by Ali Vali
“Before I leave you, let’s review a few more things.” She glanced at him briefly as she turned into the visitors’ parking lot. “You chose to live tonight, so if you think about taking out what happened to you on any of the women you hurt, I get to make your decision about your punishment next time. No matter how smart you think you are, I will find you, and I will kill you.”
“Why did you do this to me?”
“To get justice for someone else since it’s eluded me for years. I can’t do anything about my situation, but I could do something about what you were doing.”
She parked illegally in front of the hospital entrance on the second floor, not worried about being recorded by any surveillance. The hospital’s cameras were on a loop that kept the same picture of the entrance starting at midnight, when any foot traffic through the area was close to nonexistent.
“It’s been a pleasure, Dr. Dupre.”
“Fuck you,” he said, as if to prove he wasn’t defeated.
“That’s only going to be a figure of speech for you now.” She laughed, glad to be out of the car. She pressed the car keys into Jerry’s hand to get them bloody, then threw them close to the door. Her last look at Jerry made her laugh again. His anger burned brightly in his eyes, but he didn’t take his hands from between his legs.
Wiley took the stairs and walked two blocks toward downtown before she pulled the prepaid cell phone she’d purchased for Jerry’s job out of her back pocket.
“I had to go out to get something and some guy’s blocking the door with his car. Could you send someone down to get him to move?” she asked the security officer. “Yeah, he’s just sitting there. It’s really strange.” The rent-a-cop sounded more interested when she injected the right amount of worry in her voice. “Thanks.”
She turned the phone off. Even if he told the story of what she’d done to him, he was sitting in his wife’s sedan, so it’d sound like his sudden bout of conscience was short-lived.
It wouldn’t matter much, though, since next to him they’d find the evidence to convict him neatly packaged, missing only the bow. It spelled out how Jerry had suddenly confessed because he’d decided to bleed to death. However, he’d make it to see his trial and the inside of a jail cell after all. If he’d chosen to die that night she wouldn’t have hesitated to feed the rest of him through that chipper. It was what he deserved, but she’d honored her word to let him pick his fate.
The sky was losing the deep-violet shade she loved as she got into the old Dodge minivan with peeling green paint and unhurriedly drove to the warehouse district. Considering her love of vintage cars, this one was an odd choice, but no one would remember it because it blended in so well, like she did, no matter the situation. A half mile before her building she glided in front of one of the only occupied homes on the block and locked the van, leaving the wires in their original condition. The next time the owner cleaned it out he’d find the two crisp new hundred-dollar bills she’d left as renter’s fee.
She had only one thing left to do, but it could wait, she thought, as she entered the four-story building with the name Fleming barely visible along the top. Like many of the surrounding places, the structure had first been the site of a textile industry, then a garment factory, and eventually high-priced real estate for young urbanites who transformed them into luxury condos.
The Fleming building was different from most that surrounded it. Wiley owned the entire space and didn’t care for the modern chrome-and-leather worlds her neighbors had built, leaving exposed brick walls as the only hints of age. In contrast, she’d had only the wood floors on the first two levels refurbished and little else added, including the counters along the walls of the first floor for the tools and parts that it took to maintain her fleet of sixteen cars parked on the spotless green-terrazzo floor.
The cargo elevator rose slowly past the second level, and she glanced out at the large canvas that needed a few more days’ work. As she stood in the center of the elevator and waited to reach the top floor, she started to shed the persona of the Black Dragon as easily as she did the blond wig and blue contacts. She took a deep breath when the car jerked a little and stopped before one of the largest canvases she’d created. It welcomed her home and helped her forget the bloody acts.
She stood and stared at the piece she’d titled The Dragon Tree Legacy, studying the tree at its center. Each stoke of heavy oil paint wove the story that defined the part of her life that her parents and the military hadn’t had a hand in. It personified not only her first love, but also the empty coldness of that time. She’d found perfection in another person, but the woman and the life she’d wanted with her were gone—or, to be more precise, stolen from both of them.
This wasn’t the time to get caught up in the past, so she took the spiral staircase to the roof. The fire pit she’d arranged the previous afternoon roared to life, one match consuming the identity of the woman Jerry Dupre would never forget. She sat naked until it disappeared, gaining a bit of self-forgiveness because what she’d done didn’t deserve her concern or guilt. She’d killed for the military and now she’d do it to rid the world of guys like Jerry, even if he only went to jail. For someone like him, prison would be more torturous than death. She’d do some jobs pro bono, but this one would pay the bills for quite a while.
She waited until the fire died completely, wanting to clean away the ashes. In the shower she stood under the hot water, the only thing on her mind the canvas she needed to finish. She’d captured only the image of the coastline along Big Sur, California, when she’d visited after getting the commission. The new manager of the Saints football team, a transplant from Los Angeles, had spent his summers in that area and wanted a reminder of happy childhood memories. No one understood needing a talisman like that more than her, so she’d agreed after he didn’t blink when she told him her fee.
