by Anderson, S
“You two talking about me?”
I hear his knife twirling in the air. He doesn’t trust Nikolai right now any more than Nikolai trusts him.
I don’t have time for peeing contests.
“Well,” I say, tugging on Nikolai’s wrist until he removes his hand. “I think your thing worked. It sent out an electrical wave, if nothing else. My tit can attest to that.”
I flash the welt at Claymore as I climb off the bed.
He looks pissed. “What did you do to yourself?”
“Licked a pole in a lightning storm,” I say with a grin that only pisses him off more. “How do we know if it worked?”
“We don’t,” he says. “I honestly was about eighty percent sure it would just microwave his innards.”
Nikolai growls from the bed, and I throw the used EMP at Claymore, who easily dodges it.
“Strip and pack,” Claymore says. “We’ve been stalled here for too long. We need to hit the road.”
I agree and get to work removing all traces that we were here. Nikolai redresses and sits on the bed, obediently waiting. It weirds me out how docile he's being.
Nikolai was many things, but submissive was never one of them.
“Grab the handcuffs, will you?” I ask him. He follows my command without question.
“Hey, Shade, I have some guns in the car,” Claymore says. “You wanna just give them to him now so he can go ahead and shoot us?”
His deadpan expression makes me want to punch him so hard he loses his accent for a week, but I just flip him off.
In five minutes flat, we have the car packed and ditch the room. Claymore insists that I drive this time, and Nikolai requests he sit up front if I’m going to. Claymore isn’t thrilled about that idea and starts to keep the keys.
I feel like I’m living an eternal game of musical chairs with these two.
“I’m driving,” I say, grabbing the keys from him. "You two sit wherever you want."
Claymore concedes to let Nikolai ride up front, and no one in the car thinks it’s for any other reason than the fact that he can keep a gun aimed at Nikolai’s back the entire time we’re in it.
“Where are we heading?” I ask, pulling out onto a main highway.
“We still don’t have any clue what we’re on about, do we?” Claymore says. “We have the attacker but minus the reason for his attack.”
I know a little bit about his attack now. I know I was his main target. “If I was the primary target,” I say to Nikolai, “did you have secondary targets?”
His cheek twitches. Come on, baby, tell me what you know.
“He’s not going to tell you anything, Shade.”
I glare at Claymore in the rearview mirror. Everyone shuts up after that, and I fiddle with the radio to get some noise in the car, landing on a classic rock station. I wouldn’t say I have any particular favorites when it comes to music genres. I’ll listen to just about anything when I’m in the mood for music. I know Claymore favors classic rock.
And Nikolai always loved Mozart.
“Veltriv,” Nikolai says a few miles later.
Claymore scoots forward so his face is between us. “You were after Marko, too?”
There’s a protective edge to his voice that I might have missed before I knew what Marko meant to him.
Nikolai stares out the windshield in front of him, never once acknowledging that Claymore even spoke. I shove my hand against Claymore’s face until he begrudgingly sits back.
“Was Marko Veltriv a secondary target?” I ask.
Nikolai turns to me. “No, Roman Veltriv was my secondary target. I was to eliminate and capture you, and kill Roman.”
Claymore is twirling his knife in the backseat, and our eyes meet in the rearview mirror.
“Did you succeed with the secondary target?” I ask.
Nikolai's eyes narrow, and his mouth works up and down a few times before he says, “I don’t know.”
We were so focused on Countess’ death that we didn’t bother looking up information about Roman.
“What did Marko’s mother say when she picked him up?”
“Nothing. She was in a damn hurry to be gone.”
“If he had been shot,” I say, trying to make sense of the events surrounding that night. “I don’t think she would have risked stopping to pick up Marko.”
“They travel separately. Always have, for specifically this reason.”
“Marko’s always telling me about the family’s private jet. Wouldn’t they both fly in that?”
“No, his mother and he take the jet. Roman flies commercial, under assume names, and always with a bodyguard.”
It’s quiet then as I soak in that information.
“He might be dead,” Claymore says eventually.
“That would have hit the news,” I counter.
“Aye, unless something bigger was already taking up all the coverage.”
Countess. They burned her and linked her to a global terrorist threat to cover up Veltriv’s death. If he’s dead… A million possibilities are unfolding in my head. Everything points to Marko’s father knowing something he shouldn’t, but where do I fit in all of that?
I drive us to the next town and pull into a motel. Claymore hops out to get us a room. The sun is going down, and I know this will be another night without sleep.
Claymore walks to the new room, and Nikolai and I follow him in a few minutes later.
“We need to ditch that car before the police start looking for it,” Claymore says, closing the curtains.
I kick off the heels. “We need a plan.”
Nikolai sits on the bed with one hand clutched to the headboard. He hasn’t been handcuffed since before the EMP, and I don’t think he’s okay with the freedom.
“First things first,” Claymore says. “We need intel.”
“I can try to hack another computer bank and—”
Claymore holds up a hand. “They’ve doubled the security since then and you know it. They’ll be trolling for us with bait this time.”
I can’t argue with that. Standard protocol requires once a hack has been detected that the traps be set out. That’s how the FBI caught me when I was a kid.
