Once Burned, Twice Spy

by Diane Henders

“See that?” Hellhound asked.

  “What?” Kane’s frown deepened.

  “Ya frowned at her an’ it was like ya stuck her with a cattle prod. She was all set to jump up an’ do whatever she thought ya wanted. Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

  This time I did sit up and pull away, my heart chilling. “Wh- What do you mean?”

  “What were ya thinkin’ just now when he frowned at ya?”

  “Nothing,” I protested slightly louder than I’d intended. “I was just shifting position.”

  “No lies, darlin’,” Hellhound reminded me softly.

  Kane watched me in silence, his gaze intent.

  Reading my mind.

  Only now realizing how much power he had. Finally understanding how he could effortlessly force me to do whatever he wanted…

  “…Aydan. Hey, darlin’, it’s okay. Nobody’s gonna make ya do anythin’ ya don’t wanna do.”

  Arnie’s gentle rasp penetrated my panic, and I realized I had scooted to the head of the bed, my knees pulled up to my chest and my arms locked around them.

  I forced a laugh and stood up to stretch. “Thanks, Arnie. Listen, I’m really glad you’re both watching out for me, but let’s finish up this strategy session tomorrow morning. I’m ’way too tired to think straight tonight.”

  “Too tired to keep your guard up, ya mean,” Arnie corrected. He turned to Kane. “Lemme give a scenario. Pretend ya got captured. You’re in a POW camp, an’ the enemy makes ya salute whenever ya see ’em. Stand up whenever they snap their fingers. Harmless stuff, but they’ll beat the hell outta ya if ya don’t do it.”

  Kane frowned. “I don’t see where you’re going with this, but I’ll play along. What you’re describing is a classic mind control technique. Begin by requiring obedience to benign commands. Emphasize how illogical it is to suffer so much for failing to follow such harmless instructions; and as soon as those compliant behaviours have been established, escalate to the next level. And the next.”

  “Yeah,” Hellhound agreed. “So, there ya are. Ya know what they’re doin’; but ya gotta do what they say or take a shit-kickin’. So what d’ya do?”

  “Well…” Kane said slowly. “My duty is always to escape. If complying with harmless commands would prevent me from sustaining serious injuries, it would be smartest for me to pretend to cooperate. Lull them into a false sense of security so they won’t be expecting my escape attempt, and stay in the best possible physical shape so that I’m ready to make my move when the opportunity arises.”

  “Right,” Hellhound agreed. “So. Ya finally get rescued years later, an’ by now if somebody snaps their fingers you’re on your feet before ya even think about it. Right?”

  Kane’s eyes narrowed, his gaze alternating between Hellhound and me. “Probably. It would take quite a while to overcome the reflex, and there would be a lot of trauma associated with it.”

  “But you’re free, so it’s all good, right?” Hellhound asked.

  “Yes…”

  Hellhound clapped his palms together, a sudden crack like a gunshot. Kane and I both jumped.

  “An’ then they capture ya again,” Hellhound barked. “How d’ya feel?”

  My guts had been slowly tightening during their exchange, and his words unleashed a flood of terror and nausea. Kane looked ill, too.

  “But ya see a way out,” Hellhound added. “It’ll prob’ly kill ya, but there’s a tiny chance it might work. D’ya try it?”

  “Yes!” Kane and I chorused instantly.

  “Yeah,” Hellhound said softly. “An’ to somebody that didn’t know what ya been through, that might look kinda like a death wish.”

  Chapter 41

  Our silence filled the room, the inane chatter of the television dissolving into meaningless noise.

  Kane was frowning again. Hellhound eyed him expectantly. My stomach churned, on the verge of violently ejecting the bread and peanut butter I’d just eaten.

  “Where are you going with this?” Kane asked. “Although a person might risk death to avoid the certainty of a worse alternative, it doesn’t mean they want death, regardless of how it may look to others. That makes sense, but I don’t see how it’s relevant to our conversation. We were talking about Aydan’s behaviour in the absence of an imminent threat.”

  “Ya didn’t get the second half a’ what I said.” Hellhound gave him a level look. “Just ’cause ya don’t hafta do it anymore an’ ya don’t wanna do it anymore; it doesn’t mean you’re ever gonna be able to stop jumpin’ when somebody snaps their fingers.”

