by S. Nelson
Copyright © 2019 S. Nelson
Editor—Hot Tree Editing
Cover Design—CT Cover Creations
Formatting—Champagne Book Design
Proofreader—Allusion Graphics
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the publisher’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
The Assignment/ S.Nelson.—1st edition
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Note to Reader
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also by S. Nelson
Also Available
There is a bit of me in every tale that bears my name.
When my hero laughs, I also smile.
When he falls, I wince with pain.
When he does wrong and suffers for events that I have planned, I feel his hurt, his grief, his shame.
And side by side we stand.
So, if someday, by chance, the world proclaims him as immortal, I shall share the glory.
It was I who pushed him through the portal.
~ Georgetta Nelson
* * *
Ford
Smoke filled my eyes and temporarily blinded me, the soot burrowing into my nostrils before descending into my lungs. Suffocating me, threatening every breath I struggled to take, I scrambled along the concrete, the pads of my fingertips desperate to touch anything other than twisted metal and jagged pieces of glass. Tiny pricks that would’ve normally made me wince, spurred me on, the pain driving me to keep searching.
“Where is she?” I cried, the evening breeze stealing my words and whisking them away, my pleas dying as soon as they left my lips. People had gathered around the wreckage, but damned if I could see anyone. I heard murmurs, voices talking over one another so quickly I couldn’t make out a single word.
Crawling closer to what I thought was the front seat of the vehicle, I reached forward but couldn’t find the handle. As I searched, my lungs screamed for oxygen, and although I didn’t want to remove my hands from the crushed metal, I had to find some sort of breath or I’d be no good to her. I snatched the bottom of my shirt and pulled it over my mouth, the fabric of my clothing giving me a small reprieve from my burning lungs.
Sirens sounded in the distance while I crawled along the ground. “Julia!” I shouted, moisture clouding my vision. I couldn’t determine if the glassiness was caused by my impending anguish or if it was from my body’s response against the smoke. Either way, I could barely see.
Flashes of memories bombarded me. Seeing the pride on her face when I’d removed her training wheels, and she rode down the driveway without incident. Splashes of water hitting my shirt when she did her best cannonball into the deep end, her airy laughter infectious when she resurfaced and saw my faux-annoyed expression, the quirk of my brow making her giggle even more. The sad look in her eyes when I told her I would be leaving to serve our country. The pain in my chest when she latched on to me, linking her fingers behind my neck because she didn’t want me to go. My mind only pulled the fond memories but none of the bad.
I clutched the pendant hanging in the middle of my chest before continuing my search. When I finally located the door handle, I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled with all my might. All hope was dashed for an easy entry when nothing happened. Again, I tried. Still nothing. It wasn’t until I moved my hand farther up the door I realized the window had been shattered. Hope surged through my veins as I reached inside, my arm dancing wildly around inside the car. But I touched no one. Acting on instinct, I leaped to my feet and practically dove inside. What I hadn’t seen, or felt seconds prior, was although the window had been shattered, a single piece of glass remained, off to the right, nestled in tightly. The tip of the shard sliced me deep while I struggled to heave my large body inside. The burning sensation distracted me for a brief moment, carrying me away from the fear building inside.
Once I cleared the opening, falling clumsily inside, blood trickling down my side from the jagged cut, my gaze landed on a body slumped over but still secured by the seat belt.
Julia.
My kid sister.
Guilt slammed into my chest. Blame planted itself firmly right next to it. The way I treated her when I thought I was helping. The way I cut her off for months at a time because I didn’t want to be an enabler. For the things I said to her right before she hopped in her car and sped off down the road.
A single breath of relief passed my lips, but as quickly as it mixed with the contaminated air around me, I sucked it back in. I’d found her, but as I fumbled to release the clasp pinning her in her seat, I knew she was gone.
* * *
Ford
“I told you I’m not interested. Now stop asking me,” I barked, the half-empty bottle of beer slipping through my fingers and hitting the wall across the room. The remnants dripped down the gray-colored drywall. Okay, so maybe it didn’t slip from my fingers so much as I hurled it through the air. Pretty close to my brother’s head, in fact. Although, to be fair, if I wanted to hit him with it, I would’ve. My aim was spot on. More so when I was sober, but that was neither here nor there.
