by Tiya Rayne
I look up from my plate to see he’s focused on a spot over my head with a distant look in his eyes. “What?”
“You asked about the first time I saw death. I was eight the first time.” His gaze falls back on me.
“I was a sick kid. One of those illnesses that doesn’t go away. My sickness pushed a wedge between my parent’s relationships. Though they never admitted it out loud, I knew they resented me for it.
“By the time I was eight, my condition had gotten worse. My father was often gone, leaving my mother to deal with me alone. I thought that if I could show them that I could be normal it would fix them. I went above and beyond to learn how to work around my sickness, even surprising my doctors.
“One day I decided to skip school to show my father that I could be the normal child he wanted. I knew that my father often came home early during the day because I would find signs of him having been home when he was supposed to be at work. That day, I waited for him to come so I could show him and explain to him how hard I’d been working. Only, when he arrived home, he was not alone.
“My father was having an affair with a woman from his job. I was hurt, angry, and devastated to find this out. Here I was busting my ass to prove that I could be his son again and that he could reconnect with my mother, but he had moved on.
“Right as I’m about to storm out of my hiding place to confront him and his lover, the front door bursts in. It seemed I wasn’t the only one that had grown suspicious of my father. The woman he was sleeping with was apparently seeing another man before she broke it off with him to be with my father.
“Her other lover had caught her and my father fucking on the couch. He was outraged. The woman tried to explain that she and the stranger were over and that’s when the first popping sound went off. My father screamed and the acrid smell of gun smoke floated through the room.
“I listened as my father pleaded for his life, begging the man to spare him for his wife and child. I remember thinking how little he thought of us when he was with the woman. Three shots later the man left and only the sound of my father gasping for air could be heard. I sat beside him as he took his last breath.”
As I listen to his story, I feel pretty shitty for what I said earlier today. I swallow the lump of crow in my throat and reply. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “From my hiding spot, I never saw the man that killed my father, but I could tell you everything about him. From his scent, the cadence and sound of his voice, the way his shoes sounded across the floor, even the fact that he was left-handed.
“I knew exactly who killed my father. When I was placed on the witness stand, they tried to discredit my testimony. However, I proved that I had a unique ability.”
“So, the lover went to jail?”
He nods. “My testimony sent him to jail. Then two weeks later my mother got a visitor. A guy that called himself Priest showed up at our door interested in me.”
“You mean the Priest I met, right?” I mean, Priest is obviously older than me, but could he be old enough to recruit a child from its mother back then?
“Yes, that Priest, but Priest is a general name given to higher members of the Church that deal with the deacons.”
Even though all the vernacular is the same, I have a feeling he’s not talking about the same church I know.
“What are deacons?”
He gives me a slow smile. “I am.”
I am so lost. He shakes his head as if he understands my confusion. He leans down on his elbows and forearms on the marble countertop.
“I’m a killer, Brooklyn. An assassin to be exact. One of the best in the world. I’ve been trained for the role since I was eight-years-old. The people I work for run an organization that dates back to the year 4 BC. In fact, it is believed they precede the actual Catholic Church.”
Holy Shit, and I mean that literally.
“You’re a part of the Church?”
He shakes his head and his dark brown hair brushes his shoulders. “No. Not anymore. The Catholic Church broke off from us around the 1500s when they lost most of their power. Up until then, we were who they called when order needed to be served. As an organization assigned with the sole purpose of serving the Church, our philosophy is through blood or sword.”
That seems serious and way more devoted than I want to be with anything.
“You kill people for the Church?”
“It isn’t that simple. You know the men that you fear? The ones who the media tell you are bad and should be watched out for?” I nod my head. “We kill the people they fear.”
My eyes widen.
“The criminals that you see in the news and know about are nothing compared to the people that move silently. We take care of the ones that would wipe out half the world’s population without any thought. The monsters that work behind the scenes.”
I let that soak in. I’m sitting across from a known killer, eating a bomb ass chicken salad. He just admitted to me that he’s the thing that goes bump in the night and I can’t help but feel more intrigued by him.
“Let me get this clear, the deacons are the assassins?”
“Every member of the Church is an Assassin at some point. If you are exceptionally good, you move up. The better you are, the higher you go. If you ever met the Pope, you should run.”
I would run if I met any of them. I can’t imagine anyone being better than what I saw Walker do.
“So how did the Church choose you?”
He gives another one of his slow smiles. “They look for exceptional gifts in young children.”
“What kind of gifts?”
“Different kinds. None of them are the same.”
Now, this strikes a thought in my head. “What’s your gift?”
This time when he smiles it lights his entire face up. Those acute eyes turn playful. “My unbelievable good looks,” he teases.
I laugh, but he isn’t actually lying. There’s no mistaking his attractiveness. I can see him as some deadly flower.
His handsomeness is enough to lure someone into a false sense of security and then he strikes like a Venus flytrap. It’s not too hard for me to believe because I’ve been following him around like an old friend and I don’t even know him.
