“Lily. You know I had to leave,” his voice wasn't far behind her.
“I don't know that. I was told that. I was informed that. In a letter. You got some big balls, De Sant. A real man, sending a 'Dear John' letter,” she didn't even try to hide the venom in her voice.
“Hey, you think that was easy for me? Doing right doesn't exactly come naturally to me, but I knew what I had to do,” he replied. She laughed as she walked back into the clearing.
“I don't think you'd know what was right if it came up and bit you on the ass. But I think you're correct about one thing – you did what you had to do. You had to get back to work, and you had to dump some unnecessary baggage before you left,” her tone was snide. Before she could enter the tent, Marc grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.
“You don't believe that,” he said it as a statement, not a question. She snorted.
“I do believe that.”
“Seriously?”
She glared and stepped up close to him.
“You want to do this, De Sant? I'm giving you an out. Take what you need and go. I don't want any explanations, I don't need you, and I can't have you slowing me down. I have spent the last five years of my life trying to complete one mission. You already almost ruined it once. I'm not letting you ruin it again,” she hissed at him.
“What do you think I've been doing these last six months? I've been trying to complete that 'mission'. I would've ended it tonight, if you hadn't stumbled into the mix.”
“Stumbled into the mix!? I was blending in seamlessly. Ten more minutes, and I would've had Damiano half naked and begging for it from me, and then you had to blunder into that ballroom and fuck everything up, like you do everything!” she yelled at him.
“This is what I've been doing, this whole time. You think I like working without pay?”
“Don't blame me for you being an idiot. It's been six months for me, too, and I've been getting paid the whole time.”
“Shocker. What idiot did you sucker into helping you this time?”
“Someone smarter than you.”
“Doubtful, if he's helping you.”
“Okay, fine,” Lily raised her voice. She shrugged off her small backpack and tossed it into the tent. Marc looked surprised, but he dropped the pack he was holding, as well. “You wanna do this? Let's do it. He's better than you, smarter than you, and more talented than you. Is that what you want to hear? How about he also takes care of me. He worries about me. He keeps me around for more than my skills in bed, and for more than any potential payout he might get from me.”
Marc's eyes narrowed on her.
“You were never about a payout, and -”
“Liar.”
“- and skills in bed, huh? How long did you make him wait for it? I had to wait a month.”
She lashed out then and she kicked him right above his knee. He let out a strangled shout and dropped to the ground, gritting his teeth in pain. Lily slowly stalked around him, moving in a circle, and watched as he felt around his kneecap, assessing the damage. She unzipped her jacket and shrugged out of it, letting it hit the ground. He finally looked up at her.
“Such a fucking idiot,” she sneered at him. “Jealous, De Sant? Why? You're the one who left it all behind. Why do you care who I might be fucking? You wanted me to go home – did you think I would go back there and then just sit on a block of ice?”
His face told her that, clearly, he had thought she would, but he didn't say anything. He took a deep breath, then focused on the other parts of her speech.
“You're mad, and I get that, but that doesn't change what went on between us. Don't act like it was just a job, Lily. You know how I felt about you.”
“You lied to me, that's what I know.”
“You know it wasn't about a payout.”
“Do I?”
“You know I cared about you.”
“There's a fucking lie.”
“Were you always this bitter of a bitch? Or has your new partner had this charming effect on you?”
“Always this bitter. And if anything, Law tries to talk me down from -” Lily let it slip, showing her hand. She had been reveling in Marc's jealousy, but now that he knew that her secret partner was Kingsley, she wasn't sure how he'd react.
“Kingsley!? Fucking Kingsley Law has been filling your head with all this bullshit!?” Marc yelled.
“No. You filled my head with this bullshit. Actions speak louder than words, De Sant, and your actions say that you're an untrustworthy asshole. Get your shit, and get out of my camp,” she commanded him. He snorted.
“Fuck that. You get your shit and get out of Colombia. I'm going to finish what I started.”
“No, I'm going to finish what I started. You finished your job back in Africa.”
“I could help you.”
“I don't need your help.”
“Six months in this business doesn't make you an expert, Lily, no matter what bullshit Kingsley spouted off to you. You do need help,” Marc growled.
Lily's fist slammed across his jaw so fast, she even surprised herself a little. Her punch was sharp, and she knew that her bony knuckles made it painful. He jerked to the side from the impact.
“Don't talk to me like that,” she snapped. He chuckled while he rubbed at his jaw.
“You're testing my patience. Don't you remember Africa? I'm not above hitting a girl,” he warned her.
“You'd have to get close to me first,” she taunted.
He shot his arm out, grabbing for her, but she hadn't been lying, she was hard to get. She danced out of his reach, bouncing on the balls of her feet. He finally stood up, rubbing his hand over his knee.
“Quickness doesn't make up for lack of skill,” he said in a calm voice as he walked towards her. She kept moving backwards, away from him.
“This is stupid, De Sant. Just walk away before you embarrass yourself,” she warned him.
He made another grab for her, obviously trying to hook the strap of her tank top. She bobbed to the side, but grabbed his wrist. With a shout, she twisted around, then used his momentum and her own body to hurl him over her shoulder. He flew over her and crashed into the fire pit. He landed on his back, his arms flailing as he got tangled in the cooking set up.
