“If you go after him, he’ll know it’s my fault. He’ll—”
“Make your life miserable?” Kirby raised an eyebrow. “He already does. Listen, we’re supposed to trust each other unless we see a reason to do otherwise, right?"
Brit shrugged.
“I swear on my rankings that I can handle him, and he won’t know you were involved.”
“How?”
Kirby frowned, and the gnawing pit of dread grew inside. By taking the focus off you and putting it back on me. “If I tell you, it’ll be harder to say you didn’t know.”
“Why would you help a nobody like me? That doesn’t get you anywhere.”
Kirby studied Brit while she searched for an answer. She’d help regardless. This place seemed determined to suck the soul from the students and replace it with ice and steel. Kirby didn’t want to go through that, and no one else should have to either. This conversation made her think that wouldn’t cut it as an answer. “Everyone knows who you are. The older kids, all of us—you’re the best there is with a scope.”
Pink spread across Brit’s cheeks. “I’m not bad.”
“Always own your accomplishments.” Kirby squeezed Brit’s leg and stood. “You earned that distinction. Be proud of it.” She reached behind her and unlocked the stall door. “And don’t worry about Mark. I’m sure he’ll come around.”
Brit gave her a half-smile. That was kind of cute. “Okay. I trust you. And thank you.”
KIRBY
Kirby stood at the back of the classroom, watching the younger students—Brit’s class—prep to spar. Mark stepped to the front of the room. He’d earned student teacher status a few months back. If Kirby had known what he’d do with it...
What? She would have said something to someone? That hadn’t worked in the past. So today, she had a different solution. She’d pulled a lot of strings to get permission to put on a demonstration with him. And she’d promised to let him know beforehand.
She’d lied about that bit.
“Cadet,” she called as she strode up to him. Anxiety churned inside. She’d just passed the point of no return. Doing this meant she took his wrath back. She knew how to handle it, though, even better than two years ago. She wouldn’t let anyone else put up with his bullshit. “Are you interested in showing your class how this is actually done?”
His cold smile gnawed at the lining of her gut. He gave a deep bow, his gaze never leaving her. “The pleasure would be mine.”
Kirby moved into an at-ease stance, feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind her back. “How do you want to start?”
“I’ll allow you to choose.” Sarcasm lined Mark’s deference. “What do you prefer?”
She was so much better than last time they’d fought. Then again, so was he. Her specialty was still sniping, while his was more physical. It didn’t matter. She knew how to play the psychological games, and his ego was his weakness. “Attack me,” she said.
He lunged, and she sidestepped, left foot extending to catch his right, turning with him as he fell, and planting a knee in the small of his back.
The lightest whisper of laughter rippled through the room.
Kirby extended a hand to her fallen sparring partner, the way he had done to her so many times.
He slapped away her offer of help and stood.
She fell back into a loose posture. “I’m sorry. You weren’t ready. Try again?”
Mark brushed a loose strand of hair out of his brown eyes, took a deep breath, and lunged again. Kirby stepped aside again, arm flying straight out to her side, striking him in the diaphragm. He halted with an oof, and she kicked out her foot, catching him in the back of the knee and dropping him to all fours. Panting, he struggled to catch his breath.
She stepped around him, to face the class. “Who here understands the purpose of this demonstration?”
Several pairs of eyes grew wide. Probably because she’d turned her back on a pissed-off opponent. Mark got noisy and reckless when he was angry. She heard him climb to his feet and lunge.
She dropped to one knee, landing her shoulder in his gut. One hand flew to his collar, and the other to his crotch. Using his momentum to carry him forward, she flipped him to land on his back and audibly knocked the wind out of him. He whimpered when she twisted his balls enough to be threatening, before letting go.
Kirby would pay for that, but fuck, it felt good right now. She stood, not even winded. “While I appreciate Cadet Mark’s helping to demonstrate that an opponent doesn’t always fight fair, that’s not what we’re here to learn.” She nodded at a boy in the back of the room. “Help your student teacher to the infirmary.” She swallowed her pleased giggle.
Her amusement shriveled when Mark met her gaze, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. She kept her mask in place, despite her inner turmoil.
“Lesson learned,” he growled in a voice meant only for her ears, before he brushed off the offer of help and strode from the room.
And there it was. Until he graduated, her life would be hell.
Chapter Five
Now - Kirby
Kirby was in her spot near the under-reconstruction building. Watching. Waiting.
Something wasn’t right.
She itched to go find Starkad. The TOMs should have arrived already. Instinct told her to leave. Training insisted she cover her bases, because walking away left a possible attack vector exposed.
And then Starkad hissed into her ear piece, “You’re in the wrong spot. Move. Now.”
She was sprinting before he finished. “On my way.”
“It’s too late. Target’s walking out of the bagel shop.” Starkad’s tone was hard, hammering in her ear as she ran.
There was only one position in the other building where they could be. Kirby spotted the open window in a glance. If she ran down to the street, everyone would see her draw her weapon.
The panic would make things worse. Her arrest wouldn’t help either.
