Return of the Assassin (All the King's Men)

by Lynne, Donya

  "Fuck!" Trevor slammed his hand on the steering wheel and checked the rearview mirror as he cranked the wheel to the left. Gina crashed into the passenger door then flung back toward the center console as Trevor straightened the wheel and shoved his Bluetooth in his ear. Then he jerked his seat belt one-handed over his shoulder and fastened himself in.

  With shaky hands, she ripped open her jacket and released the vest. Goddamn, that thing was tight. She groaned, relieved to reduce the pressure, then pulled herself into her seat. Her arms gave out just as she turned to the front.

  "This shit needs to stop, Gina." Trevor hit a button on the console and the sound of digital dialing mingled with the still dinging seat belt indicator. He reached across her chest, pulled the seat belt around her, and shoved it into place with an angry click.

  Harsh, wheezing breaths burst from her lungs, and she doubled over, clutched her chest, and then slammed back against the seat as a sharp pain speared her sternum. She hardly noticed Miami's bright lights as they flashed by as she and Trev raced down the highway.

  I'm dying. I just know I'm dying. Something's wrong with me. What's happening to me? The lights swam around her, and she felt like she was spinning out of control as a thousand disjointed thoughts attacked her mind in no particular order. Is this my punishment? Is this the price I have to pay for my carelessness? For all my sins? For dishonoring Gabe by trying to kill Severin? For killing Armand? My own mate, for God's sake? Is my life ever going to be normal again? It was an accident. I swear! I never meant to kill him, but he was hurting me. He always hurt me. Who am I kidding? Killing him was no accident. Only Gabe knew. He tried to make him stop. Gabe…oh, Gabe. Help me. Please! I need you. I miss you. You were the only one who ever understood…the only one who knew the truth. Malek!

  The tumble of chaos in her head screeched to a halt on Malek's name as if he were the solution. Huh-uh. He was more likely the problem. Or at least part of it. Because there was no way she would ever let him be the solution.

  Trevor barked commands into his Bluetooth. "Colby, get to my place. Grab Gina's things and grab my two black duffels from the closet and meet me at the airport in thirty." Trevor made a sharp right, cutting off traffic. "And don't fold her shit. Just toss what you can in her bag and go!"

  Gina gasped, and her stomach rolled. "I think I'm going to throw up. Pull over." She grabbed for the door, but Trevor kept going.

  He reached behind his seat, and his arm flailed until he found what he was looking for. Then he shoved an empty shopping bag at her. "You'll just have to puke in that, because I'm not stopping." He gunned the gas and flew around another corner, turning his conversation back to Colby. "No, I'm taking evasive action. They're probably tailing us. Gonna drive around Miami and lead them away from my house so you can get in and out with our stuff. Then I'm hightailing it to the airport. Call Axe and get him over to prep the jet."

  Gina eyed the bag then closed her eyes and willed herself not to vomit. She just needed to talk herself down and she would be okay. Her panic was all in her head, but knowing that didn't stop the tumble of self-defeating thoughts from hammering away at her soul.

  She had messed up in Chicago. She had almost killed an innocent male. What kind of assassin was that careless? She had ignored her gut and hadn't obtained all the facts? She had flown off half-cocked and made an incredible error in judgment. This was her fault. These panic attacks were her doing. What if she never recovered? What if they continued to get worse until she could no longer function? Her life would be over. No one would hire her, and she would have no way to survive.

  At one time, she had been a revered assassin…cool, calm under fire, and stable. Now she was anything but, and her body reminded her of that every day. Even worse, she never knew when a panic attack would strike. Their rhyme and reason made no sense.

  Tonight was supposed to have gotten her back on track. She was supposed to redeem herself and become the badass bitch she had once been. Instead, she had failed. Again. Failure was becoming a trend.

  Tears streaked her cheeks, and she bit her thumbnail as she looked out the window and tried to get a grasp on something—anything that would ground her. This was the worst panic attack yet, and fear jolted her heart that she might never gain control over the demons that assaulted her sanity on a daily basis now.

