City Under Siege

by R. J. Prescott

Masterson’s jaw stiffened at the snub, but setting boundaries from the outset was a good thing. He needed to know early on that the muscle wouldn’t be a pushover in this relationship.

  “Thanks. I’d love to,” she replied without hesitation, and stepping out of their circle, she moved towards me. The lads looked on with great amusement, uncaring of the unspoken politics.

  “I don’t know what the mission is, but fuck me I’m in,” Crash said, holding his hand out towards her. We were out of earshot of Dickless and the others, so my posture remained stoic, but I longed to cover my eyes and groan. The MI5 guys were giving her resumes and my guys were trying to get some action.

  Sarah shook his hand politely, but pulled away quickly, leaving Crash genuinely gobsmacked. As he ran a hand through his dishevelled blond hair, I could practically hear his confusion. He’d delivered a cheeky one-liner, flashed his pearly whites, even smiled extra hard for that dimple to pop. All to no avail. Despite having telekinetic abilities over the knickers of most single women in a half-mile radius, she was completely immune to his charm. And damn if that didn’t make her infinitely sexier.

  “You’ve met Corporal Crash McCaffrey. This is Sergeant Eli Spears and Staff Sergeant Will Edwards,” I said, familiarising her with the rest of the guys. Most gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement, save for Will who walked over to shake her hand.

  “I read about your dad and brother,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  His quiet empathy spoke volumes about the man. An army brat himself, he flew through the ranks at a speed that belied his age before ending up with us. Despite the hint of salt and pepper in his closely cropped black hair, it wasn’t his appearance that gave Staff Sergeant Will “Badger” Edwards his name. It was his innate sense of moral absolutism. Everything in his world was black and white. I’d never known him to argue or lose his temper. He was stoic. The calmest, most steadfast person in the crew. He was also the most dangerous. When he needed to make the hard calls, there was no indecision, no hesitancy, and when it was done, there was no remorse. He did what he did, and he did it well. The perfect killing machine.

  In our own ways, we all were.

  “It’s nice to meet you all,” she said to them. “But I’ll be honest, I could have used you guys a few days ago,” she said, pulling at her collar with a smile. If I expected her to seem afraid or sheepish about what she’d been through or what lay ahead, I’d have been wrong. The woman before me held her head high and looked into the eyes of every one of my men as she joked about having been thrown around like a rag doll by a Russian gangster.

  “Don’t worry, miss. When the dust settles, we’ll make the fucker pay for what he did to you,” Crash reassured her, earning himself one of her smiles. I rolled my eyes as Eli coughed “kiss arse” behind his fist, making her smile wider.

  “I have no doubt you can take them all down, but can you keep me alive while you’re doing it?” she asked him, honestly.

  If he was surprised by her question, he didn’t show it.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t,” he replied, cockily.

  “Promise?” she said, grinning.

  I knew she was afraid. I could sense it. The slight tremble of her hands and the occasional dart of her eyes around the room full of men gave her away, but she kept it together. She’d walked alone into a room full of hard-arses, her balls bigger than Dickless could ever dream of having, and smiled at the men who could end up holding her life in their hands. I gave my obedience to many and my respect to few, but she didn’t ask for respect, she fucking demanded it. It was hot as fuck, and I wasn’t the only one who thought so. By the way the MI5 arseholes were eyeing her up and down, I figured Masterson wasn’t the only one who needed watching.

  “Shall we get started?” Masterson said, and after holding out a chair for her, I sat down myself.

  “Thank you again, Sarah, for agreeing to assist us. I mentioned yesterday that Lieutenant Harper would be your liaison. This is in fact a joint operation between MI5 and the SAS, both of whom will be conducting surveillance, though we’ll be following through the intelligence leads while the SAS will provide close protection and will ultimately take out the terrorist cell when we’re able to track it down.”

  “Is that usual?” Sarah asked. “I mean, the SAS acting as bodyguards?” She turned to me to ask the question rather than Masterson, which earned her major brownie points.

