While in the process of trying to find the words to respond with, my phone vibrates, and I’m thankful for the distraction. I slip my phone out of my pocket and the caller ID displays a text from a number I don’t recognize, which happens often since Dad is always changing his number.
What’s your location?
-Dad
Before I can respond, Tango snatches the phone out of my hand and flips his phone out of his pocket. Within seconds, he’s typing something on his phone. “I need to track the nearest satellites.” I’m trying to figure out what he’s doing or what he means, but I quickly understand when he continues talking. “I have to write this down. I have his GPS coordinates.”
“What are you talking about? What do you need GPS coordinates for?” I know I sound frantic. What if he is only after Dad like all of these other nuts? I have no proof other than a fucking license telling me this guy’s name is Tango.
“Carolina, that’s not your dad.” His words make me feel like I got sucker punched. “Do you think your dad would be sending you a message with a traceable phone number? Because this number is definitely traceable.”
“You’re a liar and an asshole,” I shout. “You’ve been fucking using me just like everyone else. You think if you’re in my head, you could get through me to my dad? You think that’s what you can do?” The tears have to stop. I feel them stabbing the back of my eyes, so I take the glass in front of me and throw it across the bar, watching it shatter against a pillar ten feet in front of me. Everyone around me stops what they’re doing and looks over. A couple men stand up in front of their dates or girlfriends in a protective manner, probably thinking I’m about to go all sorts of crazy. Which, I might. He’s been trying to find Dad. That’s all this has been about. He lied.
Tango’s hand clamps tightly around my arm, and he pulls me out of my seat. I’m fighting him with all of my drunken strength, but it’s useless against his overwhelming power. Before I know it, I’m outside and pinned up against the wall. His hands are pressing firmly on my shoulders and his head is arched down so his eyes are inches from mine. “If you’re going to kill me. Just do it fast. Just do it now,” I say, trying my hardest to hold back the incoming sobs.
“Listen to me.” He loosens his grasp. “You need to get a grip. I swear to you that was not your dad. Your dad doesn’t have a phone right now. If he does, it’s not traceable. I know where he is, or his whereabouts, at least. He has no way to contact you. I know you don’t trust me, nor do you want to try. But I kind of need you to, for your own safety.” He removes his hands from me but doesn’t shift his position. “Hate me, slap the shit out of me—I don’t care. But I am going to keep you safe. And it’s not because I work for your dad. It’s because I don’t want an innocent woman who’s already seen as much shit as you’ve had to, see any fucking more.” I thrust my fists into his solid shoulders and shove him out of the way. “Where are you going?” he shouts after me.
When I reach this point, there is only one way out. I turn my head in each direction, looking for my vice until I hear cars racing by. I pick up my pace before he can stop me. I need the adrenaline to lower the rage. I need it. I step out into the busy intersection and watch as a car comes speeding toward me. I’m wearing black and it’s night. They won’t see me until it’s too late. I suck in my breath and wait to feel the wind on my face. Sometimes I take a second to consider my options. Should I just end it, or should I wait? I clench my eyes as the wind grows. The horn screams as an arm is wrapped around my stomach and I’m thrown into the sidewalk.
Tango is hovering over me, his veins pulsating over his forehead and anger darkening his eyes. “I’ve had it with you tonight.” He lifts me up without allowing me time to catch my breath, to suck in the adrenaline or to smile from the rush. He throws me over his shoulder and darts back across the street. I kick my legs and punch his back, but he’s unaffected as usual. He is the force I can’t reckon with and it’s pissing me off.
I’m sick of being treated like an object—like a secured jewel. I want to be free. I should flee this goddamn country and go join Dad, wherever he is. It would be so much easier.
After being manhandled and forced back into the apartment, I’m left huddled in the corner of my bedroom like a deflated balloon. I pull my knees up to my chest and bury my face into my arms. I wasn’t going to let the car hit me. I like the rush. It makes me forget. It reminds me I’m in control of whether or not I live or die.
I hear the front door open and close so I pull myself up and off the ground and stumble out of my room and toward the front door. I press my ear against the wood and hear the ruffling of his feet against the stiff Berber carpeting in the hall, so I rush back to lock myself in my bedroom. I’m not hiding from him. I’m distancing myself.
A heavy fist pounds against my bedroom door. “Carolina!” he says. I don’t respond. I don’t move from my desk chair, looking out into the dark trees that are now judging me, rather than dancing. “Carolina!” His voice grows a little louder this time, and it’s followed by another knock. “Look. We have to go. Now.” The words normally cause me to spring into action when I hear them from Dad. It means there’s a threat somewhere. However, I’m not sure I want to take orders from Tango—not without trusting his true intentions. And God knows, that won’t happen. Trust, the word is a joke. “Fine. I’m calling for a replacement. I’m not here to babysit, like I told you.”
Fuck. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want a replacement. Who knows who I’d end up with this time. I’m so alone right now. “Cali, let me in.” His voice turns a little kinder, which pulls me toward the door.
I pull my door open slowly, and I’m sure he probably sees the redness in my eyes. “You called me, Cali,” I croak out.