From a distance, he’s an obviously attractive man, but up close he’s exceptionally beautiful. His jawline is cut from the same stone God gave Moses for the Ten Commandments. His lips are so plush they make mine look thin. Dark bushy eyebrows accent eyes the color of whiskey and eyelashes females would fight for.
“Yeah right,” I say instead of telling him the truth.
He sobers a little. “Honestly, no one knows what the Church looks for. All you need to know is that when they come for you, it’s best you go.”
I let that threat sit between us like a boulder for only a minute. Did they come for my sister, and what did they see in her?
“All right then, my sister…” I let the sentence break off, hoping he will fill it in. He doesn’t. He’s going to make me ask it. “Was my sister an assassin?”
His face hardens and his jaw clenches. “No.”
I’ve been kind of putting things together. Taking the things people are telling me and what I’m noticing and making my own assumptions about Albany’s role in this organization, but I still want to hear the truth.
He continues. “Red worked for our sister organization. The nunnery has been around for as long as the Church.” I notice he hesitates before he continues on. I can only imagine what has him so unnerved.
“What did she do for the nunnery?”
He sighs. “You have to understand we are different. Our world is different from yours. I am a killer.
“I have been since I was eight-years-old. I was taken from my home and cut off from the world and all social interactions, the only contact I had was with people like me. People that are also different. It’s hard for me to navigate in the regular world. People like Red, people that worked for the nunnery we
re beneficial to me.”
“You’re not answering my question. What did my sister do for the Church?”
A beat of silence surrounds us. I hold my breath, hoping that my assumptions are wrong.
“To simplify it, she would be considered a companion.” The air whooshes from my lungs and comes out as a gasp.
All the men at the funeral. The way that Walker and that man Priest spoke about her. The different apartments and the wigs, all of it leads me to believe that my sister was living a double life. I don’t want to believe it. I push back my stool, standing to my feet.
“She was a prostitute,” I say to clarify. His face scrunches up in disgust at the statement.
“She was different things to different people.”
Look, I’m not saying Albany was a saint. She never mentioned having sex, but she oftentimes asked me questions about it. And she had plenty of boyfriends in her past so I’m assuming she wasn’t a virgin. I don’t exactly know this version of her, but I think it’s safe to say my sister wouldn’t sleep with men for money.
“So what was she to you?”
His features soften. “Exactly what I needed,” he says it in a breathless way that makes me believe he may have been in love with her. That sinking feeling hits my gut. “To me,” he starts again. “Red was everything, but she was different things to different people.”
I shake my head, but he continues on. “Red was always what you needed her to be at the time you needed her. That’s the exact same thing she did for all of us.”
I turn from him, giving myself time to let his words sink in. We had a shitty childhood. We endured some things you couldn’t even imagine.
I survived because I had to. I had to be strong and brave for my little sister. For as far back as I can remember, I have been her bodyguard. It’s what kept me sane.
Was she pretending to need me for my own benefit? Have all these years been Albany playing a role for me? I thought finding out what she did for a living would bring me closer to her, but it only seems to keep pushing me further away.
“You should finish eating so you can get some rest. You never know when you’ll be able to sleep again.” His voice comes from right behind me. It amazes me that my footsteps, even barefoot, seem to resonate against these hardwood floors, but I still can’t hear him walk.
I go back to my plate with a heavy heart. Even when I crawl into his large bed later in the night, I feel no different.
Chapter 7
Intruder
Brooklyn
I come awake suddenly, not exactly sure what wakes me. The room is pitch black, so I know that it isn’t morning yet. I’m lying on my side, facing the middle of the bed.
It takes a minute for my eyes to adjust and make out the form lying beside me. Walker is there, lying on his back. One arm behind his head and the other reaching out in his sleep, his hand wrapped around mine.
I smile, even in his sleep, he holds my hand. He’s fully dressed and on top of the covers so it’s not like he tried any funny business. I don’t immediately get up.
I want to take my time and look at him. I’ve been dying to do it since I first met him. He’s gorgeous, even in profile.
His strong jaw and full lips make my finger beg to touch them. I wonder, unfortunately not for the first time, if his lips are as soft as they look. His nose, although narrow, from this angle, has a slight bend to it. Maybe it’s been broken before. That isn’t hard to believe.
Out of all the things Albany told me about Walker, she never mentioned how attractive he is. She told me about his favorite food and movies. Warned me of his quirks and humor, but not once did she mention his full lips or his crooked smile.
She didn’t acknowledge his long lashes that put mine to shame or the way his agile fingers would feel wrapped around mine. She definitely never mentioned the way that one look from him can make you feel more exposed than being naked. Maybe if she had told me all those things, I wouldn’t find myself lying in bed staring at her lover with this feeling churning in my stomach.
My sister was a prostitute. I cringe at the petty thought. Walker didn’t exactly say that, but I’m assuming that’s what he meant. It also crosses my mind that him being her ex-lover bothers me a lot more than him admitting to being a known killer.