“What the fuck was that!?” he exclaimed, laying on his back, obviously in shock.
This is stupid. Look at what you're doing, Lily. You're fighting in the jungle in the middle of nowhere. You're above this. You're above him. Kingsley's law: rolling in the dirt is for pigs. If you must fight in hand-to-hand combat, make sure it's something worthy of your time and your bones.
“That was me ending this,” she called out to him. He coughed and climbed to his feet.
“I don't think this is over,” he replied, dusting himself off.
“It is. This is stupid. I'm sorry I threw you. Let's just get out of here, and down the road we can go our separate ways,” she offered, rubbing her hand over her forehead, trying to calm down. Marc always clouded her vision. She needed to get it clear again.
He obviously didn't care. One moment, he'd been standing by the fire pit. The next, he was in front of her, grabbing her around the waist. She shrieked as he picked her up and charged forward, just like a linebacker. He slammed her against a tree trunk and she groaned. Despite being completely caught unaware, though, she didn't hesitate at all and she elbowed him in the side of the neck. Her legs wrapped around his waist and she hurled her weight to the side, causing him to fall. Before they hit the ground, she let go of him, even managing to land on her feet. As he rolled onto his back, she stomped on his ribs and was rewarded with him gagging.
Just like the time she had kicked him in Africa, she watched as he tried to grab her ankles in order to pull her down. But she hadn't been lying, she was smarter now. Faster. She didn't attempt another kick. Instead, she used her upright advantage and she sprinted into the tent.
Lily wasn't an idiot. Anymore in her life, she made it a point to
never be more than fifty feet from a loaded weapon. A crude wooden bench had been set up in the tent, with various cooking utensils laid out on top of it. Lily dropped to her knees and reached underneath it, feeling around for the gun she'd hidden. Before she could find it, though, Marc was on her. He grabbed her by the back of her hair and yanked hard. She cried out and stopped what she was doing as he pulled her to a standing position, forcing her to face him.
“I see you still like to make things difficult,” he sighed, pressing his free hand against the side of his ribs. She glared at him.
I'll show you difficult, De Sant.
She gripped onto his wrist and then twisted her whole body, not caring about the pain she was causing herself. Marc was forced to let go of her hair, but she didn't let go of him – she kept twisting, fully prepared to break his wrist. His look went from pained to panicked, and he let go of his rib cage long enough to slap her across the face. She released his wrist and stumbled back from him. Once she was out of striking range, he bent forward, wincing and holding onto his ribs again.
“I wondered when you'd show your true colors,” she was panting for air as she pressed her hand to her cheek. He chuckled.
“You made me do that,” he pointed out. “But didn't it feel like old times?”
“I barely felt a thing – kinda reminded me of the sex we used to have,” she taunted. He laughed loudly.
“Oh, don't worry, baby. Next time, I'll make sure you feel me.”
Marc lunged forward and it was on. She snatched up a small, tin, camping skillet from the bench and smacked him across the face with it. He jerked to the side, but managed to grab a handful of her shirt as he went. He yanked her close and got a hand around her throat, but then she literally jumped on his left foot, dropping the skillet while slamming her heels down on top of him. He shouted, violently shoving her away, and she hoped she'd at least managed to break some toes.
A roundhouse kick to his head was her next trick, and a completely new one – she knew he wouldn't be expecting it. She did it well, and with precision; Kingsley was a good teacher. If they hadn't been in a tent with a low ceiling, and in such close proximity to each other, it probably would have worked better, but she didn't have the space to fully extend her leg until she was almost facing him again. Before her heel could connect with his head, he grabbed her ankle and dragged her to him, almost forcing her into a standing split.
“Give?” she breathed, holding her fists up defensively in a boxer's stance. Ready for him.
“Were you always this flexible?” he panted, looking up at the foot that was above his head. She smirked.
“Should've taken advantage of it when you had the chance.”
She punched him in the stomach, hard enough to make him stagger backwards, but he didn't let go of her leg. He tripped over a sleeping bag and began to stumble, all while still gripping her ankle. He wrapped an arm around her waist as they started to fall.
They hit the ground in a mess of arms and legs. She landed more blows to his chest and stomach. He managed to get a hold of one of her wrist and pinned it to her back, but with her free hand, she found the sensitive spot on his rib cage. She was more observant than she'd been in the past, and once she discovered that she could make him wince, she mercilessly hammered the spot. Poured all of her anger and her frustration and hatred and hurt into that one place on his body.
Marc finally jerked upright, unable to handle the abuse, and forced them into a sitting position. Her legs were around his waist and she used him as an anchor while she leaned backwards for a second before snapping forward, swinging her fist with the whole weight of her torso behind it. As it slammed across his jaw, Marc didn't remain idle. He still never missed a beat in a fight. He slid his hands up her body, lightening fast, and he wrapped them around her neck.
“Enough!” he roared, not squeezing tight enough to completely cut off her oxygen, but enough to show her that he meant business.
“Fuck you,” she managed to hiss while she clawed at his hands.
“It's over. Stop,” he instructed.
