by E. S. Carter
Another indistinguishable grunt.
“You’re my best man,” I add honestly, not wanting to mollify but rather clarify. “But, I agree with every word he said.”
I finally turn to look the head of my team in the eye and see his anger hasn’t abated, only grown stronger. I drop my voice low enough for it not to carry any further than the surrounding men. “Let it go. Because—” I tilt my head in the direction of Luke “—you don’t want a man like him for an enemy. He won’t only take you out, but also every person you’ve ever loved. Swallow your pride, Lieutenant. Or I think he’d enjoying making you swallow it by force, and then he’d cut off your tongue like he threatened, and make you swallow that too.”
Five
Luke
* * *
I contained my smile. I let the animosity pouring from James Cooper’s men fuel my monster who was pissed off that the big guy commanding James’ unit had given up so easily.
He’d wanted carnage, not compliance.
It’s true what they say, “The bigger they are, the harder they… make me.” And right now, I was rock-fucking-hard.
Which was why I couldn’t look at the man that had stood by my side as he watched enraptured as I’d decimated his Lieutenant. I could feel the mix of confusion, anticipation, and need rolling off him. It was heady and potent, and I got off on the knowledge that my calm and controlled aggression had opened a darker side of James. A side he was rapidly failing to conceal.
No one approached me for the rest of the flight other than a young, fragile looking girl that served as the flight attendant but looked like a slight breeze would knock her over. She was submissive and all but silent. Her only question from behind downcast eyes was, “Is there anything I can get for you, Sir?”
I’d debated toying with her but instead dismissed her with a wave. I was not done playing with her employer yet, and other prey didn’t tempt me the way James Cooper did.
I could sense where he was at all times. In this game of cat and mouse in which we were engaged, James was in danger of getting caught with his hands on the cheese just as the trap snapped shut. And I’d be waiting. Stalking. Licking my teeth in anticipation of the treat ensnared before me and unable to escape.
Oh, how I liked these games.
* * *
We touch down an hour or so later in a small but well-maintained airfield, and the hand that grips my shoulder as I unclasp my seatbelt surprises me.
Not because I hadn’t heard someone approach as our small jet taxied slowly towards the hanger, but because I’d forgotten how confident and direct James could be, and how easily he put his hands on me when others would never dare.
The weight of his touch was foreign and yet intoxicating. It seared through the layers of fabric that covered my skin and seeped down through flesh into my bones.
“I’ve had word the vehicles are waiting. You can ride with me.” He smirks. “I think that’s safer for everyone, don’t you?”
I stand, and his hold drops away.
“Your Lieutenant was right,” I state flatly as I step out from the space between the seats and look over his shoulder towards the team sat at the back. My eyes immediately catch and hold those of the man with dried blood around his nostrils and dark bruising below his eyes that indicates they are swiftly turning black. I don’t blink. I don’t smile. I merely stare. “We shouldn’t be waiting around a few days,” I continue without breaking eye contact with the one he called Jason. “We should strike this Sasha Federov before he has a chance to discover us and strikes first.”
I don’t look at James as I give him my opinion. My stare is fixed and unwavering on the person with murder in his eyes. My murder.
“Then why did you bust a good man’s nose if you agreed with him?”
I break my stare with said man and turn my attention to James.
“Because he has no respect for authority.”
“He’s a decorated veteran.”
“Because he had no respect for you.”
James’ mouth opens as if to speak and then snaps shut. He glances once up the aisle of the jet to watch his men preparing their bags and then his dark eyes are back on me.
“I pay his wages, he respects me,” James declares as if my previous statement about his head of operations is offensive to him.
We are almost the same height, James and I. He may have half an inch on me and pack a few more pounds of muscle, as evidenced by the way his shirt stretches tight across his chest, and it could well be a fair fight should we come to blows. But I never fight fair. Ever.
