by Belle Aurora
“I want to. I want to come.” She still looks hesitant, so I do my best to reassure her. “I can do this, Ari.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
We stare at each other a few seconds, and I tell her quietly, “I was born to do this.”
That seems to cement her decision.
She stands, her rosary bound tightly around her hand. She brushes her hands down her black gown, adjusts her habit and sighs. “Very well, my dear, we leave at midnight. Be ready.”
My head bobs in a tight, firm motion. I can’t believe what I just heard.
She agreed!
I watch her walk away. Just before she leaves the grounds, she turns and says, “I love you, child, but tonight, there is no room for error. None at all. If you believe for a second you can’t do this, you need to tell me now.”
My eyes lift in thought, and then I look back to Sister Arianne. “No, I’m fine. I can do this.”
She smiles widely. “D’accord, midnight, little one. God be with you.”
I mutter slowly and incredulously, “And also with you.”
Holy mother of God.
Tonight.
Midnight.
Chapter Three
I run through the nave of the church, all the way to the end, only screeching to a halt to make the sign of the cross in front of a ten-foot tall statue of a crucified Jesus before quickly rushing to Father Robert’s office.
Knocking, I don’t wait for a response before I throw the door open with a grin.
And stop dead in my tracks.
Frankie is bent over the large wooden desk, her black gown pulled up over her exposed, naked ass, her habit off with her red hair falling in waves off the edge of the desk, her face twisted in ecstasy. Bob pumps into her from behind, his ass bare, but his black slacks and shirt still on. She pants and whimpers with every thrust.
I can’t take my wide eyes off them.
Bob looks to be in pain. His teeth are gritted, face turned up towards the ceiling, the veins in his neck pulled tight and bulging.
It all happens so quickly.
Frankie’s eyes shoot open and lock on mine. “Fuck, Bob! Catarina!”
Father Robert stops his harsh thrusting and turns to find me flushed in the doorway. “Shit!” When I still don’t move, he booms, “A little privacy, Cat.”
That jolts me.
Me and my wide eyes use our shaking hands to slam the door shut behind us.
Shit.
Oh, God. That really just happened, didn’t it?
I wait, and wait, and consider leaving, and wait some more. My feet make the decision for me. Five minutes of waiting and I start to walk away. Just as I reach the end of the hall, the office door opens and Frankie calls out, “Whoa there, pussy Cat. Get in here.”
Face lowered, I turn and rush past Frankie into Bob’s office.
My eyes trained on my shoes, I stand in the middle of the office flicking the beads of my rosary.
I don’t lift my head. I don’t dare look him in the face right now.
I know Bob and Frankie can do what they like. There’s no one holding them back. But imagine finding your dad screwing your best friend.
Ewww.
Frankie comes up behind me, placing an arm around my waist. She pulls me into her and chuckles. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t be embarrassed. It’s just sex. We’ve talked about sex before.” Bob makes a disgusted noise in his throat, and Frankie says in his direction, “Don’t you start. She’s eighteen years old. Don’t act like you thought she could avoid it forever.”
Bob curses under his breath. “You’re really not helping, Francis.”
Frankie places her lips at my ear and whispers out the side of her mouth, loud enough for all of us to hear, “Uh-oh, now I’m in trouble. He called me Francis.”
Bob scoffs. “Cat is a good girl. She’s not having sex. Ever.” Grasping for a ray of hope in his desperation, he says weakly, “Besides, she’s dedicated to God. And the church.”
Frankie barks out a laugh. “You actually sounded like a real priest for a second there. Kudos to you.”
“Yeah, well, one of us has to act legit. Lord knows you’d blow our cover in less than an hour if I left you in charge. And back to the issue—like I said, Cat will not be having sex. Not as long as I’m alive.”
Frankie leans over the desk, her hair still free as it hangs in front of Bob’s face. A cruel smile spreads across her face. “What makes you think she hasn’t already?”
Oh, my God. I have no idea where this conversation is going, but I don’t like it.
