“Hey! Princess, look at me!” Marc snapped. Her eye lids fluttered open and again, it took a moment before three of him turned into just one. “Keep those pretty green eyes on me, okay?”
“I can’t make any promises,” she mumbled.
“This isn’t the family fuckin’ feud! You think I came all the way to Africa to have a fuckin’ chat!? The diamonds, friend! Get me Stankovski’s diamonds!”
“Did I ever tell you that, Lily?” Marc asked, standing casually with his hands clasped behind his back.
“Tell me what?” she asked back. The arm around her neck got tighter, the man behind her angrier, screaming out slang curse words that she didn’t understand. She ignored him, just concentrated on Marc, just like he’d asked her.
“That you have the absolutely most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen,” Marc answered. She smiled.
“Really?”
“Really. Don’t ever stop looking at me, okay?”
“Okay.”
It happened so fast. She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. While the angry Brit was spitting and swearing, Marc whipped his right arm forward. A fraction of a second, and he pulled the trigger. A fraction of an inch, and Lily would’ve been shot. A fraction of a heartbeat, and the man behind her was dead. He fell backwards, the gun sliding out of his hand, his arm around her neck pulling tight. She almost went down with him, but she staggered backwards and grabbed the ruined hood of the suburban, managing to shrug him off.
“Are you okay?” Marc was suddenly at her side.
“What? Yeah. Fine. Okay. Nice shot,” she mumbled, rubbing the side of her head.
“Fuck, there went any leads. I can’t believe he shot his friend,” Marc said, cupping her face in his hands and tilting it up towards him.
“He was kind of a dick,” Lily agreed, letting her eyes roll up so she could stare at the sky.
“Maybe I was wrong, maybe you do have a concussion,” Marc mumbled, putting his thumbs under her eyes and pulling down on her skin. She finally looked at him.
“Do you really think I have gorgeous eyes?” she asked. He smiled at her.
“Sweetheart, you have beautiful eyes. Like emeralds.”
“Always jewels with you.”
“What can I say, princess, I always did like emeralds more than diamonds.”
“I hate that,” she sighed. “My name is Lily. Why can’t you just call me Lily?”
“Because saying your name feels too comfortable, sweetheart. And I’m the kind of man who can’t afford to get too comfortable,” he explained. She laughed.
“You’ve said my name lots. I think you’re already too comfortable,” she teased. He frowned.
“I think I am, too.”
She wanted to examine that statement. To pull it apart and understand him. Understand such a dangerous, complicated man. Wanted him to be comfortable. Wanted him to curl up in her soul and make her understand her own dangers, her own complications. Wanted him to change her. To change for her. To change everything.
… want him to catch me before I hit the ground …
That was her last thought as her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out.
DAY FOUR
Marc grimaced, rubbing a hand across his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in four days, not since the morning of the heist. He would kill for a razor and some soap.
And just a break. A goddamn fucking break, for five fucking minutes.
There was a noise behind him and he glanced away from the road, into the backseat. Lily was stretched out on the seat, mostly hidden underneath a blanket. Only her arm had worked its way out and into view, stretching towards the door. He smiled and went back to watching the road.
She’d been unconscious for hours, ever since she’d passed out after their car chase. It had been eleven hours, he’d started to get worried, but there wasn’t a whole lot he could do – it wasn’t like there was a hospital every couple miles, and even if there had been, stopping wasn’t necessarily in their best interest. Mauritania had a strong terrorist presence, particularly in its border regions. Terrorists that delighted in kidnapping westerners. Marc was confident in his ability to give off a “just try and kidnap me” vibe, but Lily was like a beacon, just begging to be captured. Tall, redhead, fair skin, and about as All-American as a person could come; all she needed to complete the look was an apple pie in one hand.
No, stopping for a CAT scan was out of the question.
“Where the fuck am I?”
Marc chuckled and looked back again. She was struggling to push the blanket away from her face as she attempted to sit up.
“Take it easy there, sweetheart. I put you in the back seat so you could stretch out,” Marc explained. She brushed her messy out of her face, then winced. Her fingers must have rubbed against the cut on her forehead. It was up near her hair line, almost unnoticeable with her hair down.
“Where are we? Didn’t we crash our car?” she asked, her voice scratchy.
“Yeah. I took the other car, but I’m not sure how long it’s going to last. Here,” he said, passing a water bottle back to her.
“Yes, thank god,” she groaned, lifting it to her lips. She guzzled it down, the liquid spilling over her chin and down her front.
“Careful, don’t make yourself sick,” he warned her. She waved him away and polished off the whole bottle.
“Okay. First, I need food. I’m starving,” she stressed, tossing the blanket aside before crawling between the front seats and sitting next to him.
“I figured you would be,” he replied, moving a bag out from under her feet and dropping it in her lap. “Mostly dried fruits, some bread. We can find you something more substantial when we pick up another car. We’re right outside of Nouakchott.”
The capital city of the entire country, it sat right on the Atlantic ocean and was just a few miles south of Western Sahara. If Lily hadn’t woken up, he would’ve gotten them a hotel for the night. But she’d slept clean through the day – she’d be good to drive all night. They could make it all the way to the border of Morocco without stopping, then just one more day till they could reach Tangier. Till it would be over and he could have his diamonds. Clear his name.
