by Anne Russo
“Do you know who I am?” Ian forged ahead without bothering to greet him.
Adam nodded, dazed, and far too numb to be as frightened as he should’ve been. “Yeah, Ian. My stepbrother, right?”
Ian blinked, as if taken aback by the moniker. “Hardly,” he grumbled.
“Well, whoever you are, you’re the one I’ve to thank for this bullshit, right? Why did you bring me here?” Adam forged on, shaking with indignation.
“Because it was better than the alternative,” Ian replied. “At least for you.”
Adam shuddered, imagining how close he might have come to death already. “Did she tell you about me? Is that how you knew? The woman who said she was my mother. Is she?”
“It would appear so,” Ian acknowledged with the strangest expression on his face. As if he couldn’t grasp that Adam was real.
It dawned on Adam. After having met his birth mother, it was clear he was a near carbon copy of her. Ian must have recognized those similarities, making him hesitate. So, instead of blowing his head off, he’d dragged him off to this hell hole for answers instead.
“I’d heard your name before,” Ian continued, as if reading his mind. “Somewhere else,” he added, as if he were unsure of saying too much.
“My father?” Adam questioned, intrigued by another piece of the puzzle. “Did you know him?”
Ian stiffened, his stare miles from Adam’s own. “No, I never met him,” he replied. “Now stop asking so many questions. You’ll be better off.”
“You don’t think I’ve got a right to know?” Adam’s eyes narrowed. “After you tell me you kidnapped me because you heard my name somewhere? Goddamn you, I had a life. A family!”
“You don’t. Not anymore,” Ian answered, cold and unflinching. “No, for all intents and purposes. You’re a dead man. What was left of you is being buried this weekend.”
Adam shuddered, baffled how such a thing was even possible. “Who are they burying instead?”
Ian’s eyebrow shot up. “Does it matter? You’re still alive. I suggest you make your peace with the rest.”
“Make my peace with the rest? You stole my entire life from me!”
“And none of it matters now,” Ian responded calmly to the outburst. “You’re here. You’re not leaving. So I’d suggest you get with the program.”
Adam paled at the implication. “What in the hell does that mean?”
“It means you’ll do what I tell you,” Ian refused to clarify. “Now, once that ankle heals, you’ll begin your training.”
“Training?”
“Yes,” Ian explained, as if he were attempting to coax a frightened animal out of hiding. “You’re smart enough, a doctor, right? I’m sure you’ve figured out by now what we do here.”
“You kill people,” Adam answered, sickened by the realization.
“Yes, because some people deserve to die.”
“If you think I’d hurt anyone, let alone—”
“Enough.” Ian rose from his seat. “Do me a favor and stop talking.”
Adam shut his mouth, waiting to see what Ian planned next. The myriad of terrifying scenarios he came up with left him reeling. Instead, Ian surprised him and launched into a discussion regarding his living arrangements, a topic that struck Adam as ridiculous given the nature of what they’d only moments before discussed.
“You’ll find clothing in the drawers and the closets. The bathroom is fully stocked. Speaking of, you could use a shower, doctor,” Ian offered, adding. “You’re a bit ripe.”
“Asshole,” Adam mumbled under his breath. Defeated, he rolled onto his side, shoving his face under a pillow. “Are you done criticizing my hygiene? Can I go back to sleep?”
Ian didn’t answer right away. Instead, he snatched his pillow away and tossed it to the floor, glaring at him. “You have three days. On day three, I expect you cleaned up and dressed. Don’t try me,” he warned as he left, locking the door behind him.
Once alone, Adam gave himself over to his dark thoughts. The slow and dawning realization that his life was over unless he escaped. But how?
Chapter 4
Adam had been asleep, lost in a peaceful, dreamless world when a loud bang shattered the silence. The doorknob bounced off the wall hard enough to dent the drywall. He struggled to sit up as Ian stormed into his room. His expression hurtled Adam backward to the memory of watching him shoot and kill two men.