  “We’ve trained most police and special branch close protection teams since the attack on Princess Anne in the seventies. You’ll be safer with us than you would be with royal family close protection,” I replied, aware that I was puffing up my feathers, but unable to stop myself, especially when she looked so impressed. I didn’t know what it was about this woman that had me so fucking possessive, but she was pushing buttons I didn’t even know I had. Me and my guys were the toughest, strongest, deadliest people she would ever meet, and I wanted her to know it. Not because I wanted her to be scared, but because I wanted her to feel like she never had to be.

  “I’m not exactly sure how you’re going to get close enough to protect me. No disrespect, but you’re not exactly inconspicuous,” she said.

  The mere mention of my size had her running her eyes over my body. When she reached my face, it took all my self-control not to wink at her. Like she knew what I was thinking, a blush flooded her cheeks. But still, she held my stare. Even if I was imagining all the ways I’d like to get up close and personal with her, it was a line I couldn’t cross. My entire career depended on my refusal to indulge in the current fantasy I had of pushing up that prim little skirt and fucking her on the boardroom table. It didn’t stop me from thinking it though.

  “We’ve been over a number of scenarios, but as you aren’t a trained field operative, we feel the best way to avoid getting called out on a lie is to keep as close to the truth as possible. You’ll explain to the Russians that you’re extremely cautious after a recent experience with a less-than-savoury character, and you’ll introduce Tom as your personal security,” Masterson interjected before I could answer her. The fact that he referred to me as Tom, without deference to my rank, didn’t go unnoticed either.

  “You’ll give them his real name, though not his rank of course, and Tom will convince them he’s ex-military, now working in the more profitable private sector,” he continued.

  “What if they see my hiring him as ratting them out?”

  “Sarah, believe it or not, they don’t want to kill you. They just want to scare you into doing as you’re told. Just follow our instructions, and this will all be over before you know it,” he said, in the least reassuring way possible. Sarah nodded in agreement, but in reality, there was nothing else she could do, even if she wasn’t happy with the arrangement. She’d crossed the Rubicon and there was no going back.

  Around the table, other operatives spoke up with questions about the technicality of the operation and expected intelligence yield. Next to me, I could see Sarah disappear into her own head, likely running through the list of everything that would likely happen to her if we were caught. Perhaps it was because she kept her fists hidden that nobody else noticed their violent tremble. In a room full of people, she looked completely alone. So, I did the stupidest thing I’d ever done. Making sure that no one was watching, I reached under the table.

  Sarah

  I’d been standing in front of my wardrobe for at least ten minutes, looking over the same pitiful selection of suitable office attire, while contemplating what outfit I’d want to be in when I died. If I had my way, I’d wear one of my favourite brightly coloured dresses, because fuck the Russians. If I was going to die, I wanted to do it in colour. Unfortunately, going to the office dressed like that might actually kill off my aunt. Not that anyone, least of all me, would mourn her passing, but I’d had my fill of funerals lately. It wasn’t that I lacked the means to buy more business wear either, more that wearing dreary clothes was about as life sucking and soul destroying as
the job. A few days before I’d taking the helm of Tatem Shipping, I’d gone out and purchased five suits in various shades of grey, navy, and black, which included the one I’d worn to the funeral. Honestly, they were the bleakest clothes I’d ever owned, and seeing them hanging in my wardrobe depressed the shit out of me. They reeked of despondency and gloom, and I had no desire to see any more of that bleed into my stuff.

  My one small act of mutiny was the lingerie beneath the surface that nobody could see. It was only a little rebellion, but still it made me smile when I thought of it. Especially knowing how Aunt Elizabeth would literally shit a brick if she ever found out that I wore Batman underwear to the funeral. Today, I needed every ounce of valour and colour I could get. Today, courage came in the form of my Wonder Woman knickers. They weren’t bulletproof, but they made me feel like I was. She was my icon. The woman who needed a hero, so she became one. Some girls got excited over matching sets from Victoria’s Secret. I, on the other hand, would literally lose my shit if I could’ve found matching bras to my secret stash of superhero pants. Somewhere out there in the world, there had to be a man who valued my little quirks and all my sexy bad arsery.

