That had been it. No objection, no reasoning, and supposedly I was free of the Cabal. Of course, that was pretty much what had happened last time as well, and to my shame, I’d gone back to them within months. That wouldn’t happen this time. I was older and stronger. I had used that time to gather everything I needed to be independent of them. This time, I had Jack. A thought that flooded me with warmth, even if it also left me a trifle shaky.
“Repeat that for me.” Nine pretended to clean out her ears. “Not sure I heard you right.”
“I quit. I’m no longer an assassin, for the Cabal, or anyone else. You do realise that if you didn’t treat your bike so roughly you wouldn’t need me to fix it constantly, don’t you?”
A bullet casing flew across the room and hit the side of my head. “I’ve seen you drive. I’ve been in the car when you drive. Don’t tell me how to ride.”
“The difference is, I can maintain my cars.” I picked up the casing and pocketed it. Mostly to keep the space tidy, partly so she couldn’t use it as, well, ammunition against me again.
“And you maintain my bike,” she pointed out primly. “When you’re in town, which you haven’t been lately. A lot. Is it because of him?”
Focusing on the bike let me move through the guilt her words inspired. I hadn’t been to Johannesburg as much lately, and yes, it was because of Jack. Normally, I would split my down time between the Wachau valley in Austria and here in Johannesburg. I had been in South East Asia a lot recently. Which was closer to Jack in Sydney.
“I have been spending time in Sydney, yes.”
Nine was the one sibling I felt most comfortable talking about Jack with. Not because she was sympathetic or encouraging, but because after she snarked at me for neglecting my brotherly duties—fixing her sadly abused motorcycle mostly—and teased me about cuddling and more intimate activities, she left the subject alone. Seven argued that I was being stupid and reckless, but then helped in her own way. Whenever I crossed paths with Four, I didn’t talk to him about Jack at all. Two and Ten I avoided any way I could, personally and professionally.
“Sorry,” I added. “I know I haven’t been here as much lately. Is Au—”
“That’s not what I meant.” Nine put her gun back together with a rapid staccato of clicks and locks that echoed the deadly potential in her tone. “I meant, is he the reason you quit?”
“Of course not.”
Nine’s spark of anger turned into a full-blown smirk. “I think it is. I think you want to go be his househusband and cook for him and wait by the door wearing nothing but an apron—Hey!” She tumbled off the stool at the workbench to avoid the wrench I’d thrown at her. Landing in a crouch, she had her SIG pointed at me.
Shrugging, I turned back to her bike. “You threw something at me.”
It was nearly thirty seconds before the safety on the gun clicked on. “A bullet casing, not a deadly weapon.” She stood and put her gun back into the holster hanging low on her right hip. “I still think I’m right. You’re quitting because of the spy.”
“I left the Cabal well before I met Jack.”
“Right. Left the Cabal.” She almost choked on her laughter.
With a final grunt, I got the last bolt off and the front tyre dropped free. I rolled it a little way away and laid it down. Then I stood and went to wash my hands in the bathroom.
The layout of my safe place in Johannesburg was much like that of the one in Sydney—much like all of them, truthfully—with a workbench along one wall, space for my car and workout areas next to it. Living area with kitchen, bed, and bathroom were to the other side. By the time I emerged from the enclosed bathroom, Nine had stopped laughing and stood over the dislocated wheel, hands on hips, looking between it and the rest of the Ducati.
She was barely big enough to ride the bike, small and delicate beside the Ducati, but looks were very deceiving in Nine’s case. There was startling strength in her slender body, and a spine made of the toughest material known to mankind. Of all of us, she was the only one who’d ever bested Two hand to hand on a regular basis. Much of that ability came from her small stature, and being able to dodge Two’s big limbs, but the rest of it was pure skill and canny intelligence.
With her Cape Coloured heritage, Nine’s territory was Africa and she’d never failed the Cabal—apart from five months several years ago when she fell off everybody’s radars. However, even with that little hiccup, Eve Garrote sat at number five on the John Smith List, and while Seven also worked under the moniker, that high ranking was largely due to Nine. Seven’s most valuable talents to the Cabal were her hacking and technical skills. Of all my siblings, Nine was the one I trusted the most—if she got the order to kill me, she’d let me know about it before she attacked.
