“Your plan?” he asked, situating himself on top of her, forcing her legs around his waist.
“No,” she shook her head. He relaxed, letting his full weight press down on her.
“Then what?” he sounded sleepy as he rested his head between her breasts.
“I'm afraid … that I won't pull the trigger,” she whispered. It was her constant fear. One she'd never even voiced to Kingsley.
“You pulled it in Africa,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, but it was me or him. I've been gearing up for this for so long, but the closer I get, the more I worry. What if I get there, and I point the gun at him, and I freeze?” she asked. She felt him take a deep breath, and then his hands were sliding up the sides of her body.
“You weren't afraid of anything. Remember that? You had to be right behind me, in that boarding house. Shot a flare gun into a car while driving in reverse. Had a knife to your neck and told him to 'do it'. I'm not scared at all. You can do this, Lily,” he reminded her. She frowned.
“It just feels different,” she sighed, not sure how to articulate herself.
“Because for the first time, you're making yourself do something that's against your nature. Kingsley, me, this is part of who we are; it's something we've always done, without any thought. But you … well, sweetheart, it's like I always said. You weren't meant to be this person,” he said bluntly.
She wanted to be mad at him, for bringing up that phrase, and for telling her she wasn't meant to be that way. But as his hands slid back down her body and worked their way under under her hips, she had to admit it – he was right. Murder had never been on her agenda. She refused to take contract hits, though she'd been offered several, and even requested on occasion. Why couldn't she be like the guys? She'd done everything they'd done. Harder, in some situations – Kingsley had never been caught and tortured, never had a knife shoved through his arm. Even Marc had finally admitted that she was fully capable of keeping up with them, of holding her own. That she was an equal. Why was it so much easier for them!?
As Marc's weight got heavier, and his breathing grew more even, she had another thought. Maybe he was wrong. She remembered finding Kingsley in that bathroom in Thailand, stoned out of his mind and unconscious in a shower. Thought of the way Marc ran away from her, the way he shunned relationships. Thought of Kingsley's drinking, and his carefully crafted cheerful facade. Thought of Marc's quickfire temper and bossiness.
Maybe it wasn't so easy for them. Maybe time had just hardened them enough to go through with killing, and then gifted them with the ability to mask their unease.
Not like you have a choice anyway. You came this far. This is everything you wanted. When you get there, just do what they said. Pull the fucking trigger.
*
After an hour or so, Lily couldn't take the ridiculous amount of heat Marc's body was giving off. It was like sleeping in a furnace. She slithered out from under him and decided it was as good a time as any to start their day.
Kingsley was sipping at a cold cup of coffee when she walked into the front room. She sat down across from him, and a moment later, Marc staggered into the room. He grabbed himself a cup, as well, and Lily went over her plan.
She'd opted for sneaking into the building early and striking Stankovski in his apartment. It would be difficult, of course, nothing she would've ever dared to try on her own, but maybe with the three of them, they could get through any guards that might stand in their way.
Kingsley was confident, as well. They would set up a watch on the apartment that night, to determine what kind of security was in place. They knew Stankovski wasn't planning on staying long – according to what Marc had learned, he was staying for the Gala, and not a moment longer. Stankovski would be leaving New York the day after cutting the opening ribbon, and Marc truly didn't know where he'd be going next.
They went over the blueprints again, making notes of which staircases to use and which doors to keep an eye out for. As they talked over everything, Lily could feel her adrenaline start to pump. She could picture it all in her mind's eye, like she was really in the corridor Kingsley was describing. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet while they talked.
“Calm down, sweetheart, you're wound tighter than a jack-in-the-box,” Marc chuckled, stepping up behind her and rubbing her shoulders.
“It's been a long time, alright? Such a long time,” she was almost panting, and she brought her hands together, cracking her knuckles. Kingsley smiled and cupped her chin in his hand.
“Don't worry, darling. I have the utmost faith in you. It'll be over before you know it,” he assured her. She smiled back and felt warm. Such an amazing man standing in front of her, and such a strong man standing behind her.
And me, in the middle, keeping us all together.
After securing the doors to the house, they piled into the Escalade and headed into Manhattan. Kingsley drove – she was shocked to learn that he'd spent quite a bit of time in New York, and had actually been there at the same time as her, when she'd been laundering money for a Bratva in Brighton Beach.
Small world.
They parked just off Time Square, then made their way on foot to 47th Street. They stuck to alleyways, moving behind buildings, and finally came to a stop behind a shop that was across from Stankovski's. Marc got annoyed because the fire escape was pulled up out of reach. They'd have to move a dumpster to get to it. Kingsley and Lily glanced at each other.
“Amateur,” the Brit snorted, then linked his hands together and held them out.
Lily laughed and put her foot in his grip, then let him launch her straight up into the air. She was able to reach the fourth rung of the medal ladder, and she held on as it came loose under her weight and slid towards the ground. She smiled down at Marc, who just glared at everyone.
“Show offs.”
Through Kingsley's scope and Marc's field binoculars, they were able to track some movement in their target building, but it was hard. Blinds were down on all the windows. They did see a couple men in black suits come and go through the front door, and the blonde bombshell herself opened the curtains in the apartment at one point, but that was it.