  A sinking feeling dove through her gut, and a chill cut through her as she thought back to what Malek said to her in Chicago. She was beginning to fear his words that day were more to blame for what was happening to her than she first realized. If Armand wasn't the trigger, and Severin wasn't, that left Malek, right?

  After what she had done to Severin in Chicago, she had been arrested and thrown in a holding cell at AKM. She had been despondent and inconsolable, lost to guilt and her wounded conscience. But Malek had refused to leave her. He had been a presence in her cell as constant as her pain, appointing himself her personal guard. Eventually, she became grateful for his company, even when they only sat in silence. He comforted her simply by being there.

  On the day in question, she had been in lockup for maybe four or five days, lying in bed and trying not to think about how badly she had screwed up. But after blowing two holes inside an innocent person's chest, it was hard not to think about it…and dwell on it…and regret every stupid, careless, misguided decision that led to the moment she pulled the trigger.

  She lay on her side in the dark, facing the wall, and exhaustion finally began to win out over the litany of self-deprecating thoughts parading through her mind, and she drifted toward sleep. Malek was there…behind her on the other bed.

  She was just on the brink of sleep when Malek sighed. The rush of air was tinged with the telltale hint of frustration, and a moment later, the quiet rustle of the other bed told her he sat up. But she was too near sleep and too wrapped up in her own problems to pay him much attention.

  Silence followed for another few seconds, and then Malek whispered so quietly that his voice sounded almost like breath. "I know you're asleep, but…" He trailed off, and the blankets stirred again as he uttered a quiet groan, as if he was frustrated with himself. "I don't know what's happening to me."

  Curiosity pulled her from the brink of sleep, but she refused to turn around. She didn't want to talk about whatever was bothering him. She had her own shit to deal with. He thought she was asleep, so if she kept up the act, maybe he would leave and take his frustrations elsewhere.

  "How did this happen?" he whispered, as if to himself. "I can't take another mate. I can't."

  She frowned, eyes closed. A mate? Surely, he wasn't talking about her.

  "I don't know how this happened." He reflected aloud. "I shouldn't be feeling this way, but I am." He moved, and Gina felt his gaze prickle the hair on the back of her neck. "God forgive me, but the connection is there, and I feel it growing stronger every hour. I don't know what to do. Why do I want you when I haven't even…?" From the tone of his voice, he didn't sound happy. Then he continued. "I can't let go of my past, Gina. I want to, but I can't. How will this work if I can't let go of…?" He trailed off with a sigh.

  Whatever was on his mind was serious. Bad serious. And she hoped whatever it was, it was strong enough to overcome whatever mated male biological body chemistry he had going on—or thought he had going on—because the last thing she wanted was another mate. She didn't do relationships. Not since Armand.

  When he spoke again, his voice was even softer and right behind her, as if he was staring at the back of her head, maybe even studying her. The warmth of his breath caressed her neck. "How did you become my mate, Gina? I'm not worthy of you."

  Gina's thoughts bounced back to the present as Trevor took a turn too closely and jumped the curb. That was it, wasn't it? Malek had royally freaked her out by declaring she was his mate, and like a startled deer, she had bolted. Just up and ran like a chickenshit as soon as she was released. Was that the kind of thing assassins did? Did they flee at the first sign of trouble? Hell no! Th
ey stood and fought, or at least laid down the law. She hadn't done either. She should have turned around then and there and told Malek that he could want to be her mate all he wanted, but that didn't mean she reciprocated.

  But there was one catch. She was attracted to Malek. As in really attracted to him. A revelation she had refused to admit to herself for days after leaving Chicago, and which she still didn't voice aloud. But just because she found Malek attractive didn't mean she wanted him for a mate. Hell no!

  Trev was still throwing out instructions to Colby, and his gaze danced up to the rearview mirror every few seconds. "Okay, call me when you're on your way to the airport." He disconnected and shot her a look. "You okay?"

  She threw the bag he had given her behind his seat with a vicious swipe of her arm. "Do I look fucking okay, Trev? Huh?" She shouldn't have yelled at him, but right now she was about to implode, and she still trembled like a wet dog in the snow as adrenaline broke through her system. "Shit!"

