The man’s fingers buried into Maggie’s shoulder much harder than necessary. Maggie shot him a wicked grin, and in that split second, he knew he’d made a fatal error.
She attacked, resorting to an old faithful by first punching the mountain of a man in the throat, then pressing down on the area between his thumb and finger as hard as she could to free herself from his hold.
By the time she freed herself, the second guard was in attack mode. Maggie apprehended the gun from the man struggling to breathe beside her and ducked behind his bulk as a shield.
“Celine!” Samuel cried, struggling out of his seat and stumbling toward her. “Wait for me.”
The second guard eyed Samuel, seeming to read the room wrong and thinking Samuel was charging at his colleague. He fired his gun, and Samuel stopped in the middle of the trailer, eyes wide. A bullet to the back was no joke, and before Samuel could mutter any last words, he fell forward and crumpled to the floor, dead before he touched the ground.
Maggie fired at the second guard from behind the first, sinking three bullets into his chest to take him down. The man fell to the floor with Samuel, and his gun skidded across the floor.
The remaining guard clocked it and dove. Maggie fired again, the man so big and close within the trailer he was a hard target to miss. Like the other men, he crashed dead on the ground.
A crashing boom rang from outside, and Maggie smiled despite herself. Ashton never made an entrance without a bang.
She collected the second guard’s gun, the grip on both weapons easing the tension in her muscles a little. Being unarmed left her uneasy.
The trailer door had a little window, and she checked through the slats in the blinds to get a read of the situation outside before barging into the fray. Like most things Ashton had a hand in, it was pandemonium.
The dock was lit up like a bonfire, and the explosions burst from all around like a chaotic fireworks display. People ran in all directions in the confusion—guards, half-dressed men, and girls who were already scared enough. Needs must, though, and the wilder things were, the less of a handle Grigore and the rest of Ivan’s syndicate would have over the situation.
Maggie slipped out of the trailer and the smell of gasoline and burned plastic hit her senses from all angles. Containers were alight and blasting waves of heat across the port. They blew up like a row of dominoes in a symphony of explosions that sang through the air and illuminated the surroundings in a bright orange glow.
The armed guards were Maggie’s first priority. The trailers behind Grigore’s had been defended by a guard a piece, but some of them appeared to have left their stations in the midst of the attack. Only one remained, and Maggie took him out before he spotted her, sending a bullet through his temple.
Normally, Maggie would be concerned about killing people who weren’t her direct target. Life was precious, a fact she was more familiar with than most having been so close to death and dealing it out too. If she had to kill someone, of course, she did, but if it could safely be avoided, a bullet to the kneecap was just as effective.
Maggie had no qualms killing these men. All of them played a role in trafficking the unfortunate souls who found themselves trapped in their clutches. A bullet to the head was the least they deserved.
She opened the door of the closest trailer. A huddle of girls was inside, each younger looking than the next. Maggie searched their faces for Tamira, but she wasn’t among them.
“English?” Maggie asked.
One of the girls nodded and relayed Maggie’s words to the rest.
“Stay inside.” Maggie placed one of her two guns into a girl’s hand, the calmest of the bunch with steady, serious eyes. “If any of those men come in, you pull that trigger without question.”
Maggie left the girls and went in search of Grigore, Tamira, and her boys. Leon still wasn’t right, physically or emotionally, and darts of fear for him pierced the corner of her mind.
Sirens wailed through the air and grew louder as the Belgian authorities and fire brigade rushed to the scene. Even less time than Maggie thought.
Girls in various states of undress and panic scurried through the lot of the makeshift brothel, screaming and sobbing amid the chaos playing out before them. Maggie ushered as many of them as she could toward the relative safe haven of the trailers.
Someone crashed into Maggie from the side and tackled her to the hard ground with a thud. The air swept from her lungs as a great weight pinned her down. Maggie wriggled under the man and caught the glimpse of silver as he rose the knife into the air to embed into her chest.
Her heart raced. She couldn’t move fast enough as the blade cut through the air toward her. She twisted with everything she had and screamed as the metal sliced her skin.
Blood pooled across her abdomen within a matter of seconds, the slash long and deep, but not as deep as the man intended.
Maggie searched for her gun. It lay on the ground, just out of reach.
She stretched her arm, gritting her teeth as her fingers brushed the handle.
With the first blow missing the mark, her attacker aimed again. He shifted slightly and sat up to get a better view of Maggie’s struggling form. Spotting her opening, Maggie launched her knee into his groin and sent the man doubling over. She rolled over, hissing at the burning pain in her stomach, and collected her weapon.
The man grabbed her hair and pulled her back, ripping locks out with his big fingers, but she allowed it, using the momentum to place her into position to release a bullet under his chin once she got close enough.
It took off half his face.
Maggie ran a hand over her wound, and her fingers came back slick and crimson. She swore and got to her feet, the mess of a man beside her already forgotten as she scanned the burning city of containers.
There.
Grigore, surrounded by a group of his men, running toward an SUV. He had someone by the hair, dragging them along with him.
Maggie strained her eyes, her mind growing hazy from the pain of her knife wound.