I hiss, “Frankie!”
She shrugs, and Bob turns to me looking shocked. “Is that true, Cat?”
Still looking at Frankie, my lip curls. “Look at what you did.”
Bob asks hesitantly, “Was it James?”
Oh, man.
I haven’t heard that name in over two years.
Frankie’s face pales as she turns to me. “I’m sorry. I was only joking. I had no idea he’d...”
Bob cuts her off when he repeats, “Was it James?”
Frankie wraps her arm around my shoulders in a consoling gesture.
Thoughts of James cause a flurry of emotions to course through my mind. Anger. Sadness. Grief. Anger. Mostly anger. Although I’m not sure who that anger is aimed at.
Frankie clears her throat before announcing, “I was only joking around, Bob. Cat hasn’t been with anyone...not in the biblical sense.” No one says a thing, so Frankie adds, “Sometimes, I don’t know when to quit with the jokes. Sorry...to both of you.”
I accept her apology with a small nudge of my head into her shoulder.
Bob coughs. “I shouldn’t have brought him up. I’m sorry, Cat. I should’ve known she was joking.”
A memory seems to come out of nowhere. I stare through the foot of the table.
A concerned, “Cat?”
Then distantly, “Cat?”
James smiles down at me and his brows furrow in disbelief. “For me? Really?”
I hand him the wrapped gift, smiling. “Happy birthday.”
He leans into me, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. And it’s wonderful. I love his kisses.
His messy light brown hair curls behind his ears; his hazel eyes crinkle in the corners as he smiles, his straight white teeth gleaming. “You didn’t need to get me anything, Cat.”
My sixteen-year-old self flushes. “Twenty-one is a milestone. It’s an important birthday. Of course you need a gift.”
His face turns angry, and then sad. He brings his forehead down on mine gently and whispers, “I don’t deserve you.”
My eyes close in contented bliss. I whisper back, “I love you, James.”
I come back to reality with a start. A sharp, “What?” flies out of my mouth.
Bob and Frankie both blink at me.
Bob utters quietly, “I’m sorry, girl. I shouldn’t have brought him up. It’s been a long time.”
I nod in agreement. It has been a long time.
He clears his throat, and then smiles. “So, what brought you down here quicker than a demon bat flying out of hell?”
I almost forgot. A small smile plays at my lips.
Screw James. This is my chance to prove myself.
I swallow hard. I’m not entirely sure how this will go down. “I-uh...I need access to Mirage.”
Silence.
More silence.
I chance a look at Bob, who watches me curiously through narrowed eyes. He asks carefully, “Why do you need access to Mirage?”
Standing straighter than a wooden plank, I put forward my best game-face and announce, “I’m attending a job with Ari tonight. I need access to Mirage to prepare myself.”
Frankie’s mouth gapes. Behind her eyes, I see her brain working a mile a minute. Finally, she whispers in awe, “This is a big deal.”
I agree. It really is.
Bob stares at me, into me. “You ready for this?”
I respond immediate
ly, “Yes, sir.”
He swipes a hand down his face, looking anxious. “If this is about what happened yesterday in our session—”
I cut him off with a firm, “I’m ready, Bob. Really. I’m ready.”
Frankie pulls me tighter into her body. A silent show of support.
The look on Bob’s face worries me. He’s having a hard time believing me. He looks to be mentally arguing with himself.
Frankie offers, “Bob, if you’re worried, I can go too.”
I roll my eyes, shrugging out of her hold. “I don’t need a damn babysitter, Frankie.”
She raises her hands in surrender and immediately backtracks. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
My glare trains on her. “How did you mean it then?”
Bob stops our almost argument with, “Okay. You can go.”
We both turn to look at him in disbelief.
Watching him a while, I ask quietly, “Really?”
He nods once. “Yes. I trust your judgement. If you tell me you’re ready, I believe you.”
I tell him, “I am. I can do this.”
He breathes in and replies on an exhale, sounding suddenly tired, “I know you can.”