“Get up,” Ian said, his voice an icy whisper. “Get up now,” he repeated when Adam didn’t heed him.
“No—”
Ian grabbed him by his shirt so swiftly that Adam never registered the drag from bed to floor.
Adam’s feet never touched the ground. Ian was right in his face, close enough to feel his breath. He tossed him against the wall, snapping Adam from his daze. And spurring him into action. Despite being too weak to stand, Adam fought back. Now desperate to battle his way out of Ian’s steel grip, punching and kicking with the last bit of strength he had left.
Ian slammed him again, harder this time. The blow was forceful enough to stun him, Adam going limp. The fight was knocked out of him as Ian crowded into his space, leaving him nowhere to go.
“Enough,” he growled. “Do you hear me? You either accept this or I kill you right now.”
“Fucking do it,” Adam challenged, regretting those words, he wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.
Ian tightened his hold until Adam grimaced from the pain. “You’d like that, huh?” Ian fumed. “I saved your life.”
“Why? Why did you?”
Ian pulled away, as if the question had surprised him. “It doesn’t matter why. The point is I did,” he countered. “And if you want the people, you love to live. You’ll do what I tell you.”
Adam turned away, spying his escape from the corner of his eye. A metal coffee pot that someone had left out on the table beside them. It was a long shot, but it might be the only chance he’d get.
“Have I made myself clear?” Ian demanded.
“Yes,” Adam replied, hoping his answer sufficed.
Ian loosened his grip, stepping back from him. Seizing the opportunity, Adam struck, reaching for the heavy pot by his hand. He swung at Ian with the last of his strength. It worked, catching him unaware.
Ian let him go, stumbling back from the blow. While he was distracted, Adam ran for the door, getting his hand on the knob before Ian had him by the neck. He hurled him back toward the bed. Adam hit the mattress with his lower back, falling to an undignified heap on the floor.
“That was stupid,” Ian raged, towering over him. “Try that again, and you’ll have a broken wrist to go with that ankle.”
Ian turned to the mirror to inspect the damage, wiping drips of cold coffee off his face. He grimaced, appearing more annoyed than hurt as he fingered the swelling bruise forming.
Ian threw him a dirty look while Adam lay at his feet, struggling for air. Ian stepped over him, heading for the closet, pulling out a handful of items. Without glancing at him, he tossed them over his shoulder in Adam’s direction.
“Go take a shower and get dressed. I’ll wait out here.”
“What if I don’t want to?” Adam asked, still as defiant as he could muster.
Ian turned a single eyebrow raised. His expression, a study in restraint. “Do it, or I’ll strip your ass naked and toss you in there myself. Would you prefer that?”
Adam shook his head. “No,” he answered, horrified by the idea.
Ian waited outside the bathroom while Adam showered. Once finished, Ian led him down the hall toward the sitting area in the living room, modern and well-decorated.
Adam took in the soft yellow lighting and fancy chrome fixtures. There were black leather sofas and loveseats arranged around a low coffee table. One that was strewn with takeout containers and various empty liquor glasses and bottles. On the couch awaiting his arrival, a sea of unfamiliar faces.
“Everyone, Adam. Adam, Everyone,” Ian introduced, not sounding en
thused on the matter.
Adam stood, unsure, taking in the group in front of him, his attention settling on the woman seated in the middle. Though petite, she had the stature of someone far more imposing. Adam spotted a studded leather jacket tossed over the couch and assumed it belonged to her.
“Ah, the infamous Adam!” she announced.
Beside her, a stunning, lanky blonde with a thick mane of untamed waves. The brief image of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus flashing through his mind. She wore a plain white slip dress, barefoot, serene.
On the opposite side, sock clad feet propped up on her lap, a much shorter man. In his unobtrusive way, he came across every bit as eye catching as his female companions. His well-toned arms, covered in intricate sleeve tattoos. Dangerous but impish with his spiky blond hair and ice water blue eyes. He flashed a charming grin in Adam’s direction. “Well, fuck me sideways, he looks like Katherine in pants.” A slight cockney accent was adding to his appeal.
