Retaliating, he’d kicked her in the face harder than necessary, satisfied when blood burst from her mouth and through the air, dispersing into the water under her slack body. When she’d given up on standing again, when her limbs were limp against the ground, he’d kicked her again, then again.
Satisfied, he’d wrapped her hair around his palm and dragged her to his car, throwing her in the back where she didn’t move once during the entire drive to the lab.
“Good morning, lover.” Oliver reached down and took Veronica’s chin between his fingers when her eyelids fluttered. Once she’d focused on his face, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her full on the mouth, mashing his lips into hers hard enough to cut the soft insides of her mouth against her teeth.
Unable to rear back, Veronica closed her eyes again and let him finish, let him worm his tongue out and taste the blood on her split lower lip. Finally he stopped, then backhanded her again. She gathered the saliva in her mouth and spit out two teeth, both cracked from his assault in the alley.
“Was it worth it, you stupid whore?” He backhanded her again.
“Aren’t you supposed to ask me questions first?” She didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to. Might anyway. The pain was so bad that it had actually faded, tucked away to preserve her sanity. The human mind, to Veronica’s way of thinking, was a wonderful thing. Self-protecting.
Oliver stalked in front of her, taking deep breaths to calm himself.
“Was it worth killing my daughter?”
“Yes.” She said it coolly, no regret or sorrow on her face.
“Was it worth leaving a sixteen-year-old girl choking on her own blood so you could save your own skin?”
“Yes.” The lie came easily.
He hit her again, pulled her out of the chair and shoved her against the wall, used his fists to pound her until she was broken almost to pieces, unable to support herself. He relished the sound of his knuckles on her flesh, got an almost sexual thrill when she whimpered, then pulled herself together. Her jaw had to be broken, he realized, considering the odd slant of her face.
Veronica wasn’t able to speak and he had no more questions. Oliver took out a knife and went to work on her, leaving her torso and back with short, shallow cuts before he started peeling back the skin.
Two days later she was almost unrecognizable as human, though she’d once been considered a great beauty. He almost couldn’t believe it was her—he’d shorn her long, red hair, which he now realized was dyed. It lay sticky with blood around the chair where he’d left her limp in her bonds. Now he could see her scalp peeking through the tufts of hair he’d left. There were no cuts there. No, he couldn’t kill her. Wanted to, and not just for Isabella. He wanted to because looking into her eyes when she took her last breath would make him hard enough to cut wood.
But he had people to answer to and they wanted their pound of flesh. As it stood, it was unlikely he’d escape his actions entirely unscathed. He’d been told to interrogate her, yes, but gently. A broken and bleeding Veronica did them no good; how, they’d asked, would they convince her to join Second Division if he abused her? She had unique talents, he’d been told. Too unique for him to comprehend.
But she’d killed Isabella. He’d never forget the look on his daughter’s face when the bitch had pulled Izzy in front of her so that the bullet found her neck, not Veronica’s. He’d questioned his superiors when they assigned him to Tokyo, sure he wasn’t the right man for the job, that he couldn’t ignore her actions, but they’d insisted. Coerced. Demanded.
He’d failed. Maybe. When he made his next contact, his boss would make it clear. He dreaded that, now that the haze of excitement had passed, now that two of his workers were bundling her onto a gurney for transport to people he’d not yet been allowed to meet.
She choked again, gasped on her own pooling blood like Izzy had, and snapped him back to the present. When they would have carried her out she lifted an arm. In a daze, he stumbled toward her, disbelieving that she could summon even the strength for a single word.
“What?” Oliver leaned in to her until her swollen lips almost brushed his ear. Couldn’t quite make out the words she tried to speak to him.
“Your fault.” Veronica licked her lips. Winced. “You killed Izzy. Not me.”
He jerked back and the two men holding her, chilled by her haunting laughter, carried her from the room and into the waiting van.
He’d been so sure she wouldn’t make it to her destination. But maybe she had. He cared for Aidan, but Oliver hoped that the woman was Veronica. Tearing her apart again would be a pleasure.
His email, guarded by the most secure connection available on earth, was in front of him, but he had no memory of signing in. Remembering the last time he’d seen Veronica, almost dizzy with excitement when he imagined her walking into his office, he considered his next move.
He’d discussed the possibility that Veronica was still alive with his superiors. Their orders were clear.
They didn’t want her alive anymore. Synthesis was too close to completion to allow for screw-ups and she was a loose cannon. Aidan would be hurt if he found out the bitch was deceiving him. No doubt about that. But it would make him a better agent.
A picture of Isabella sat on Oliver’s desk, smiling at him from a copper frame. He wished briefly that he could see her once more, but deep down he knew Veronica’s parting words were right. Izzy was the price he paid for his success, the price he paid for Aidan and Caleb and all the other men he’d trained.
He’d pay it again. Willingly. Especially if it meant that he’d see Veronica dead in front of him, collateral damage of the project for which he’d given his life, and his daughter’s.
“Dinner,” Aidan announced, re-entering the hotel room with a tower of white Styrofoam cartons balanced in his arms. The smell hit Sophie hard, traveling directly to her stomach. She was hungry again; no matter how much Aidan fed her, it never seemed to be enough.