  Trevor ignored her outburst and gunned the SUV down a winding road that circled one of the hundred or so lakes in the area. Sometimes South Florida seemed like one big lake with islands all around. "We've got to get out of here."

  With Dacians on their ass, the safest thing to do was to hightail it out of town for a while and make it harder for them to follow. And based on Trev's conversation with Colby, hightailing it involved flying.

  "Where are we going?" she said as she wrung her hands, the attack beginning to wane. Her foot bounced on the floorboard like she was playing "Chopsticks" on a hi-hat.

  He shrugged. "I don't care. Anywhere but here. Any suggestions?"

  She stared down at her shaking hands. All this had started in Chicago. Whether Malek was the catalyst or not, her panic attacks started after she left Chicago. This was her chance to man up, go back, face the situation, and be the hard-ass she had been trained to be. And maybe going back would finally put an end to the incessant e-mails she kept getting from some jackass named Micah, who worked at AKM. Micah wanted her to return to Chicago, too, and she could only imagine it was because Malek had fallen into mated male suffering. But she refused to reply.

  To be honest, she was surprised no one had come after her, yet. Mated males didn't do well without their mates, and the king's law went to exceptional lengths to protect them, even if it meant hunting down a female and dragging her kicking and screaming back to her mate. Not that many females resisted a mate's call. Statistics would probably show that 99.99 percent didn't. Gina just happened to be in that .01 percent that did.

  The agony must be unreal for him. One more layer of guilt wrapped around her as she thought of what Malek could be going through right now without her.

  Damn it, she didn't need to develop a conscience. She didn't want another mate. Period. End of story. Malek would just have to find a way to cope…the same way she had after dealing Armand the eviction notice from her life…because that shit hadn't been easy, and she wasn't going back there. Ever.

  Unfortunately, Malek had already reawakened her despair with his damn declaration that he had mated her. Why couldn't he have kept his mouth shut? Because then she wouldn't be in such a mess now. She wouldn't know he had mated her, and she wouldn't be harboring even more guilt than she already was.

  She liked Malek. He seemed different. Sweet. That was why her conscience ate at her now. Malek didn't deserve to be in such a pickle, suffering God only knew what agony, because of her. He had said that day in her cell that he wasn't worthy of her. Ha! He got it backward, because she wasn't worthy of him. If only he knew the truth, he would see that mating her was a mistake, and maybe that would be enough to ease the suffering and help him heal from her absence and go on without her.

  She knew most males weren't like Armand. But enduring such violent trauma at Armand's hands had left her shattered and unable to fathom ever getting that close to a male again. The thought that history would repeat if she took another mate was irrational, because Armand was the exception, not the rule. But she couldn't help herself. Not after all she suffered. Armand had been like an IED she stepped on at the side of the road…only all the damage from the blast was on the inside, and she had the PTSD to prove it.

  Still, desperation made people do strange things, and she was desperate for these mind-numbing anxiety attacks to stop before they killed her. Like it or not, only one solution seemed evident. She needed to go back to the source. To Malek. So she could face him and put an end to his fantasy that they were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together.

  Fuck biology. Fuck the physiological bond that tethered him to her. She wasn't having it. All she wanted was to be done with him. Discussion over. If it killed him, it killed him. Not her problem.

  She frowned at the thought. She didn't want to hurt Malek, but her number one priority had to be herself. She had put others' needs before hers for too long and needed to take care of herself this time.

  "Well?" Trevor prompted her again. "Thoughts? Suggestions? New York, maybe? We could go to—"

  "Chicago. We need to go to Chicago." She glanced across the seat at him.

  "What?" He looked surprised. "I thought you said you never wanted to go back to Chicago."

  She hadn't told him much about what happened in the Windy City—only enough to give him an idea of how bad the situation was. Now it was clear that running away from the past was a fast track to hell, and if going back to Chi-Town could release her mind and her heart, then the sooner they returned, the better. And maybe that would get this Micah asshole off her back, too. Right now, Micah's constant e-mails were making the situation worse, even though she no longer read them.