  At Kane’s puzzled expression, Hellhound went on, “If somebody spent every day for years beatin’ it into ya that your life ain’t worth shit compared to theirs, an’ punishin’ ya if ya don’t agree whenever they snap their fingers; even if ya don’t really believe it you’re still gonna automatically think it when somebody snaps their fingers. An’ if ya finally get free an’ then it looks like you’re gonna get recaptured…” He trailed off. “Put it together, Cap. Ya ain’t stupid.”

  Kane blinked at him, then slowly turned to look at me, comprehension dawning in his eyes. “Yes.” His voice came out in a croak, and he cleared his throat. “Yes… apparently I am stupid.” He shook his head as if recovering from a blow. “I’m sorry.” He rose and went to the door as if sleepwalking, stooping to put on his boots and mechanically donning his parka.

  I stood paralyzed except for the increasing tremor of my knees.

  “Where ya goin’?” Hellhound asked.

  “I… Out. For a while.” Kane shook himself again and his voice firmed, his gaze focusing. “I have… some thinking to do.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Arnie, if you can take the first shift watching Aydan…?” Hellhound nodded, and Kane went on, “I’ll be back at…” He hesitated as though calculating something. “…two A.M. sharp.”

  “Okay. But where’re ya goin’?” Hellhound repeated.

  “Just driving. I won’t be more than half an hour away at any time, and I’ll have my burner phone in case you need me. I just… need to think. See you later.”

  He turned and left. The click of the door latch sounded like the knell of the apocalypse.

  “Oh, God.” I sank trembling onto the bed, gulping air in an attempt to keep from throwing up.

  “It’s okay, darlin’…” Hellhound reached toward me, but I scrambled away to jam my back against the wall.

  “How could you tell him?” I demanded, my voice crackling on the edge of hysteria. “How could you tell him?”

  Hellhound retreated a couple of steps, opening his hands in a pacifying gesture. “He needed to know, Aydan. He needed to get it; really get what ya been through, in his guts. He understands now.”

  “I know! How could you…” Tears and bile were rising fast, blinding and strangling me. “How… could you…” My voice rose to the frantic cry of a trapped animal. “Now he knows how to break me!”

  I fled for the bathroom and vomited.

  Over and over, my stomach heaved as if it would turn me inside-out. I clutched the toilet bowl white-knuckled and sobbing. Tears and snot poured down my face while Hellhound’s gentle hands lifted my hair out of the mess and made slow circles on my back. If I could have pulled away from him I would have, but it took all my strength just to cling to the toilet while the violent spasms wracked me.

  When nothing was left inside me but dry heaves and whimpers, I propped my forehead on the toilet seat and croaked, “Go away.”

  The door closed quietly behind him.

  I slid to the floor and lay there with my wet cheek pressed to the cold tile, too hopeless to even pray for death.

  After an endless time, the ache in my abused muscles subsided, slowly coalescing into a sharper pain at my waist. My Glock grinding into my body. I groaned and flopped onto my back to pull it out.

  Its familiar grip comforted my hand. The only friend I could count on.

  I cuddled it to my chest.

  Blessed escape waited behind the
impartial eye of its barrel.

  I had only to bring it up to my temple and crook my finger. A simple come-hither to peaceful oblivion…

  I shook my head at its dark invitation.

  Nope.

  The guilt would kill Arnie. And the bathroom would be a hell of a mess. They’d never get my brains out of the grout. And with my luck I’d end up haunting the damn bathroom for all eternity, moaning and gurgling in the pipes like some dismal shit-soaked troglodyte.

  Arnie tapped on the door and asked, “Ya okay in there, darlin’?”

  I groaned. I couldn’t deal with him right now…

  The bathroom door opened and Arnie froze, fear contorting his face. “Aydan, don’t! Put the gun down, please! I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt ya an’ I’ll make it right somehow, I promise. Just put the gun down so we can talk, okay?”

  “Don’t worry, Arnie,” I said without moving. “I’d love to just drop dead right here and now; but shooting myself would take far too much effort. I’m only holding it because it was digging into my hip.”

