Bad Blood

by Amity Cross

  I fucked her hard and fast, and when she began to quicken, I pushed her back onto the bed. Covering her with my body, I drove her home, pushing her body to its limits. She was coming, writhing and clawing underneath me and I thrust and pounded until I was coming inside her. I fucked her until I felt my strength leaving me. I fucked her until I was empty.

  Best motherfucking orgasm of my life.

  I collapsed beside her, both of us hot and sticky with sweat and sex. I’d marked her on the outside, but she’d marked me all fucking over.

  “You blew up a building for me,” she murmured through a heavy breath.

  I suspected she was somewhat out of her mind from her orgasm, but I supposed she was right. Some men gave their women flowers and jewelry. I laid the bodies of her enemies at her feet like a fucked up wreath of roses.

  I guess that was my way of saying ‘I love you’.

  The sun rose, sirens and smoke permeated the city, and Mercy didn’t sleep. She lay in bed beside me, her breathing even, listening to the chaos that was unfolding in the distance. Whatever she was thinking was a mystery because she’d finally perfected her poker face.

  I bade her to shower with me and when we emerged, she instantly switched on the cheap television in the corner, flicking through the channels until she found Sky News. No fucking surprise when I realized they were showing images of my path of destruction.

  Mercy sat watching the news report, a blank look on her face. It was entirely in French, but it didn’t take a genius to decipher the gist of it.

  “What are they saying?” she asked after a while.

  “They’re saying that the police are treating it as suspicious.”

  “And that?” she asked as a info graphic flashed on the screen. “I know that word means 'bodies'.”

  “Two bodies were found inside.”

  “They were the men we saw?” she asked, instantly understanding that I put them there.

  Well, she was right. Two unrecognizable bodies and two ID’s via dental records that would take days to complete meant that they weren’t sure if we were alive or dead. Now, we had a chance.

  “You tell me.” She was watching me from overhead. She would’ve seen me carry them inside.

  “Whatever,” she replied sullenly.

  “There is nothing that will link us to the explosion, Mercy. Do you have that little faith in me?”

  She glanced up at me. “No, I— That’s not what I meant.”

  “They will begin their inquiries with the owner of the building to rule out insurance fraud. Since that owner is Lafayette, their hands will be tied. The police will try their hardest to pin a charge on a man they have been trying to catch for a very long time. They won’t be looking for two ghosts that were smuggled into the country.”

  She was silent for a while, then she snorted. “At least no one else was hurt.”

  “I don’t intend to harm those that are not involved,” I snapped.

  Collateral damage sometimes came with the territory. I opened my mouth to say as much, but I quickly closed it. I didn’t want to argue about this. Not today, not when we were on borrowed time.

  Mercy shrugged. “It bothers me about innocent people. That’s all. I just wished you had of told me a little sooner about your plan.”

  I narrowed my eyes. She was right.

  “I need to go out,” I declared, pulling on my shirt.

  She glanced at me again. “What for?”

  Usually, this would be the moment I just walked the fuck out and did whatever I wanted, but we were a team now. At least on this job we were.

  I didn’t have a phone since I destroyed it before leaving the rooftop a few hours before, so I had to go purchase another one. “I need to get another burner. Then I need to contact Vaughn.”

  “Vaughn?” Mercy scoffed. “Seriously?”

  “If you have another lead, by all means share it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Point.”

  I pulled on my jacket, picking up the room key.

  “Just be careful, okay?”

  I looked down at her where she sat on the edge of the bed, and allowed myself to smile. Having someone care, having them always say these things, sometimes it pissed me off…but not today.

  “Always,” I said, and then I left.

  Outside, the air reeked of smoke.

  As I walked to the corner where I’d seen a store selling pay-as-you-go phones, I watched the faces that passed me on the street. The air was full of uneasiness and the snippets of conversations that reached my ears all spoke about the same thing. The explosion in St Germain.