Because that’s what’s important still. Right. Do you actually buy that?
“Wow, you drove all that way? In this piece of shit?” she asked, her eyes wandering over the hood while she dug food out of the bag.
The Scout they’d been driving had been useless. Marc had loaded everything up into the suburban, then drove off, hoping for the best. The windshield had been so badly cracked that he had just kicked it out. They had no windows, at all. It made a god awful squealing sound, and white smoke was constantly belching out from underneath the hood, and when he hit fifty miles per hour, it felt like it was going to shake apart. But it kept running, and that was all that mattered.
“Yup. How’s your head? What all do you remember?” he asked, cupping her chin and moving her head so she faced him.
“Eh, kinda hurts. I remember crashing. I remember … getting out of the Scout. I remember … you, and a guy. Shooting? You talking to me. Something,” her voice trailed off as she searched her memory.
“Close enough,” he figured it might be better that she didn’t remember everything.
It had been a bold move, to shoot a man who was holding a gun to her head. Risky. Marc was a good shot, but so many things could have gone wrong. Just one wrong breath, and Lily would’ve gotten shot. By him, or by the hired gunman.
Never. I would never let that happen.
Sometime between leaving the boarding house in Mali and their car chase earlier that day, things had changed. At first, Lily had been a chew toy. Something to play with, something to tie in knots. Then she had been an adversary. An enemy. An agent of betrayal, sent to ruin his career at best, and end his life at worst. Later on still, a nuisance. Swallowing the diamonds. Arguing with him. Punching him in the face. Trying to shoot him.
But she had also prov
en her worth. Originally unarmed, she had stopped two assailants at that boarding house, and killed one. She had never been scared of him, not once. And she’d also almost kicked his ass, on several occasions. He almost admired her. Was definitely amused by her.
Undeniably attracted to her.
Seeing her helpless, though, had trumped any and all of those thoughts. Wanted or not, she had become more than just his partner in their little adventure. Her body had belonged to him on two separate occasions, and apparently that was more than enough for him to take complete possession of it, in his mind. Seeing the other man leer at her, threatening to sexually assault her … shooting wasn’t good enough. It made Marc long for his knife kit. He’d wanted to eviscerate the other man. Remove his intestines while he was still alive. Make him regret even noticing that Lily existed, let alone threatening her. Touching her.
Motherfucker.
Bad, bad, bad. Marc loved women because he liked to fuck – that was it. Lily was a good fuck and a hell of a fighter. That was all it could ever be, nothing else. She was going to Moscow on some stupid suicide mission to kill the Pakhan of the Bratva. Marc was returning to prove his innocence and to kill Ivanov. They were destined for two very different paths.
Maybe not so different …
He shook his head. A redhead with big green eyes was not going to derail his life. He just had to keep his head straight. No more thinking about that red hair or those green eyes. No more sex. Get to Tangier. Get the diamonds. Get to Liberia. Get the fuck out of Africa. Get the fuck back to work. There would be plenty of time for sex with lots of other women, if he could just finish this one job.
But none of those other women will be like her.
“We’re going to die of carbon monoxide poisoning before we get anywhere,” Lily’s voice interrupted his thoughts. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face.
“We’re fine, we have plenty of ventilation.”
“You didn’t see any other cars along the way?”
“Excuse me if I didn’t have time to go traipsing around Africa with your dead weight slung over my shoulder, searching for a stretch limo for you,” he snapped, his anger at their attraction bubbling over onto her.
“Want me to drive?” she suddenly asked.
“Why?”
“Because you’re bitching like a cranky five year old. I think you need a nap,” she informed him, and he burst out laughing.
“Shut up. Not only did I not want to waste time since this car was still running, but this area is super fucked up. Terrorists, gangs, land mines. I didn’t really feel like wandering off the beaten path,” he explained. She grimaced.
“God, I hate this place,” she grumbled.
“You volunteered for the job,” he reminded her. She sighed and nodded.
“Means to an end. I always remind myself of that.”
They drove in silence for a while. The more she ate, the more her color and general attitude improved. She almost seemed chipper. It probably also helped that she’d gotten the most sleep either of them had seen since Liberia, before the heist. She almost seemed like the woman he had first met back at the Bratva’s safe house.
Five weeks ago.
A million years ago.
When they entered the center of the city of Nouakchott, Marc hooked south and drove till he came upon the district of El Mina. He’d been there before, when he’d been a lot younger. Him and a friend, visiting the city’s “secret” red light district – El Mina was known for prostitution. The neighborhood was rough, dangerous, but perfect for what he needed to do. Mauritania was an Islamic country and Nouakchott had very strict rules and laws pertaining to its governing religion. A foreigner stealing a car would not go over well. Being in El Mina was risky, but he decided it was less than the risk that would come from stealing where cops would be likely to catch him.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” Lily asked, peering out her side of the car as they came to a stop. She was hunched low in her seat, with the blanket curled around her head and draped across her front.