“Then what?” I ask, sitting on the bed beside Nikolai.
His body stiffens, and he stares at the floor.
“We split up,” Claymore says, and I have to remind my heart to stay calm. He’s not cutting and running. He’s just working on the next step for us to figure this all out. “I have…” He pauses to blatantly glare at Nikolai. “…avenues I can follow. You stay with him. Stay mobile and see if you can get anything else out of him.”
It’s a good plan, with one kink. “What if something happens to you?”
His smirk is as cocky as ever. “Aw Shade, don’t worry. We’ll have our Titanic moment before I ever let death take me.”
I snatch a pillow from the other side of Nikolai and launch it at Claymore. He laughs as he easily deflects it. “Honestly, though, I’ll cover more ground alone. No one knows I was the one who took you. You’ve got a big Russian target on your ass.”
Nikolai’s hand that’s closest to me tightens into a fist. I cover it with my hand. “I’m good. And you didn’t report to your mission two days ago. They’ll know something’s up with that.”
“Oh, aye,” he says as if that should be self-explanatory. “I called Marko’s mum by way of the Russian-American consulate the night I picked you up. The powers that be know I was the one who broke his ass out, but they don’t know jack about you.”
That’s a solid cover then. He can move about and find out information freely without having to worry about either Nikolai or I drawing undo attention. Nikolai’s hand relaxes under mine.
Maybe being alone with him will help with whatever is waking him up.
“How will you know where to find me?” I ask.
“I’ll find you.” Claymore winks. “I always do.”
That’s it, that’s all he sa
ys. He gives me a look that warns I need to keep my eyes open, blows me a kiss, and leaves. I hear the car pull away and drop my head in my hands.
“What do we do now?” Nikolai asks.
Keep moving, keep changing. That’s the only way to stay alive, Poppy.
My voice is muffled as I keep my face braced in my hands. “We keep moving. I need to get us a car and some money and some clothes… food… get to another town and find some place to sleep.”
He’s quiet for so long I look up to make sure he’s still there. He’s staring straight ahead, his cheek twitching like he’s trying to work something out.
“Have you ever had to worry about that? Clothes, food…where you’re going to sleep?” I ask. It might be sick, but I’m starting to like pushing him when I see his vulnerability creep in. I don’t like to torture him. I just like the pay off when he opens up again.
“I don’t think so,” he says. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know your name?”
“No.” He turns two of the most tormented eyes I’ve ever seen on me. “Do you know it?”
I lose the ability to speak for a minute. He asked me to give him a name once, and I stupidly gave him the same name he already had. I realize now that he can’t be anyone but Nikolai to me. No matter what changes him, no matter how far off the reservation they take his mind, he’ll always be Nikolai to me.
“Nick,” I say, forcing enough breath out of my lungs for him to hear it.
“Nick.” He repeats it a few times, scowling like it doesn’t fit right in his mouth.
“Do you know my name?” I ask.
His eyes roam my face once, twice, three times, landing on my lips as he says, “Poppy.”
I close my eyes, drowning in the sound of his voice. It’s been so long. I can’t hold back the emotions that it brings.
I cry.
A knot I didn’t know was tangled so tight inside of me starts to unwind. I feel like the pieces of me that were stitched together when he died are breaking open again.
His fingers brush my cheek, and I gasp, opening my eyes. He’s not as lost now, not as hurt. Wonder has filled his eyes. I’m lost in it as his fingers wipe away my tears, traveling down my cheek, to my jaw and back up to my lips. They part for him as they’ve been locked and his touch is a key.
His index finger traces my bottom lip. His eyes narrow on my mouth. “Penelope,” he whispers it like a prayer. “You’re name is Penelope.”
My heart is racing out of my chest, my lungs locking with each breath.
I’m insane. This can’t be happening.
“That’s right,” I say with a small nod of encouragement. “Do you remember me?”
He moves closer. I can feel his breath against my lips. I hold my own breath, wishing he’d just close the last bit of space between us.
This is torture.
He pulls away with a sharp inhale, clutching the headboard again. He’s shaking from head to toe, eyes suddenly unfocused and wild.
I give my heart five seconds to bounce back.
Ten years. It’s a hell of a long time to overcome.
A lifetime that he may never recover.
“Congratulations, Recruit Vincent,” Secretary Williams says, holding out his hand.
I thank him, shaking his hand with a forceful grip.
“General Zolkov has given you the top ranking for the class.” I know. “Have you decided on your codename?”
I’m standing in Secretary Williams’ office a week after Nikolai told all of us that we had completed the recruitment training. We were told to report back to our countries to receive our official ranks and codename assignments. I don’t know what my fellow recruits are going through right now and that unbalances me. I know Nikolai trained us to be individual soldiers, but I grew attached to that team.
They are the family I never had.
I consider my codename. I wanted to be Poppy, but that wasn’t right. That name is for Nikolai alone, nobody else. So I selected something similar.
Nightshade.
It’s also a beautiful flower with poisonous properties. An alluring shell that hides a lethal center. That’s me. In many ways, it’s deadlier than the poppy. I like that. I own that, standing here, ready to go off on my first mission.
