Charity's Secrets

by Maya James

  "Are you sure it wasn't Justin's brother—he's in the same building?" she offers.

  "Yeah, maybe," I reply.

  No—it fucking wasn't!

  "I gotta go," I say quickly, hanging up on her.

  I check the text again. I was half asleep when I read it.

  It's Trisha's number, no mistake. I turn and face the hallway and it stares back at me like the gaping entrance to hell.

  Someone did want me down here, only I don't know if they're after me or Justin—or both. Frantically, I call him, afraid to move. It rings four times and goes to his voicemail.

  What the fuck does that mean?

  I try again, spinning my head to watch both ends of the hallway as much as I can, terrified someone will step out of one of the doors, either in front of me or behind, and finish me without a fight.

  Justin still doesn't answer.

  It's so dangerous to just stand here like this. Do I really want to stay exactly where I was sent?

  I call Garrett as I collect enough courage to start sliding myself down the hall. I feel the texture of the wall moving under my shoulders. The only thing I hear is the distant beeping of an elevator passing and the unanswered ringing in my ear.

  Answer! Answer! Answer!

  Voicemail.

  I redial when I get to the end of the dim hall. I'm feeling the same anxiety I felt when Steve grabbed me in the hallway at the Grill. It's almost as dark here; certainly as isolated and lonely. My throat is closing now and it might as well be Steve's arm around my neck again.

  The elevator doors stare at me stoic and unconcerned. They don't give a shit if Garrett answers me or not and how it's freaking me the fuck out.

  I need to grow a pair. They may need me and I'm down here being a pussy. I'd feel better if I had my gun. I really didn't think I'd need it to go down a few floors.

  Garrett is only a floor up, I realize suddenly. I punch the elevator button. I'll go there first and get him—and a weapon.

  No more being afraid. When the doors open, I charge the hall. Fuck knocking; I twist Garrett's door handle open and barge in. It wasn't locked. "Garrett?" I shout. My feet haven't stopped. He's not in the living room, not in his bedroom.

  Screw it! I give up looking for him, and look for his guns instead.

  I don't know what it means, but in his bedroom closet I find his case left wide open, like he'd gone in it and left in a hurry. There's a handgun hanging inside as if it's waiting for me. I grab it and make sure it's loaded as I run back out into the hall for the elevator.

  It's too much time. I'm taking too fucking long.

  Justin's in trouble—I can feel it.

  The elevator takes forever to get to me. The god damn beeping is endless.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  It should fucking be here!

  How many damn floors are there in this god-awful building?

  Finally the doors open and I jump in.

  My pulse completely blocks out the beeping on the way up. There is nothing but my fear for Justin.

  The doors open and I have the gun out just as Justin taught me. My feet carry me to the front door and I don't even feel it happening, as if I'm floating.

  I have to throw up, there's just no time to do it.

  As I go in, I can smell burnt gunpowder and I begin to sob. I'm too late, I just know it.

  Despite my fear, I push on. As soon as I'm in the foyer I can see them, and neither of them is moving. Garrett is laying on the floor. Justin is on the couch right where I left him, like he never moved an inch, which doesn't make any sense to me.

  There's blood—a lot of it.

  The gun shakes in my hands because I don't know who it's all coming from, even as I get closer I can't tell. Everything moves in slow motion as the adrenaline pumps through my system. I can see specs of dust hovering in the air around me, directionless and weightless. A line of dark red blood drips eternally down the front of the couch. My reflection drifts by in a glass vase resting on a table to my right.

  The sound of my heartbeat fills the apartment.

  I don't care about myself. I don't care if the assassin is still here. I just want to know if Justin is alive or not. I reach out to touch him, to shake him and wake him up.

  His limp body sides down the couch and I explode into a violent scream.

  EPILOGUE

  It's sunny and crisp outside today. No one is in the mood for the paperwork we need to get done, but we all know it's important and Justin isn't around to do it himself.

