by Linnea May
"We?"
He meets my eyes with a subtly shocked face, looking remorseful.
"Who is we?" I probe.
But he just shakes his head.
"You need to rest," he says. "I'll ask them to up your morphine so you can get some sleep."
My eyes follow him with fearful indignation. "No! I want to know! You can't just leave me like this!"
His hand is already resting on the doorknob when he turns back to me. "You're safe here. Trust me."
I let out a dark laugh.
"Trust you? You have to be kidding me," I retort. "I don't even know where I am. This isn't a hospital, is it?"
His response is nothing but a dark look that wanders over to the side of my bed. My eyes follow his, horrified by what I find. My left arm crossed over my chest, kept in place by a splint and bandages all around my shoulder.
And my right wrist is handcuffed to the bed frame.
I'm badly hurt and handcuffed to a bed—and he tells me to trust him?
"Trust?" I utter, a blend of pain and terror lacing my voice. "Like you're trusting me?"
I lift my right hand as much as possible, yanking at the cuff.
"It's for your own safety," he says, turning the doorknob.
"At least tell me your name," I hurry to exclaim before he gets away from me.
He pauses mid-motion, lowering his head before he looks back at me over his shoulder. "Keane."
"Okay, Keane," I repeat. "I'm Libby."
He sighs heavily, and as he opens the door, he adds, "I didn't ask."
I'm too dumbfounded to respond before he leaves the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and yet another realization.
My life is over.
No matter what lies ahead, my life will never be the same.
And at this very moment, that prospect frightens me just as much as it excites me.
Because I've always known something was lurking in the darkness. Something that was waiting for me.
Something or someone just waiting for the right moment to grab me.
And now it did.
It finally happened.
Chapter 8
Keane
Three days pass before I get a phone call from headquarters that forces me to make a decision I don't want to make. It's not the boss himself who calls me, but Tom, which makes it even worse. Tom is one of the few people inside the Covey who know about the girl.
"We found Clyde," he starts the conversation, skipping any pleasantries as usual. "He's under heavy protection right now, wise about the attempt on his life. It's gonna be tough to get to him."
"Okay, so what's the plan?"
"We're observing him for a while longer," Tom says. "We're familiar with his usual routine, but of course, that has changed now. Also, there's going to be a funeral for his wife, and the three other guys we got. His everyday life is far from normal right now, nothing regular, hard to foresee."
"If he's hiring more security, couldn't that be our way in?" I suggest, trying my best to be of help. It wouldn't be the first time the Covey planted its own people within the security detail of one of our targets. I've carried out dozens of missions like that.
"That's one idea we're following," Tom replies. "But it's not a guaranteed option, especially because Abbott likes to stick with his own detail. We're still trying to work that out."
"Hmm," I murmur in response. "So, we're still on this, then?"
Tom lets out a heavy sigh before he replies, "You know the job isn't done until the Abbott family has been completely eradicated. Every single one of them."
Every single one of them.
"Yes, I understand."
"Clyde Abbott is the only person standing in the way of our goal."
No, he's not...
"Yes, sure. I get that. So what does Boss want me to do?"
My question sounds a little too eager, especially as I have little intent on being involved in any of the Covey's scheming at this point.
I've spent the past three days at the medic safe house, staying close to Libby while still avoiding her questions. It's a tough balance between feeling responsible for her safety and keeping my distance because I know her fate is sealed once anyone within the Covey finds out who she is.
At first, she either glared at me through drug-dazed eyes or bombarded me with so many questions that it felt like an interrogation every single time I entered her room. But with every answer I refused to give, she grew more tired and hopeless, eventually silencing her almost completely.
She has been weirdly calm, not screaming for help or losing her shit once since we got here. I don't know whether she's a very calm and collected person in general or if it's because she's been drugged the entire time. The drugs definitely made her sleep a lot, which made avoiding her questions while still keeping an eye on her a little easier.
"The boss asked for you to be on standby, so we may need you anytime," Tom says. "I didn't tell him about her, by the way."
I respond to his words with mixed feelings. A sense of relief about him keeping his mouth shut about Libby is blended with the notion that while he may not have spilled the beans, he certainly hasn't forgotten about her either.
And he wants me to know that.
I don't know how to reply to him and settle for a basic response. "Thanks."
"You gonna tell me what that was all about?" he probes. "Did you know her? Where's she now?"
"Still at the safe house," I tell him, biting my tongue.
Why did I just tell him that? There's a good chance he wouldn't have found out, especially with the generous bribe I've been paying the young doctor who has been taking care of Libby since we got here. Just as I suspected, he isn't really part of the Covey but just gets hired here and there when needed. He was allocated for this particular mission, and he has to report back what he was doing. After my rather blunt and abrupt decision not to tell Boss about the girl, I made sure to do everything within my power to keep this young man's mouth shut as well. Bribing someone like him and the even younger medical assistant who worked with him on the night we arrived is a lot easier than making a member of the Covey shut up. Men like them are not used to bribery or criminal actions, in general, so even little amounts handed out with just a hint of intimidation are enough to ensure their silence.