Nine’s fine black brows furrowed together. “Are you going to finish this?”
“Eventually.”
White eyes narrowed, she followed me into the kitchen. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m hungry. Do you want dinner?”
Her little nose wrinkled up. “Did you cook it?”
“Yes. Never fear, I’m getting better.”
Opening the oven where I’d been keeping the food warm released a cloud of spicy, meaty aroma. My stomach rumbled appreciatively, echoed by Nine’s quiet moan.
“Potjiekos?” she asked warily, and when I nodded, said grudgingly, “It actually smells good.”
For which I was eternally grateful. If Nine was going to agree to my request, I had to make sure she was as amenable as possible. She was small but she ate like someone twice her size, and while she had no interest in cooking herself, she was highly critical of it in others.
Nine crowded me at the counter as I dished out the potjiekos. “Did you stir it while cooking?”
“No.”
“How long did it cook for?”
“Four hours on a low heat.”
“Bread or rice?”
I nodded to the brown paper wrapped parcel and ceramic serving dish on the dining table. “Fresh bread and butter.”
Eyeing me suspiciously, Nine sat, unwrapped the bread and started slicing it thickly. “You want something.”
“Am I not allowed to simply do something nice for—”
“You want something.” Nine accepted the big bowl of food from me. “Don’t bother asking until I’ve eaten. If this is as good as it smells, I might just be willing to listen.”
Settling into the seat opposite my sister, I hoped it lived up to her expectations. After some of the discussions I’d had with Zero while cutting all ties to the Cabal, there was a high possibility I would need someone’s help in the coming years. Seven would have helped, I was certain, but after watching the destruction of her Vietnam house three months ago, I didn’t want to annoy her so soon.
Nine dipped the buttered bread into the thick mixture and took a hesitant bite. Expression unchanging, she chewed, swallowed, and repeated. Unable to tell anything from her face, I tried the potjiekos. The dish was one of Nine’s favourites and I’d come to enjoy it as well. There had been attempts in the past to cook it myself that had never passed muster with Nine. This one tasted much better than the previous ones. The flavour of each ingredient managed to remain separate from the others, while also blending into a rich, spicy whole when chewed.
Though tentative at first, Nine took larger and faster mouthfuls. Half way through, she began to nod as she chewed. By the time she’d finished, scrapping up the last of the juice with a slice of bread, she was smiling.
My stomach relaxed around the small amount of meat and vegetables I’d managed to eat. The signs were leaning toward Nine’s agreement to help me out.
“That was . . . acceptable,” she announced magnanimously when her bowl was nearly clean enough to skip washing.
Acceptable was good.
“You may ask me whatever it is you want, and I shall listen to it.” She held up a warning finger. “I will hold back on my response, however, until you produc
e dessert.”
Shaking my head, I pushed aside my half empty bowl and made a pot of tea. The familiar actions and blooming aroma settled my nerves.
This had been my childhood within the group of Sugar Babies the Cabal had gathered for their malicious means. I would give and give in the hopes that one of my siblings would give back even a small portion of what I offered. In my naivety I’d not understood why the other children hadn’t responded how I’d hoped. It hadn’t been until years later, when I better understood what had been done to us, how it had affected us, that I accepted I would never receive normal affection from the others. They simply could not fathom the concept, not even Nine, the most well-adjusted of them all. Yet the pattern had been set back then. I gave, they took and, occasionally, returned a morsel.
I wanted more than a crumb of attention this time, but I hoped Nine would help me all the same.
“Jack has asked me to live with him.” I set the pot and cups on the table.
Nine blinked, then blinked again. “What?” Before I could answer, she leaned back and laughed. “I was right! You want to be his husband and pretend to be normal. That’s crazy! He doesn’t even know your real name and he’s asking you to live with him.”
Waiting out her hilarity, I poured the tea and wondered if she wasn’t right.