Clean, she headed down to the third-floor kitchen barefooted, wearing a pair of jeans and T-shirt. It’d been hours since her late lunch out, but she found nothing but a loaf of bread in the refrigerator and peanut butter in the pantry. Eventually she’d have to have the place stocked, but she’d had no time in the month since the contractor’s men had finished renovations. She’d paid him a bonus for completing them ahead of schedule and not asking too many questions about the room that spanned the length of the kitchen on the windowless side of the building. The wall she’d had him construct out of old brick looked exactly like the exterior, with the only opening through the extra freezer she’d outfitted herself.
The place still lacked the small nuances that made it feel cozy, but after a long absence from the city, she’d come home, and that’s what she planned to make this place. To ensure that she could keep the Black Dragon’s lair she’d planned while she completed missions around the world, she couldn’t accept too many jobs like Jerry’s. If she did, even with a depleted police force, she’d leave a pattern if they didn’t choose death.
She took her sandwich and glass of milk through the freezer door to her workroom or, more precisely, the Black Dragon’s workroom. She’d always thought of herself as two parts of one whole. That was the only way she could complete jobs without hesitation. Jerry hadn’t spent time that night with Wiley the artist. He’d met black ops Major Wiley Gremillion, code name Black Dragon. And once this job was done, that’s who she’d leave in this room. She didn’t deny herself her dark side, but after tonight she didn’t need it. Not until the next call.
The bank of computers along one wall featured a dragon flying from screen to screen in a random pattern, and along the other wall stretched her desk—the top empty except for the eight-by-ten framed picture to one side.
A much-younger version of herself stared back with her arm around Aubrey. Both smiling, they stood in front of the dragon tree. Those three short adolescent years had left an imprint on her heart as the happiest of her life. Right after her thirteenth birthday, her father had been transferred again, and she and Aubrey had communicated only t
hrough a multitude of letters and the occasional phone call. The stack of correspondence between them lay in the desk’s bottom drawer, a testament to a friendship she thought of often. Five years after they’d left New Orleans, Wiley had entered West Point, wanting to follow her dad’s path into a nomad’s existence, but his dark, almost-black eyes and hair weren’t the only things she’d inherited from him.
West Point Graduation 1995
Wiley glanced at the symbols of her new rank as she made her way toward her family once the West Point graduation ceremonies ended. Not only had her parents made the trip, but Aubrey and her parents were there to see her finish four of the hardest years of her life.
“You look fabulous,” Aubrey said after running up and hugging her. “I’m so proud of you, Second Lieutenant Gremillion.”
The way they looked at each other surely telegraphed the fact that they had cemented their mutual commitment early, and no amount of time apart had changed their feelings. Even with the crowd she didn’t care. “Thank you.” Aubrey’s perfume made her heart rate go up and her hands itch to wander. Time alone couldn’t come soon enough.
“You made it, kid,” Colonel Peter Tarver said after giving her a casual salute. Aubrey had inherited his smile and his disposition toward life. Also, the marine colonel seemed to love Wiley as much as his daughter. “Top of your class too. Damn impressive.”
Her father Buckston stood back and let the others finish what they had to say, but his face and smile were relaxed. He looked handsome in his dress uniform, the silver star of his new rank gleaming in the sunlight. She was his legacy, and she was clearly making him proud.
“Thanks, Colonel.” She shook Peter’s hand, then held hers out to Karen, Aubrey’s mother. “Thank you for making the trip, Mrs. Tarver. I appreciate you being here.”
“You’re welcome, Wiley. My husband’s right, though. This was pretty impressive.”
“It’s the Gremillion warrior gene,” said Danielle Gremillion, her mother. “Congratulations, baby.” Danielle hugged her before leading all of the Tarvers away so Wiley and her father could have a minute alone in the sea of people.
“General Greenwald called me yesterday,” he said, his hand on her shoulder.
Every serious conversation they’d ever had started like this. Most people she’d known claimed their father was their hero, but she’d never uttered those words out loud. She simply accepted his greatness in every cell of her body, so those words weren’t necessary between them. Her dad had given her not only an ideal to live up to, but a sense of herself that came from the certainty of having a safety net. No matter what she tried, how high she climbed, or how dangerous the situation—he’d always been a step behind her, ready to catch her if she failed.
“I know you might’ve had a different commission in mind, but I had to try.”
“Wiley.” He lowered his head and looked her in the eye. “If this is what you really want I’m not going to quash it, but talk to Aubrey first. You’ve been accepted, so if you decide against it, walk away knowing you’re good enough. Carl Greenwald wouldn’t have considered your application, much less green-lighted you, if you weren’t. Going forward, though, will change you, and you’ll have to live with your choices. More importantly, so will Aubrey.”
“I want to show how good I am by actually doing the job, Dad.”
“You realize I’m so proud of you that I’m about to pop all these brass buttons, right?”
“That made the day worth it.”
“Nah, that’s what will stand out more than anything today.” Her dad turned her around and pointed to Aubrey. “I’m proud of you for more than just today.”
They all had dinner together before Wiley left with Aubrey for a weekend in New York. The hotel and the restaurant reservations were her parents’ graduation gift, but the real gift was their acceptance of what Aubrey meant to her.