  “Then how ’bout if I hold it for ya for a little while?” he asked, his casual tone belied by the tremor in his voice.

  “Sure.”

  He eased into the bathroom and knelt beside me. “I’m just gonna take it outta your hand now, darlin’,” he soothed. “Just relax.”

  If I’d had an ounce of energy left I might have smiled at him, but it was too much work. Eyelids drooping, I lay still while he carefully removed the Glock from my grip.

  He stuffed it into the back of his jeans and leaned over me again. “Come on, darlin’, let’s get ya cleaned up an’ into bed.”

  I closed my eyes, shutting him out.

  “Aydan.” Gentle fingertips stroked the hair away from my forehead, peeling away the sticky strands that had adhered to my cheek. “It’s okay if you’re mad an’ ya don’t wanna talk to me, but I gotta know whether I should take ya to the hospital. Just say somethin’ so I know whether you’re okay.”

  “I don’t need to go the hospital. I’m not mad. I just… I can’t…” Tears leaked from under my closed eyelids and trickled down my temples, and I threw the last of my dignity to the winds. “I’m scared, Arnie.” I opened my eyes, desperately searching his beloved ugly face and clutching his wrist in a deathgrip. “I… I’m… scared.” My voice broke.

  “I know, darlin’.” He gathered me into his arms, vomit and all, and rocked me, stroking my hair. “I know. I’m sorry. I thought I was helpin’ but I’m just a dumbfuck an’ I shoulda known better…”

  “No.” I wrapped my arms around him. “You’re not a dumbfuck, and I shouldn’t have blamed you. You didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.” I sighed. “What kind of an agent would he be if he hadn’t already figured out all my vulnerabilities? I’ve always been at his mercy. I was just pretending it wasn’t true because I was too terrified to think about it.”

  Arnie’s arms tightened around me. “He wouldn’t ever do that to ya. I know he wouldn’t. But even if he tried, I wouldn’t let him, Aydan. I won’t ever let anybody hurt ya. I’ll always be here to protect ya. Even when ya don’t want me an’ I’m nothin’ but a big fuckin’ pain in your ass, I’ll still be here.”

  “I’ll always want you.” I buried my face in his shoulder. “You’re the only one I feel safe with.”

  He let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “The guy who kills people for a livin’. Christ, you’re fucked up, darlin’.”

  “Never said I wasn’t.” I pulled back far enough to look him in the face, and did my best to summon a smile. It quivered a bit, but I managed it. “And I’m also gross and stinky and covered with snot and puke, and now you are, too.”

  He chuckled. “What’s a little snot an’ puke between friends?”

  “Sticky.”

  “That’s true.” He hesitated, sobering. “Hey, Aydan… just thinkin’…”

  My heart chilled. “What?”

  “I know you’re scared shitless ’bout what might be in your head, but… what if… the way ya feel about commitment… an’ the claustrophobia, an’ all that shit… what if it’s actually just Nora’s programmin’?” As I stared at him without comprehension, he added, “An’ when ya find out what it is an’ how to kick it…”

  The oxygen in the room suddenly seemed inadequate. I sucked in a feeble breath, my head swimming. “You mean… I could… maybe…”

  “Ya could be with Kane without panickin’. Ya could… not be scared anymore. Get married. Have a normal life.”

  “I… I…”

  It was too much to take in.

  I burrowed back into his arms. “I can’t think about it. It’s too scary. Just thinking about… the M-word… makes me hyperventilate.”

  “Don’t worry, ya don’t have to think about it. I won’t let it happen unless ya want it.” He dropped a kiss on the top of my head and changed the subject. “Let’s get cleaned up. Arms up, darlin’.”

  I complied, and he pulled my stained sweatshirt over my head and pitched it into the bathtub, followed by my T-shirt.

  “Up ya get…” He stood and lifted me to my feet.

  As I took off my jeans, which had miraculously survived the puke-storm unstained, Arnie eyed me worriedly.

  “You’re shakin’ like a leaf. Come on, let’s get ya into the tub, an’ I’ll bring ya some orange juice.” He turned on the water and adjusted the temperature while I stripped off my underwear, and then he offered a strong arm while I stepped unsteadily into the tub and sat down in the warm water.

