by Anderson, S
He looks like I just stabbed him again, only this time through the heart. “My knife, Shade. The blade I’ve carried with me since I was a wee lad.”
Oh crap. I might as well stab him again. “Uhhh…”
“Uhhh,” he echoes. He tries to sit up, but several sets of hands force him back down. “Uhhh… what the bloody hell do you mean with uhhh, Shade?”
I left it back in the facility, and by now it’s been bagged and tagged with all the other evidence in the place. It’s as good as gone.
I don’t tell him that. I don’t have a chance. In the next breath, the needle goes in, and he sags from the weight of the drugs.
I back away, feeling like complete shit. The guy just showed up to save me, and I nearly killed him and lost his most prized possession in the process.
“Thanks for the help,” the medic says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Why are you guys doing this out here and not in a hospital?”
“He wouldn’t make the trip in this state,” she says. “And this bunker is sovereign land for the moment. If we take him to a hospital, there would be lots of red tape. Here, he’s under the jurisdiction of the United States Government.”
Those types of technicalities always confuse me. Who walks around with the map of all the special bunkers that are exempt from local governments?
Marko leans against the side of the ambulance, watching every pair of hands working on Claymore.
“He’ll be okay,” I say. I hope it’s true.
“I didn’t know,” he says. Emotions are blatant on his face, emotions I never saw in all of our times together. I wonder if I should feel sad or jealous about that. I’m pretty numb right now.
“He said he kept the truth of his job a secret from you.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I knew he was a soldier. I know that’s dangerous.” He looks to me, and I see it—fear. It’s something a lot of people have once they’ve seen me wield a gun or they learn about my missions.
It’s ironic. This man used to beg me to handcuff him to a bed and beat him senseless. But now he’s afraid of me.
“Is it always like that for you guys?”
I’d be lying to say yes, and I’d be lying to say no. We kill people. We often get hurt ourselves. It’s dangerous.
I don’t say anything. I just stand there and let him vent.
He shakes his head, pressing his hand to his shoulder—where he was shot back in New York. “I don’t think I can do it.”
“Do what?” I ask.
He stares at Claymore like he’s wishing something away. “I can’t. This was fun… until it wasn’t.”
One of the things I’ve always appreciated about Marko is how light he makes the world feel. I’m weighed down by pressure to perform, expectations of perfection, and questions of moral rightness every minute of my day. But he makes that all float away.
I can see the slump in his shoulders now. He feels the heaviness of this all.
Reality’s a bitch.
I lean up, brushing my fingers through his hair, and tug him down so I can kiss his forehead. “Decisions are for tomorrow, yeah?”
He keeps his eyes trained on Claymore. “Yeah.”
I want to say more. I want to fix this, but it’s not my place. My chapter with Marko has ended. I don’t know what the story of him and Claymore still holds.
Hassan calls to me, and I gladly take the invitation to step away.
“It is time for me to leave, daughter.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, holding my hand out. “Thanks.”
He smirks as he looks down at my hand. “Please consider coming with me.”
I’m not in the mood for this argument again. I’m so exhausted that I could fall flat on my face right here and pass out. Can’t he just let this go once? “Hassan, please… don’t do this. Not today.”
“I am not asking because I wish my daughter would live with me.” I make a face and he amends. “I am not just asking for that reason. I am simply saying my home is well protected. I can keep you… and those you bring with you… safe and shielded for as long as you wish.”
Hassan never offers me anything without a motive. I’m not sure what to make of this one. “And what profit can you make from me and my friends turning as allies to you?”
“When will you admit we’re not that different, you and I?”
“Never. I’m nothing like you. You do business with thugs just to get a buck. A buck you don’t need.”
“I do what I must to survive,” he says. “As do you.”
“I don’t make deals with murderers.”
“No, but you do kill people. People you’ve never met. People you don’t directly have a purpose for killing. So I ask you… which of us has more blood on their hands?”
You do, I want to say, but I don’t. I hate when he makes sense. He’s been doing that too much lately. “What I do, I do for a reason.”
“As do I.” His voice is low, hard with feeling.
“What’s your reason?”
He debates what to tell me. I can see concession in his eyes as he explains, “When your mother told me she had given birth to a daughter, I decided to do what I do to make the world a safer place for her to live in.”
I laugh without humor. “How does selling bombs to radicals make anything safer?”
“Because I know who buys them. I know who they are fighting. I can decide whether or not to inform someone to stop them. You cannot win the game if you do not hold all the cards, daughter.”
My stomach feels heavy. “You can spin this however you want, but at the end of the day, I don’t need you to keep me safe.”
His chin lifts up and a look of pride fills his face. “I know. I wish I could say you get that from me, but it is all your doing, Penelope. I wanted to safeguard the world around you so you could never be harmed, and instead, I pushed you further away. It angered me for a long time until I realized you never needed me in that way.”