“No. But I think it’s the best option we’ve got,” he replied, reloading his gun before tucking it into the waist of his pants. What he wouldn’t give for one of his holsters.
“I read this article,” Lily started, her voice barely above a whisper, “about how carjacking is such an issue in South Africa that people do crazy things to protect their cars. Rig it so if their doors are opened from the outside, shit like lye and mace or even explosions will go off in the carjacker’s face.”
Marc snorted and leaned over the wheel, watching the traffic in front of them. There were a few people out and about, but they were all men. Not one single woman. Every now and then, a beat up car rolled past, or a truck. Once a donkey pulling a cart.
“Good thing we’re not in South Africa. Once I get the car, follow me. If you see anything happen, just drive,” Marc instructed as he opened his door and got out of the car.
“I’m not just gonna leave -”
“Drive,” he snapped, slamming the door shut before leaning in the open window. “Find the nicest hotel in town and wait there. I’ll find you.”
“This is stupid.”
“Shut up, Lily, and just wish me luck.”
“Good luck.”
Marc jogged away from the car, hurrying to the side of a building and hugging the wall. There didn’t seem to be any people anywhere near, and he poked his head around the corner, looking up and down the street. A couple men at the end of the block. Another young man sitting on a stoop at the other end of the street.
Perfect.
Marc took his gun out of his pants and flicked off the safety, resting his finger alongside the trigger. He didn’t think he’d have to use it, but a person could never be too careful. He expected it to be a quick in and out. Scare the driver, yank him out of his seat, then take the car. Circle back so Lily could follow him. Easy, peezy, lemon squeezy. He hurried out into the road, pointing the gun at the car coming towards him.
A Kalashnikov rifle jutted out the window and Marc ducked as bullets laced the ground in front of him, a staccato beat in the night air. He crab walked backwards, shuffling behind an abandoned vehicle. A few more shots were fired, then the other car sped off. Marc stayed down, holding his gun up, ready to fire back.
There was a familiar squealing sound and suddenly the suburban pulled up next to where he was hiding. He glared as he ran around and hopped in the car. Lily didn’t say anything, just sped off down the street.
“Not a fucking word,” he swore.
“I told you so.”
“Fuck you.”
“What the fuck did you think would happen!? We’re in the fucking ‘hood’ of one of the countries that has a permanent spot on the ‘don’t fucking go there’ list from the U.N.! Did you think they were really just going to give up their car!?” she snapped.
“Enough! I don’t hear any bright fucking ideas coming out of your mouth!” he shouted at her. She glared at him for a moment, her eyes just a flash of green as they drove under a lone street light.
“You know what? Yeah, I do have an idea.”
They drove for about twenty minutes, getting lost at one point. Eventually, though, she found the way to a busy street that was lined with large, important looking buildings. He narrowed his eyes as he watched sign after sign go past.
“Is this a joke?” he asked, turning towards her.
“No.”
“Lily. We have millions of dollars worth of conflict diamonds, not to mention a shit ton of illegal weapons, no passports, and no visas. I don’t think driving down embassy row is such a smart fucking idea,” he growled.
“How about you shut up and just trust me for once!?”
She found a nice hotel near the French embassy and parked down the street. Marc couldn’t figure it out – she was going to seek help from the French? But she didn’t get out of the car. She climbed into the back seat, discarding the blanket as she went. Marc
turned and watched as she took off her boots.
“What are you doing?” he questioned. She held out her hand.
“Give me a knife.”
He dug one out of their weapons bag and handed it to her, then watched in surprise as she used it to rip a hole near the top of one pant leg. She dragged the knife through the material, lifting her hips so she could get underneath her thigh. When it was almost a complete circle, she dropped the knife and just ripped the pant leg away.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” he repeated the question as she did the same to her other pant leg. The sensible cargo pants she’d been wearing during their entire time together were now a pair of incredibly short shorts. She handed the knife back to him.
“Coming up with a plan that will actually work and won’t get anyone killed,” she said, scooting to the edge of the seat. She scrunched up the bottom of her tank top, then gathered it at her back, pulling it tight and knotting it, creating a mid-riff shirt that ended just below her breasts. Then she yanked on the neck line, pulling on it till it showed well past the top of her bra.
“While this is a lovely show, I have no fucking clue what you’re doing,” he told her. She moved to the floor of the car, standing on her knees while she rearranged her auburn locks, piling them into a messy bun on top of her head.
“How do I look?” she asked, reaching into the front of the car and tilting the rear view mirror so she could see her reflection.
“Hot. Your legs look amazing, but not as good as your tits,” he answered honestly. She rubbed at her neck, at the fading marks.
“What about the bruises? Too much?” she mumbled to him as she put her boots back on.
“Too much for what? You look like you had a rough day, but not crazy,” he answered, his eyes sweeping over her form. The bruise on her chest was buried in her cleavage, her bra aiding in hiding it. Most of her other bruises were high up on her rib cage, still hidden by her shirt. There was nothing she could do about her neck, but luckily her legs had gotten away unscathed. He let his eyes wander over every inch of creamy skin.
Focus!
“Oh, well. Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled, then pushed open the door and hopped out.
Best Laid Plans Page 15