  John is meeting me at the office for it on a Saturday night. He's used to the crazy hours of this job, but this is for Justin, and he said for that he'd do anything.

  Everyone was absolutely shocked by what happened. Lena got the names we needed from Dr. Drake Rutherford that night right after she got the call about Justin. She didn't want me to know how, and refused to tell me herself, but I got the story from one of our other soldiers that was there with her.

  She had the doctor naked and tied to a chair. In front of him, one of his hand-picked intelligence officers was also naked and tied to a chair facing him, his terrified expression wasted on his calculating mentor. They had been beating him, letting him bleed into his own lap, but the doctor was holding strong even though during the night before he watched them beat one of his other officers to death. Lena's phone rang and she had stepped away to answer it.

  They all heard her scream, even the doctor.

  She came back crying and gave all of our guys the option to leave, so they wouldn't have to watch. They refused and listened as she told the doctor that his boss had shot Justin, her best friend, and that he was about to suffer more than anyone had ever suffered at her hands until he gave her the name of who he worked for.

  They told me the doctor knew, he knew right then just by looking at her that the game had changed, that it wasn't a game at all. He was terrified.

  Then, before he could say anything, she took out her knife, opened his abdomen, and pulled his intestines out, putting him into shock instantly. The security officer began screaming at the sight of it, so Lena hacked his face off and slit his throat so deep that he was basically beheaded.

  Dr. Drake told her everything she wanted to know. He even confirmed who our leak is.

  That's what the papers are about; John is helping us change over some of the control of Panther so we can continue to operate without Justin.

  The world keeps on spinning.

  My eyes are sore and swollen from too many tears shed over the last few days. It had drained me completely, but that's over now and things are getting better finally.

  I hear movement out on the floor of the office, and I poke my head out to see John waking in.

  "Hey, kiddo," he says supportively. "How are you holding up?"

  "I'm okay," I tell him. Our voices echo easy through the empty space. It sounds so different here without all the people talking and working. "I'll meet you in the conference room," I say softly.

  He nods, offering me his most sympathetic expression. Once we sign the papers he has with him, John will be able to delegate control of the company officers. It's a lot to ask of him, but he knows it has to be done.

  I grab the things that I need with me and head to the conference room to meet him, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.

  John has the papers out across the table by the time I walk in. He sat in his usual chair, next to Justin's. It's almost like he's here, watching us. I give John a short hug and kiss his cheek. "Thank you for doing this today," I tell him for like the fifth time. "It's just better for everyone if this is done and we have order by Monday."

  "Stop," he insists, "Anything you guys need." I sit next to him on the other side of Justin's empty seat, resting my heavy arm on the back of his chair.

  "Have the doctors said anything?" he asks. "Any sign that he may wake up?" There is so much concern in his voice that you can almost taste it in the air.

  "He'll be f
ine," I tell him, confusing the shit out of him. "He's pissed—and hurt, John. I think that's the worst part, how fucking hurt he is by this. He never would have thought it."

  All the life just ran out of John's face as he realizes what is happening. "So he's awake?"

  I smile brightly, not nearly as nervous as I'd thought I would be. "Has been for days, John."

  My fingers tighten on the gun I had maneuvered to the back of his head, and it makes a metallic click. He hears it; I see his eyes twitch nervously toward it, fully understanding what's happening now.

  "Dr. Drake gave you up, but we had you anyway. The cell towers for your burner phone matched up to your real phone. You should have turned it off," I tell him.

  "Sounds like it wouldn't have mattered," he replies, admitting his guilt.

  "True," I concede, "but we were having a hard time with this, John. This wasn't as easy for us as it was for you."

  "It wasn't easy," John says. "This shit is never easy, but I kept business as business. Justin and Lena, they have their heads up their asses. Arthur Shea was much too hard to turn down."

  I put the end of the silencer against the back of his head, pressing into the base of his skull, to remind him to be careful. He's shaking, I can see his fear is taking over as he realizes the end coming.