I slowly crawl out of the bed onto my bare feet and head down to the kitchen for water. Darkness follows me down the stairs. The only light in the loft is the soft glow of the outside lights through the windows.
I have no idea where the light switch is. I rely on my memory to get me around. The pain of my knee hitting the counter has me hissing out a curse word.
Hands out in front of me, I finally find the fridge and open it. Okay, this guy has to have OCD. Everything in his fridge is separated by food type.
Even brands are put together. Waters are pushed to the right, on the second shelf, while the soda bottles are to the left.
Maybe that’s his quirk, his superpower. That thing the Church saw in him. I’m determined to figure it out. Maybe if I find out what it is, I can figure out what they saw in my sister.
I grab a water and shut the door. Twisting the top off, I place the bottle to my lips. The moment I hear the sound is the exact moment I’m grabbed from behind and a hand covers my mouth. My water drops to the floor, wetting my feet as I fight against the tight hold.
Right then men come into view. They’re wearing all black combat gear like you would see in some type of military raid. On their faces are what I believe are night vision goggles. Their guns are pointed toward the stairway to the loft where I shared a bed with Walker.
Oh God, Walker.
I try to fight against the hold on me, but the guy is holding my mouth so tight my lip presses against my teeth, slicing it. I wince as the copper taste of blood fills my mouth.
Five men move as a unit up the steps. The other seven stay at the bottom, their guns aimed at the top of the stairs.
“Do we have the all clear to go? Is the subject still in bed?” The man behind me says so low, I’m assuming he’s talking to someone through an earpiece. I know damn well he isn’t asking me and no one else is close enough to even hear him.
My assumption is proved when he then replies, “Keep your cameras on, we need to take him down quick and show proof. Soon as the coast is clear, I’ll take the female out.” The other seven men downstairs with us nod their heads even though again he barely speaks over a whisper.
Now I start to panic. They’re trying to kill Walker. I fight harder in the man’s grip.
At the last minute, I remember a tactic I learned as a little girl. I kick the heel of my foot back and into the man’s shins. He hisses but loosens his grip on my mouth long enough for me to turn my head slightly and yell.
“Walker,” my voice pierces the quiet, ringing out into the loft.
All hell breaks loose. Gunshots go off upstairs, lighting up the loft like fireworks. The noise is so loud my ears ring. The disturbing screams coming from upstairs has this guy holding me even tighter.
Although they are loud and male, I can’t discern one as Walker. Not to mention, there are too many voices. The shooting stops abruptly.
“Where’s the target? Alpha one, do you have eyes on the target?” The guy holding me whispers frantically into his earpiece. There’s a pause and then he responds loudly. “What the fuck do you mean you lost him? You’re on the roof.”
The other seven men seem to be surprised by this as well. There is a sudden shift, the confidence they had when they first came into view is gone. Now they frantically move their guns around pointing them in every corner.
They walk backward, never turning their backs from the stairway until they make a circle in the middle of the floor. Even the one with me in his grip tightens his hold as his breathing grows more erratic. I think they’re nervous.
I’ve watched enough military movies to know that usually, snipers hang out on rooftops. My heart races faster, how are we supposed to survive
a sniper? Why do they even need a sniper to take down a woman and one man?
The man on the roof must have cut off because my guy starts calling out for him. “What light? Hello? Alpha One, do you copy?”
Slightly out of breath, I wait to see if he responds. I’m hoping he doesn’t. Thankfully, there doesn’t seem to be a reply.
A grinding sound erupts through the space. The men spin around, trying to find where the sound is coming from. It’s then I notice that there are shutters being lowered on the windows.
The loft goes from dark to pitch black. I can’t even see anything in front of me until the men turn on small helmet lights. The house grows quiet again when the shutters are all down.
A loud thump from somewhere near the door cuts the silence. The man holding me and the other seven soldiers all spin to face the doorway, their guns aimed and ready to fire. Suddenly, a cry fills the room.
We all turn back and Walker is there. Already three men are down. One of them gets a shot off before crumbling to the ground.
Then, as fast as he appeared, he disappears. I’m barely able to make anything out in this dark ass house. The helmet lights, though bright, don’t do much for me since I’m not wearing one. I’m seeing things on a delay as my eyes adjust to what has already happened.
Only five men remain, including the one that’s holding me. The other four move to the center of the living room where the guy holding me drags me. They make a tight circle. Their guns bouncing in all directions as they try to get a glance at Walker.
“Did you see how fast that fucker moves?” the guy to my right says.
“Who the fuck is this guy? He isn’t military,” another adds.
“Quiet,” the one holding me grumbles. “He couldn’t have gone far. Ryan shot him.”
Oh god! Walker is shot. I don’t care how badass he is, getting shot could be fatal. He could be somewhere bleeding out.
The guy beside me collapses to the floor. The other men start to panic. They shout at each other, still trying to get a lock on Walker’s location.