“I don’t need anything,” I say. My defiance is melting into the consuming exhaustion. That’s the only reason I’m not fighting harder right now. At least that’s what I tell myself is the reason.
“You are wrong, my love.”
My stomach knots when he calls me that.
“You need an adversary, a challenge, a threat. It is what drives you to live. It is why I continue to do what I do. And why he is the perfect man for you.”
He nods to where Nikolai is standing.
I didn’t even realize he was visible.
Son of a bitch. How did Hassan know about Nikolai and me? I can’t process this moment. I don’t know how to live in a world where Hassan knows me better than I know myself.
“You do not have to say yes or no. Just know that my doors are yours. My home is yours. And it always has been.”
He kisses my cheek.
I don’t fight him on it. I don’t have an answer or even a clear thought about anything he just said.
Secretary Williams is talking to some official looking people as I walk over to the guards surrounding Nikolai.
“Can I talk to him?” I ask the head guard.
Nikolai looks up at the sound of my voice. He’s chained from his neck to his wrists, around his waist, and then down to his ankles. They damn near Hannibal Lecter'ed him.
He looks worn out but not beat down. He even smiles a little when he sees me.
“He’s on lock down, Agent Vincent,” the guard informs me.
I look the kid in the eye, realizing there’s something familiar about him. “Holt?” I ask, recalling him from a long, hot drive in the middle of the desert.
Goddamn, that was a lifetime ago.
His eyes widened a little as he nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Penelope, is there something I can help you with?” Secretary Williams asks as he joins us.
“Let him go,” I say. I’m not naïve, and I’m not trying to be a brat about this, but he’s not a criminal.
“I can’t do that
,” Secretary Williams says.
“Sir, what he’s done… it’s not his fault.”
The man holds up his hands to stop my rant. “I know, and he’s not being taken to prison for any of it. I’m having him taken to a facility to help… undo whatever has been done to him.”
A facility. I never thought I could hate the thought of a building as much as I do now. Nick doesn’t need more doctors poking and prodding him. He needs detox. He needs rest. He needs to get back to feeling like a human being and not some weapon to be used. A new place, or the one we just escaped… either way, he’ll just be told what to think and forced into a box again.
“Can I fly with him?” I ask.
Secretary Williams considers it for a moment and agrees. He tells the guards to prepare the plane for takeoff.
I stand in front of Nikolai, feeling like I’m a seventeen-year-old kid again. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“I, uh… you know what they’re going to do?”
He nods. “It’s for the best.”
I don’t think he believes that, but it’s sort of an only option at the moment. I hear engines ignite and turn to see Hassan’s plane gearing up for takeoff. He’s still standing near the stairs, shaking hands with some of the officials who were talking to Secretary Williams a few minutes ago.
“What are you going to do?” Nikolai asks.
I hadn’t thought about that. I have no doubt that once all of Heinrich’s files are evaluated, I’ll land in the hospital room right next to Nikolai. If Justice has anything to do with it, I’ll never get out of the hospital, too.
I continue to stare at Hassan’s plane. “I don’t know. Probably get buried under all of this. The Army’s been looking for a reason to burn my ass for years now.”
“Really?” The disbelief in his voice draws my attention back to him. He’s smirking. All this shit the bastard’s been through, and he finds the fact that I piss the Army off funny?
I nod. “Apparently, I’m a hotheaded showoff.”
He laughs. Laughs. Somehow, I really did get through to him back there. He’s more like Nikolai than he’s been since he tried to run Marko and me off the road.
“You find something funny about that, General?”
“I find it comforting that some things never change, Agent Vincent.”
A second set of jet engines start, and the hangar is echoing with so much noise people have to yell.
“Go with him,” Nikolai shouts. I follow the direction he points and see Hassan nearing his stairs.
I shake my head. “Hell no.”
“His plane is a sovereign nation. His home is protected by diplomatic sanctions. They can’t lock you up if you’re with him.”
That’s twice now that I’ve been given a clue about what I should do with my future. Both point to going with Hassan.
I don’t know what to make of that.
“Do it, Poppy,” he says. “Please. Save yourself.”
I look around. Everyone is busy with the job of leaving. Even Secretary Williams is preoccupied enough that he’s out of sight.
“How fast can you run in those?” I shout, pointing to his leg shackles.
“No.”
I roll my eyes. “Nick, we watched Butch and Sundance a few times together. You know damn well I’m not running if you’re not running.”
I gauge the distance from where we are to the stairs, realizing I have the perfect cover in the fact that the U.S. jet is past Hassan’s.
I’m just going to escort the prisoner to the plane.
He resists for a second but gives in. “This is a bad idea.”
“Those are usually the only kind I get."
No one pays us any mind as we stroll through the bunker. Hassan notices when we get closer, and I wave to him to stop. He’s only four steps up on the stairs. He climbs back down as we stop next to him.