  "Business as business, John? You tried to have him killed, twice! He loved you," I tell him. "You betrayed him. You betrayed all of us. What could have been more important than us?"

  He doesn't say anything for a moment, accepting his fate maybe, or trying to think of a way out of it. I press the gun harder into his wiry hair to help him loosen up.

  "If I gave him Justin, and basically Senator Lewis, I would get Panther and all the connections I would need to keep it going."

  I'm disgusted by him. "You should never have crossed us, John. You should never have done that to a man who cared for you as much as Justin did. But most of all—you should never have fucked with me!"

  "Can you really do this, Charity?" he asks, his voice riddled with fear. "Is it really in you to kill me?"

  "Goodbye, John."

  I pull the trigger, feeling the kickback and hearing the muffled POP!

  A few moments later Garrett and Lena come around the corner into the room. I can see it in their faces, they’re proud that I was able to do it, but worried about me too.

  Honestly, it wasn't hard. He nearly took Justin away from me. For a short time that night, I thought he was already gone. He fell to the cushions of the couch in a lifeless heap, and I saw the hole in his neck, the source of all the blood.

  I mean—who the fuck gets shot in the neck and lives?

  He was gone, I was sure of it, and life imploded around me. After thinking I lost him over his mother, I couldn't handle losing him again. I screamed and freaked the fuck out, throwing and breaking everything I could get my hands on.

  That's when Garrett regained consciousness. Seeing his brother like that, after just finding out about his existence, was too much for him and he passed out, but hearing me brought him back. He called the ambulance and calmed me down. Garrett took his brother's pulse, my hands were too shaky and unstable, and the son-of-a-bitch was still alive.

  We stopped the bleeding and I called Dr. Cooper. He knew exactly what to do; they had protocols in place for this.

  At the hospital, Justin was admitted under an alias so no one could find him or get his status. Any inquiry for Justin Collins would be directed to us. They had him in surgery immediately. The bullet was still in him, putting pressure on his spine, which explained why he was unconscious.

  They saved him. Dr. Cooper saved him, just like he saved me after the accident with Steve.

  I called Lena when he went into surgery. By the time he came out, Lena had our names, including our own John Fillmore.

  My plan to be the one to kill John started before Justin woke up in recovery.

  No one got in my way. Justin tried and he learned quickly not to. He was not in the position to stop me, and that had not a damn thing to do with his recovery. It had to do with my huge, all-consuming need for revenge.

  This was the first time I had killed with my own hands and I couldn't feel more relieved. John was a traitor and what I did to him was justified.

  Lena knows me best, and how to handle me. "You good?" she asks.

  I answer her. "I'm better than good." I let her study me for a few seconds, judging me.

  We smile at each other, and then she turns to Garrett. "She's fine."

  "I see that," he says. He motions for me to get up and come to them while he uses his phone to send a text. It's to Justin, so he'll knew I'm safe. "Come on, let’s get you cleaned up to see him. He won't be right until he sees you himself, you know that."

  I glance at Lena, ignoring the movement I see behind her, other members of Panther that were waiting with them.

  "Go," she says. "We'll take care of this."

  Garrett waited outside of the ladies room while I changed and washed up in the sink. There are some very unglamorous aspects to shooting someone at close range in the head, things they don't usually show you in the movies. After I was ready, he took me to the hospital.

  By the time I get to Justin's room, I'm swimming in anxiety. I just want to curl up next to him and let him help me forget everything, forget what I just did. The only thing I want to remember is why I did it and Justin's embrace is all I need for that. But John Roberts is there as Garrett and I walk in. Their strong voices roll through the room without any tension. They're both very pleased about something.

  Justin finally sees us and sits up further in his bed, ignoring the notepad lying across his lap. "Are you okay, Warrior?" he asks.

  "I was. Now I'm pissed the fuck off," I growl at him.