“I’m Mei,” the woman in the middle introduced herself. “This is Regan,” she gestured to her left, “and this asshole is Vince.” She swung his legs off her lap.
“Hey,” Vince protested, though he didn’t appear put out by the insult.
Adam hesitated, unsure of what to say in return. They appeared normal enough to him. Yet, they were far from it. These were Ian’s colleagues, and their hands were every bit as bloody as his. Each of them younger than thirty, but stone cold killers regardless. Adam tried to repress the shudder that surged through him at the thought. The realization striking him as both horrifying and absurd.
“And this is Hector and Kalifa,” Ian added.
On a nearby loveseat sat a man and a woman so quiet Adam missed them at first. The man was muscular and broad-chested with a wide, tanned face and thick black brows. His companion, a diminutive, dark skinned brunette, wore a headscarf. Her stare, electrifying and intense. They offered him only a cursory nod before turning back to their private conversation.
“Hello,” Adam answered, skeptical. What did one say to a group of what he assumed were fellow assassins who’d be his new roommates?
Vince cleared the air. He clapped his hands on his knees before reaching for a half-empty liquor bottle. “Why are we standing around like a bunch of dumb shits at a school dance? Come, sit and have a drink!”
Adam glanced back at Ian, who nodded his approval. Vince grinned and set up shots. The girls sat up smiling as they reached for their drinks and passed one over to Adam.
“You too, Ian,” Mei insisted, waving him over.
Ian groaned, but joined them without further protest. It burned like straight fire. Adam coughed and sputtered as the others laughed and the weird tension eased.
“Welcome to the club,” Vince proclaimed as he patted him on the back, sliding a second drink into his hand. The rest of them raised their glasses in a toast, while Ian noted his every move.
* * * *
It was just before six A.M. when Adam wandered downstairs to meet Ian for his first training session. He threw open the double doors in a huff, annoyed and disappointed to find himself alone in the vast, empty gymnasium. Ian was nowhere in sight. While waiting, Adam took note of the various equipment and weights located at the far end of the room. On the other side, a large sparring mat and a few benches.
As the minutes dragged on, Adam considered ignoring Ian’s missive and going back to his suite. The idea of making Ian come to him wasn’t without its appeal. But he quickly squashed the idea. Adam didn’t dare, not after having seen how swiftly Ian had thwarted his futile escape plans. Which he’d admit hadn’t been his brightest idea. It was clear that they had enough money and power at their disposal to steal his life from him. To bury a stranger in his place for his family and friends to mourn. There would be no escape, none he could see for the foreseeable future. Ian, he had no doubt, was every bit capable of harming him and his loved ones if he stepped out of line. Still, threats of grievous harm or not, he detested the idea of giving control, his autonomy, over to anyone. But, considering the circumstances, he had no choice but to, the alternative being far worse. Adam swallowed away the rising taste of bile in his throat, unease filling him, aware his upset stomach had more to do with the liquor he’d drunk the night before than his overwrought nerves. And he’d drunk plenty.
After Ian had deposited him on his bed, he ordered him to be downstairs and ready for his first day of training at six sharp. Adam half-remembered grumbling a sarcastic “Yes, sir,” before rolling over. When Adam woke several hours later, still drunk and nauseous, half-awake, he stripped off his clothes, puked his guts out, before collapsing back into bed, a shuddering and miserable wreck. By morning the room had, at last, stopped spinning, and his head no longer pounded. He lay sprawled out across the mattress, naked, staring up at the ceiling. At long last, he willed himself to get up and dressed.
Fifteen minutes passed before Ian joined him. He stepped into the room, much too unassuming dressed in grey sweatpants and a white tank. A stark contrast to his usual all black ensemble.
Far too normal.
“You’re late,” Adam grumbled.
Ian paused, mid-stride. The neutral expression on his face darkened in an instant. “First, do yourself a favor and learn to shut your mouth. Second, what I tell you to do and what I do are two very different things. Understand?”