It was crazy. The sort of life Jack was envisioning for us wasn’t possible for someone like me. I was too different. Too dangerous. Too damaged. Jack didn’t know my real name. He knew I’d been born Paul St. Clair, but that name hadn’t truly been me for over twenty years.
“What does he call you, One-three?” Nine asked between cackles. “Honeybunch? Sweetiepie?” Her eyes went wide and she asked in a faux-horrified whisper, “Sugar baby?”
I shuddered. “No. He calls me Ethan. Or Blade when he’s cranky.” Or overly aroused.
A fine brow arched incredibly high. “Oh, wow. I bet that makes you feel good.”
“I’ve come to . . . appreciate the Ethan, at least.” I couldn’t look at her reaction to that, so I got up and fetched the dessert from the fridge. “Peppermint crisp tart?”
Normally, Nine would have taken the foil container from me with all the grace of a rabid wolf, but instead I got only silence as I presented her favourite dessert. Nine just stared at me, her face inexpressive.
“You said yes, didn’t you,” she said, tone flat and quiet. “That’s the favour you want. You’re going to go live with this spy of yours and you need me to make sure Two doesn’t kill you for it. Like he tried when you came back from the desert.”
Two hadn’t been trying to kill me then. That had been punishment for finding someone else I wanted in my life. Someone I wanted more than him. I cut into the tart for something else to focus on, rather than the thought of how Two would react if he knew what I was planning on doing.
“That’s correct, and I plan to do so honestly. Thus why I finally cut all ties with the Cabal. I won’t be taking any independent jobs either. However, I don’t care for my own safety, but Jack’s. Without access to the Cabal’s resources, I won’t be able to keep track of any threats towards him as well as I used to. That’s what I want to ask you to do.”
Nine stared at me, then let her gaze drop to the big portion of tart I’d levered out of the container and offered up. With a sigh, she pushed her empty bowl across the table and I slid the slice into it.
After a couple of bites, she finally spoke. “What exactly do you expect of me?”
I hid a sigh of relief in a sip of my drink. “Just to keep an eye out for any hints Jack may be targeted for any reason, and if a ticket is put on him, to pick it up before anyone else, so I have a chance to void it before he’s in any real danger.”
Nine shrugged and scooped up another piece of tart. “A Meta-State spy is a bit below Eve Garrote’s standards. She’s at number five, you know. She might lose points just for picking up a ticket on someone like him.”
Meeting her gaze, I said steadily, “I’d do it for you. I have done it for you.”
“That was different.”
“Not by much.”
She growled at me and finished off her desert in a couple of huge mouthfuls, then gestured over her shoulder. “Who’s going to fix my ride if you’re off being normal with him?”
Confident she was onboard now, I gave her the name of the local mechanic through whom I sourced most of the parts I needed for Raquel, my BMW Roadster. “And it’s not like I’ll never be back. I don’t only come here for jobs,” I added lightly.
Snatching my unfinished dessert, Nine poked her tongue out at me. “You weirdo.”
Nine’s help secured, I went and finished correcting the suspension on her Ducati. She lounged around, complaining about how much she’d eaten, then raided the fridge for more tart. When the bike was ready and she was preparing to leave, I caught her before she could get on and gave her a brief hug.
“What are you doing?”
Her body was stiff and I had a momentary flash to how Jack must feel when I couldn’t relax in his arms. It hurt, but as he did with me, I held on. I usually gave in, but Nine didn’t. I let her go and stepped back.
“Saying thank you,” I whispered.
“Weirdo,” she muttered again, but I wasn’t offended.
Until Jack, I hadn’t been comfortable with signs of affection either. I’d yearned for it, yes, but hadn’t experienced it from another human in so long it had been a foreign concept.
Nine shook her head and slung a slender leg over the seat of her bike. “I’ll keep an eye out for information or tickets on your spy, but only if you’ll admit something to me.”
I handed over her helmet. “Which is?”
“That he’s the reason you quit.”
It appeared we were back to this again. “I quit previously, well before I met Jack.”