“Carolina is a mouthful,” he chuckles. “We really have to go. We have to lead him off track.”
Him.
Him, who?
Stomach acid builds up and a wave of nausea washes over me. “Who is he?” I run my fingers through my hair, fisting a section into a knot. “Please, tell me, Tango.”
“This guy named Rea—“
“Never mind.” Don’t say his name. I can’t hear it again. “I’m not running,” I say under my breath. “I—“
“You know him?” he asks, dumbfounded.
“Yes,” I answer simply, knowing what truth lies behind the word.
“Cali, this asshole has been the number one guy after your dad. Did you know he was your dad’s fucking assistant when he was in China? He knows what your dad did and what he has.” My stomach drops and I feel like oxygen has been sucked out of my lungs. Dad didn’t actually know Reaper and I were dating. This all makes sense now. Dad was gone long before I met him. I was Reaper’s bait right from the start. This makes me want to kill him even more now. “Seriously, Cali. You aren’t thinking straight. You’ve had too much to drink. We have to go.”
He’s wrong. I am thinking more clearly than I ever have. For the past year, Reaper thought he was the one chasing me. He thinks he’s the reason I keep running. The truth is, I’m just waiting for the right time and the right angle. I’m waiting for my opportunity. I know what I have to do . . . and I don’t care what happens after I do it.
“I want him dead,” I say softly. Tango leans his head against the door and releases a long sigh. “He killed my sister.”
“I understand.” He closes in on the couple feet of space between us and places his hand over the bare skin of my shoulder. “I’m not saying you aren’t capable of killing him. I believe you are, but in the slight chance he outsmarts you, he’ll kill you too.” He squeezes my good shoulder gently and looks me in the eyes. “Are you sure he was the one who killed her? He isn’t the only one after your dad, you know?”
I meet his gaze and wait for the pain to pour out of my soul before I start talking. “I watched him slice my sister’s throat with a knife.” I watched her blood trickle out until her body was empty. I watched her eyes beg for help while I s
at there crying over her. I watched her chest move for the last time. I felt as the warmth in her skin turned to ice. “He was also my boyfriend. I loved him. I trusted him. And I shouldn’t have. Look where it landed me—my sister. I need to have this opportunity, Tango.”
“You were with him?” He looks sickened by his own question. “You’ve known he was the murderer all this time?” He straightens his posture and takes a step away from me. “You were a witness?” His voice continues to rise in volume, angry with me for a situation that didn’t even involve him. He sucks in a deep breath and tries to calm down. “Why didn’t you turn him in when it happened?”
“They still wouldn’t have found him.” I look at him with intensity. “And like I said, I want to be the one who kills him.”
“Okay. Well, then—thank you for your honesty. Now can we leave here, please?” He thinks I’m joking. Or he thinks I’m not thinking this through. Maybe he doesn’t realize this is the only thing I’m always thinking about. I want to see the look on Reaper’s face when I put a knife through his throat. I want to hear him say sorry for murdering my sister. For making her suffer. For making her pay a consequence for Dad’s actions. And for lying to me, using me and making me fall in love with him just so he could find Dad.
“No, Tango. I want to stay here and let him think he can find me. Let him think I had a moment of weakness and stopped tracking him. Let him think he can kill me.”
Sympathy grows within Tango’s eyes. At least that’s what I think the look is. Maybe he’s thinking I’m nuts. And now comes the part where he disagrees with me, tells me I’m insane, and forcefully pulls me out of the apartment. He reaches down for my hand and pulls me toward him. His arms loop around my back and he pulls me in against him, holding me. With my head up against his chest, I can hear a struggle in his lungs—a whine with every breath he takes. It’s a strange noise, but the feeling of warmth sways my attention to the feeling of security within his arms. It shoots a long forgotten feeling into my gut, and I have the urge to look up at him, but I can’t.
“We’ll stay,” he says gently.
“Really?” Is he going to sit here and watch me kill this guy? Because, those are my intentions. I think I was clear about that.
“If I had a chance to retaliate against someone who killed one of my brothers, I would. And no one could stop me.” His eyes change—they soften. “Do what you have to do for her. I’ll back you up.”
I feel wild inside, powered up and ready to attack. I’ve been waiting for this.
“I have something for you. Wait here.” He stands up and jets out of the room. He returns with a bag I haven’t seen him with, which I’m now seeing contains two 45 mm handguns. He shoves one of them into his holster and looks back up at me. He reaches for my hand and pulls me toward him. “Turn around.” I do as he says without question. Is this trust? He’s holding a pistol and told me to turn around. I’m breaking Mom’s rule. “Another reason I had my truck delivered to us. Couldn’t sneak these babies through TSA.”
He loops his finger through my back belt loop and I feel a tug. His knuckles sweep against my bare skin and I feel an electric zap charge through my body. My breath hitches and my eyes close in response to his warmth. My need for him is growing by the minute, but he’s here to protect me. Nothing more. I swallow my unsure feelings as he spins me back around to secure a small holster around my waist. Once secure, he slips the pistol in and stretches my shirt down over the holster. “This is only for self-defense,” he says, lowering his eyes to my gaze. “That’s my only rule, Cali. You wait for it to be self-defense. Rules of engagement. I’m sure you’re familiar.”