She stopped moving, just sat there and glared at him for a moment. Their fight was going nowhere, they were evenly matched. What was she really going to do, chase Marc around the tent and hammer away at him till he fell down? Or until he got close enough to land a solid hit, and she fell down? They were wasting time. She felt ridiculous. She let her thighs unclench from around his waist.
“Okay. Over,” she agreed, and while he watched with narrowed eyes, he slowly removed his hands from her neck.
They were cautious as they backed away from each other. She didn't look away till she got to her feet. When it seemed clear that it wasn't a trick and he was actually calling a truce, she looked down at herself. Frowned and began brushing away dirt and leaves from her clothing.
“At least Law taught you something right,” Marc sighed, and she glanced up in time to see him turning away from her.
“What?” she asked. He chuckled and stretched from side to side, rubbing at his tender ribs.
“How to know when you're outmatched, sweetheart. You need to be careful – I went easy on you. Not all bad guys will. Pull shit like that on the wrong person, and you'll be in trouble, and your precious Kingsley won't be there to save you,” he warned her, his voice snide.
Lily saw red. He just didn't know when to stop. She'd been winning – she could've broken out of that chokehold. What did it take to get it through his thick skull, that she was just as capable as him!?
What do I have to do to make him realize what an absolute asshat he is!?
Without even thinking about what she was doing, Lily let out a shout and grabbed the first thing her hand came in contact with; the first thing that had any weight.
“You are such a dick!”
It wasn't till after she'd launched the object that she realized what she'd just thrown. She could do nothing but grimace as a large cast iron skillet clipped the back of his head. She really hadn't thrown it that hard, and her aim hadn't been perfect by any means, thankfully. Still. Marc dropped to his knees, wavered for a bit, then fell flat on his face.
She'd knocked him out cold.
DAY TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN
Lily knew she could've left him. He was unconscious, it wasn't like he could stop her. She had a mission, and it was far from over. She had to call Kingsley and tell him that she'd failed. Not that he would necessarily care, but it was still humiliating. And worse, she would have to tell him about De Sant.
Fuck my life.
The next morning, Lily sat on the ground outside. She cleaned her Glock, making sure it was in perfect working condition, as always. There was a groan from inside the tent, but she still didn't make a noise. Didn't say anything even when Marc moved outside, rubbing his side as he came to stand in front of her.
“Jesus, remind me to never piss you off again. Is that what Kingsley has been teaching you? Fighting with cookware 101?” he grumbled, his fingers dancing over his ribs. Lily glanced at him.
“Among other things. Anything broken?”
“No, just bruised. I gotta say, sweetheart, I'm surprised you're still here.”
“Me, too. C'mon. I'll help you get to the next town, and then we can go our separate ways,” she sighed, then put the Glock back in her pack before climbing to her feet. She tossed him a bottle of aspirin, then slipped the bag onto her back.
Marc didn't say anything, and she stood still as he took four of the pills, dry swallowing them. Then he moved on to fill his backpack with water bottles. It was stupid, to feel nostalgic while watching someone handle a bag. It had almost been like a security blanket to him in Africa, she'd never seen him without it.
She made him carry a heavy rucksack that was full of her arsenal, and they walked out of the campsite, but not towards the truck they'd abandoned. Lily headed in the opposite direction and Marc followed behind her. There was another town, not too far away. They would get to it, restock supplies, and then head out.
In different directions. Away from each other.
She had no right to be upset. She'd spouted it off to him, to Kingsley, and to herself – she didn't need him. She hadn't expected to find him in Colombia, so leaving him shouldn't make a difference.
But it did.
It was late afternoon when they finally found civilization. She restocked her water supply at a local market, then stole the market's delivery truck. They drove out of town together, heading south for a bit. Before she could hook east and head towards her rendezvous point, she bit the bullet and pulled the truck over. They idled on the side of the road, both of them staring out the windshield. Both of them not saying anything. Probably because there was so much left unsaid.
Nut the fuck up. He doesn't care about you, and you have a job to do.
“You're free,” she finally coughed out. “Go back to work. Get some jobs. Become Marcelle De Sant again.”
He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed a hair cut and a shave. He looked unkempt.
He looks gorgeous.
“Sweetheart, I haven't been him since I looked into a pair of green eyes six months ago.”
“Cute words. Maybe they'll work on the next girl,” she managed a laugh. He sighed.
“Lily, just let me do this. I've gotten closer than you ever did. I can end this – you don't have to be this person,” he insisted. She flinched at his word choice.
“... we don't have to be these people anymore ...”
“I'm already 'this person', and I've lived and breathed this mission for over five years, so technically, I have seniority,” she told him.
“I don't care.”
This wasn't working. Communication had never been a strong point between them. Usually because they were too busy fighting. She decided uncomfortable honesty was worth a shot.
“Please, De Sant. Please. I need to do this. Just think of someone other than yourself,” she begged. He finally turned towards her, and his glare was so severe that she couldn't help but stare back at him.
“All I have thought about, this whole time, is you. Nothing else. You think I'm out here for my fucking health? I came out here so you wouldn't have to,” he told her.
Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) Page 9