Still, there are others to worry about.
"What's the deal with her?" Tom wants to know.
"She got shot twice on accident. Her shoulder was in pretty bad shape, but I think it's going—"
"No. I meant, why did you take her?" he cuts me off. "You know there was nothing about kidnapping a girl in our contract. We were sent there to eliminate our targets and get the hell out as quickly as possible."
I bite my lips, cursing myself for not having a good excuse for any of this. The more time passes, the more I find myself unwilling to seal Libby's fate by disclosing her name to any of the Covey members. After all that has happened, I don't know how I would handle a direct order to kill her.
And I'm pretty sure that's what I'd be facing if they knew.
"Do you know her or some shit?"
Tom's question sparks an idea.
"If I tell you, can you promise to keep your mouth shut?" I ask, lowering my voice to emphasize the mystery.
"You know I never can," Tom replies. "Not if she poses any danger to the Covey."
"She doesn't," I lie. "And I'll get her away as soon as she's ready for transport."
"Mmmhmm." Tom doesn't sound convinced. "So, she an old friend or what?"
"Something like that," I murmur. "She had nothing to do with the mission. I can tell you that much."
There I go. This must have been the time I openly lied to a member of the Covey. And it may very well be the first step to digging my own grave.
Shit.
"Fine," Tom says. "Just make sure she doesn't get in the way when we need you."
"She won't."
Another lie.
I hang up quickly a
s if that would make the problem go away.
I feel the walls closing in on me, even after a conversation as harmless as the one I just had with Tom. I knew I couldn't stay here forever, and I knew I had to do something about her.
A decision. Any decision will do.
I pace through the dirt behind the warehouse where she's being kept, raking my fingers through my buzz cut with an exasperated sigh. This shouldn't be so hard. I should've told them right away. I should have given Tom her name right there on the roof, and he would have taken things out of my hands. He might have shot her right then and there, or people would have been waiting for us down on the ground to take matters into their hands if I insisted on bringing her down with me.
I wouldn't have been the one to make that call.
But now, I am.
Chapter 9
Libby
"We're leaving."
That's it. That's all he says upon entering my room in a hurry. He's wearing a heavy leather jacket and a black knit cap and carrying a pile of clothes as he approaches my bed.
"Get up."
I cast him a confused look, my heart racing in fear. Why is he in such a hurry? And how on earth does he think I could ever keep up with the speed he demands of me right now? It's only been four days since the event, and while I'm no longer as heavily sedated as I was in the beginning, I'm still far from healed. Even taking a few steps around the room every now and then has taken its toll on me, leaving me breathless after just a few minutes.
"I-I can't," I stutter, sucking in a sharp breath of air when he pulls my covers aside.
I'm wearing nothing but a lightweight hospital gown, barely reaching down to my knees. Nothing else, not even underwear. I don't know what happened to the clothes I was wearing on the night I was brought here. I'm assuming they're ruined anyway—at least the dress—but I've always wondered whether not providing me with a decent option of clothes was part of their way to keep me at bay and prevent me from fleeing.
Not that that has ever been an option. As soon as I was able to get out of the bed on my own, stalking on my legs like a newborn deer with my head heavy and dizzy, I tried to open the door. Of course, it was locked. Every single time anybody walked in or out of my room, I heard the lock turn, reminding me there was nowhere for me to go. Unless, of course, I managed to overpower the person as they were stepping in like they do in the movies.
This was actually my plan. It was my main reason for getting up on my feet as often as possible, trying to regain my strength as quickly as possible. It was also the reason I asked for the morphine doses to be lowered, despite the bliss they brought.
"You'll have to," Keane insists, reaching for the IV in my arm. "Hold still."
I freeze in horror, watching as he removes the needle from my arm with an effortless speed that suggests he's done this before. He applies pressure on the insertion while fetching a Band-Aid from the table next to my bed and placing it where the needle used to be.
"Please, you're scaring me," I say, casting him a pleading look. "Are you letting me go? Can I leave and go to a real hospital? Is that it?"
He destroys the glimmer of hope that lifted me for a euphoric moment by shaking his head. "No. We're going somewhere else."
"We? So you're coming with me?"
He looks at me, a crease appearing between his hazel eyes. "Of course."
"Good." I swallow dryly, unsure whether I should disclose the relief that's washing over me upon hearing those words. Next to the doctor, he's the only person I've seen or talked to in the past four days, and while neither one of them ever answered any of my questions, I feel an odd sense of security around him. The doctor ducked away every time I threw another question at him, looking just as scared as I am. At some point, he even begged me to stop like a frightened child. Whatever brought him in this position, it appears he dislikes being here as much as I do. Maybe he has been kidnapped, too. Maybe he's just a man in need, trying to pay off a debt. Either way, he never gave me the impression that he'd be able to protect me in a situation that called for it.
Keane, however. He's... something else.
You know what he is. A criminal, a murderer.