It was Tamira. She was sure of it.
She broke into a run and charged toward Grigore and his crew. Tamira was too close for Maggie to risk taking a shot at the syndicate’s temporary leader.
A terrified-looking john with his shirt unbuttoned ran in front of her as he searched for an exit among the flames. Maggie shoved him out of the way, the effort sending stabbing jolts of searing pain across her open skin.
Grigore shoved Tamira into the back of the SUV and got in with her as the engine roared to life. Maggie sprinted as fast as she could, but she was too far away, and too slow thanks to her injury.
Tamira’s face came into view from the back window, and she and Maggie locked eyes. The girl’s hands pressed against the glass until a hand curled around her face and pulled her back and out of sight.
The driver put the pedal to the metal and hightailed it from the port, the tires screeching in their wake. Maggie got to one knee and aimed at the vehicle with one eye closed. She fired the rest of her clip at the car, sinking bullets into the wheels to stop them from leaving.
Maggie swore. The tires were bulletproof.
All she could do was watch as the SUV sped off into the night, taking Grigore and poor Tamira with it.
Chapter 25
Police lights flashed through the port as officers cuffed the collection of remaining guards who made it out alive and the johns who weren’t fast or smart enough to escape in time. Maggie made sure no one went near the girls before she spoke with them, making it clear to anyone with a badge that they were not to be arrested. They were the victims in all of this and had been through enough.
Helmsley had made some calls to the Belgians to smooth things over, likely calling in a few favors in the process. Interpol were on their way, too. Apparently, they’d been investigating Ivan Dalca’s operation but had lost sight of its whereabouts in recent months.
The authorities would be on the lookout for the SUV, Magg
ie having memorized the license plate number. Not that she had any hopes of them finding them, even with CCTV at their disposal. The plates would be replaced out of sight from surveillance before the end of the night, if not the SUV itself for a less conspicuous vehicle.
Maggie sat in the back of an ambulance for the second time that week, only this time she was the patient, and not a very good one at that. She shooed away a man fussing over her in Flemish and pointed him toward one of the girls who had fallen in the chaos and broken her arm.
“I want you to do it,” Maggie told him.
Leon eyed the paramedics. “They’re better equipped.”
Sweat beaded on Maggie’s forehead, the loss of blood sending a chill through her that made her teeth chatter. “You’re trained just as much as them. You know what to do.”
Maggie didn’t want anyone else touching her. The pain across her stomach, along with her failure to apprehend Grigore or save Tamira, stung like a bitch. She clung on to her last nerve to stop her from taking out said frustrations on everyone and everything in proximity. Except for Leon. Never Leon.
He brushed away her hand pressing over the wound and peeled back her blood-sodden shirt. “It’d be better if we had a doctor look at this. No telling how dirty his blade was.”
“I’ll get a tetanus shot,” Maggie retorted. “Besides, we don’t have time.” Grigore would be extra pissed now that they’d ruined his uncle’s trafficking operation, and she didn’t like his attitude back in the trailer. He was too confident of Ivan’s return. Even now, the Dalca syndicate still held all the cards.
“As long as you trust me,” Leon said, meeting her eyes.
Maggie softened under his stare. Those dark, honest eyes captured her attention and calmed her down. “You know I do,” she said, brushing a hand over his face. “More than anyone.”
He had fared better than Maggie, a fact she was more than thankful for. She’d had a word with Ashton before heading out earlier to make sure Leon was on the sidelines of their plan as much as possible. Like always, Ashton had come through for her.
Right now, her best friend was mingling with the girls and making sure they were safe. Some of them appeared to speak one of his many languages, and he had them laughing, despite everything they’d witnessed and been victim to. Maggie smiled. Ash would never admit it, but he had a big heart.
Leon cleaned the wound with rubbing alcohol first. Maggie’s knuckles turned bone-white as she gripped the sides of the stretcher.
“You okay?” Leon checked, his hands efficient yet gentle.
Maggie nodded, unable to speak around the sting of the alcohol, and let him work.
“It’s deeper than I’d like, but it doesn’t seem to have hit anything vital. Superficial.”
“I wish it felt like that,” Maggie said with a laugh, instantly regretting the swimming sensation it caused in her head.
She’d had worse, but her injury was ill-timed, and the threat of Dalca’s syndicate was more pressing than ever. Now Grigore didn’t have his girls to worry about; all he had was time to focus on getting his uncle back. If he made the connection between Celine Delacroix and the Unit, his retaliation could result in many more lives lost. If Grigore was anything like his uncle, he’d make sure his wrath would be felt by those who’d wronged him.
And Maggie had wronged him all right. She wasn’t aware of how much each girl was worth to him financially, but whatever the monetary value, it was a lot for him to lose. Especially in the absence of his uncle, where Grigore was undoubtedly trying to prove himself as a worthy successor to the insidious empire.
“This is going to hurt,” Leon warned as he prepared to make the first of what would be many stitches.