Right then, I vow that Bob won’t have any reason to feel anxious about my working at Mirage.
I can do this.
I can.
Chapter Four
“The key is to not think about them as people,” informs Bob. “You should think about them as pests that need to be exterminated.”
I nod vacantly while making mental notes.
Pests. Not people. Check.
This is really happening. I feel dazed and overwhelmed with the information being drilled into me in such a short amount of time.
Frankie walks with us. She adds, “The thing that’s hard to get past is that they look like regular people. And they may be people, but they aren’t good people, Cat. They’re scum, and they need to be stopped, whatever the crime. They wouldn’t be in our system if they were law abiding citizens. You got that?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
A mixture of excitement and fear causes adrenaline to violently course through my body. So much, it threatens to make me sick. I close my eyes and control my breathing, forcing myself to keep calm.
To tell you the truth, there is nothing about tonight that scares me—apart from the fact everyone expects me to fail.
That scares the crap out of me.
I give myself an internal pep talk.
James was a mistake. Never again. You can do this. You’ve been training for this since you were five years old. This is your second nature—your calling in life.
And most importantly...
This is God’s will.
I have had that fact drilled into me for forever. I have to believe that this is God’s will. If not, I am just a criminal, no better than the people I am to hunt.
Bob leads us through the kitchen, out the backdoor, and past my garden. We walk until we reach the barn that sits at the very back of the property. It’s an absolute eyesore. It almost ruins the elegance of the rest of the property, but that eyesore is there for good reason.
The big barn doors look old; it’s paint is peeling and faded. Bob avoids them, instead, moving to the side of the building to a steel-reinforced door with a keypad on the side. He keys in a six-digit number. “If you do well tonight, you’ll get your own code.”
Frankie smiles at me, and it calms my soul.
At least she believes in me.
The steel door whirs and vibrates a moment before we hear the latch click over. Bob pushes it in and we follow him inside. A spotlight comes on, bathing us in bright light.
Four vehicles sit covered by gun-metal grey covers, taking up most of the space in the barn. Bob moves silently between the cars towards the very back wall of the barn, where another steel door awaits. And my heart skips a beat. Or two.
This is it.
I’ve entered the nerve centre of Mirage only once before. That was two years ago. I was sixteen then, and Bob thought I was ready for my first job. At the time, I thought I was too.
We were both wrong.
Bob stands by the keypad. Without looking back, he asks, “You sure about this, Cat?”
I wish people would stop asking me.
Every time I’m asked this question, a small piece of my self-confidence bails on me. I grit my teeth, holding back the snide remark that sits at the very tip of my tongue, and I respond instead, “Sure as sugar, Bob. Do it. Let me in.”
He keys in his code; the door whizzes and purrs, clicks over, and then I wait.
Bob pushes open the door, steps back and offers a genuine smile, all for me. “Welcome back, Night Fury.” With a jerk of his chin in Frankie’s direction, he adds, “Moon Shadow will take you through. I have some things I need to do.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
He looks at me a moment before pulling me into a bear hug. “Just do your best.”
And then he’s gone.
Frankie—codename: Moon Shadow—takes my hand and pulls me along behind her. The steel door shuts behind us and she says, “You know he doesn’t actually have anything to do, right? He’s just scared shitless of his little girl growing up.”
I know this should make me roll my eyes, but I smile instead. “Well, he’s the closest thing I have to a dad. I guess it would be hard for him.”
She scoffs, “He’s been training you for over a decade, Cat. He needs to put a lock on those emotions. They don’t do anyone any good.”
Of course, she’s right, but it’s nice to have someone care about you that much.
I trail her down the long, dimly lit hall, the sounds of our footsteps echoing through the narrow space.
I’m walking towards my destiny.
How poetic.
We reach the end of the hall. Frankie clicks in her keypad code. More humming and buzzing, the steel door clicks opens and finally—finally—I’m home.I take the first step towards the rest of my life, and I do it wearing a shit-eating grin.
This is exciting.
I’m excited.
My life will be thrown one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. From boring to extraordinary.
