by Amity Cross
When he was done, he drained the filthy water and filled it again, this time carefully washing my hair. He was still stained with all the things he’d done, and his devotion to me was earth shattering. He was mine, and I was his. He’d said he loved me…
When he went to lift me, I held my hand up. “Get in the shower,” I said with a smile. “I can help myself to bed.”
He frowned but nodded at the mirror. “There’s ointment in the cupboard.”
While I did as he bade, he stripped, discarding his ruined clothes on top of mine and turned the shower on. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I shied away. I looked tired, sunken…hollow. Running my fingers along my cheek, I winced as the pain from the burn ebbed. I’d wear his mark for the rest of my life. I could let it define me, let it be my weakness, or I could let it remind me of what I'd almost lost. The ultimate defiance would be to wear it with pride. I’d suffered, but I’d won.
Taking the ointment into the bedroom as my hitman showered, I rubbed it over the burns and cuts on my stomach and ribs before sinking into one of X’s T-shirts. I breathed in his scent as I climbed into bed, pulling the blankets over me. I was keen to sleep, not to dream, but to rest. Who knew what would happen once I closed my eyes.
I didn’t have much time to ponder that juicy notion because I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow.
I was home and safe, and that was more than fine with me.
X knelt before me, dabbing his finger into the ointment. “Sit still,” he scolded as I wriggled away from him.
I sat on the sofa as he attended to my face. The fire was crackling in the hearth, holding winter’s chill at bay but not the finger of X with his stingy as fuck ointment. As he began coating the burn, I hissed but held firm. He’d only chastise me if I flinched.
“Does it bother you?” he asked, his gaze locked firmly on his task.
“What? The pain? Please.” I rolled my eyes.
X smiled and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”
There were worse things in the world than facial scars. I’d live with them, just as he did. They were a reminder of my ordeal, but they were also a mark of what I was able to endure in that room…what we were both able to overcome. We were bonded together by something even deeper than love. Something that neither of us would ever be able to explain.
“No,” I said. “It doesn’t bother me.”
X shook his head, but for once, it wasn’t condescending. He held up the ointment. “Do you want me to check the others?”
I really wanted to call him out for his Florence Nightingale act, but I let it go. He could have this if it made him feel better. I know he still blamed himself for pushing me away the night before I was taken. “No. They’re okay.”
He screwed the lid back onto the ointment and tossed it onto the coffee table.
“What happened to Vaughn?” I whispered as X sat next to me.
“You know he left with Lorelei. I don’t know where they were going.”
“Good,” I said with a sigh. “The last thing they need is someone sniffing around. I hope they can find each other again.”
“I don’t see why not,” he replied. “You did exactly that for me.”
“Stop getting soppy,” I retorted, rolling my shoulders, trying to work the stiffness out of them. I’d slept on and off for three days straight and was feeling it. I’d needed the rest, but without movement, my body had seized up and ached more than anything. Sleep had been dreamless, but I suspected it was because of my exhaustion. Nightmares might come in time, or they might not, and if they did, X would be here to help me.
“I’m going to go for a walk,” I murmured.
X cocked his head to the side.
I placed my hand over his. “Alone.”
He regarded me for a moment before nodding. “I’ll be here when you return.”
Rising to my feet, I said, “I won’t go far. Just out to the field.” I knew he was trying not to show that he was fretting. Physical distance wasn’t something he did well anymore.
X rose with me. “I’ll be here waiting.”
I pulled on his coat because I knew it was warmer and stuck my feet into my boots. Opening the door, I glanced back at X, who was watching my every move. I smiled and stepped through into the world beyond.
It had been snowing again. Everything was white and silent, muffled so close it was like I stood in another universe. I’d had many moments of solitude while in my prison with The Watchman to contemplate my life, but they had been fraught with hallucinations and fear. This time I only felt calm. I’d stepped through the front door and into a parallel universe of emotions and I was glad for it.
Mei’s car still sat out in the yard and I felt myself drawn to it, so I crossed the driveway, my boots crunching on the gravel underfoot. Trying the door, I found it unlocked and slipped inside, sitting in the passenger seat. Dried blood was still smeared on the steering wheel from X’s hands, and I stared at it, waiting for the flashback but nothing came.
I flipped open the glove box like a nosey bitch, pausing when I saw a black leather box and what looked like a khaki green manila folder underneath it. Glancing up at the cottage, I wondered if X had been out here to look, but I knew that he wouldn’t have wanted to come even this far away from me.
So, I decided to snoop on his behalf.
Opening the box, my eyes widened as an official and very real looking medal was revealed. A silver star was attached to a red, white, and blue ribbon—the colors of the British flag. I read the words that had been engraved upon the points and my eyes widened. It was awarded for service and bravery to an agent of British Military Intelligence. Agent Oliver Cassel.
