by Box Set
I think about all this for a moment, but then what's about to happen hits me like a ton of bricks.
“We-we're going back to London today?” I push the blankets aside to stand, and suddenly, nothing else matters to me. I have to do the job at my apartment. My computers are the only computers set up and equipped for the job.
Charlie nods, the muscles in his temples ticking.
I glance down at the floor, then back up at him, my throat burning to cry. “I...Charlie...I...” I have a million things I want to say. I don't want to go!
“We need to get a move on.” He waves me onward, and still cannot look at me. “We have to be at your apartment in two hours.”
“But, I—”
“C'mon, Blaire,” he says, stopping me from speaking
This is happening too quickly. My anxiety is through the roof. I thought we had tonight at least. I have so much that I want to ask him. So many questions about what he's found out about me. But most of all, I want to tell him that I care about him. He has to know the depth of my feelings for him.
Raising his eyebrows, he urges me onward. I drop my eyes to the floor and go over to him on mental command. He exits the room before me and leads the way downstairs in absolute silence. There by the front doors, he puts the carrier bag down on the floor and grabs my leather jacket. I snap my eyebrows together, remembering that I had it upstairs.
“Don't bother trying to find your gun.” He pushes my jacket up my arms, walks around to in front of me and fixes my collar.
I'm just staring up at him, panicking.
“I've got it,” he says, his eyes flickering up to mine, and then back down to his hands where he's still playing with my collar. “You can have it back when I drop you off at home.”
I don't give a fuck about my gun right now. I can't get my head around the fact that this is over.
His hand hovering over the crest of my back, he picks up the carrier bag and leads me out of the house, to his car. I peer over my shoulder at his house, at the stately aspect of it, feeling it drift further and further away. I really, really don't want to go.
“Charlie,” I whisper his name in a broken voice, but when he looks down at me, blue eyes full of conspiracy, I can't speak. I glance away, feeling like the biggest coward in the world. I care about him so much but have no courage to tell him.
Reaching his car, he opens the passenger door and helps me inside, putting the bag he's holding on my lap. He even buckles me in. I guess he can read my dismay.
“I made you something to eat,” he says, gesturing at the bag.
“I'm not hungry,” I say softly, blinking at him.
“You'll eat, Blaire.” Shutting my door as a way to suggest there's no room for discussion, he rounds the car and jumps into the driver's seat. He opens the bag and tells me to eat at least half the sandwich. “I won't be around anymore, and I'll be damned if I'll leave you unfed.”
“Okay,” I whisper, every hair on my body spiking.
The sandwich doesn't get past my lips. I fiddle with crumbs of bread to make it look like I'm eating, but I'm just not hungry.
We make the drive to London in total silence. Charlie has the radio on low. I'm grateful for the music cutting through the tension that is us, though it's doing nothing for my panic.
I can't believe this is probably our last few moments together and we're like this. It's heartbreaking.
“Eat some of that sandwich, Blaire,” Charlie orders, making me flinch.
I do this time. It tastes of nothing, and it's so hard to swallow, clogging up my air passage because my throat is so dry and tight.
As soon as we enter London, my panic turns to dread. I have to say something. I have to sway him into taking me back with him after I've done the job, so I can spend this last week with him. I miss him already and he's not left me yet.
We pull into my underground parking lot, pull up beside my Porsche, and Charlie turns off the car. He's quiet for a while, staring ahead. I watch him from the corner of my eye, unsure of what to say. I have so much that I want to say but no capacity to speak.
Charlie leans down for the glove compartment, digs out a phone—my phone—a set of keys, and my gun. He passes it all to me.
“I've put my number in your cell. It's under Decena.” He looks me right in the eyes now, causing mine to water. “If you ever need me, no matter the reason why—no matter what time of day it is—call me, and I'll come.”
I can't even nod at him. I'm cold to the bone.
“Are you sure you don't want to come with me?” Twisting at the waist, he grabs the back of my headrest and looks down on me, putting us mere inches from each other. “Because I can turn the car around and we'll leave. You can come and live with me in Mexico, or I'll set you up here in England. I'll take care of you. I'll do whatever you want.”
I stare down at everything in my lap. “I can't go with you, Charlie.” My voice is so small. “Maksim said I have to come back.” But I can stay with you for this last week. Why can't I tell him that?
He doesn't question me further. I can feel that he wants to, but he doesn't. Staring at me with powerful intensity, he reaches over, grabs my left hand, and shows me the bracelet he bought me. “Don't take this off,” he says, stroking over my palm with his thumb, turning my need to cry into a full blown stream of tears. “It's got a tracking device in it.”
My heart contracts.
“I can't let you go without knowing where you are, Blaire”—his eyes pace between mine—“I'll not be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”
Oh, fuck...it's over. I cannot get my head around how we've gone from being madly in lust with each other, to this.
I'm not sure I'll ever see him again, not unless I call him, as he just said, which I won't. I won't be allowed to call him.
I don't know how, but we seem to be on the same page because in a moment of desperation, we lean over and hug each other. He squeezes me to his chest, burying his face in my neck and my hair. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him like it's the last time, breathing in his scent and taking in the warmth of his body.