Maggie sucked in a breath as he stuck the needle into her skin and released it once it had gone through the other end. It was a sensation she’d experienced many times, but never got used to. Just like with Leon. No matter how many times he touched her, each time felt like the first. She watched him work, all of his attention focused on patching her up. His tongue poked out from the side of his full lips the same way it did when he was defusing a bomb or poring over the mountain of paperwork upon returning from a job.
“Feels like only the other day I was helping stitch you up,” Maggie commented, her leg brushing against him as he worked. Even amid the pain and irritation, tingles in nervous excitement still danced within her at his proximity, his deep voice like music to her ears, sending thrills through her body.
Leon smirked and stole a glance at her. “That’s because it was.”
They’d spent more nights patching each other up than they had on dates in the time they’d known each other. You could learn a lot about a person by going out to dinner, but nowhere near as much as you did fighting for your lives together and risking it all. It was a shared past that could never be forgotten, not like some meal at a restaurant. It was imprinted in Maggie’s mind, as was every scar Leon wore across his hard body, like a road map to his soul that she could follow with her hands. A battle-worn body that matched her own.
“How did the other guy fare?” he asked, keeping a steady and even pace with each stitch.
Maggie blinked away the sight of the man with no face. “Let’s just say he’s not on Ivan’s payroll anymore.”
Leon paused for a moment, and his face darkened. “Good.”
“It had to be done,” Maggie said, eager to change the subject. “How are you feeling?”
“You’ve been slashed and require”—Leon counted—“at least twelve stitches, and you’re asking me how I am?”
“I’m worried about you,” Maggie admitted.
Leon continued stitching. “I’m fine.”
Maggie raised his chin and met his eyes, the white in his left one still bloodshot. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m a great liar,” Leon said, escaping her hold and returning to work. “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be on the Unit’s payroll anymore.”
His tone was light, but he shifted on his knees before her and cleared his throat, visible signs of his obvious discomfort that he tried to conceal.
“True, but you’ve never been able to lie to me. I always know.”
What Maggie didn’t say was Leon had never had to lie or keep things from her. His stark honesty with her always left her taken aback. He never shied from professing his feelings or how he felt about her. Never kept anything from her, even when they were in the off periods of their on-and-off-again relationship.
Leon had always been open with her. Until now.
“Why did you take the job in Somalia?” Maggie asked, unable to hold herself back anymore. The question had been burning inside her ever since Grace briefed her on Leon’s self-appointed mission back in London.
Leon’s jaw tightened. “There was no one else with the right specs. Yonas Ibori’s still on paternity leave, and we couldn’t let an opportunity to get into the folds of Yasir’s operation slide. He was too dangerous.”
“You’re supposed to be the new chief,” Maggie continued, her voice rising as the fear of losing him came back like a haunting recollection. Of losing him before they got the chance to finally be together, to be happy. “It’s a desk job. Bishop never went out in the field.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think Bishop is a good example of what a chief should and shouldn’t do,” Leon snapped, snipping off the remaining thread after he tied the last stitch into a knot.
“You know what I mean. Grace told me the brief was to gather intel, that was it. You were supposed to come back home after that.”
With the wound stitched, Leon rummaged through the supply drawers and found plasters to cover the wound. “An opportunity presented itself.”
Maggie held up her wet, dirt-covered shirt for him to place the plaster over her newly sealed wound, his hands still gentle even as their tempers grew.
“To what?” she said. “Place yourself in immeasurable danger? You knew the risk you were taking by going into his compound. Yo
u’re a lot of things, Leon, brave and stubborn among them, but never stupid. Why did you do it?”
Leon took off the disposable gloves and tossed them into the ambulance’s bin along with the bloody gauze and other items. “Someone had to do something. He had to be stopped, and I was in a position to do it.”
Maggie tried in vain to see past the wall he’d constructed between them. “It was a suicide mission.”
“So, I’m incapable now, is that it?” Leon’s chest heaved as he stepped away from her. “Useless?”
Maggie’s shoulders slumped, too tired to argue. “Leon, I didn’t say that. You’re more than capable, but not for a job with the odds against you like that. None of us could have carried that out and lived to tell the tale. You almost died.”
“You could have done it.”
Without another word, Leon jumped out the back of the ambulance and left her alone. A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, and she swiped it away. Maybe after everything they’d been through, they weren’t going to make it. Not with Leon refusing to open up to her, and Maggie still keeping things from him.
Maybe, in the end, they were better off apart.
Chapter 26
London, Great Britain
17 July
* * *
Director General Grace Helmsley closed the door to her terrace house on Talbot Road, Notting Hill, and leaned her back against the solid wood. It had been a long, tedious day with no results. The worst kind of day. Unproductive and no closer to nailing the bastards threatening her agents.
She kicked off her high heels and released a sigh, placing her stockinged feet on the cold tiled floor of her hallway. Grace hated wearing heels, but they made her taller and more imposing, the ominous clack of her approach instilling fear in even the hardiest assassins she’d wrangled in her long government career.
The house lay in silence like it always did these days. Even three years after losing her husband, she still expected him to traipse downstairs from his home office and give her a warm, all-encompassing hug that, no matter how horrible a day she’d had, always managed to make her feel better.
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