by Kaylea Cross
Of all these new Valkyrie sisters they were gathering, Kiyomi had the closest bond with Trinity. As “intimate assassins” they were the rarest kind, and arguably the deadliest. None of the others knew the kind of life she’d led, except Trinity.
They also had the highest mortality rate. Most of their kind didn’t live more than a handful of years after graduating and being sent out into the field. It was a miracle that she and Trinity had both survived.
“You look exhausted,” Trinity said to her gently. “Still not sleeping much?”
No one knew they talked privately a few times a week about things in Kiyomi’s past, or that she was remotely seeing a therapist Trinity had hooked her up with. Her captivity had shifted something inside her. Rattled loose all the things she’d kept locked down before, and now she couldn’t put them back. “Better than I was.” This place and the people in it were allowing her to heal. She was finally surrounded by people who understood her, who cared about and wanted to support her. Especially Trinity.
“But not enough.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, then decided there was no point. “No. Not enough.” The bruises, lacerations and fractured ribs she’d suffered in Syria had healed within the first month she’d been here. Too bad her mind and soul hadn’t recovered nearly as well.
Sleep was a double-edged sword now. On the one hand she craved it. On the other, she feared it. Because it didn’t bring the welcome rest and oblivion it should have. It brought pain and terror.
Whenever she slipped into a deep enough sleep to allow for dreams, they turned into nightmares. Every. Single. Time. No matter how hard she pushed herself to exhaustion in the hopes that she wouldn’t dream, it still happened. Every time, he appeared. Those dark, evil eyes filled with a fanatical gleam as he leaned over her helpless form.
You’re mine now. I own you.
Fayez Rahman, the man who had done his best to break her and almost succeeded. It shamed her now to remember that there had been moments where she’d prayed for death to escape the suffering and degradation. His smile was even colder than his gaze, his oily chuckle enough to make her skin crawl.
She drew a slow breath, a slight twinge shooting through her ribs as she pushed the memories away. She had escaped that prison cell in Damascus because of Amber and Jesse. Against all odds, she had survived, though that experience had changed her forever. “I’m okay.”
“You’re going to be,” Trinity said. “And we’re glad to have you on this team.”
That made her smile. She’d been too young to remember her mom or dad when she’d been put into foster care and then the Valkyrie Program as a child. She’d never had family, until now. “Are you coming back across the pond anytime soon?” Kiyomi liked Amber, but she had an incredibly special bond with Trinity.
“As soon as Megan brings Chloe there.”
That couldn’t happen soon enough for Kiyomi’s liking. A low-grade hum started up, deep in her belly. The anxiety she now battled constantly and fought to hide. It embarrassed her. “See you soon, then.”
“Absolutely. I’ll update you both if I hear anything more on my end. Take care of each other.”
“We will,” Amber said, and ended the video chat. As soon as the laptop screen went dark, Amber turned to her.
Kiyomi stepped back and started to turn for the door, but Amber stopped her with a hand on her arm. Bracing herself, Kiyomi focused on her.
Clear, green eyes studied her for a long moment. “Remember what I promised you?”
“Yes.” That Amber would help her find and end Rahman one day.
Amber nodded at her precious laptop. “Lady Ada and I are keeping our eyes and ears open for a lot of things, him included. I know where he is. When you’re ready, come talk to me. We’ll get him.”
The words might have made a normal person laugh it off or recoil in horror. But they weren’t normal and never would be. And Amber’s willingness to help her with this meant so much that Kiyomi had to swallow hard to push the lump from her suddenly tight throat. “Thank you.”
Amber nodded once. “Anytime. And maybe the reminder will help you sleep better.”
“Maybe.” It surely couldn’t get worse.
She left the room and started down the hall to her bedroom at the end. The aloof and mysterious master of the house had for some reason given her the most beautiful bedroom in the manor. The Blue Room was done in shades of blue and cream, a soft, soothing palate perfectly suited to the luxurious furnishings and a view that overlooked the formal garden and back lawn.
A few steps down the hall, she stopped. As much as she loved the privacy and tranquility her room offered her, she was all tangled up inside and the recent heavy rain had kept her cooped up in the house for the past two days. She needed air. Space.
Peace.
She craved it the way addicts craved their drug of choice. Solitude was something she needed to survive. Living here with people constantly coming and going was completely foreign after so many years spent alone, with only her handler to turn to.
The fresh, bright scent of lemon-oil greeted her as she descended the main staircase to the ground floor. This manor house was truly spectacular, but it wasn’t her home and she’d kept to just her room and the shared living spaces out of respect for the owner’s diminished privacy. Besides, the gym, gardens and sprawling grounds provided more than enough room for her to be on her own when she needed to be.
She strode straight for the gym, that horrible, out-of-control agitation growing with each step. She needed to release it, or explode.
A pair of boxing gloves sat on a bench inside the glass door. Unable to be bothered with worrying about her hands, she pulled her sweater over her head and stalked to the heavy bag hanging from a hook in the ceiling, and attacked it.