She grabbed the containers and arranged them on the dresser that held the television. The first held white rice, so she rolled her eyes and cracked open the second. Fragrant saffron chicken greeted her. The third had spicy Japanese curry that made her mouth water.
“Where did you get all this?” she asked, pointing to the food. Before Aidan could answer, she twisted her head around to find out what food still lurked undiscovered in his boxes.
He opened one and revealed chicken tapanyaki. Sophie considered proposing to him then and there.
“You’re the best kidnapper ever,” she said instead, keeping the tone light to remove any sting from the words. The next day was uncertain territory, and she wanted to have an evening free of doubts or recriminations.
“If I tell you that there’s a pizza on the way, too, can I get a promotion to the Great and Wonderful Aidan?” Sophie loved the grin that started at his mouth and rose to his eyes.
“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed, twirling in a circle and launching herself at him. The hug lasted only a second, then she pulled away before her body could start craving deeper contact. “I don’t even know if I can eat all this food.”
“You’ll have help,” he said, patting his flat stomach.
Soon china plates he’d snagged from a cart on his way into the room were overflowing with a rainbow of food. As they ate, they sat companionably on the bed, talking instead of watching the television. Hope swelled in her and she realized that soon enough she might be back in Paris, looking back on this last night with him with longing.
Aidan watched her down another mouthful of chicken, chewing daintily and swallowing before she leaned back and set her plate on the bed. If her stomach was as full as his own, they’d have a full pizza to attack in the morning.
Oliver had insisted that he couldn’t make it back to London immediately, for all that Aidan had argued. He wanted the situation resolved and over. Though it meant that he might never see Sophie again, it was best for her to be on her way home. Maybe
in five or six years, he’d knock on her door and they could speak like normal people. He could take her to dinner.
He hadn’t planned to make a feast of take away food until he’d left the bathroom, frustrated beyond belief with Oliver. Finding Sophie curled up, a small lump all but lost in the massive bed, he’d been struck by an overwhelming urge to comfort her.
Since she was asleep, he’d turned on the vestibule light so she wouldn’t wake in the dark and left the room, searching for food. When he found himself on a block with Japanese, Thai and Chinese restaurants, he hadn’t been able to choose just one.
Though he’d felt like a fool moving quickly through the rain with armfuls of Styrofoam containers, he didn’t kid himself. He’d have gotten twice as much just to make her smile.
When her eyes lit at the boxes in his arms, Aidan felt his stomach clench. Never had he been happier to feed someone. Now, full, she was content and settled next to him to talk. It had been years since he’d had so many casual conversations with another adult. He missed it.
Sophie moved her fingers slightly against his, the merest brush of skin on skin.
Odd that such a small, helpless person could inspire such passion in him. The slightest touch and he was ready to sink down into her, to strip her bare.
Part of him wanted to take her and bundle her away, keep her from meeting his boss. He didn’t envy her the interrogation she’d have to go through. But he couldn’t do that.
Aidan trusted Oliver. He’d given him his life back after Aidan had left Delta Force to pursue Bartek. He remembered their first meeting, four years ago.
A fist smashed against his face and Aidan staggered back against the metal cage that closed him in with a monster. For all that Aidan was billed as Rage, this guy really deserved the title. Fists like ham hocks and the kind of aggression that only comes with pure stupidity were not what he’d expected from a guy called Bang.
“Bang,” screamed his opponent as sweat stung Aidan’s eyes. He came at him with fists cutting through the air and Aidan—Rage—sidestepped so his knuckles found the metal walls and not Aidan’s face.
Pressing his advantage, he clipped Bang hard in the neck. The monster screamed, his oxygen cut off for a moment. The crowd bellowed and Aidan heard them chanting his street name. It swelled over the blood-hungry bodies that packed the seats, egging him on.
As much as he hated himself for leaving Delta Force for this life, he loved the feeling of lowlife bones cracking under his knuckles.
He slammed his fists hard into Bang’s face, forcing him back against the wall. When the guy looked blearily into Aidan’s eyes, he took pity on Bang and knocked him out cold.
A bell rang. The cage opened and two guys dragged his opponent out, handing Aidan a robe and a trophy that didn’t mean shit to him.
He was cleaning the wounds Bang had landed when someone walked through the door. “This is a private room,” Aidan said without looking back. “Get the fuck out.”
“I’ve been looking for you, Aidan.” He turned and saw Oliver for the first time. He was dressed in a dark suit that didn’t disguise the power of his frame.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to do the job you’re trained to do.”
“I can’t,” Aidan said, feeling lower than cow shit.
“Why?”
“I told Prescott I’d come back once I killed Bartek.” It was the only resolution he could give his parents, himself. Aidan knew if he knocked out enough lunkheads, he’d eventually make it to Moscow and Bartek—as long as he kept his real identity under wraps.
“You’re putting me at risk by coming here,” said Aidan.
“The world is at risk,” said Oliver. “I need someone trained who can assist some of my men on a mission.”
“Find someone else.”
“There is no one else. Listen to the offer. If you don’t like it, then I’ll go away and you won’t see me again.”