  I didn’t like being on the street so soon after blowing up half a fucking city block, but I had little choice in the matter. Time was running out and I needed a lead. Fucking hated it, but I was now reliant on Vaughn.

  I bought the cheapest phone the store carried and paid cash. Outside, I pulled the packet apart and snapped out the SIM card, shoving it into the phone. It switched on no problems, but I knew I didn’t have long before the charge bottomed out to zero.

  I found a secure location, hidden from view of the main boulevard, kept my head low and dialed the number I’d memorized. It rang a few times, then the call connected.

  “What?” Vaughn didn’t sound happy. Too fucking bad.

  “Vaughn.”

  “Oh, it’s you, X. I was just watching something very interesting on the morning news,” he said.

  I fucking bet he was.

  “I knew you were a dramatic son of a bitch,” he went on, “but blowing up half of St Germain? That’s a new high score, X. Too bad the wrong people were inside.”

  “I’ve bought us some time,” I snapped.

  “Faking your own death.” There was the faint sound of clapping on the other end of the line. “Bravo.”

  “Your lead was useless. We were tracked.”

  “I know...and before you jump down my throat, it wasn’t me. I have to thank you by the way.”

  I kept my mouth shut.

  “That intel you got from Madden unearthed a lot more than an attempted assassination.”

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist. “They were linked.”

  “Someone’s got their eye on me. Someone from Sykes’ camp, which is why this hit needs to happen, X. No more failures.”

  Shit. This thing went deeper than just a revenge killing. It was that simple for Mercy, but for Vaughn it was so much more. He had something big riding on this and if he was using us as a means to an end… I didn’t fucking like it. I’d been used all of my life, at least the life that I remembered, and fucked if I was going to be a pawn in anyone’s game ever again.

  “Now would be the time to tell me what’s in it for you, Vaughn,” I snarled.

  He laughed at my tone, which only made me grind my teeth. “You can take a wild guess, my friend.”

  “You want Sykes’ operation.”

  “When the Necromancers fall apart after Sykes’ untimely demise, I will be there to pick up the pieces. All my ducks are in a row, X, you’ve just got to pick off the last predator. Then we’ll all be happy and safe. Well, everyone but you that is.”

  I shook my head. Of fucking course. This was Vaughn’s revenge. He’d never be satisfied with just killing the man who tortured his lover to death. He would take everything he had and make it his own. And me? I still had Royal Blood on my ass, like a goddamned fucking hemorrhoid.

  “What does Sykes know?” I asked thinly, ignoring Vaughn’s bait.

  “Enough to be royally pissed off. Pardon the pun.” I swore I could hear him smirk down the phone, the cocky posh bastard.

  “And what if I don’t want to be a part of your game?”

  “Oh, I think you would do anything for Mercy. By all means, correct me if I’m wrong.”

  Cocksucker. “Do you have a lead or not?”

  Vaughn laughed. “That’s my boy.”

  “I’m pressed for time, Vaughn. If you’re done playing mind games, just spit it the fu
ck out.”

  “I don’t know Sykes’ current whereabouts,” he went on, “but I know somebody that does.”

  “Keep talking.”

  “A man by the name of Julien Allaire operates a highbrow people smuggling syndicate out of France and Europe. He is currently the closest to Sykes and his current dealings in Paris. He arranged his ‘friend’s’ travel and accommodation. Word has it that if Sykes can strike a deal with Lafayette, Allaire is the man who will be smuggling the merchandise back and forth across the border. There’s a lot of money in it and keeping Sykes happy is his current objective. Find a way to make him talk and you’ve got your location.”

  Money and power. These fuck stains always wanted it. Motherfucking predictable assholes.

  “Are you busy tomorrow morning?” Vaughn asked, sounding smug.

  “It seems like I will be paying a visit with Mr. Allaire.”

  Vaughn relayed the information he had on the target and I leaned back against the wall, watching the street, yet another plan formulating in my mind.