  He smiles brightly, understanding me instantly, and writes "sorry" across the pad, holding it up so I can read it from across the room.

  I mean, really! He was shot in the God damn throat! Dr. Cooper told him not to talk, at least for the next few days so he doesn't risk doing permanent damage.

  Mr. Roberts laughs. In my anger, I nearly forgot that he was in here, and that he has no clue who I am. "You are something else, Charity," he says, startling me. His tough, leathery face turns to Justin. "You're right—I love her."

  Apparently, he does know me.

  "You must be Garrett," he says. "JP tells me I can trust you, and that's enough for me." He shakes Garrett's hand tightly. "You should get to know me—we're going to be working together a lot now."

  Garrett smiles, but we can tell he doesn't fully understand what that meant. He thinks he does, but he refuses to assume.

  "They need an update," Mr. Roberts says to Justin. "Are you really going to write it out for them?"

  "Tell them." Justin writes, grinning.

  Obviously something has changed while we were taking care of our lose end. I hope they tell us fast, because my nerves are beginning to hum. I need Justin and I need the comfort of his arms. Today was a big deal, bigger than I've been letting myself accept.

  Mr. Roberts carefully sits himself on the bottom edge of Justin's bed. "You're running the show now," he says to Garrett. "You have your brother and Lena helping you, they're not throwing you to the wolves alone, but you're running this side of things starting with Senator Lewis. They will continue to run Panther Corporate, providing the intelligence, and funding the team, but they need your help now." He takes deep breath. "This morning, Arthur Shea made contact."

  My blood boils. I want him dead as much as I wanted John Fillmore, and I want to do it myself.

  Bastard!

  "It's okay," Justin adds softly, reading my face. I don't care how soft he talks, my face tells him if he says another word I might rip his throat open myself.

  "He didn't authorize the attempt in your home and he doesn't tolerate insubordination, not on any level. You decimated his team; most of the group jumped ship as soon as they heard, terrified they were next. It was not the time to make a
move on you, but his guy did anyway, so he cut him loose."

  "He's in the wind?" I ask.

  Both of them nod cautiously.

  Mr. Roberts continues. "Shea wants a truce. He wants to salvage the last of his group by securing their safety. He will help us get Lewis in the running for the next Presidential campaign as long as this war ends now."

  "And why should we trust him?" Garrett growls.

  "We shouldn't," Mr. Roberts agrees. "We should never trust him, but we should call the truce and make the deal. There's a bigger picture to look at, and something more important to focus on right now."

  "It gets our group what it needs at a much lower cost," I say to them, "and right now we need to find the guy that shot you, Brian Marker, because if he wasn't ordered to kill you, then he did it because he wants it. We need to locate him and kill him, because as soon as he finds out you're not dead, he'll be back for you."

  I feel my fingers begin to tremble. I've had enough now. I've needed Justin from the moment that I fired the gun and now that I know the danger we're in, I can't wait any longer. I need to bury myself in his love and forget about everything else for a little while. I don't know if I can just stand here for another full minute.

  "Exactly," Mr. Roberts says excitedly. "Damn you are sharp! Justin, you weren't exaggerating." He stands off the bed. "Shea wants him dead, too. He's afraid of him now that he's a free agent again. You two need to focus on this, for the group, and mostly for yourselves."

  He steps over to Garrett. "We should get to know each other and we should start now," he says.

  I'm sure he's seen my emotions rupturing, and this is his way of getting himself and Garrett out of here before I meltdown completely. My legs wobble as they say goodbye and the door closes behind them.

  "Come here now," Justin orders.

  I'm too upset to yell at him for talking again. I fall into him, dropping onto his bed beside him.

  My body quits and Justin pulls me the rest of the way in. He doesn't say another word because he doesn't have to. He knows exactly what I need right now without asking.

  His arms are tight. When I breathe out, he breathes in, and his heart forces mine into rhythm with him. We are one as we were meant to be.