“I thought you couldn’t shoot?” I quip.
He smirks a bit as he pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and tosses it to me. I hold it up to my desk light. It’s his target from the shooting range. The holes put together make up the outline of a smiley face. I should be pissed that he played me like a fool, and I had a moment where I believed he couldn’t shoot, but this is pretty good. I can’t contain the smile that’s overpoweringly creeping across my lips.
“Well I’ll be damned. Is that a smile, Miss Carolina?”
I bite my cheek in an attempt to stop. “You lied,” I say playfully.
“And you have a breathtaking smile.” His lip stretches up, hinting at a smile of his own. “So, I guess we’re even.”
His eyes are studying mine and the moment is making my stomach twist into knots again. I’m not sure he realizes he’s staring. Or maybe he does as he flinches a bit and clears his throat. “Well. Good night. I’ve thoroughly secured the apartment. We’re safe.” He turns and walks out of my room, closing the door behind him.
I’m left here confused and wondering what just happened in the past three minutes. I want to slap my own face. I shouldn’t have to keep reminding myself about Reaper and how much I trusted him, as well. He looked at me the exact same way.
CHAPTER NINE
TANGO
I’VE FELT PAIN. I know the intensity of it and the way it controls your mind and body. But watching Cali in this much pain is almost too much to bear. Everything with her needs to be slow and thought out. I can’t let her stick around and kill this guy. She’ll go to jail. She isn’t thinking clearly. But if I try to drag her out right now, she won’t comply, and I don’t blame her. I know what it feels like to want revenge. The feeling is almost consuming. I can see how she would think she has nothing to lose by killing him. Everything has already been taken from her. But she has the chance to start her life over, and I don’t want her to lose that. It’s my job to protect her. And waiting here for her sister’s murderer to show up, isn’t very logical, but I do have faith that even as a form of self-defense, we can take him down before he has the chance to try anything stupid.
I swear I saw some softness in her icy blue eyes earlier. The look made my heart ache. And my heart doesn’t ache. Not for anyone. I’ve been trained to protect the innocent, and that’s what I’m doing. I haven’t gotten this wrapped up in a mission before, and I’ve never been affected this much. Usually, I complete the job and move onto the next, but I have a feeling it won’t be that easy this time, especially since this is my last job.
I know what I read about her, but there is so much more to know. I know better than anyone, you don’t judge a person by what’s in their file. If that were the case, I’d be considered nothing more than a murderer of the innocent. Explosives will give you that sort of reputation.
I sit down on my bed and pull each boot off, placing them down side by side next to my bed. I fall backwards onto my pillow and fold my arms across my chest and close my eyes.
As the wheeze in my lungs acts as a white noise, the apprehension begins. It’s too empty . . .
***
The streets should be bustling, people moving around, children yelling as their parents rummage through the street market. I’ve been in too many of these situations, immediately realizing that this isn’t going to end well. Looking behind me for my guys, I quickly realize they’re gone. Fuck! I flip my right hand over, twisting my rifle to the side to remove the magazine. No rounds. I reach down to my vest. No mags, just empty pouches. I reach to my thigh. No sidearm.
Wonderful.
My nerves tell me what’s next as I duck into a doorway just as the pops begin and the rubble starts flying. Fear sets in now as I start thinking of how to survive with no ammo, an unknown number of people firing small arms at me and no team for support. Nothing in here to improvise with except a small table and chair. There’s a window on the opposite wall, which I quickly but cautiously run to, trying to see what’s on the other side of the building. No one. They must all be in the street. Do I wait until they breach the doorway and try to intercept the front man for his weapon? Capture is not an option; I need to take as many as I can down with me as I go. Death somehow seems justifiable as long as those assholes come with me.
This is it.
As I hear their voi
ces grow louder, my hands tense, ready to grab the rifle barrel when it peeks through the door. If I can get the weapon out of his grip, I can drive it backwards, hopefully crushing enough of his facial bones to render him useless.
My breathing is heavy but slow. I see sharper and hear clearer than normal.
Silence.
The door implodes and I miss his weapon. Within a second, my left hand instinctively grabs the lower portion of his jaw and my fingers clench through his tongue. I grip his jaw like a handle to hold tightly as I disable him.
As I swing my right palm down onto his ear, I hear the hollowed crack below my hand.
***
I wake up, half screaming, half shaking, soaked in sweat. Catching my breath, staring at the ceiling above my face, I think of how I’ve come to hate my dreams, my experiences, and my mind in general.
CALI
The brightness of the sun spills into my room, so I pull the pillow over my head. I need coffee and we don’t have any. My phone vibrates on my nightstand as if it were an alarm clock. Every day this damn thing wakes me up with Google alerts for sightings on Reaper. I suppose I was already somewhat awake today, though. I slap my hand over the phone and drag it off the stand until it falls onto the bed. I peek my head out from below the pillow and wait for my eyes to adjust as I pick up the phone and bring it into focus.
It’s not a Google alert. A text message from a blocked number displays across my screen.
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