“I told you I need your help with this one, man. Besides, you can’t keep yourself locked away in this godforsaken place.” His narrowed eyes shouted he believed his tough-love spiel would change my mind. As if I could forget everything that had happened in the past six months and jump right back into another assignment. Maybe my little brother was the one who’d been drinking. “Besides, this place fucking stinks. Ever hear of a garbage can?” He trudged through the clutter, kicking clothes, shoes, and old cartons of Chinese food out of his way.
Owen called a couple weeks back and practically begged me to help him out with a high-profi
le gig. I didn’t bother getting any details because I told him it was out of the question. My surliness obviously did nothing to deter him from pestering me about it.
We owned our own security services firm, Massey Security Inc., and while it was small, only employing a half-dozen men, we’d already built a solid reputation for ourselves. Even in my drunken state, I knew I’d let him down, relying on him to run the firm while I wallowed in despair and liquor. He’d experienced the same loss, yet he forged ahead, and I had no idea where he pulled the strength from.
“You wan… wanna clean it up f… for me?” Scrambling off the couch, I swayed a few times before I righted myself, the room spinning all around me. When I closed my eyes, my dizziness intensified. Shit! I saw three of my brother when I pried open my lids, all of them glaring at me in disapproval. Approaching the one in the middle, I bumped his shoulder with mine as I walked by, intent on drowning myself in more alcohol. I tipped the bottle to my lips, but before I could taste the cool liquid, it was ripped from my hand. I reached to snatch it back, but my reflexes were shit, obviously.
“Give it back.” I took two slow steps toward him. The spinning worsened. “Now!” He circled me, making me even dizzier. “Goddammit, Owen! Gimme my fucking drink.” Leaning forward, I rested both my hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath. All this exertion was for the birds, and for what? A beer? I had more where that one came from. I attempted to sidestep him, but he moved in front of me, and because I wasn’t fully upright, I stumbled to the side and fell over before I could catch my balance.
“Sad.” He tutted. “Just sad.” I watched his feet move across the room toward the front door, the hurried steps messing with my vision. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He twisted the handle but didn’t open the door. I assumed he turned around to look back at me lying on the floor because the trajectory of his voice changed. “Clean yourself up and be ready to go at noon. And Ford?” The silent pause told me if I didn’t answer, he’d stand there until I did, and I wanted him out of my place so I could continue getting drunk. Well, drunker than I already was.
A frustrated breath left my lips. “Yeah?”
“Don’t think I won’t bring by reinforcements to drag your ass out of here, drunk or not.” He snapped open the door. “Be ready at noon,” he repeated, stepping into the hallway. “And make sure you take a fucking shower,” he shouted over his shoulder before the door closed behind him.
* * *
Ford
“You look like hell, man.” My response to my brother’s keen observation was to flip him off, striding ahead of him to gain the distance needed so he’d stop talking.
Sure enough, he showed up at noon, not a minute past, banging on the door before annoyingly ringing the doorbell repeatedly. When I whipped open the door, clutching the side of my head because the chime from the bell hurt like hell, he snickered before jumping back a step. He knew damn well he was gonna get hit if he stayed close.
Walking toward the driver side, I gripped the handle and pulled the door open. As I attempted to fold my tired ass in the seat, Owen shouted behind me, the chirp of his car alarm making a god-awful sound.
“No way. We’re not showing up in that rundown piece of shit you call a car.” Baffled, I looked over the roof of my Chevelle and scoffed.
“This is a fucking classic.” Years back, I’d bought a red, 1966 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 396, and while it needed a complete overhaul, bumper to bumper, I’d fixed her up all by myself, damn proud of how she turned out. I changed the color to black and poured my heart and soul into every detail. My car was the only thing that seemed to make me semi-happy these days.
“It’s a piece of shit,” he countered, smirking because he knew his insult would rile me.
“It’s worth more than that foreign hunk of junk you have.”
“Maybe, but we’re not showing up to this job with you looking like you do, and in some loud, unpredictable muscle car.
“She’s not unpredictable. She’s just temperamental… like all females tend to be.”
Owen shook his head before getting in his car, beeping the horn when he’d decided I was taking too long. I took my time crossing the fifty feet between us and sauntered to the passenger side. Once seated, my brother tossed a pair of dark shades in my lap.
“Keep those on when we meet this guy. You’ll draw enough unwanted attention to yourself as it is. I don’t need them freaking out over your eyes.” He laughed, although the sound was laced with a bit of jealousy. My brother had always been envious of the attention I’d received growing up because of my eyes. I had what was referred to as heterochromia iridium. Two different colored eyes, and not just that… they were piercing, as my mother would often say. My right one was a medium shade of blue, and my left one was amber in color.