“One of us can come back tonight, set up a watch on the back of his building,” Marc pointed out.
For hours, they combed over the streets surrounding the diamond district. Memorizing street names and escape routes. When the sun began to set, Lily went and stood on a rooftop that looked over the back of Stankovski's building and she counted all the windows. Wondered why the fire escape had been removed. Wondering how structurally sound the back door was; wondered if it could be broken down with a battering ram.
“Let's go, sweetheart! We've got a shit ton more stuff to go over!”
Lily was shocked when Kingsley suggested they all go out to dinner. She argued that they needed to go over their plans again. Marc demanded they go over the plans again. Kingsley held up both his hands at their arguing.
“Pardon me, but just for one night, fuck the plans.”
Lily was still in all her active wear, nothing really suitable for fine dining in downtown Manhattan. She grabbed some pants and a blouse from a nearby store and wound up changing in an alley. It was as cleaned up as she could get at a moment's notice. Marc only had some jeans he'd picked up in Miami and t-shirt.
Kingsley wore a Versace suit.
The restaurant threw a fit at Marc and Lily's attire, but after Kingsley shoved a couple large bills into the maître d's hand, they were shown to a table.
“This is very nice,” Lily said, running her fingers over the copious amounts of silverware next to her plate.
“Makes my skin crawl,” Marc commented in an overly loud voice, and she burst out laughing. She felt exactly the same way.
“When was the last time you dined anywhere?” Kingsley asked, laying his napkin across his lap.
“You brought home that chicken -” Marc started to answer.
“I said dine, not when
was the last time you shoved a deep fried carcass into your face and used the bones to pick your teeth.”
It was uncomfortable, doing something so normal, in such a normal setting, but after a while the conversation began to flow. She and Kingsley laughed about her “growing pains” during her first jobs. Marc filled them in on all the exotic places he had gone to, chasing Stankovski's tail.
“How can one man be so difficult to get to?” Lily groaned, poking at what was left of her fancy dessert.
“Karma. We all did something awful in a previous life,” Kingsley suggested. Marc laughed.
“Yeah, to each other – that's why I can't get away from you assholes.”
A waiter came over to check on Lily when she didn't stop laughing for a solid five minutes.
“That was fun,” she sighed, when they finally walked outside. Kingsley was a few steps ahead of them, and he'd stopped in front of a storefront, checking out his hair in the reflection. Lily moved to stand next to him, and Marc joined her.
“Bizarre,” he grumbled.
“I know what you mean,” she replied, running a hand over her head.
“What are you guys on about?” Kingsley asked, glancing down at them.
Lily tilted her head to the side, taking in the reflection. She was wearing dark colored skinny jeans and a cream colored blouse, and she'd pulled her hair up into a sleek ponytail. Marc's t-shirt was clean, and his jeans fit him well. They matched, she realized, and even as she thought it, she felt his hand curl around her own, his fingers linking through hers.
“We look so normal,” Marc explained. Kingsley snorted.
“Matter of opinion, mate. I wouldn't be caught dead in denim.”
The Brit strode off down the sidewalk, lighting a cigarette as he went, but Lily and Marc continued to stare at their reflection.
“You always said I didn't have to be that person,” she pointed out, smoothing her free hand down the front of her top.
“Yeah, but I'm not sure I like this chick, either.”
She whacked him the stomach.
They took off after Kingsley, but kept their pace slow. Marc didn't let go of her hand, and she was glad. She would never be “normal” - in twelve hours, she was going to storm a building and she was going to shoot a man in the head, and she wanted to do it. That wasn't anywhere close to being normal. She would never be that girl in the reflection. Some lovely young woman on a date with a ruggedly handsome man. What a foreign concept.
But it was fun to pretend, for just a moment.
DAY TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE
Marc chewed on the edge of his thumb nail. His eyes bounced in between Kingsley and Lily. Law looked liked he always did, but Lily's outfit was sort of freaking Marc out. He couldn't remember if he'd ever seen her wearing anything that normal. It was like getting a view into an alternate universe, one where Lily had read his letter and agreed with it. One where she'd gone back to Cleveland and gotten that job at the bank. She'd probably be all settled into her new life. Probably living in an apartment, dating some nice young man.
Fuck that.
“Five in the morning,” Kingsley said, and Marc realized that the other man had repeated himself several times.
“Yes.”
“I'm going to take watch for the rest of the night, lock down a security pattern. We got good intel this afternoon, but I want more. You two be there at five, sharp. Don't fuck off tonight – make sure you have this shit down. I don't want to see anyone get shot.”
Kingsley made the statement to both of them, but he stared hard at Marc. The meaning wasn't lost on him; Lily's entire left side, from her arm pit to her hip, was covered in a lovely purple bruise. She never complained about it, but she swallowed Tylenol like it was going out of style.
I'm always bruising this woman. How long before she gets scarred?
“Understood,” Marc replied. Lily nodded while she twirled her hair into a messy bun.
“I'm going to get all our gear ready, then I'm going to memorize those blueprints,” she added.