I can’t wait.
“Welcome back to Mirage.” Frankie starts her descent down the stairs to the ground floor, but I’m glued to my position on the top floor.
My eyes scan down to the open area. I try to take it all in, but it’s hard, like walking from complete darkness into the intense brightness of the midday sun.
And it is bright in here. The area is completely open, with two desks in the middle of the open space. Four whiteboards full of writing stand surrounding the desks, which are littered with documents and photographs. Sounds come from all around. Computers beep, printers scratch, the fax machine plays its tune, but more clearly, dance music blasts from the stereo down below.
Frankie walks over to the two men who bop their heads to the music, typing away furiously. One man talks into the headset attached to his ear, and the other jumps out of his chair to add more scribble to one of the whiteboards.
I know one of men sitting below, but the other is new, and when I say new, I mean he had to have been recruited within the two years I haven’t been here. So, I guess he might not be so new. Perhaps I’m the new person in this room.
You’ve been here your whole life and you’re the new person?
That stinks.
Frankie approaches the man typing away, leans close to him and says something that makes him stop typing, stand and look up towards the second floor. He spots me and grins, mumbling, “Holy shit.” I chuckle and he booms, “Get your ass down here! Been too damn long.”
I make my way down the stairs towards Clark—codename: Data Stream—the handsome computer whiz. Taller than me, but not too tall, he was my very first crush. His brown hair is now long enough to put behind his ear, and his blue eyes are warm and welcoming. His stubble makes him look manlier than what should be permitt
ed for a computer geek.
Thinking of that causes my face to turn bright red as I approach. I haven’t seen him in a long time.
Smiling all the way over to him, my heart stutters. I wring my hands together. I feel suddenly nervous. “Hello, Clark.”
Smiling softly, he approaches me slowly, as if he would a frightened animal. He holds his arms open to me, and with little-to-no thought at all, I step into his receiving arms. He wraps me up tight, and I close my eyes and inhale the zesty citrus-based scent at his collar. I forgot what it feels like to have a man hold you.
No longer nervous, but dizzy, I breathe into his shoulder, “Hi.”
His stubble scrapes my forehead as he moves to kiss me there. “Missed you, Cat.”
“I missed you too.” Clark had been a great friend to me before I was pulled from the program. We hung out for years before—
Well, just...before.
Someone clearing their throat breaks the spell I’m under.
I gently extract myself from Clark and turn to face a grinning Frankie and the inquisitive looking new guy. His eyes search mine a moment before he masks his curiosity and steps forward, holding out his hand. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you’re Catarina.”
I’m momentarily stunned.
Stuck in my place in front of Clark, I look at the new guy through lowered brows.
Taller than Clark, but not as tall as Bob, his posture screams military man—legs parted slightly, his presence fierce. His body built the way it is, I feel small next to him. Buzzed light brown hair with green eyes, he watches me as if I may bolt any second.
Not going to happen.
My hand slides into his as I ask quietly, “How did you know that?”
He grins. “I know everything about you.”
Oh, my.
Gently dropping my hand, he clears his throat, crosses his arms over his chest and spouts information as if he himself were a computer. “Catarina White. Age eighteen. 5’6. 140—” I make a noise and glare at him. He smirks and continues, “I mean 130 pounds,” he eyes my body under my plain clothes, “of course. Shoulder-length black hair. Light brown eyes. Birthmark in the shape of a dove on your left inner thigh.” My face flames but he ignores it and carries on, “Trained by the best of the best. Black belt—E1—in Krav Maga. Highly trained in Eskrima. The weapons you are best at are the baston and largo mano yantok. Excelled in Fencing. Also highly skilled in weaponless combat fighting styles, namely Sambo. An expert in sword and dagger knife fighting, you favour the saber grip. You prefer an ivory-handled twenty-four inch Katana sword, which you affectionately named Koneko, which means kitten.” He smiles a cutesy smile my way before it falls and he continues quietly, “Your first job didn’t go too well. Target: James—”