Aidan nodded shortly and Oliver started talking. He guaranteed that Aidan would have operational freedom, that when he wasn’t needed, he could step back in the ring as Rage. “I’ll give you all the freedom I can, and you’ll be using your training to do some good.”
“Who are you with?”
“We’re financed with shadow funds from the State Department. Our operation is outside the bounds of a single government in theory, but most of the money is from the USA. If you work with us, you’ll find operatives from most friendly nations.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You’re free to walk at any time if you don’t like what I have to offer. At least come take a look around. This was your last fight for the summer.”
Aidan promised to contact him and Oliver left him with a slip of paper on which was written only a phone number. That was the beginning.
For four years, he’d run missions for Oliver as Aidan and continued fighting his way to Bartek as Rage. True to his word, Oliver had never stood in the way of his fights until Dima had made contact about the Synthesis Agenda in Moscow.
Aidan sighed. So many people were going to die, but Oliver wouldn’t point him in a direction. He thought of the people at the test site they’d been too late to stop, remembered the blood the leaked into the whites of their eyes and the way their coughing had sounded before they drowned in their own blood. It chilled him.
What had Oliver signed him on for, if not to prevent this?
Even if Aidan gave up on his duty and took Sophie out of the country, there was no where they could go where Oliver wouldn’t follow. Caleb would no doubt be sent after him, and that was a fight he wasn’t eager to have. No, taking her away would just be lighting a fuse that would eventually blow both of them straight to hell, compliments of Second Division. Nothing was more dangerous than a rogue agent with operational knowledge.
“I have a question,” Sophie said, breaking into his thoughts.
“What is it?”
“What are you trying to stop?” Before he could refuse to answer, she raised a hand to forestall his protests. “I don’t care about the specifics, and I understand that you can’t tell me. But I can’t sleep at night without feeling like I’m drowning in terror for the people I love.”
Her face flushed as she gained momentum and her hands whirled through the air. Aidan felt his heart clench.
“It’s just that maybe I should tell Adele to leave Rome or Lyle to pack up and get out of DC. I have friends all over Europe, Aidan, and I’m scared to death. Every minute I spent with you is a minute they don’t have to get out of danger. If I can save someone I love…I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”
He didn’t respond, couldn’t even look at her, but that didn’t make the rush of words stop.
“I wouldn’t even have to say why they had to leave. Not that it was something bad. I’d come up with something else, I swear. I would. Just tell me. I can invite them to Rome. Say something bad happened to me. But please, Aidan. A clue. A city. Anything.”
“Aren’t you scared for yourself?”
“You’ll protect me,” she said simply, as if it wasn’t even a question. He stood, turned his back to her and stalked to the window. His own screw-up in Dubai put the one person in the world naïve enough to trust him in his hands, and damn him for a fool, but he wanted to offer her the same faith.
It was such a foreign concept, he thought, standing at a window in the middle of London, completely taken over by a girl whose head barely brushed his chin when they stood chest to chest. The situation was so bizarre that Aidan actually felt laughter bubble in his throat, thought he could have laughed until his sides split.
Sophie just watched him from the bed. She trusted him, he thought again. Trusted him to protect her.
Still, doubts prodded his mind. She was Lyle’s daughter in her heart if not by blood.
But damn it, he wanted to tell her. Wanted to lay his troubles on the table and share them with someone for the first time in a decade. She was too small to
shoulder them, but they’d never be hers. Two days from now, she’d be on her way home.
He’d be trying desperately to find the key to stopping Synthesis before the endgame began.
He’s beautiful. Sophie studied Aidan while he stood close enough to the glass that his breath left a fog behind. She had always known he was sexy, but she hadn’t realized just how truly beautiful he was until now. The strong line of his jaw gave way to a corded neck that she wanted to press her lips against.
She didn’t want to talk about ugly things. It was their last night together. But she had to know now. It was her last chance. So she waited, barely breathing, until he turned around and sat in one of the stiff fabric chairs that sat near the windows.
“It’s called Synthesis,” he said. “I’d tell you that your adoptive father is the one who sponsored, engineered and supported the virus, but you won’t believe me. So believe this: its original purpose was biological warfare, but the researchers found something more nefarious in their creations.”
“What?”
“They found a way to make it airborne and heat resistant.”
“So?”
“Synthesis was the project. Like I said, it started in a government lab and was designed for biological warfare. But then The Hellenic Agency got ahold of it.”
“The Hellenic Agency?”
“A terrorist organization that Lyle works for,” Aidan explained with a harsh sigh. “They took the properties of the virus and built it into a harsher weapon.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sophie, he put it into a bomb. When it explodes, it’ll take out everyone in a five mile radius—but that’s just the beginning. The virus will spread like wildfire. By the time proper containment is in place, it’s estimated that more than 100 miles in any direction will be infected—and that’s if the wind is in our favor, not Synthesis’s. Everything in its path will die.”
“Oh my god.” Sophie felt terror arch through her body. She’d known it was bad, but what he was describing would kill more people than a nuclear bomb.
Blacklisted: Blacklist Operations Book #1 Page 12