“Do you think you’ll be stationed in Washington near your dad?” Aubrey asked as they rode the elevator up to their room. “If you do, maybe I can get a job with Senator Breaux’s office.”
Nothing they’d thrown at her in her years at the academy scared her as much as this conversation. She glanced around the room before she concentrated on Aubrey. Every time she had her alone like this, every moment of their history flashed through her brain like someone had dumped a box of pictures into her head: the first time they’d made love after Aubrey’s sixteenth birthday, their first kiss, their first fight. Their shared memories of the past were important, but not as much as the future she wanted.
“Are you okay, honey?” Aubrey put her hands on her chest when she stayed quiet.
“I need to talk to you about something important.” Aubrey sat on the bed and listened. She didn’t close her eyes and pinch the bridge of her nose until she heard her say, “I’ve been accepted into General Greenwald’s special-operations unit.”
“You want to be a sniper? All that work and studying, and you want to kill people and nothing else? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“If I give Greenwald a few years, we can go anywhere you want once my time’s up. He promised me my pick of assignments.”
Aubrey laughed, but she didn’t appear amused. At least she hadn’t left. “Tell me why you want to do this.”
“I’ve known you since you were twelve, and I know the things you want. Your dreams are as clear to me as my own.” She knelt in front of Aubrey and placed her hands on the bed next to her. “If one day you want to have a child who follows this path, I want to have macheted it clear. Especially if it’s a girl.”
“Not if we want to have a child. When we want to have a child.” Aubrey kissed her. “And I’m putting in my order for a kid without the Gremillion warrior gene. I want one with the Gremillion doodling gene.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She got off her knees and crawled into bed until she was over Aubrey. “If you’re really against this I’ll try for a Pentagon post.”
“Promise me you won’t forget me and I’ll give you my blessing.”
“I swear it.” The need to touch Aubrey overwhelmed her and she lowered her head for a kiss. When their lips met she slipped down a little so their bodies would come into contact as well and almost physically heard their connection click into place. To her, what they had together was like two puzzle pieces snapping together, each of them a unique fit that they’d find with no other person. “The only thing that’d make me forget you is a bullet to the head.”
“Not funny, and if you manage to get shot for any reason, you’d better start running because I’m not taking it well.” Aubrey put her hands on her chest again and flipped her over so she could start on the buttons of her uniform jacket. “I may not always love your choices, but I always love you.”
Wiley gave up control as Aubrey undressed her, biting her bottom lip when Aubrey stood and let her dress fall to her ankles. The sight of all those curves made her even harder, and the pounding between her legs defined true anticipation. With Aubrey like this she felt no iota of discipline. Aubrey simply shredded the order and control the military demanded of her, and she welcomed it. No rules or fear of breaking any could make her deny this sensation.
“You looked so handsome today on that podium I cried.” Aubrey knelt between her legs and made her bend them at the knee. The cold air of the room hit her wet sex, and she flinched. She didn’t just want Aubrey to touch her, she needed her to. “The best part of seeing you was knowing you belong to me.”
Aubrey followed the declaration by putting her mouth on her, and the relief of having her tongue pressed hard to her clit made her desperation climb until she was close to pain. She dug her heels into the mattress and clenched her jaws as Aubrey sucked her in. The orgasm hit so hard she cried out, and the only sensation left was her need to touch Aubrey in return.
After a deep breath she brought Aubrey up so they could trade places. When she saw how wet and ready Aubrey was, the sheer craving to consume Aubrey’s passion swamped her, bu
t first she slipped her fingers into the one place in the world that belonged solely to her. This was truly her home, and she’d fight whatever and whoever to keep it.
*
From her first day at West Point her father’s peers soon noticed Buckston Gremillion’s kid and how she could shoot the wings off a fly from what seemed like miles away. More important, they never saw her coming. At graduation she entered a different army from the majority of her classmates, and she worked hard to make sure she was the best at her trade. As the old saying went, killing was her business, and with the missions she’d been deployed on, business was good.
For ten years that was all she’d concentrated on, and she was a master at eliminating targets however it needed to be done. Some targets served as examples to those who needed to learn a lesson, so she sat in her perch for hours waiting for the right shot. She had to make others look like accidents. Those left the biggest impression on her since human skin and bone weren’t as fragile as people thought. It wasn’t easy to slice through someone, and it took fortitude to shut off the instinctive horror she believed everyone was born with. How many more times could she detach her emotions during the job, then return from that dark, lonely place? How long before she would become only the Black Dragon?
Training and discipline only got you so far. They couldn’t serve as a roadmap to help you find your soul. Every time she stepped into this secret place, that map got fuzzier, and she got closer to forgetting the upper ranges of emotion like happiness and joy. She hadn’t felt them since Aubrey. The night of her graduation she had experienced the first cracks in the one thing she thought the most solid in her life. Ambition had made her the best, but it had also cursed her to this existence.
She placed her knife back in the empty slot on the wall, glancing briefly at the picture again. Raised by wanderers, she’d felt at home only in New Orleans, so she’d chosen it to work out of now that her commission had officially ended. “A home, but no girl.” She spoke out loud, needing to hear some sound to stanch the loneliness.