“As you wish,” I reply simply, and judging by the flash of annoyance in his eyes I can guess my unwillingness to discuss the matter further has only served to make him want to assert his dominance.
I’d like to see him try.
He doesn’t say anything further.
Does he know I’m baiting him?
“Do your men know about Lily?” I ask instead, partly curious, but more to confuse him with the change of subject. It makes no difference to me if they know of Alec Craven’s bastard offspring. I’m still undecided what to do about the girl.
He blinks, the tenseness in his body easing as if he was prepared for a fight that never happened and he can now relax a little, but not completely.
“Yes,” he states simply.
“Then you need to let them know, from this moment forward, that she belongs to me.”
He’s unable to contain the puzzled look that paints his face. The scuff on his jaw ripples as he grinds his back teeth, his confusion morphing quickly into something that looks a lot like jealousy.
My monster pants beneath the surface, sniffing the air and stretching its spine ready to attack.
“I’ll make them aware,” he replies once he’s schooled his reaction. “Now, if you’re ready, the cars are waiting for us.”
He motions towards the jet door as one of the crew secures the exit and readies the stairs.
Once outside, I’m hit with the warm Hungarian summer air. The airfield we’ve landed in is small but far better maintained than the one we flew out from. I watch as one of James’ men hands over a thick wad of cash to a shorter man dressed in oil-stained overalls. The two men shake hands, and the taller one in black tactical gear turns and walks towards the vehicles, as the smaller man animatedly waves his hands at a younger employee, shouting out harsh instructions in Hungarian as he pockets his generous payday with a broad grin.
James stops in front of the lead vehicle, a dark SUV, and doesn’t wait for the driver to open his door for him, waving him off before turning to me and locking his unblinking eyes with mine. The question and challenge in their dark brown depths is aimed solely at me.
He thinks his confidence fools me. He thinks he knows how all this will play out. And I don’t mean the operation to obliterate the final farm. I don’t doubt his success in that regard. James Cooper infiltrated The Kingdom from the inside and saved thousands. One farm run by a boy who thinks himself an emperor is nothing to worry this man. No, it isn’t his ability to succeed in this instance that is foolish. It’s his fake confidence in his attraction to me.
I bet he’s never been with another man, let alone a man like me. My mind wars with the thought—half of it wanting to plunge into depravity, the other half mocking me and my experience with men. I generally prefer females in my basement and rarely take a male pet. James may never have been with another man, but I have never hunted one, and as I hold his gaze, even as I slide into the back seat, I understand that is precisely what I’m doing—hunting.
The car pulls off smoothly, allowing another vehicle to lead before following it through quiet country roads. Scattered villages appear sporadically in the distance, and I know we are nowhere near the metropolitan city of Budapest, we are deeper in rural Hungary. Although I’m aware of the passing scenery, I am more aware of the man sitting silently to my right. We haven’t spoken since I laid claim to Lily, and I’m enjoying his silence. It’s
thick with his apprehension and anxiety, and I refuse to be the one to break it.
I don’t have to wait too much longer.
“Will you hand over the reins of Red Order to Cole eventually?” he asks thoughtfully, his gaze on the passing countryside.
Unexpected. His question comes out of left field.
“No.” I don’t bother to elucidate.
I feel his eyes on me and turn my head to capture his stare with my own. He doesn’t flinch. He looks intrigued by my monosyllabic response.
“You enjoy the power.”
A statement, not a question.
“Of course you do,” he continues. The corner of his mouth lifting, his amusement reaching his eyes and making them crinkle at the edges.
James looks younger at this moment, and I have a brief image of the man he would’ve become had he not been born to the Renshaws. Also, for the first time, I see a similarity to his brother, Grim. It’s in the tilt of his head and the shape of his eyes. Grim looks younger around Cal, just as James looks younger right now.
“Do you talk to your brother now?” I ask, surprising both him and myself with the question.
His brow furrows and he blinks rapidly, the similarity to Grim disappearing along with the lightness in his eyes.