“Goodbye, Charlie.”
30
I step inside my apartment and stare at everything, frozen, remembering when Charlie said my place is incredibly clinical. It is. I've never really noticed before. The double height ceilings and the vast curving walls are gleaming white with no imperfections, cold to the eye. The arc staircase beyond the kitchen consists of smooth brushed steel, the floating steps wrapped in white veneer. The furnishings are white and ultra-modern with sharp edges. Even the air smells clinical with bleach.
It feels like forever since I've been here.
Shutting the front door, I wander around the dining table and through the kitchen area, where I put down my keys and my gun. I flinch at the sound of the keys clanging against the countertop.
It's so quiet.
Charlie's house is quiet too, but it's so full of things and personality. I miss his house already, the way it smells of him, the homely feel to it.
Stopping in my lounge area, I gaze deadpan out of the windows. The sky is dark gray and almost breaking with rain. The clouds twist and churn to the tune of the wind. It was sunny this morning. Now, it's gloomy.
I lower onto the middle of the leather couch, holding my phone in my hands, trying to remember a time when I felt comfortable here.
I can't. It doesn't feel like home. It never has.
Warm tears spill down my cheeks, spitting over my hands in my lap.
I cannot believe Charlie just left me here. We still have a week and he just left me?
Hunching over, I break into mute sobs, my chest aching so badly. In one day, I've discovered that my entire life might have been a lie, that Maksim might've outbid a government agency for me, but none of that bothers me. I don't give a shit about anything before Charlie anymore.
He said he loves me, and that he wants me to choose to leave Maksim and go with him for myse
lf. No one has ever given a shit about what I want. No one has even thought to give a shit about what I want.
I cry harder and louder, to the point where I can’t really breathe, hoping it'll make the pain in my chest go away. It doesn't. If anything, crying makes this seem more real.
Why has Charlie played Devil's Advocate by forcing my hand like this? He knows me. He knows I can't make such a massive decision for myself.
A part of me wishes he’d listened to his brother and just taken me. I can't bear to think of a life without him in it. A life where only Maksim matters.
Panic rolls in my stomach as I think of Maksim and I start trembling, my mind whirling. He might be here soon, and then everything goes back to the way it was before him. Before Charlie. Maksim might want to hit me. The satisfaction he derives from causing me pain might be stronger than ever before because we've never been separated for so long.
I'm scared.
I think about the first time I saw Charlie in Maksim's office, how crafty and careless he was, and how wicked he looked. He's changed so much over the past few months. He's not the man I first met. He said he loves me. Why does that hurt so fucking much to know?
My phone vibrates in my hand with an incoming call from Maksim. My stomach coils with dread.
I haven't spoken to him in so long that he almost feels like a stranger. I don't want to speak to him. I want to go back to Charlie, but I can't.
“Hello?” I say softly, putting the phone to my ear with a shuddering hand. I have to answer Maksim's call. If I don't, he'll definitely come over and belt me, and it's been so long since anyone has hit me. I don't want him to hurt me.
“My Little Pet,” he croons, his voice bizarrely warming me from within. It's an unanticipated, relieving feeling. “How are you?” he says huskily, his Russian accent like home to me.
Combing my hair back over my shoulder, I blink ahead, filtering the familiar sensation of his voice.
I still have Maksim, I remind myself, breathing in and out steadily to stow my tears. I still have him, so it's going to be okay. If I had neither Charlie nor Maksim, I'd really feel lost.
“I'm okay,” I say, a little nervous.
“Good. I'm glad.” He sounds very relaxed, nothing like I was expecting. “Are you ready to shut down London, My Little Pet? Everyone is waiting on you.”
Everyone? Does that mean Charlie as well?
I try to push him out of my mind because I can't think about him right now, not while I'm on the phone with Maksim, and not while I've got a job to do. I can cry over him tonight if need be.
From the couch, I roam into my dark computer room, sliding open the paneled door. I'm stunned to see my computers are all turned on. The room is aglow with white light.
Maksim has already been here today, it seems.
Did Charlie tell Maksim that he was going to leave me here today? That he's relinquishing his last week with me?
Don't think of him.
I sit in the large office chair and set my phone on loud speaker, putting it on the desk. “I'm just setting up,” I lie softly to steal a moment. I take in a deep breath and let it out, allowing my emotions to flow freely as if I'm meditating. I need to get a grip. I can't function in a state of emotional turmoil.
Blanking, I say, “I'm ready, Cэp Maksim.”
“She's ready,” he tells someone. “Right, My Little Pet, first, I want you to shut down a mile radius around Canary Wharf.”
Putting my fingers on the keyboard keys, I lock in a few codes and a decent percentage of London goes down, giving me full control. I scan the CCTV screens to be sure it's worked. Cars skid to a stop at blind traffic lights, causing a few minor accidents. Shop owners dart outside and glance about in a panic because their electricity is now nonexistent.
Perfect.
The next code I enter turns every traffic light red, causing mayhem.
“She's done it,” I hear someone say. I don't recognize his voice.