  Fifteen minutes later and I realised that I’d dressed with more care than I had in weeks. Layering the boring black skirt and jacket with a fire-engine red top and gold jewellery, I told myself that I was simply channelling my inner superhero. I absolutely was not dressing for Tom Harper. And I definitely wasn’t thinking of him when I sprayed on a little extra perfume. The buzz of the intercom at the entrance gate announced his arrival, precisely at the time he’d given. Pushing the button to open up, I took a minute to put on my coat and gloves as he drove to the house. Opening the front door before he had a chance to knock, I closed it behind me and hurried down the steps to meet the stern soldier glaring up at me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, anxious at the look on his face.

  “Get in the car,” he replied. His curt tone surprised me. Putting my hands on my hips, I readied for a fight. Whatever he was pissed about, I didn’t appreciate being ordered about. He held the car door open for me as he surveyed the grounds, seemingly oblivious to my annoyance. When he finally realised I wasn’t doing as I was told, he turned that intense stare on me.

  “Don’t you be giving me those scary eyes. I don’t know who pissed on your Cornflakes this morning, but there’s no need to speak to me like that,” I said, marvelling at my power of bravery, courtesy of the magic pants. When his jaw clenched and a blood vessel started throbbing at his temple, I figured discretion was the better part of valour, and dropped my hands to climb into the car. Expecting him to slam the door, I was surprised when it gently clicked shut.

  “Right, I’m in. So, what’s with the bad mood?” I asked, once he’d walked around the car and climbed in next to me. He gave me some kind of weird hand signal that I had no idea how to interpret. As I scrunched up my nose in confusion, he rolled his eyes and put his finger sharply to his lips, making the universal sign for “shut the hell up.” Folding my arms across my chest, I fumed indignantly for a couple of miles until he deigned to speak to me. Eli, was driving, but as the privacy screen in the gleaming black Jaguar was up and given that he didn’t even acknowledge me, I didn’t try and speak to him either.

  “Jesus Christ, woman, do you have any sense of self-preservation at all?” Tom protested suddenly, breaking the chilling silence between us.

  “Oh, so you’re finally speaking to me, you nut job,” I replied. “I literally just let you in and walked down to meet you. How could that possibly have pissed you off?”

  “Did you listen to anything I said after the briefing yesterday? You never, ever let anyone into the main gate without checking the video feed first and confirming the password so you know they’re not acting under duress,” he admonished.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little overkill considering that you told me you’d be here dead on seven thirty,” I said.

  “And what if it wasn’t me? What if it was the Russians? You’re throwing away the precious seconds you might need to get you to the panic room. You have to think, Sar, you’re smarter than this,” he argued. It didn’t occur to me to mind his abbreviation of my name. It sounded so natural it was like he’d always done it.

  “Why would they come for me at Dad’s place?” I asked. “You told me I’d be safe. As long as I did what they were asking me to, I’d be safe. So why would anyone come for me?” My earlier bravado disappearing like the morning mist, I couldn’t stop the panic from bleeding into my voice.

  “Okay, you have to stop freaking out and try and be smart. Their organisation wants you in charge. But what’s to say the guy making the decisions today is the same one making decisions tomorrow? Or that someone doesn’t go rogue and think you make a better hostage than you do an ally? You don’t stay alive by accepting every situation at face value. You do it by being vigilant and staying smart.”

  “Don’t freak out? Easy for you to say. When was the last time your life was ever threatened by somebody dangerous?” I asked.

  He didn’t reply, just raised one eyebrow and looked at me like I was a moron.

  “Fine, stupid question,” I huffed, realising it was ridiculous to expect a special forces operative to understand how I was feeling. In all honesty, I thought I was handling all the crap that had been thrown my way pretty well.