Punches. Kicks. Combos. Throwing her whole body weight behind each blow, using the painful impact of her knuckles to center herself. She vented her rage at the helplessness she’d been forced to endure. The degradation and shame she couldn’t seem to escape or shut off. Not just from her captivity, although that’s what had broken the dam inside her. Everything she’d been forced to do in the name of duty.
She didn’t last long. Maybe twenty minutes at most.
Gasping, trembling with fatigue that told her she was far from recovered yet, she bent over, hands on her knees while she got her wind back and dripped sweat onto the floor. But the frantic, corrosive anxiety was quiet now. Vanquished by the violent exertion.
Outside the gym door, she stepped onto the aged flagstones that led to the crushed gravel path. It split into three at the door, going left and right along the house, the third straight ahead through the formal garden. She breathed in the crisp air, taking in the view as she cooled down. Fall had changed the landscape in the past few weeks, bringing the golden and amber tones to the trees that matched the honey-colored limestone of the house.
The roses were still in bloom as she walked over to the small gazebo set into the corner of the walled garden. A stone fountain mounted on the wall beside it sprayed water through a lion’s open mouth, the quiet, rhythmic splash soothing as she sat on the garden bench overlooking the fish pond.
Breathe, she told herself, shutting down the residual chaotic thoughts that hammered against the mental barrier she put up. Just breathe.
Seconds later her eyes opened at the quiet thud of a cane and the trot of paws on the gravel path to her left.
Marcus paused beside his dog on the pathway when he saw her, his dark gaze meeting hers. An attractive man even with his facial scars. Somewhere in his forties, if she had to guess, with dark brown hair and a strong build that spoke of hard work. “Sorry to disturb,” he said in his distinct Yorkshire accent, and started to turn around, aided by his cane.
“No, it’s fine,” she answered. It was his house, after all.
He stopped, and she continued, finding she was eager to talk with him. “Were you in town?” The old Cotswold market town of Stow-on-the-
Wold was only a couple miles away up the hill. She hadn’t been there yet, but wanted to go soon to explore it. Once she was up to being around strangers again.
“No, Karas and I were just out checking the fence in the far northwest pasture.” He reached his free hand down to rub the piebald Anatolian Shepherd’s head. The dog was like his shadow, following him everywhere. “We’ll leave you in peace.” He started to turn away again.
“No, please,” she blurted, not wanting him to leave. He made her feel…safe. He’d watched over her from afar while she’d recovered, never said much. She wanted to thank him for all he’d done for her.
He paused to look back at her, his expression uncertain.
“I’d…like the company.” He had a quiet, calm but watchful manner, and she was curious about him. At first, she’d been uncomfortable staying here in a house full of strangers without paying anything in return. Over the past few weeks, however, she’d begun to like it, and the strangers had become trusted friends. But as nice as the others here had been to her, she was lonely. She’d been lonely for most of her life, and that was doubly ironic given what sort of Valkyrie she was.
“You’re sure?” His deep brown gaze measured hers.
“Yes.”
He walked toward her with his uneven gait, his bearing proud and his loyal rescue dog at his side.
Though she saw him almost every day, Marcus Laidlaw remained an enigma. She’d been living in his house for weeks and yet barely knew anything about him, except that he’d served in the Royal Marines and then the SAS for most of his military career.
During a combat mission in Syria a few years ago he’d been seriously wounded and taken prisoner. Megan had helped him escape, but he still bore the marks of his ordeal. His left leg caused him a lot of pain, and the scars on the left side of his face and neck—and probably lower—were consistent with burns from an explosion. But whatever physical agony he’d endured, Kiyomi bet his mental wounds were even worse.
Invisible wounds were always the most painful.
Keeping the full length of the bench between them, he lowered himself onto the far end and stretched his left leg out while Karas sat facing them and accepted a pat on the head from Kiyomi. She was a friendly enough dog, but mostly aloof except with Marcus.
“Came out for a breath of air?” he asked, his clean, masculine scent reaching her. Dark and woodsy, like evergreens. It suited him and smelled fantastic.
She was glad he hadn’t witnessed her frantic kickboxing session. “Yes. Feels good to be outside.”
The scars near his left eye wrinkled with the hint of a smile. “Bit crowded in there, isn’t it?” he said, nodding at the manor house.
She couldn’t help but smile at his dry tone. “Yes. And I’ll admit to feeling like a fifth wheel sometimes.” All the Valkyries staying here were paired up with their boyfriends or husbands. While Kiyomi was happy that her new friends had found happiness, it also made her feel more alone and more of an outsider.
Seeing what they had only served as a reminder that she never would. Women like her didn’t fall in love or find love in return, and she’d accepted that long ago. Men wanted her. Some had become obsessed with her. But none of them had ever loved her and no one ever would. She was…damaged by all the things she’d done. Tainted by what Rahman had done.
Then what about Trinity?
She couldn’t ignore the whisper at the back of her mind. Trinity had been the same as Kiyomi was, gotten out, and now wore a beautiful engagement ring. Against all odds, she’d survived all her ops and had found a man who loved her enough to pledge himself to her for the rest of their lives. How had she done it? How had she overcome everything that had been programmed into her, and done the impossible?