She ran to the second floor of the empty building, forcing herself not to count the seconds ticking away. When she reached a room with a good view of the spot across the street, she chambered a stun grenade in her GL06 and shattered the nearest window.
Freya, guide my hand and sight.
She aimed the weapon on an arc, fired, and was retreating before the projectile landed.
It would hit her target. It would be contained to their room. No one else would be hurt, but whoever the TOMs of the day were, they’d be off-balance, giving her time to get to them.
The explosion reached her ears when she was halfway down the stairs. By the time she hit the street, chaos had erupted.
She should have thought of this. She had to be careful with the way she forced her way through the crowds, to keep from drawing attention to herself.
At least ditching the bags was an option. A team would recover them later, but if law enforcement got to them first, they couldn’t be traced back to Kirby or the people she worked for.
Starkad would already be there. She needed to find that balance between beating a fast path to her destination and not drawing attention.
“Watch it, man. I didn’t do anything.” Starkad’s voice sounded in her ear. He wasn't talking to her, though. “Whoa. Do I look like the kind of guy to carry a grenade, officer?”
Well, fuck. She was on her own. She itched to go check on him, but training wouldn’t let her. He’d be fine, and she needed to finish the job.
The flash of time it took for her to cross the street seemed like an eternity. She hit the back of the building, to avoid the evacuated crowds, and sprinted up a set of service stairs.
She reached the room the TOMs had been in. Frustration built inside at the lack of bodies—living or otherwise. She never let a target get away.
The backpack by the window wouldn’t tell her anything. It was as impossible to trace as the gear she’d dumped. But the AUG next to it...
Kirby needed to turn around now and leave. Find Starka
d and regroup. The gun knocked loose a trickle of memories she didn’t want. Every one of her former classmates had their weapon of choice. Most stuck with the standard issue M40A5.
Kirby crossed the room, despite the voice screaming in her head to leave now. This was one of the most idiotic things she’d ever done, and that was saying a lot. She had to know. She toed the rifle, and the hash marks on the stock glared in the morning light. Brit.
Her heart dropped into her stomach, which plummeted into her shoes. She’d known this day would come. Why did it have to be now?
“Hands in the air,” shouted a sharp voice behind her.
BRIT
Brit was in about fifty shades of pain. She knew how to shake it off, but not so much at once. She had no idea how she made the short walk to their car. Each footstep jarred through her shoulder.
She’d dislocated it, for sure. The thought didn’t ease the agony, but it forced her to compartmentalize and assess.
Mark opened the back door for her, and she collapsed on the rear seat with an oof.
“I’ve got this,” he said and pulled a blanket over her. Not to hide her, but on the off chance police were stopping cars, she’d be the girlfriend who got sick on their vacation.
Blackness licked the edges of her vision as he drove. The car was moving at a crawl, and she was pretty sure that wasn’t only because her head was swimming.
Mark hit a dip in the road, and the car bounced, jarring her shoulder. A new spike of pain seared through her body and stole her consciousness.
Brit’s eyes flew open, her heart hammering against her ribcage, and heat screaming through her arm. Her pulse slowed as her surroundings solidified around her. The hotel was visible through the car’s rear window. Her shoulder throbbed each time she moved or thought, but her arm wouldn’t budge.
The car door opened, and Mark’s face appeared over hers. He cocked an eyebrow. “Thank Forseti you’re awake.” His concern was bullshit. He just hated the idea that someone besides him got to hurt her. “The last thing I need is to explain to hotel staff why I’m carrying an unconscious woman into my room.”
“Glad I didn’t inconvenience you.” Brit’s voice cracked in her dry throat, softening her sarcasm.
Walking didn’t hurt any more than lying down, but she had to lean into Mark, to keep from stumbling like she was drunk. In their hotel room, she stepped into the bathroom. Blood and sweat matted her hair to her head. Her arm hung limply at her side, and the skin peeking out from under her sleeve was swollen and turning purple.
Dislocated shoulder and ruptured eardrum. The former was going to suck to set. The latter meant she wasn’t flying for the next month. Lovely.
That meant they could stay here.
Why did she want that? Her brain twitched when she burrowed through her memories for snippets of activity before unconsciousness. She’d had the target in her sight. Everything was going the way it should have, and then... A black spot sat in her brain where the rest should be.
Stupid unconsciousness. Her head pounded in protest, as she pushed for memories that might have been lost when she’d been knocked out. How had she been knocked out? Her shoulder pulsed with the agony of something she couldn’t quite grasp.
Kirby. The two syllables echoed in Brit’s skull. Fuck. Her world swam, blurring at the corners of her vision, and her gut churned. She swallowed back the mud of emotion churning inside and straightened. That couldn’t be right. Kirby was dead. Because of Brit.
But apparently Starkad had lied about that—go figure—and Kirby was hunting her own.
Correction. They weren’t hers anymore. Because of Brit.
Brit grabbed a glass from the counter, filled it with lukewarm water, and chugged it in a single swallow.
Her stomach protested. She heaved several times, before bringing her breathing under control. Her throat wasn’t so parched now. That was a step in the right direction.