“Nightshade, sir.”
“Nightshade,” he echoes. “I like it.”
His approval is not required, but I’m glad for it. It’s odd to me to think this man, not Nikolai, is my ultimate CO. I’m been programmed to wait and listen for Nikolai’s next command, and I’m again feeling out of place here.
“We, unfortunately, can’t do any pomp and circumstance for you,” Secretary Williams says. He sits on the edge of his desk, talking to me like we’re old friends. “Shame, too, because you’re about to become this country’s best asset.”
No pressure there, Penelope.
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
He smiles a fatherly type smile, like he’s proud of how I think and conduct myself. It makes me feel weird. I’ve gained a different type of confidence than I had the first time I met him. Back then I was cocky, self-assured that I was the smartest person in the room. Now I have the confidence in truly knowing myself, knowing every aspect of my mind and body and how to control whatever situation I’m in.
I’m a different person.
He approves of this person.
I can’t deny the pride that gives me.
“Now, I’m sure General Zolkov briefed you on this, but it’s required that I go over it again. No one can ever really know who you are or what you do. Your parents, of course, know you, but they can’t be involved or informed of any missions you take.”
“Understood, sir.”
“It’s probably best to limit you contact with them.”
“Not a problem, sir,” I say, and I mean it.
I have nothing to do with Hassan already. Limiting my contact with him will be easy. My mother and I have never had an easy relationship, and I can’t imagine trying to build one with her now. Like I said, I’m a different person. The world I have existed in the past two years has altered my perception. I can’t be even the little slice of normal she always tried to make me be anymore. I can’t sit on the couch and watch TV without wondering if all the doors and windows are secured, wondering if the phones are bugged. I’ve seen the nuts and bolts and screws that make up the world. I can’t go back to just seeing a complete cabinet anymore.
“Excellent,” he says with a strained smile. I wonder if it bothers him that I’ve let that part of my life go so easily. It’s a curious sensation, realizing that I’ve become the person he envisioned when we first met. I’ve let it all go and evolved. I can’t even remember the old Penelope.
“Get some rest, Penelope. The council will have a mission for you soon, I have no doubt.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say.
A mission. A real honest-to-God mission.
I never dreamed this is where my life would lead me, but it feels like the right place for me to be.
9
I get us on the road again with a new car, some cash, new clothes, and a bit of groceries. It’s pushing midnight, the road so dark and empty that my headlights seem too bright, like a giant spotlight warning people where to find us.
We’re somewhere in Indiana, keeping to the main highway like it’s the only road that exists. I know I should stop and find a motel. A solid night’s sleep and a warm shower sound like something worth selling my soul for right about now.
I glance over to the passenger seat. Nikolai is passed out with his head against the side window. He strikes an odd profile in the new clothes I got him. A navy blue T-shirt that hugs his wide shoulders tightly, a pair of jeans that are a little loose around the waist, and a pair of black Nikes. I like being able to see his neck and arms. They’re thick and sinewy, lethal-looking even when he’s unconscious. They are exactly the same as they were ten years ago.
It’s strange that he hasn’t aged
since then, but I’ve come to the conclusion that the regenerative properties of his skin are probably the reason for it. I do wonder about the scar on his face and his tattoo, though. Both are wounds that didn’t fully heal. How is that possible when everything else, including aging, is fixed by his skin?
I don’t care what Claymore says. He’s basically an X-man. Probably should have told him to do some research at a comic book store to figure out what’s going on with Nikolai.
I laugh softly as I pull into a campground and park. It’s around two in the morning. The world around us is asleep. I would very much like to join them.
I’m just going to rest my eyes. Just a few minutes so they stop crossing when I stare at the road.
Bright light stings my eyes when I eventually open them. I shield my face with my hand and realize the sun’s up. Great. I slept in.
I stretch, scrubbing my hands over my face. “How was your sleep?”
Nikolai doesn’t respond, and I look over to find his seat empty.
“Nick?” I check the back seat and the front seat several times as Claymore’s numerous warnings run through my head.
You know better than to drop your guard, Shade.
The keys are still in my pocket, so he didn’t take them from me. I jump out of the car, checking the tires. All four are fine, no punctures or flats. I unlock the trunk and check the supplies. My backpack is there, weapons still inside. The food and extra clothes I bought are all accounted for.
Where did he go?
I scan the remote space. There’s one trailer parked ten yards away, but other than that, we’re alone. It’s morning, but still early. The sun is just starting to rise. I don’t see any people.
That doesn’t mean he didn’t find someone and kill them and take their car.
No. His priority mission was to take me in. He wouldn’t leave without taking me with him.
Unless he’s programmed to return to his handler in the event that he’s been gone too long. He left twice before without taking me in.
I throw on the black leather coat I bought, tucking my gun in the pocket. I’m dressed in almost an identical outfit to Nick’s. My shirt is black, my jeans are snug, and I wear a pair of black Converse shoes that pinch my toes together. I’m highly aware of all the bruises and scrapes on my body. My leg is still tender with each step. The burn spot under my boob itches as I walk, my bra rubbing against the bandage I put over it.