“We’ve had a few… stilted conversations. I’ve spoken to Calliah a few times. She’s still considering taking a role in the new vineyard. Although, I doubt she will ever leave Henry’s side.”
“If you called him by his name it may help bridge the gap between you. Henry is dead, I’m sure Grim told you that.”
James grimaces. “Grim isn’t a name.”
“It’s his name. One of his choosing. You know he’s a twisted bastard, it suits him. But more importantly, it fits him. It’s his skin, his armour. Every time you refuse to let Henry die, he sees it as a threat. Would you want to build a bridge with someone who threatened the existence you’d fought for with your own blood and pain?”
I watch as James absorbs my words before finishing with, “What if you remained James Renshaw? Would you be the man you are now?”
I know how much he despises his birth name. James Cooper was born from the ashes of James Renshaw, the Renshaw elders making indelible marks on both their son’s souls.
“No. I wouldn’t.” It was James’ turn to give a short answer.
“Then if you want to reconcile with your brother, you’ll respect his identity. After all, it cost him enough, don’t you think.” My turn to state not question.
“Sir, we are less than ten minutes from base.” The voice from the driver cleaves a gap in the strangely intimate air around us.
“Thank you, Brant,” James replies. His words for the man in front, but his eyes still on me.
“I’ll do better,” he offers simply before once more turning to look out of the window.
I sit and marvel at the fact that I just had a meaningful conversation with another person. Not momentous in a business sense. Not significant in that it afforded me more power or strengthened my position. It was on a level I don’t think I’d ever had before. For as long as I can remember, life had been a battle. A deathly fight for power. Survival of the fittest where the weak fell quickly. Only once was I weak. A child unable to adapt and shut down my emotions. Seven days lying next to the decomposing body of my murdered mother cured me of that.
Violets. Their scent floods the car’s interior, and I close my eyes and shut down my senses.
Not here. Not now.
“Be better than them all. I have faith in you.”
I open my eyes and expect to see her before me. The bright sky outside the tinted windows dazzles me for a moment, my vision hazy, my sight slowly clearing. But she is nowhere to be found. The scent of violets dissipates, replaced by that of leather and male musk. The warm feeling of maternal love oozes from my pores like sweat, and I feel lightheaded, almost groggy. My eyes meet and find James’ assessing gaze.
“Are you—”
Bang.
Crunch.
Boom.
Screech.
Metal meets metal, and I’m flipped from my seat. The car roof becomes the floor, as my head meets something hard and unforgiving, and my vision blurs. I land on top of another body as we tumble once more, all of us tossed around like ragdolls as the windows shatter and the ground and sky once more change places. I watch us roll and spin in slow-motion. Nothing outside of the car exists as we battle with gravity and lose.
I see in high definition as the driver is flung from the windscreen on the next rotation of our swiftly crumbling vehicle, the airbags ill-equipped for a crash of this severity. He leaves behind half his arm as he’s expelled from the car like an animal spitting out something unpalatable. The limb is trapped in the twisted metal frame and jagged glass. The hand limply flapping around in a macabre wave as we once more somersault through another rotation and the ground tries to meet my head through the now bent and broken side window.
A horn blares continuously, and something in the engine hisses as we come to a grinding stop. My head is woozy and disorientated as I take mental stock of my injuries. I’m wedged between the front seat and the foot well. The car coming to rest on its side. The place where James once sat is on my right. Only James is gone. I’m the only one that remains inside the wreck of twisted metal, the engine still running, the noise from the horn deafening. Outside the broken windows, I have sunny blue sky above me and dry grass and dirt below me. Long gone is the scent of violets to be replaced by the strong stench of fuel.
My brain finally kicks in, and I know I need to get out of here. My hand flies to first the Walther in my holster and then to the Beretta in my waistband. The second gun is gone, likely thrown somewhere outside the car during our plummet to wherever we now lie, but my trusty Pretty Polly Killer is exactly where she should be, tucked into my shoulder holster safe and sound.