He radiates intimidation and power, seemingly in control even when he's clearly not the one steering this scary boat. He may be the one responsible for my predicament, but in spite of everything, he also appears to be protecting me from something.
Or someone.
"You should get dressed," he says, holding up the clothes he brought with him. "Quickly."
I hesitate, my eyes moving back and forth between him and the pile of clothes. They look like men's clothes and way too big. I didn't expect to see any of the things I wore that terrible night ever again, but my bloodstained sneakers have been waiting for me right next to the door ever since I woke up.
His eyes narrow. "Do you need help?"
A hot wave of embarrassment overcomes me at the thought of asking for his help. It means he'd see me naked, completely naked. And he'd touch me.
I shake my head. "I'm fine."
He nods and steps aside, letting me believe for a second that he'll leave the room to grant me some privacy. But it appears he has other plans. He just moves aside so I can get off the bed, showing no intention of leaving me by myself.
"Could you... not look?" I ask with my voice quivering while I slowly, very slowly climb off the bed, letting my feet dangle over the edge for a moment before I lower them down to the floor.
My head is turning just from sitting up. Shit.
I can do this. I have to.
I take a deep breath, trying my best to pull myself together. It's all the harder because I can feel his eyes on me, observing, pushing.
I ignore him, taking another breath before I slowly glide off the mattress. I know I can stand and walk on my own because I've done it plenty of times during the past couple of days. But I always needed time to get used to it, balancing my dizzy self with only one arm while the other is still firmly attached to my chest.
And not once have I tried to undress in this state, let alone dress in an entirely new outfit.
"Of, for God's sake," he hisses, closing in on me with two wide steps. "We don't have time for your nonsense, Libby. Let me help you."
I want to protest and push him away, but I know he's right. Even if time wasn't an issue, this would be an ordeal if I had to do it on my own. An ordeal that he can save me from if I let him.
I bite my lower lip, lowering my gaze in shame but not fighting him off when he reaches for the hem of the gown and pulls it up over my head in one swift motion, a little too carelessly considering the state I'm in.
I curve my back instantly, slouching my shoulder as I try to protect my naked and wounded body from his eyes.
"Stop that," he snaps at me, throwing the gown aside, then he surprises me by saying, "You have nothing to be ashamed of."
I don't need a mirror to know that my cheeks blush at his words, and I'm sure he can see it when I look up, and our eyes meet.
A dark smirk graces his face. "What? Don't trust my words? Believe me, if the circumstances were any different, I'd fuck you right here and now."
What? Did he really just say that?
My eyes widen in surprise while the color of my face must have darkened by about a hundred shades just now. I stiffen when he comes closer, gently placing his hand on my healthy shoulder while the other hovers above my wounded side.
"Can you move it?" he asks.
I shake my head. "The doctor said I shouldn't."
He sighs but doesn't say anything as he grabs a hoodie from the pile of clothes. I notice how his eyes rest on my chest for a moment, not even trying to hide the desire that flares in his gaze. What a sick bastard he is to be thinking of such things in this situation.
And what a twisted heart I have to jump at the notion of it.
If the circumstances were any different...
Chapter 10
Keane
I must
be insane to bring her here. It's a dangerously rash decision that could destroy everything.
But it's too late now.
I gave her two options for our drive up here: either she stays blindfolded the entire way, or I'll have to drug her. She chose the blindfold, sitting stiff and quiet next to me as I drove us out here, questioning every single one my choices in regard to Libby.
I was so close. So close to getting out of the Covey.
And then she happened.
If only I hadn't seen her that evening, almost losing my professionalism after laying eyes on her for just a few moments.
If only she hadn't been in my partner's shot. I think it was Brad who was in charge of her aunt, and his bullet pierced her shoulder before I added the graze shot at her hips.
If her uncle wouldn't have used her as a human shield, dragging her with him toward the elevator and then throwing her right into my arms, just as I was about to take that one final shot that would have set me free.
If all that hadn't happened, I'd be a free man now.
I'd still be here—at this place, this house—but I would be by myself, worrying about nothing other than getting through security at the airport with my new identity.
I've paid for this place under my new name, making sure it was in no way linked to my real name and my former life at the Covey. It's nothing special, just a cottage located four hours out the city in a different state and a different environment. A small but well-kept house, unobtrusive with picket fences around the groomed garden and curtains in the windows. We changed vehicles twice on our drive here, ending up with a subcompact that matches the house and the area, locally registered, looking as if it's been here for years.
The house is situated on a little hill with no other homes in a five-mile radius, quaint and peaceful.
And safe.
A picturesque sunset greeted us when I stopped the car in the driveway, allowing Libby to finally remove the blindfold. She's still weak and pale, and barely able to stand on her own after I help her out of the car. I offer my hand for support, which she takes after a moment of consideration. She stops in her tracks when she sees the sun setting above the valley, dipping the land in a warm orange tone that changes the color of everything from the sky to the leaves on the trees and the white walls of the cottage.