  So, it was going to be an old fashioned ‘no pain, no gain’ type of Sunday. I better make sure I packed the right tools.

  “Your girl up for it?” Vaughn asked, taking every fucking opportunity to bait me over my association with Mercy.

  “If it were you and Lorelei, would she be ready?”

  There was silence on the other end, but I could hear the motherfucker breathing. Direct hit.

  “Just get it done, X, and I’ll let you both out of this scot-free.”

  “I don’t take kindly to threats,” I snarled. “You’ll get what you want and then we’re done. I want out of your politics.”

  “You have yourself a deal.”

  Twenty-Five

  Mercy

  On the first Sunday of September, Julien Allaire visited his family tomb in Montmartre cemetery.

  As X and I prowled through the centuries old tombs, I couldn’t help but feel creeped out by the whole place. The cemetery sat in the middle of a bustling metropolis, but within the walls we could’ve been anywhere. It was silent, empty and it was all I could do not to glance over my shoulder every five seconds.

  There were rows upon rows of tombs and gravesites, all of them looking like little houses standing in line with one another. Little houses for the dead. Grand sculptures adorned many, different family names engraved on doors and plaques. Some were well looked after and some were old and falling into disrepair. The whole place was a warren, twists and turns leading to more of the same.

  If we eliminated Allaire and our quest for Sykes failed, then at least one link in his chain of human trafficking would be severed. It was bad enough that he was doing it on British soil but to take it international? Fucking sick bastard.

  X held up his hand and I came to a halt. Through the trees, sculptures and lines of tombs, there was movement. A man came into view and I stepped back against the side of an angel statue. He wore a dark coat over a black suit and in one hand he held a bouquet of red roses. All dressed up to pay his respects to the dead.

  This must be Allaire. It was an ironic sight to behold, considering the things he did to the living.

  I glanced at X and cocked my head to the side. He’d forbidden speaking, telling me that even the slightest sound carried through this place like a thunderstorm.

  X nodded, pulling me against his side.

  “He’s alone,” he whispered into my ear.

  “How do you know?”

  He scowled. “In and out, Mercy.”

  I nodded my understanding and pulled the little glass flask from my coat pocket. X took it from me and I produced a face washer I’d nicked from the hotel in my other hand. Unscrewing the cap, he turned his head and doused the cloth.

  He’d said I could do the honors and I wondered what I’d done to deserve it. Maybe it was just another of his training exercises.

  Moving through the tombs, I picked a wide path around Allaire as he stood with his head bowed in front of a newer site. Once I was positioned on the opposite side of his location, I edged closer. X was doing the same. We were totally going to pincer the guy.

  I signaled X with a short whistle and he stepped out into the lane, in full view of our target. While he was distracted I jogged forward, positioning myself behind the tomb. Two steps and he’d be mine.

  Allaire's head jerked up and he dropped the roses on the ground. “Who are you?” he asked in a thick French accent.

  I had to be quick, like lightning.

  X didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to, he just smirked at our prey.

  Allaire turned to fully face him, and he grasped at his coat. As I suspected, he was alone, but armed. Darting out from behind the tomb, I reached around and held the cloth against his mouth and nose, my other hand clutching his wrist, stopping him from grabbing his gun. He didn’t see me coming, but he still put up a fight.

  His elbow shot backwards, ramming into my side. Pain erupted, but I held on.

  X lunged, covering my hand with his, jamming the chloroform soaked cloth harder against Allaire's mouth. He struggled, his movements becoming sluggish as the chemical took hold. Finally, he went slack and we lowered his limp body to the ground.

  Shit, for a moment I thought the fucker wasn’t going down at all.

  “Okay?” X asked, nodding toward my side.

  I pressed my fingers against my side. It was only a little sore. “Okay.”

  I glanced down at Allaire, who was lying awkwardly at my feet and I bent down and pulled the gun from his side. It was a small six-millimeter, my weapon of choice. I shoved it into the back of my jeans. Two guns were better than one.