“Good. When you get in range, put on your mic sets. Let me know you're coming, I don't want to shoot you as you come up the ladder,” Kingsley warned them as he passed out throat mics and radios to both of them.
“Got it, boss,” Lily gave him a mock salute. The man was clearly feeling the tension of the upcoming mission, and the gesture made him laugh and relax a bit.
“Watch it. See you soon. Remember, be there at five,” he said, then he leaned down and kissed her on the side of the head before marching towards the door.
“No kiss for me!?” Marc called out.
Kingsley held up his middle finger as he disappeared down the stairs.
It was midnight, so that didn't really leave them much time. They set about laying out their chosen weapons, filling backpacks with water and first aid supplies. Lily had changed back into her sports bra and the tight running shorts that made it hard for Marc to breathe. Every time she bent over, he had to stop what he was doing. How Kingsley had maintained his cool around her for six months, he had no idea.
Who said he maintained the whole time? For all you know, he had his hands on her every chance he could get.
“Stop it.”
Her voice interrupted his thoughts and Marc shook his head.
“What?” he asked, looking back down at the gun he was disassembling.
“You were staring at me. Stop it. Pay attention to what you're doing,” she snapped. He shot her a glare.
“Okay, first of all, I wasn't staring. Second of all, talk to me like that again, and we'll have a serious fucking problem,” he warned her. She rolled her eyes and stood up, dusting her hands off on her butt.
“Ooohhh, so scary. I'm the one who got shot because you couldn't keep your shit together, remember? I just want to make sure you're good,” she told him. Marc sat back in his chair and set down the slide he'd been cleaning.
“Don't worry about me, Lily. Worry about yourself. You shouldn't have been in a position to get shot – even if I hadn't yelled your name, that guy still would've been there.”
She laughed loudly, her voice filling the room for a moment.
“Okay, De Sant, whatever makes you feel better.”
After that, Marc made it a point to not look at her again. He finished cleaning the gun and sat it next to the others he'd prepped. Then he laid his new flak jacket on the table, checked that all the bindings were secure. His backpack was next, and he set about stocking it full of first aide gear, followed by rounds and rounds of ammunition. He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn't even notice when Lily sat down in the chair next to him.
“What?” he blurted out when he looked up and caught her staring at him. She smiled and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table.
“Nothing,” she replied. He narrowed his eyes.
“Didn't I just get yelled at for staring at you?”
“Yeah, but I'm allowed to stare at you.”
“Why?”
“Because I never got you shot,” she pointed out. Now it was his turn to burst out laughing.
“Is that a fucking joke!? I seem to recall Ivanov shooting me in the chest, at point blank range!”
“But that wasn't my fault.”
“I was there because of you.”
“I never asked you to be there.”
“Lily.”
“Yes?”
“Why the fuck are you trying to pick a fight with me?” Marc demanded, finally catching on to her little game. Her smile got bigger.
“Because it's so fun,” she teased.
“Fuck off.”
“Because this tension is killing me. I feel like if I don't do something, I might explode,” she was finally honest. Marc sighed.
“Yeah, I know the feeling, sweetheart, but could you find a different way to release some tension? I'm having a hard enough time concentrating while you're running around half naked, I don't need -”
Lily suddenly grabb
ed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. He was stunned into silence when her mouth slammed down on his own. Lily was no wilting flower, she was as aggressive in bed as she was out of it, but it was still a little surprising. Apparently, the tension had become too much.
Who am I to stop a woman from letting off a little steam?
Marc grabbed the leg of her chair and jerked it forward, dragging her into his space. She didn't waste time and slid forward, moving so she was straddling him and sitting on his lap. He gripped a fistful of her hair and yanked back, forcing her to break the kiss. Then he licked a trail from just under her ear to the edge of her bra strap.
“This,” she sighed. “This is what I need.”
“We've got a lot of shit to do, you sure you want to do this? I thought you wanted me to be prepared? To make sure I'm good?” he taunted her, blowing cool air over the path his tongue had taken.
“I would love to see how good you are right now,” she groaned.
“Hmmm, not sure that's good enough. Kingsley would be so disappointed if he knew we'd wasted time by -”
“If you waste anymore time, I'm gonna go relieve some of this stress with him.”
Marc didn't need to be told twice. He shoved her off him and yanked at her shorts. While she worked them down her legs, he pulled apart his belt and shoved his own pants down. His dick stood erect between them; she'd always had that effect on him, it never took him anytime to get hard when he was around her. As she moved back onto his lap, she grabbed him by the base, giving him long, slow, strokes that threatened to drive him insane.
“Your hands … I can't …,” he groaned, dropping his head onto her shoulder. He grabbed onto her hips and clenched his fingers.
“You're always so good with your hands. I figured I should return the favor,” she breathed in his ear as her hand picked up speed.
If he didn't do something, the only person exploding would be Marc, and as enjoyable as that would be, he didn't like to leave a lady hanging. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms up, coiling them around his neck. When she went to slide forward, trying to get closer to him, he worked his hand between their body so she slid right onto his fingers.
Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) Page 21