“Aye, I know what you mean,” Marcus said, interrupting her thoughts. He’d left as much space as possible between them, making sure he didn’t invade her personal space.
An unwelcome twinge of embarrassment hit her. Marcus had been here to welcome them the day that Amber and Jesse had brought her to the manor. Kiyomi had been delirious from a combination of pain, fever and medication when they’d taken her upstairs and settled her onto the soft bed in the Blue Room.
But Marcus had seen what had been done to her, and had no doubt filled in enough details on his own to figure out the rest. He’d been standing at her bedside as Megan and Amber had checked the lacerations on her back, and while Kiyomi had hated an outsider seeing her that way, she couldn’t deny that something about Marcus soothed her deep inside.
As an intimate operative, her observational skills were honed to a razor’s edge. She’d spent a lot of time watching Marcus these past weeks, trying to get a read on him. He was a creature of habit, and liked routine. He was also a loner, preferring to spend most of his time alone except for the company of his dog, Karas.
Intuitively she felt safe around him. Partly because he was quiet and respectful, and partly because he was friends with Megan, but it was more than that. He wasn’t a creep who wanted anything from her or looked at her like an object. That was a welcome change.
“So, Megan says there’s another development in the Valkyrie hunt,” he mused, staring out at the garden and the tidy stable beyond the rear lawn.
“Yes. An acquaintance of mine, possibly.”
He turned his head toward her, those dark, fathomless eyes locking with hers. “Is it, now. Is that a good thing?”
“If it’s true, yes. Now we just have to find her to verify it.”
“Ah. And from what I know about Valkyries, that won’t be easy.”
“No. But nothing worthwhile ever is.”
His eyes warmed, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Aye.” He went back to staring out at the garden, the quiet settling around them.
“I wanted to thank you.”
That dark gaze cut back to hers. “For what?”
“For opening up your home to all of us. I know that must be hard for you. And for…watching over me.”
Something moved in his eyes, then he looked away. “It’s been my pleasure.”
He was uncomfortable with her gratitude. Kiyomi found that interesting. And they’d talked more in this past minute than they had her entire stay. “Can I ask you something?” she said after another minute. They had things in common that the others didn’t. Dark, terrible things. He’d gone through his own version of hell. They’d both been captured and taken prisoner by the enemy.
He gave her his full attention. “Aye, of course.”
“Do you sleep through the night since coming back from Syria?”
His face froze at her words.
Kiyomi flushed, wishing she’d never opened her mouth. He was quiet and private. She’d been trained to be polished, smooth as silk with her words, yet with him she just blurted out her innermost thoughts like an idiot. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s all right.” He shifted, fastened his eyes on the garden once more. “I don’t sleep through often.” After a pause, he glanced at her. “Nightmares?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, his eyes full of understanding and a pain she wished she could wipe away. “They’ll ease eventually. And dealing with everything in your head will get easier with time, I promise.”
She half-smiled. “Okay. I’m going to hold you to that.”
The back door of the house opened, drawing their attention. Amber stepped outside, the late afternoon sun glinting gold in her chocolate-brown hair. “There you are.” She headed toward them at a brisk pace, a woman on a mission.
“Everything okay?” Kiyomi asked, tensing inside.
“Yeah, I just wanted to update you.” She looked between them, then settled her gaze on Kiyomi. “I found something you should know.”
“What?”
“I found out who Dubois is buying the shipment of women from.” Her cold expression said it for her.
Rahman.
Kiyomi’s stomach grabbed as she thought of the women. Tha
t would have been her fate if not for Amber and Jesse. Rahman had made a serious mistake in not killing her when he’d had the chance.
One day she would kill him for what he’d done.
No matter what it took, no matter the cost, her last act on this earth would be to kill him.
Chapter Thirteen
“Damn, I just don’t feel right about this,” Chloe said to the others around the safehouse kitchen table the next morning.
So much had happened since she’d left Paris. She suddenly had a team to help her, and she was trying to wrap her mind around that. Megan’s sister Amber was monitoring various channels back in the UK, keeping them up to date on the latest dealings between Guillaume Dubois and the broker responsible for shipping the women to Marseille.
Unfortunately, their best plan for this op was now dead. A former Valkyrie working with Rycroft named Georgia was supposed to have flown in last night from the States to act as the rep, but intel at the last moment indicated her information might have fallen into Dubois’ network’s hands.
If true and they identified her, they would kill her on sight. The team had considered bringing Interpol in on this, but Rycroft no longer had contacts there he trusted implicitly. There was talk about a potential mole in the agency, possibly linked to Dubois.
That left them with only this backup plan of using Fleur, who had never been a real consideration before now.
Still, Chloe hedged. “I feel like I’m dangling a lamb out there when we know there are hungry wolves around.”
“We’re out of time and options. There’s no other way to get someone on board that ship when it comes in,” Megan pointed out.
Chloe made a frustrated sound and chewed her gum faster. The two of them had been over this for more than an hour now, going back and forth over various plans, and at this point Chloe had to agree that this one had the highest chance of working. Ty and Heath had joined them a little while ago to finalize everything before they drove to Marseille for her meeting with Fleur this afternoon. “I wish I could see another way.”