  "I changed my mind," she said. "I need to go back to Chicago."

  Reluctant acknowledgement tainted Trevor's expression. "Okay, Chicago it is, but I hope you know what you're doing."

  Gina chewed on her thumbnail again as she glanced out the window. "Yeah. Me, too."

  Several silent minutes later, Trevor's phone rang and he picked it up. He listened then said, "Good, I'm on my way. Tell Axe we're going to Chicago."

  Looked like Colby had their things and was on his way to meet them.

  Trevor shot to the highway and made a beeline for the airport. They arrived in record time. Axe already had the jet prepped and the engines fired as she and Trevor tossed in their luggage and rushed to their seats.

  "Go!" Trevor called up to Axe.

  Without a word, Axe pulled the jet away from the terminal and taxied toward the runway.

  Before she knew it, the jet lifted off, Chicago bound.

  When she looked down at her hands in her lap, she realized that for the first time in forty-five minutes she wasn't shaking. The pain in her chest was also gone.

  For some reason, she didn't think that was a good sign.

  * * *

  Searcy's booted feet landed with a thud a moment before his son, Vaydon, appeared beside him. Wind blew their long, pale hair off their faces as their yellow eyes, sharp with hunting sight, turned up in tandem to watch the private jet take off. Dark malevolence shrouded them like poison.

  He cursed, and the sound came out like the spit from a cobra despite his calm demeanor.

  Their prey had gotten away. For now. But that male, and his female partner with the anxiety problem, wouldn't get far. Searcy imprinted their scent, panic and all, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he caught them. He swirled the fragrance of the two assassins around and over his sensory glands, embedding their essences into his memory. Familiarity touched him from the female, but he couldn't recall where he had scented her before. It would come to him. Such things always did.

  Without taking his eyes off the private jet, which grew smaller as it climbed, Searcy took a deep, steadying breath and said, "Find out where that jet is going. Kill whoever you have to."

  Without so much as a nod in Searcy's direction, Vaydon strode toward the edge of the building, calm, collected, and unhurried. His long hair billowed on the wind. H
is broad shoulders stretched the calf-length, black trench across his back, and his boots thunked with measured heaviness over the surface of the flat-topped roof. Then, as if falling into shadow, Vaydon disappeared into mist.

  Searcy stared at the small pinpricks of light blinking from the jet's wings.

  So, the Knights of Justice were finally onto him and Vaydon. It had been inevitable. What did he think? That he and Vaydon could continue their treacherous dealings and illegal transgressions forever and go unnoticed? But he hadn't counted on King Bain's royally disbarred Knights catching his trail so soon.

  Impressive.

  But futile.

  His plans were already well under way. It wouldn't be long before he shook things up in the vampire community, and by then, King Bain's AKM enforcers and the KOJU vigilantes would have to play catch-up. And by the time they did, the throne would be his again. Back in his bloodline where it belonged.

  Vaydon reappeared from the ether and strolled toward him, a smear of blood on his chin. "Chicago," he said, turning his gaze toward the jet as it disappeared behind a cloud.

  Ah, Chicago. The king's backyard. How perfect. Searcy issued one final glance toward the jet that held those who had just tried to kill his son. No doubt he had been in their sites, as well, but they were either too inept or poorly trained to finish the job. Now he and Vaydon were kicked dogs, sleeping giants awakened, and it was their turn to become the hunters.

  "Chicago it is then," he said, turning one perfectly arched brow toward Vaydon as his eyes shifted back to silver.

  His son's thin mouth curved into a loose, crooked grin. Vaydon loved the hunt as much as Searcy did. Like father, like son. They thrilled over the kill…the pain…the suffering of others…especially when it came to the blasphemous vampire clans who had overthrown Dacian rule countless millennia ago. He would teach them. Searcy would show them the error of their ways. After all, he hadn't spent centuries in exile without a plan to take back what belonged to him. The traitors would pay. He had been patient for what seemed like forever, but the time for patience was almost over.