  X hauled Allaire’s comatose body over his shoulder like he was carrying a sack of potatoes. Without a word, he made off through the graves toward the place he’d identified earlier. The entrance to the Montmartre Catacombs.

  I followed, keeping an eye on our rear, but it was still too early for most people to be out and about. In these parts, people still attended church on a Sunday. In the distance was a man and a utility, a groundskeeper going about his work. He was too preoccupied to notice us.

  The entrance to the Catacombs was an unassuming service entry. A wooden door reinforced with steel bars, a deadbolt and a padlock. Top notch security, not. Earlier, X had made me practice my lock picking skills and it now sat open, waiting for us to enter.

  I opened the door for X, scanning the area behind us and when it was all clear, I closed us into the tunnel.

  As we descended into the darkness, I scooped up the bag we’d stashed on our way in. Pulling out a small battery operated lamp, I switched it on, illuminating our path ahead. We descended a long flight of stairs down into the warren of tunnels below. They seemed to go on forever, the light revealing more stairs, then even more in a never ending spiral down into the cold underbelly of Paris.

  Finally, X stepped off into the first tunnel and I was close behind. My feet connected with the hard packed earth and I almost dropped the lamp as my gaze connected with piles of bones. Human bones. I knew X had said it was a catacomb down here, but I hadn’t quite expected to see the dead on display.

  “Why are there skulls everywhere?” I asked, totally creeped out by the hollow eyes that seemed to follow my every move.

  “They used to mine here,” X said as he carried Allaire. “Gypsum and sandstone. Then they made a lot of these places tombs. When the cemeteries became full after the various plagues, they transferred remains here.”

  “And arranged them artistically. That’s kind of creepy, you know,” I said with a shiver. “You know a lot of random stuff, you know that?”

  X grunted. “This place is unattended. No one will find us down here and no one will hear him scream.”

  The soon to be dead with the long dead.

  There was a room, not too far from the entrance, that had been separated from the rest of the tunnels. It looked like it was a tomb for some wealthy aristocrat back in the day. A sculpture of a
forlorn looking angel dominated the room of bones and an engraved stone plaque was set into the wall. It was written entirely in French, but I could make out the dates and names. Seventeen hundreds. That was the era of the Revolution, the guillotine and the end of the monarchy. Lots of skulls then.

  X set down Allaire’s comatose body against the foot of the sculpture and gestured for the bag. I pulled out a length of rope and handed it to him, then he set about securing our prisoner to the only fixed place in the room.

  “How long until he wakes up?” I asked, watching X tie a perfect knot. He was good at tying shit up.

  “Not long,” he replied.

  I glanced around at the bones and shivered, more from the creepy black eyes than the cold. “So, we wait.”

  I began to pace back and forth, X’s gaze following my movements. I was getting jittery. This was my first interrogation and who knew how I was going to react. If X could read my thoughts I bet he’d tell me the fuck off for over thinking it. He had a point and I understood his penchant for being mechanical in his work. I always gave him shit about his feelings, but he was like it for a reason. They’d made him like it.

  There was a low groan in the silence behind me and I came to a standstill. Turning, I glanced at X, then at Allaire. He was coming to.

  X nodded, kneeling against the wall. “Wait until he’s fully conscious.”

  Our prey groaned again, his head lolling back and forth as he blinked, trying to clear the fog that no doubt made him sluggish. I stood and watched, waiting for the moment his eyes became clear and he realized how much shit he was in. I wanted to see the moment it played out in his gaze. X said the eyes gave away everything his victims were feeling. I'm sure he didn’t remember telling me that, but I remembered everything he said. Everything in waking hours, everything during sex, everything he said in his sleep. He hadn’t dreamt since we came to France, but I knew X’s demons wouldn’t be scared away that easily.

  Allaire’s eyes began to focus and as confusion melted away to fear, I let out a sigh. There it was.