“Understood,” Adam agreed, not wishing to find himself any further on Ian’s bad side. Not when he still hadn’t a clue what Ian had in store for him.
“Good. Now get your ass over here.”
Adam hesitated for only a second, then joined him, allowing Ian to tape his hands. He avoided Ian’s gaze, not wanting him to notice his apprehension at the sure and solid beating he assumed was coming. Did Ian expect him to fight him? The idea, much like his own life at present, one of total absurdity.
“Get your hands up,” Ian ordered.
“Any chance I can say no?”
Ian barely managed to hide his smirk over the comment. “Not one,” he confirmed. “Hands up.”
Adam eyed him with suspicion but did as he asked, cautious as he raised his hands to cover his face. Without warning, Ian sucker punched him in the jaw, hard. He followed with two solid jabs to the gut, landing Adam flat on his ass with a mouthful of blood. The pounding headache from earlier roaring back with a vengeance as he fought the urge to vomit. He was stunned to go from standing upright to on the ground in the blink of an eye.
“What the hell was that for?” Adam turned and spat out the sick copper taste, horrified. He used his tongue to check for any loose teeth as he scowled at Ian, waiting above him.
“Get up,” Ian barked.
“You could have broken my jaw!”
“And I’ll break it for real if you don’t get the fuck up now. Don’t make me tell you again.”
With a grunt, Adam pushed himself off the mat and back into a standing position. He sighed, shaking his head to clear his swimming vision. They had only just begun, and already, his pride along with the rest of him stung.
“Go on. Hit me.”
Adam made a face. He didn’t trust the dark and menacing glint in Ian’s eyes, but common sense warned that now was not the time to test him. Resigned, Adam attempted to land a blow. But as he suspected, Ian was far too quick for his meager attempts. Each move thwarted time and time again as Ian pushed him back and away, every time he tried to lay a single finger on him.
Too soon, Adam had to stop, bent over, drenched in sweat. He struggled to stave off the urge to vomit from Ian’s two rapid jabs to his gut. The pain was overwhelming, ribs throbbing, and screaming with every inhale, each exhale. Adam fought back the embarrassing sting of tears, unable to get his breath back. This was it, how he died, struggling for breath while Ian watched.
“Come on, get it together. It’s only pain, for Christ’s sake.”
“Goddamn you! I can’t,” Adam protested, red faced and shaking.
Right now, this second, he had
never hated anyone quite as much as he hated the man in front of him—the visual representation of everything standing between him and freedom. A life though not ideal was known to him, comfortable and familiar. Safe.
Ian wasn’t listening. “You can, and you will.”
“It fucking hurts!”
“It’s supposed to hurt.” Ian’s tone reminded Adam of a weary parent struggling to curb their temper around a stubborn child and failing.
Adam rolled his eyes, his minor rebellion, and forced his spine straight. Every fiber of his being screaming for reprieve. It was a herculean struggle as he willed away the sting of tears. Tears he didn’t want Ian to see turning back to face him, reluctant but more determined. The reward for his effort was a tiny nod of approval as Adam resumed his fighting stance once more.
“Come on,” Ian ordered, and Adam flew at him.
After another exhausting ten minutes of Ian beating him from one end of the gym to the other, Adam was again reduced to a pitiful wreck, bent over on his hands and knees, coughing up his lungs. All while that smug sonofabitch stood and watched, enjoying himself.
“Again,” Ian demanded.
“You may as well shoot me,” Adam offered between dry heaves. “I’d rather be dead.”
“Quit whining. It’s incredibly unattractive.”
“Give me a damn minute! Could you do that much, at least?”
“No,” Ian informed him, attempting to haul Adam up to his feet, but he shook him off, indignant.
“Why? Are you getting a sick thrill out of this? You and I both know I’ll never be able to beat you.”
Ian blinked, as if surprised by the statement. He nodded, indulging him with an amused smirk. “Now, you’re learning. You don’t have to be the biggest or the strongest guy in the room, but you need to be smart. If you’re not, you’re a dead man.”