  “But you could try being nicer though. It’s not like there’s a manual on how to go from illustrator to British spy. I’m doing the best I can, and if I mess up with security from time to time, it’s because I’ve never had to think about it before. So do you think you could cut me some frickin slack please? I don’t like you when you’re being a dick.”

  “Newsflash, baby, lots of people don’t like me,” he replied.

  “Anyone who’s ever met you I imagine,” I muttered. When Eli scoffed then laughed to cover it, I figured the privacy glass wasn’t so private after all.

  “You don’t need to like me to listen to me. I’m here to do a job, and that job will save lives. If you start doing what I tell you, when I tell you to do it, one of those lives will be yours. For now, you’re relatively safe, but when they don’t need you anymore, they’ll retire you like they did your old man. The only person who’ll stop that from happening is me,” he said.

  “Gone is the nice guy from yesterday I see. Now that you’ve got me like a worm on a hook, things are different. You know, I’m beginning to think I’ve been mis-sold on this whole thing.”

  “Well, suck it up, buttercup. If you’re going to get through this, you’re going to need to toughen up. And for your information, I was never the nice guy. I’m the weapon that’s going to keep you alive.”

  I got it. He was all business, and that’s how things need to be. He had a job to do, and it was easier all round if he saw me as an asset rather than a person. But it still stung that he was being so cold. I wanted the protective warrior back again. Absently rubbing at my fading bruise, I wondered how he could seem so incensed before and so cold now. I knew what he did for a living, but surely nobody could switch off their emotions like that.

  “He won’t hurt you like that again,” he said, out of the blue. He was watching my hands and must have guessed what I was thinking.

  “You don’t know that. Haven’t you just been reminding me of how easily he can get to me? I don’t know why you care anyway. All you want is the Russians and their buyers. You want my compliance and cooperation, same as Vasili,” I said.

  “Don’t lump me into the same category as that fucker. Ever. And he won’t hurt you. To do that, he’ll have to get through me. I can’t allow another lapse in security, so from now on, we’ll be joined at the hip. Where you go, I go.”

  “What do you mean, where you go, I go?” I asked.

  “I mean, that for the foreseeable future, I’ll be moving in with you. I’ll sleep in the room next to yours and accompany you to the office during the day and any company events in the eveni
ng. Two teams can monitor the house in rotation while we sleep.”

  “You can’t just move in!” I protested. “We hardly know each other, and you want complete unfettered access to my personal life. Surely, there’s another way you can make sure that I’m secure when we’re not together?”

  While I’d admit that his attitude was bothering me, I still wanted to jump his bones. Whether I liked it or not, his tough façade and raw sexuality were magnetic, and if anything, arguing with him just amped up the tension between us.

  “No problem. I’ll give you a Swiss army knife and send you a link to a YouTube self-defence video, and I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” he grumbled sarcastically, and for the first time ever, I felt a burning desire to know what it felt like to punch someone in the face.

  “I’m telling you it won’t work. The Russians might buy the security thing, but my aunt won’t.”

  “Do you trust her?” he asked, and I scoffed.

  “About as far as I can throw her.”

  “Then we spin it. We tell the Russians that I’m your security, but as far as your aunt is concerned, I’m a consultant you brought in to help you navigate your way through the business. On top of that, we’ve just recently started seeing each other,” he explained.

  This time it was my turn to look at him like he was a moron. “And you really think she’ll buy that?”

  “Look, you hardly know each other, and I doubt you’ll interact with each other more than is necessary at the office or socially. If you want to make her believe you, you will.”

  I watched the London streets glide passed the window as I thought about what he said. Undoubtedly, I’d feel safer having him with me. But the idea of living together twenty-four seven, of having him see me without makeup first thing in the morning, or lounging around watching Netflix in my unicorn pyjamas, was less than appealing. That was my vanity talking though. In reality, I might manage to start sleeping at night again with him there. Instead of waking from nightmares in the early hours of the morning, where I could imagine the faces of all those people who had been abused or killed by my family’s greed. The fact that I was concerned for my own safety over their justice was shameful. When I thought about it that way, I had no right to act like a brat.