked him.
“That motherfucker,” she growled, throwing her mug into the ocean.
She stood up and brushed the sand off her legs. The tears out of her eyes. Wondered what her next move was; the villa was paid up through the next week, and she had plenty of money to go anywhere she wanted. But where to go? What to do? The only thing she could think of right then, was tracking Marc down and making him physically hurt as much as she was emotionally hurting.
He didn’t believe in me. I believed in him, and he didn’t believe in me. Didn’t believe in us.
She stared out over the ocean, her mind wandering over the days. So many days. So much sand. Sand and roads and highways and rocks. Stones. Diamonds. She remembered him asking her about the diamonds, if she had really thrown them into the ocean. Remembered Kingsley asking her about the diamonds. Remembered Marc watching her.
Had that been it? Lily had told them she’d thrown them into the ocean – not getting them back, so what was the point in being with her anymore? Maybe she wasn’t worth anything to Marc, without those diamonds. Without the promise of a payout. Without the promise of something big.
Best Laid Plans Page 30