“Hah! That was just you negotiating better pay and working conditions.” She winked at me and patted the fuel tank of the Ducati. “Thanks for that, by the way. But!” She held up a finger. “If this is you really quitting then there is only one reason why. Him.”
“Jack is not why I’m doing this.”
Nine rolled her eyes and pushed her helmet down over her head. Via the implant, she sent, “By the way, because I couldn’t quite believe you were back in J-burg, I checked up on the spy and he’s currently in Bangkok.” Her tone grudgingly shifted into one of mild approval. “Looks like he might actually catch the Messiah. Maybe that’s why the Cabal gave you their blessing to leave. As a reward for Loverboy for doing something they couldn’t.”
I barely got the door opened before she was roaring out of the warehouse.
Nine’s intelligence proved true and Jack was still in Bangkok when I left Johannesburg a couple of days later. I spent some time in my safe place in Kuala Lumpur, then when I couldn’t hold back any more, I went to Sydney.
Hoping Jack’s job didn’t take him too much longer, I holed up in a hotel with security I mostly trusted and waited. I read and watched a few of the movies Jack couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen. I would have preferred to watch them with him. Perhaps it was the teasing I missed, or the pleasure of watching Jack watch me, his hope that I enjoyed this thing he liked barely concealed. By day three, however, the charm of having nothing pressing to do wore off and I couldn’t distract myself from the thoughts swirling through my head any longer.
The fact I was bored so soon into my new life of leisure didn’t bode well. Likewise, the idea that I was merely passing time until Jack returned from overseas worried me. Was Nine right? Was I changing my entire life just for Jack?
There was fear, too, on the flip side of that coin. What if Jack wasn’t enough? What if, a month or two down the track, I discovered nothing would help me and I couldn’t not be an assassin?
Desiring a distraction I began a search of the local wreckers, seeking a hidden gem that would catch my eye. Not one of my personal cars had been bought off a show room floor. All of them had come from wreckers
or were rescues from bad homes. All of them had needed work to make them as-new, or as close as humanly possible.
It was how I’d found Victoria, poorly used and abused, her engine burned out and body ravaged. I’d had to tow her to my Ingleburn safe place, where it took me nearly a year to restore her to pristine condition. Of all my cars, she was my greatest achievement. I would have called her Phoenix if I could have.
Sadly, there were no treasures quite as sublime as Victoria but I did find a late model yellow Holden Monaro in need of some loving care. It wouldn’t require as much work as Victoria but I was rather keen for a distraction by then and the pickings were incredibly slim.
It took the better part of the following day to find a suitable garage I could rent in order to work on the Monaro. By the time I had her successfully housed in a small industrial complex that rented out individual garage spaces, I hadn’t thought about Jack and our future together for roughly fifteen minutes. Taking the engine completely apart helped, as did making a shopping list, and I was back touring wreckers when a notification came from Nine early on the morning of day six.
Messiah successfully captured and en route to Sydney Office. Loverboy surely accompanying him.
Sure enough, within a couple of hours of staking out the Neville Crawley Building in Darling Harbour, I saw an armoured truck followed by two dark-coloured, unmarked 4WDs enter the underground carpark. Without being able to see into the cars, I still knew Jack was there.
He was home and I felt both elated and worried. I wanted to see him so badly, to hear his voice and let his touch relax me as nothing else could. I still needed patience, however. Jack would need to process his prisoner, which would require him jumping through endless hoops and dealing with the red tape barriers bureaucracy invariably created.
Thus I took my time getting ready and then, finally, fetched Victoria from storage.
Somehow, she’d become closely entwinned with Jack, and not only because I’d let him drive her when we went to the Gold Coast. Or left her in his care when I’d had to scramble out of the country so suddenly. It was a mildly unsettling connection between sinking into her red leather seat and knowing I would soon be with Jack. I mean, I enjoyed driving a great deal, but I’d never felt aroused by getting into a car before. Not even the Maclaren I’d let loose in on the autobahn.
Dealing in Death: A Death and the Devil Extended Novella Page 2