“Green is not a good look on you, brother.”
“Neither is red, which is why I don’t wear either.”
“It’s too early in the day to try and decipher your coded bullshit.” I leaned my head against the headrest and closed my eyes, the sunglasses he’d thrown at me still in my lap.
Taking a new job had been the last thing I wanted to do, but my brother would’ve hounded me until I gave in. There was only so much resistance I could exert before I relented. We both knew it, and I was sure he was grateful he didn’t have to gather a few of our friends to come and drag me out of my house.
I hadn’t questioned Owen about who our new employer would be or how long the job would last. Questions were for people who cared… and I didn’t. I simply wanted him to get off my back because he’d been pestering me for months to rejoin the land of the living. I should be grateful he gave me those months to myself, cut off from the rest of the world. Shit, I’d still be holed up at my place, shades drawn, and phone battery drained if he hadn’t forced his way inside. Well, forced was maybe the wrong word since he did have a key. Still, Owen was a pain in the ass when he wanted, or needed, to be.
Shoving all thoughts of the impending meeting aside, my memories pulled me back to months prior. When my world had been normal. Images flashed, one after the other, but they weren’t what I wanted to remember; instead, they were recollections I wanted to forget. The arguments. The constant worry if she was okay or not. The unanswered phone calls. Some memories of her I would always keep close to my heart, but the bad seemed to push their way to the forefront.
“I forgot you had that.” Owen reached over and touched the cross hanging from my neck. My eyes flew open just as my hand swatted his away.
“Don’t,” I growled, clutching the metal between my fingers to protect it.
“Sorry.”
“Just keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel,” I instructed, my voice raspy from lack of hydration. Owen fumbled with the radio, to which I swatted his hand again.
“What the hell?” he griped.
“Just don’t.” I leaned my head back once more and stared out the window, the next two hours of the ride traveled in silence. We both lived in Connecticut, not far from each other and apparently, we had to drive to New York to meet the guy. I hated road trips, but I’d already given my brother enough shit about the job. I wasn’t about to complain about the ride, too. We’d see how I felt on the way back home.
The car finally slowed, coming to a stop in front of an upscale restaurant, one equipped with valet service. Good thing Owen insisted he drive because there would’ve been no way I would’ve handed off my keys to some young punk.
“Come on. We’re gonna be late.” He left the engine running and exited the vehicle, passing the valet his keys before stepping in front of the car only to leer at me through the windshield. It was his way of trying to hurry me along. And because I wanted to get back home as soon as humanly possible, I exited the passenger side without complaint.
It would be an asinine question to ask where we were because obviously, we’d arrived at our destination, about to meet the person who’d hired us for this godforsaken job. I still had
no idea who we were going to be working for or who we’d be assigned to, and I couldn’t muster up enough of a fuck to care. The only thing I prayed was that the gig was short. As in a few days short, but something told me from the fat smile I witnessed on my brother’s face as I walked up next to him, it was going to be anything but.
“Should I even bother to ask?” I mumbled, walking through the door ahead of him, my sunglasses still in place and tinting my vision once inside.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Every muscle in my body locked up from his tone. “This better not be something long-term, man.” My gripe fell on deaf ears, and instead of stressing myself out any more than I already was, simply from not being diligent enough to ask a goddamn question beforehand, I took a deep breath and allowed him to walk a few paces ahead. Otherwise, I feared my leg just might catch his, and while the image of him tripping and falling made the corner of my mouth twitch, I wasn’t that surly. Yet. But I sure as hell was well on my way.
* * *
Ford
“Stop breathing down my neck,” he murmured, turning his head toward me and trying to be as discreet as possible. The man behind the podium cleared his throat, and Owen gave him his full attention. I knew my brother was itching to warn me to be on my best behavior, but we were ushered across the crowded restaurant before he could turn to give me one of his signature annoyed looks, the one with the inwardly slanted eyebrows, his most famous one. Come to think of it, he flashed me that expression quite a bit, but not as often as I snarled at him, as of late.
“Mr. Dessoye,” the host announced. “Some of your party has arrived, sir.”
“Thank you.”
My brother blocked the view of the man we’d been announced to, but as soon as he took a step to the side, I saw who sat at the table. Walter Dessoye, one of the most famous movie producers of our generation.