“Agent Vincent,” Secretary Williams shouts. He and Ace rush toward us.
“I’ll go with you if you give diplomatic immunity to him, too,” I say to Hassan.
Hassan smirks as he looks at Nikolai. He nods.
“Penelope,” Ace shouts. He stops a foot away from us.
I shove myself between him and Nikolai.
“What are you doing?” Ace says.
“I’m making sure we get the right care that we need without the risks,” I tell him.
“There are no risks, Penelope,” Secretary Williams says. “Neither of you will be tried as criminals.”
“I know, sir, but that’s not what worries me.”
“What then?”
I don’t know how to explain it. Maybe it is just paranoia. Dr. Stevens told me I couldn’t process reality just right anymore. But I have a bad feeling at the thought of leaving Nikolai alone. I let him go once.
I’m not doing that again.
“I’m claiming sovereignty, sir. For myself and for General Zolkov.”
Secretary Williams looks ready to tear my head off. I’ve never seen the man this upset. “What? Where?”
I shove Nikolai back and we both step on to the stairs. I take a deep breath, swallowing hard. I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “With my father.”
I can hear Hassan’s exclamation of triumph over the jet engines. It doesn’t bother me half as much as the pure rage I see on Ace’s face.
“Don’t do this,” he warns. “You can’t come back if you do.”
“It’s already done,” I say.
I help Nikolai up the stairs and ask Hassan’s guard for a knife to pick the locks on Nikolai's restraints. Hassan gives me space, taking a seat at the back of the plane. Nikolai and I sit on opposite sides, facing each other. It reminds me of the first time we flew together.
He doesn’t like to fly. I remember that.
I stare down at my hand, reliving the highlights of what we just went through at that place. Without much thought, I slice the knife through my palm—amazed to watch my skin heal itself instantly.
I’m goddamn Wolverine now too. So, now there’s that to deal with. Wonderful.
I toss the knife in the seat next to me and sit with my head between my knees until I feel that shift in the air that tells me we’ve left the ground.
What have I done?
“I love you.”
My heart stops dead in my chest when I hear those words. My head pops up so fast I get dizzy. Nikolai stares at me with the kind of intensity that can light my skin on fire.
“What?” I stammer, pretty sure I’ve gone insane.
“I love you.”
Two days ago, he was set on the certainty that I wasn’t even me, and now he’s telling me he loves me?
“I don’t—”
“I should’ve told you,” he says. “I’ve loved you almost the entire time I’ve known you. I should’ve told you. When I woke up in that cell and realized I’d never see you again…” He bites down so hard I see his muscles flex in his jaw. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever regretted.”
I have so many thoughts that all I can say is, “Seriously?”
He leans back in his seat, an easy smile on his lips. “Seriously.”
Typical Nikolai Zolkov.
I just undermined the international agency we both pledged our lives to, gave into a life-long battle of control with Hassan, and survived three weeks of the most brutal mental torture I’ve ever encountered, and this bastard one-ups me by telling me he loves me.
“Well, then,” I say, flopping back against the cushion. “Gold star for you.”
Acknowledgements:
Thanks and much love to my writing buddy, Jessica Darhower. You wear more hats than the Mad Hatter—editor, cover maker extraordinaire, and many other jobs in between. Thanks for pushing me to write this idea into a novel. You deserve a medal for fielding all of my “that’s it, I’m just gonna go live in a cave 'cause this shit is too hard” texts. You, my dear friend, are a total Mimka. Thank you so much again and again for all that you do and all of your hard wor
k! I couldn’t do this without you!
Thanks and love to my family for always having my back.
Thanks, Mom, for everything—especially all of those NCIS marathons. I love you.
Thanks and much love to the Winnett clan- Shannon, Damon, and Wanda. Your support means everything to me.
Thanks and love to my amazing friends: Julie Pullinger, thanks for being there forever and for all of your support. Celeste Gonzales-Ramirez, thanks for love from afar and positive thoughts always. Sarah Patrick, thanks for being my bestie and for always making me laugh. And to all my other friends: Bobbi Gilbert, Michelle Lambel, Jessica Bryan, Nicole Assante, Karina Villa, and Val Orta. Y’all keep me going with all of your support. Thanks also to the Muir crew for sending me so much love and support on this endeavor!
Can’t really put this book out there without thanking the Winter Soldier and Black Widow for being awesome lil' bundles of inspiration.
Last, but not least, thanks to the organizers of NaNoWriMo and all other writing support groups, websites, forums, and all the wonderful online communities out there. It’s amazing how words of encouragement and support from total strangers can help you stick to your goals. Thank you to everyone out there that I’ve met, and will potentially meet, through these mediums. We’re all in this together! I wrote this book for my NaNoWriMo November 2014 novel. It’s proof positive that a few words every day can add up. Don’t ever give up.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dedication
Case File
Preface
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Acknowledgements