Snapping the lid shut, I didn’t even glance in the folder. I knew what I’d find inside. That was meant for X and X alone.
I sat for a moment, wondering what it all meant, wondering what he wanted now that his past was revealed to him. He was one of the good guys, and little by little, the monster would fade but never be totally gone. I knew it would be a constant struggle with him, and sitting idle out here in the wild didn’t seem like a long-term plan.
Sliding out of the car, I ventured back inside, the box and folder clutched against my chest.
“X?”
He glanced up and smiled. “That was a quick walk.”
Crossing over to him, I held up the box and the envelope. “I found these in the car.”
He reached up and took them from me, holding them in his lap. After a minute of thought, he flicked through the folder, his expression changing from dark to light and everything in-between.
“It’s my MI6 personnel file,” he murmured. “And this…” He held up the box. “I remembered this when they shocked me. Mei must’ve stolen them…”
I sat beside him. “Did it hurt?”
He raised an eyebrow and set the box down on the coffee table. “It doesn’t matter,” he said after a moment. “Only this does.” He placed his lips against my forehead.
I glanced at the file then back at X.
“I’ve nothing to hide from you,” he murmured. He reached out for the file and placed it into my lap. “You’ve seen me at my best and worst. This is the last piece of the puzzle.”
“But you told me…”
“I told you what I remember,” he said firmly. “This is the rest of it. The blank spaces. I want you to know, too.”
I ran my fingers over the cover and shivered. He’d told me everything he knew while we were imprisoned together, how he’d murdered his parents, how he’d shot his brother as a test of loyalty…everything he’d done was because of them. The folder housed everything that came before. All the good he’d done in the world.
“I’ll leave you with it,” he murmured, helping me out of his coat.
“What do you want to do now?” I asked, the thought coming out of nowhere.
X shrugged. “I really don’t know.” He kissed me softly before standing. “Read the file, Mercy. I’ll be bac
k soon, I promise.”
The door closed behind him with a soft thud, and I was alone with a can of worms. Sighing, I pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa, curled up inside of it and opened the file.
The first thing I saw was a photograph of X. He looked young, clean-cut with this look of determination and pride on his face. This was Oliver Cassel, the MI6 recruit. Looking at both now, I could see exactly how much these past eight years had changed him.
Turning the page, I kept reading. He was thirty-three. Wow, he could totally pass for twenty-eight, maybe twenty-nine. I was in love with a silver fox. I laughed to myself before turning to the next page.
I read and read, taking in mission reports and briefings, following the countless missions he’d been on with Mei and other agents, the bad guys he’d stopped and the people he’d saved. He’d caught human traffickers, busted drug syndicates, caught terrorists. X was a motherfucking gun.
Closing the folder, I stared into the fire in total awe. I knew he was good but fuck. I wondered how many other medals were out there with his name on them.
This had been X’s life all along. Espionage, missions, fighting the bad guys. It wasn’t his choice to become one of the men he’d sworn to protect his country from, and it definitely wasn’t his choice to murder his own family. It wasn’t the stuff of James Bond films, but it was close. X was good at this. He was so good MI6 hadn’t stopped looking for him all these years.
My thoughts went to Mei’s offer, and I wondered if that was a conversation that should begin between us. All of us. I couldn’t see a future where X kicked back on a tropical beach, with a drink in his hand, for the rest of his life. He was a man of action…and fuck, I was a woman of one, too. I’d suffered, but I didn’t want this life to end. I could help people find color and beauty again…just like I had.
The burner phone was sitting on the coffee table, and I glanced at the door. Knowing X had left it there for me on purpose, I picked it up and brought it to life, dialing Mei’s number.
It rang three times before it was answered.
“Hello?”
Casting my gaze back to the fire, I said, “I’m interested. Where do we begin?”
“At the beginning,” Mei replied.
The beginning?
“I’d like to introduce myself,” she said when I didn’t reply. “I’m Agent Mei Akiyama.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “I’m Mercy Reid.”
Other Books in the Royal Blood Series…
#1 Royal Blood
#2 Bad Blood
#2.5 Blood Rites
#3 Devil’s Blood
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About the Author
Amity Cross isn't her real name. That's no secret.
She is the author of wicked stories about rock stars looking for redemption, gritty romances featuring MMA fighters and dark tales of forbidden romance. She loves to write about screwed up relationships and kick ass female leads that don't take s**t lying down.
Amity lives in a leafy country town in southern Australia and can be found chained to her desk, held at ransom by her characters.
Don't send help. She likes it.
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