“Luke. Luke, are you okay? Can you get out?”
I manoeuvre awkwardly and look up to see James’ dirt and blood smeared face staring down at me through a gap which moments ago was a window from where I watched the Hungarian countryside go by. Now, it’s almost half the size, the roof crumpled and twisted, making the hole too small for me to even attempt climbing out.
“I’m in one piece—” my eyes flit to the severed arm of the driver still caught in the angry twist of metal that once was a windscreen. “—unlike your driver. He’s left a part of him behind.”
“Brant didn’t make it,” he confirms with a look of grief and guilt. “But I can hear shouts and gunshots coming from the top of the ridge, so we need to get out of here. Where are your weapons?”
“I’ve lost one but still have my PPK, unless you can get to my duffle? It’s in the boot.”
James slides down the roof of the car, and his face disappears from my view. I hear his footsteps as he makes his way around the back before they trail off and all I can hear is the now stuttering engine.
“There’s no way I’m going to be able to open the boot from outside,” he calls, now at the front end of the car where he’s pulled himself up onto the crumpled bonnet. Brant’s arm is the first thing he sees but he blinks the sight away like severed limbs are a daily occurrence.
He’s not phased. Good.
“If we had more time I’d ask you to try and get to the weapons via the back seat but the gunfire above is sporadic at best, and I don’t know who will end up coming down the side of that drop to look for us.” He sniffs the air, and his face is grave. “Plus, this thing could blow, Luke. It’s time to get you out.”
Getting out from behind the front seat is the easy bit, but getting through the completely fucked windscreen is more of a challenge. James’ lightweight jacket comes off and he wraps it around his fist to knock away some of the larger glass shards that stand guard at my only exit like the sharp teeth of a predator. Once the main obstacles are taken care of, he places his jacket across the mangled opening and motions for me to slide out. With my belly t
o the sharp metal and glass, Luke grabs at my hands and tugs. Pain slices through my abdomen and I curse.
“Fuck. Let go.” The more he tugs, the more the foreign object stabs into my flesh. “I’m caught on something.” I find a safe place to brace my hands and take my weight off my middle. Pushing up on one hand, I use the other to run down my torso. It comes back coated in fresh blood.
“Shit. Is it bad?” James asks just as we hear debris tumbling down the steep incline towards us. Likely displaced rocks, gravel and dirt as people make their way towards our wreck.
“They can’t see us yet, but they soon will. You need to get out.” An air of genuine panic covers James’ features. I’ve never seen this man as anything other than unflappable in the face of danger, but his lack of weapons and my precarious position has him rattled.
With awkward movements, I manage to remove my gun from my holster and pass it through the gap to James.
“Here, take this. Cover me.”
James doesn’t hesitate, and the gun is locked, loaded and aimed towards the steep slope within seconds.
More stones tumble through the trees and undergrowth towards us.
“Luke,” James warns, his tone like steel. “You need to get the fuck out of there or—”
“Are you going to leave me, Cooper? Now you have my gun, it would be the wise thing to do.”
His eyes flash quickly in my direction before he trains his gaze upwards once more.
“Don’t tempt me, Hunter. Just get the fuck out of there.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
With my weight braced on my forearms, I can lift my body over the sharp spike of metal that tried to rip out my guts, and I raise myself until I feel my shoulders catch on the upper side of the crumpled window. Something tears at the back of my jacket but doesn’t catch my skin, and I hoist myself out far enough that I can brace my right foot in the corner of the opening, leveraging the rest of my body out of the car onto the upturned and crumpled bonnet. With little to hold onto, once the rest of me is free, I fall ungracefully to the ground next to the underside of the car and land with a thud, swallowing down the stabbing heat in my gut. I don’t need to look, it’s only a flesh wound.