  I leaned forward to scoop handfuls of water out of the faucet, scrubbing my face clean and rinsing out my mouth. Arnie ducked out the door and returned a few seconds later to hand me a small carton of orange juice. “Here, darlin’, this’ll do ya more good than water. Drink up.”

  “Thanks.” I sagged back against the hard cold tub and sipped. Still watching me anxiously, Hellhound sank down to sit on the floor, his back propped against the wall.

  After a few minutes the orange juice was gone and the ancient steel tub was digging into my back. I squirmed, searching for a more comfortable position, but it was no use.

  Sitting up with a sigh, I held out a hand. “Give me your shirt. I’ll wash it here in the tub with mine, and then I need a shower.” I shuddered as the crusty ends of my hair scraped my skin. “God, do I ever need a shower.”

  Hellhound peeled off his shirt, and together we attacked the soiled garments with shampoo. I lurched awkwardly to a crouch to drain the tub and wring out the clothes, and Hellhound eyed me dubiously.

  “Careful, darlin’,” he warned. “Ya ain’t lookin’ very steady on your feet there. Ya want help?”

  I took his proffered hand and rose cautiously as the last of the bathwater gurgled down the drain. “Thanks. I’m still feeling pretty shaky. Will you shower with me? I might need a hand.”

  And I might need him to hold me until I could pretend that everything was going to be all right.

  I didn’t say that part out loud.

  “’Course.” He stripped off his jeans and socks.

  I eyed his crotch with a smile. “Somebody’s happy to see me.”

  Arnie flushed. “Don’t mind him; he’s just bein’ a dick. I ain’t askin’ ya for anythin’ tonight, darlin’.”

  I gave him a smile and turned on the water, concentrating on adjusting the temperature. Thank God for his understanding. Athletic shower sex just wasn’t on my radar tonight.

  I pulled the curtain closed and turned on the shower, avoiding the first cold needles of spray. As soon as it was warm, I poked my head around the curtain. “All ready for you now.”

  As he stepped forward, my gaze dipped for another rewarding peek.

  Hot damn, he was a fine upstanding citizen. I was too tired to do anything about it, but… mmmm. Very nice indeed.

  Arnie stepped into the tub and took me in his arms, backing me under the hot spray of the shower. I sighed and wrapped my arms around him in turn, res
ting my head on his shoulder and letting my battered soul relax into the moment of warmth and safety.

  We stood locked together for long minutes, his hands gently massaging my back in the warm water. At last I tipped my head back to let the water run through my hair, then pressed close to him to accomplish a pivot that swapped our places under the shower.

  I lathered up with shampoo while he scrubbed himself under the spray, and we switched places again. The warm water coursing over my head felt as though it was cleansing my very soul. I ran my fingers through my hair over and over again, eyes closed.

  Rough chest hair grazed my nipples, making me shiver as Arnie moved closer. His fingers joined mine, running through my hair and massaging my scalp while the water poured down. I pressed closer to him, wet skin sliding against wet skin. His erection stiffened between us and he sucked in a breath, but when he spoke there was no trace of urgency in his voice. “How ya doin’, darlin’?”

  “Ready for conditioner.” I wrapped my arms around him again and swivelled him into my place under the shower.

  As I stepped away my breath caught at the sight of him, eyes closed against the spray while the hot water sluiced over his bulging tattooed muscles. His erection jutted hard and ready but he stood motionless, a statue of lust personified.

  My body tightened, heat coiling down between my legs despite my exhaustion.

  Droplets of water trickled along his length, hot and juicy and lickable…

  Arnie opened his eyes, catching me staring slack-jawed with the tube of conditioner clutched forgotten in my hand.

  “Hey, darlin’,” he rasped softly.

  I shivered at the sexy voice that stroked my eardrums the way his knowing hands would stroke my body…

  “Are ya cold?” he asked, and held me against his heat to pivot me under the shower again.

  Pressed full-length against him, I went up on tiptoe to trap his erection between my thighs. Sliding back and forth, I whispered, “No, I’m hot. And so are you.”

  He groaned. “You’re so hot I’m gonna lose it right here if ya keep doin’ that.” He stepped away and extracted the conditioner from my hand. “Turn around an’ I’ll do ya.”