“On the toilet seat. Sit.” Mark’s command dragged her from the unpleasant tumble into the past.
She didn’t have the strength to argue. Maybe she’d heard him wrong. She didn’t see Kirby. Her mind had been playing tricks on her earlier. “What did you say? In the building?”
“You know what I said.” He ran the faucet, testing the temperature every few seconds, then grabbed a washcloth.
She pointed at her damaged ear. “I couldn’t hear.”
“A ghost is hunting us.” He clenched his fist. “They didn’t want her in Valhalla, and Freya wouldn’t take her, so Kirby is back to fucking haunt us. I watched her fire a fucking grenade at us, and she didn’t even have the respect to frag our asses. A flash bomb. That’s what we got.”
Because Kirby hadn’t wanted collateral damage. Brit wasn’t going to argue that detail. She hadn’t just brought wrath down on them, by telling Starkad where to find their people. She’d summoned the Mistress of Hel.
“We have to take her out.” Brit didn’t want anything to do with Kirby. Not to hunt her. Not to save her. Not to ever seeing her fucking face again, despite what the raging conflict inside said. But this was Brit’s excuse to stay here. To get a chance to beg Starkad and the people he worked with for asylum.
“We have to hop in a car and drive our asses out of this truck stop of a town, like protocol dictates.” Mark knelt in front of her and pressed the washcloth to her face.
She hissed at the heat, then sank into his gentle ministrations as he wiped her face and the side of her head clean.
“Please?” She made herself sound submissive and swallowed the surge of bile that came with even pretending to bow to Mark. “Let me do this. Let us do this.”
He clenched his jaw, and his nostrils flared. “I’ll tell command we haven’t confirmed the status of the target. You have to do something for me, though.” He lightly grasped the hand on her bad arm and looked her in the eye. He trailed his fingers up to settle on her shoulder, so lightly she barely felt his touch.
“Favor for a favor is fair.”
“Suck my cock.”
She wasn’t in the mood for this. Rage spilled inside. “You fucking assh— FUUUUUUUUCK.” Her anger bled into a piercing scream when he twisted her shoulder back into the socket. The pain clawed at her senses, threatening unconsciousness.
He caught her as she wobbled and started to fall. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed.
She was too drained and hurt too much to summon a reply. Stupid fucking sadistic asshole. “I hate you.”
His smile swam in and out of her vision, as she struggled to keep from passing out. “I know.” He vanished from her field of vision.
She heard a zipper and him rummaging through luggage, then the water running again.
He returned. “Pain pills.”
“Percocet?”
“Ibuprofen. I’ll ask Command if they can get you anything stronger when I tell them our stay’s been extended.” He handed over the drugs, then the water.
Because the one time he wasn’t carrying something that would knock her out was the one time she wanted it. She swallowed both and sank back onto the mattress. Her shoulder was on fire, and her stomach was threatening to pack its bags and leave via her throat. But she was focused on two words. Kirby and freedom.
Would she have to reconcile with one, to achieve the other? She didn’t know if she could do that. She didn’t know if it was even an option, from Kirby’s perspective.
Chapter Six
8 Years Ago - Kirby
Kirby practically skipped to her next class. At seventeen, she was specializing. She wasn’t just good, she was the best, and she was about to become the youngest student yet to move on to the real world. Though Brit was catching her quickly. In fact, Brit was joining the advanced martial arts this afternoon.
Excitement bubbled inside Kirby every time she thought about it. They’d have a class together. That meant more time together, even if it was just being in the same room. Brit was the one and only friend Kirby had. On a lot of days, fri
endship wasn’t enough, but Kirby was terrified if she said I like you. A lot, that it would destroy what they had.
She was content to hang out, have fun, and now train together.
Mark headed toward her with a small crowd. He’d made a hobby of tormenting her, but these days it was status quo. She could block out the cruelty, the unwanted sex, and the bruises, since him focusing on her meant he wasn’t doing it to someone else.
Still, it took effort to put on the mask she wore around him, and she wasn’t in the mood to be fake this close to her favorite class.
He passed her with a curt nod, and some of her tension drained away. She wouldn’t relax completely until she was in the classroom, though.
A hard body pressed into her back, and an arm wrapped around her waist. He caught her off guard and easily pulled her into a side hallway. She could struggle, but she didn’t.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He molded his body to hers.
Revulsion slid over her. This was the game. She’d live through worse once she got in the field. He was practice. She just had to remember that. “No, I haven’t. I have class twenty-four-seven, like everyone in this place.”
“Mhm.” His erection was obvious through his jeans, as he pressed into her. “I hear you’re being assigned to a team soon.” He glided his hand down to her ass and squeezed.
“It’s true. I am.” She could hurt him in so many ways right now. He was distracted. Exposed. An elbow to the windpipe or gut, a knee to the balls, and he’d be left gasping. Or she could break his wrist with a simple twist of their bodies.
She let him roam his hands over her instead. His attentions were a minor inconvenience. As long as he focused on her, he wasn’t looking at someone else. The series of excuses for letting him have his way came so easily these days, she barely registered their meaning.
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