“Good girl,” Maksim says, which is strange because he never calls me a good girl. “Now, the black truck parked outside of Canary Wharf Barclays bank, the one with a number plate reading, Zeta, do you see it?”
Looking up at the top left computer screen, I zoom in using the computer mouse.
“Yes, I see it.” My chest aches. That's something to do with Charlie.
Please, stop thinking about him!
“You are to guide that truck through London to a private underground parking lot with no mistakes. Do you understand?”
“Sure,” I say softly. “I understand.”
He tells me the underground parking lot address. Then he snaps, “Podgotovsja!”
Sharp hairs cascade down my arms at the sound of Maksim telling me to prepare, and my entire body comes to attention.
I train my attention, and so it begins. While I bash at the keyboard keys like a robot, locking in some more codes to keep control of London's traffic system, I listen to all of Maksim's instructions. “Make these traffic lights red. Make those green.”
The truck is on target, speeding through every green light I summons.
On the screens, I notice the police are going crazy, lighting up London with their blues and reds, the sirens howling through the streets. I shut them off by the Museum of London Docklands, ensuring the traffic is so wild that they cannot get through. I then focus back on the truck, on getting it to point B with no hiccups.
The job is done within ten minutes. I delete my codes to hand back control of London's Closed Circuit System and sit back, clasping my hands together in my lap.
I listen to a commotion in the background on the phone, an array of voices saying, “We need to go. You get the money. I'll burn the truck. Tell Charlie I'll drop the money off to Andres.”
Charlie.
“You did well, My Little Pet,” Maksim says, pulling me from my crushing thoughts. “But I never for a second doubted you.” He goes quiet for a moment, and I suspect he's covering the phone speaker because I cannot hear a thing. Then, his voice fills my ears, “I want you at my house in an hour. I'll be here waiting for you.”
“Of course, Cэp Maksim,” I whisper. “See you soon.”
We bid each other goodbye and I hang up the phone, wondering what he has in store for me. I've done everything he's asked of me, so he has to be happy with me. He has to be. If he isn't, I'm not sure I can handle his wrath right now. I'm not in the right frame of mind.
Don't think of that, Blaire. I beg myself.
———
Pushing to my feet, I make my way out of my apartment, grabbing my keys and my gun off the kitchen countertop on route. I shove my gun in my inside jacket pocket, just as my phone pings with a text message. Checking the screen, I see it's from Decena.
My heart drops through me like a boulder. Why's he texting?
Eyes glued to my phone, I subconsciously press for the elevator and step inside, torn over whether I should read the message—itching to read it.
I shouldn't. I need to let go of Charlie. I need to let go of the past two months if I'm to get back to normal. Maksim will appreciate me getting back to normal, and even more so if I suffer no problems. He won't hurt me if I behave.
My heart splitting in two, I delete the message without reading it, and exit the elevator when the steel brushed doors slide open.
The lobby is dead quiet, like my apartment. I carry on through the building, pushing open the underground parking lot doors with effort because they're so heavy.
In the parking lot, it's cold and dark, the ceiling lights flickering on and off while buzzing with electricity.
I reach my car and click the keys to unlock it, making it beep and flash. I remember Charlie asking me stupid questions about this car. Why does my chest ache when I think about him?
Sinking into the driver's seat, I press the button to beckon the purring engine, and while my car warms up, I scroll through my other unread messages on my phone.
James has been going nuts. I've got
over thirty messages from him, asking if I'm okay and where am I.
Blaire where are you? I'm in Maksim's house looking for you. People are saying that Charlie Decena just shouted at everyone to leave the kitchen, though not you. Are you okay? I need a favor. Text me back ASAP.
Is it true that you had a fight with Charlie yesterday because he tried to kiss you? I've just overheard Maksim telling Rumo.
Blaire I'm worried. It's been over a week since anyone has seen or heard from you. Text me back to let me know you're still alive.
I've been to your apartment and taken some of your money. I'm hiring someone to find you. I have to know you're okay. You've been missing for three weeks now.
Blaire things are getting strange. MI5 has been to see Maksim. Your image and your fingerprint has been processed through the British system without Maksim's knowledge. What the fuck is going on?
Maksim has tried to pay off MI5 so they stop your search but they won't. They say the order has come from above. Where the fuck are you?
Some Latin American guy called Nicolas is in Maksim's office with him. He's trying to find out where you come from, asking questions about your parents. Please, I'm begging you Blaire if you can, message me back.
Blaire I'm fucking nervous. Charlie is at one of Maksim's parties and he's making a show of his feelings for you, saying how lovely you are, that he'd like to have you for himself. What's going on? I'm losing the plot here!
If you're getting my messages, here's an update. Tatiana has just flown in. She's going crazy at Maksim for supposedly bartering you. Why haven't you texted me back to tell me what's going on? Are you staying with Charlie?
Is it true that Charlie pardoned Maksim a debt of thirty-five million Euro's for three months with you? Tatiana is screaming at Maksim as I write this text, saying that he should've gone to her for the money, not sold you. Maksim is fighting his corner, telling her that Charlie wouldn't take any amount of money. He wanted you as payment. Is this all true?