It’s going to get her killed. You know it is.
He growled under his breath and checked his phone again for a voicemail that he knew wouldn’t be there. When he verified no missed calls he tapped in Lacroix’s number, prepared to call and threaten him until he found Roger or Barry. Or both of them. Like he should have already. There were two more names on her list, two more to kill and then maybe she’d be able to sleep. Maybe she could heal, could be the perfect assassin. No fear. No mercy.
But she’s not there yet.
Just as he went to dial Lacroix’s number to vent some of his frustration on the man, the bathroom door opened and she stepped out. Her blonde hair was darker from the water, slightly wavy as it hung over her bare shoulders, and the towel was much too small. It stopped so high on her golden thighs that he had to swallow before he spoke so that he could keep the memory of her naked body from appearing behind his eyes.
Focus. You need to help her.
You have to fix this before it kills her.
“Want to go for a run?” he asked.
“I just showered.”
“So?” he asked and her blue eyes lifted, still too empty.
What happens in your nightmares, C? What in the hell did they do to you to?
Questions he could never, would never ask.
For a long minute she stared at him, and then she turned towards the bedroom letting her voice drift back towards him, “Fine. Give me a few to get dressed.”
When she pushed the door closed behind her he knew she needed the space, he knew she really just needed to rest and get back to normal. If he were a good man he would let her do that, he would take her out to a comforting breakfast in the morning, and then train like they normally did.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that. Being gentle would get her killed, and she was too important to him now to let whatever strange version of feelings he felt get in the way of making her strong. The way she had reacted to the nightmare had given him an idea, cold and calculating. Ruthless, but necessary. An idea to take her training to the next level, to make her stronger while she was still raw, still in the worst mental state – and he was an absolute bastard for it.
They crested a rise in the running path, the dark trees around them blocking out most of the road noise even though there was no breeze to make them whisper. Camille was breathing steady, slowing down with him as he stopped, and as he pushed a hand through his damp hair she turned to look at him, unspoken questions in her gaze.
Her lips parted to speak but he beat her to the first question. “Do you think you could outrun me?”
“What?” She laughed, turning towards him in a pool of lamplight. “Um, I doubt it, your legs are much longer and you run all the fucking time.”
“So… if I were coming after you, if I were hunting you down, what would you do?”
He watched the way her muscles twitched, the way she unconsciously took a half step back, bracing her foot so she could pivot and avoid him if she needed to. Smart girl.
“What would you do, C?” He stripped all warmth from his voice, but he was proud of her when she didn’t break eye contact.
“I’d run as hard as I could.”
“And when I caught you?” When, not if.
“I’d fight.” Another half step back, and her hands were loose at her sides, ready.
“Show me.” He twitched towards her and she darted a few steps away before she stopped, a flash of confusion on her face. Good, quick, but not enough. “You need to run, C. We’re starting now.”
Her perfect lips parted for just a moment, and then her face went smooth. Focused, determined, the same look he’d seen on her face when she stared down a target. This time when he twitched forward, she bolted. Her lithe body covered the path fast, and he counted slowly in his head. One… two… go.
Smith took off after her at full speed and he could see the whip of her white blonde ponytail ahead on the trail, catching the fragmented moonlight. Waving back and forth like a pale surrender flag, and as he started to gain ground on her he tried to ignore the low growl in his chest. The excited thrum in his bloodstream.
Was he enjoying this?
Camille was running hard, but so was he, and she had been right. His gait, and his strength, meant that her speed wasn’t helping her much. He got closer, and closer, and just when he thought he’d be able to take her down, she leapt like a gazelle off the trail. Her leap carried her over some bushes and into the trees. Shifting his own direction he jumped the brush and moved as fast as he could considering he was having to dodge trees, and he was losing track of her as the trunks blocked his line of sight.
Fortunately, even over the dull road noise of the city he could hear her running over the leaves and sticks on the ground. Moving faster in her direction he started to get flashes of her hair again, so he picked up speed. His confidence in the new terrain was steadily growing, but hers was too.
She had always been a fast learner.
They burst onto the manicured lawn of the park, and she was only fifteen yards to his right. Her chest was heaving, the shape of her silhouette making his cock twitch, but he ignored it and watched for what she’d do.
“You’re not running,” he spoke just loud enough for her to hear, the growl leaking into his voice, but it was all the prompting she needed to take off again – and she was so beautiful as she ran in a full sprint. She was smart enough to change direction as he began to close in on her again, forcing him to almost stop in place so he could turn to follow.
Then, like a pale haired spirit she was suddenly in front of him, and on the offensive. Her knee came up into his ribs, and he managed to block most of the force of the impact on instinct, but her attempt at an elbow strike to his face he caught. Grabbing onto her arm he instantly swept her leg, trying to put her on the ground fast, not holding back, but she held onto him and rolled as she dropped, bringing him with her. She threw him in a jiu-jitsu move he had taught her himself, and a moment later they were both back on their feet, staring each other down.
You will not go easy on her. You will show her how hard it can be.
You will show her the kind of people waiting for her.
Making himself go cold, Smith tried to ignore that it was Camille in front of him. Beautiful, and unmistakably feminine, and strong – because she wouldn’t be any of those things if she let someone kill her because he hadn’t prepared her.
When he refocused on her, he didn’t hold back at all.
His first kick was too fast for her to block, and she flinched before landing a punch to his thigh, and another to his midsection, before she tried to kick him back from her. He blocked it, and her next punch, and then landed a hard hit on her ribs, exactly where he’d hit before. The small pained cry urged him forward – push her, see if she panics – he landed another kick, but she caught his leg this time, sweeping him and dropping her elbow into his ribs. Smith grabbed for her as he hit the grass, but Camille had already rolled away and danced back from him.
She was smiling. Wild, and oh so fearless.
He flipped to his feet and rolled his neck before he charged her, adjusting when she tried to dart away like a sprite, but he managed to catch her and block her first strike, returning with two of his own. When she blocked his next punch, she spun and caught the side of his head with a dizzying kick, delivering a hard strike to his ribs again as soon as she landed.
His ears were ringing, but he’d taken harder hits – and she was going to understand what it was like to fight someone like him before the sun rose.
She over extended on her next punch and he landed one to her stomach, hard. When she bent forward he wrapped his arm around her throat and stepped behind her. As soon as he locked his arm in place she tried to duck her chin, grabbing onto his forearm in her attempt to break the hold, but he was ready for the move he’d taught her. Before she could fight he coiled his fist into her hair and tightened it.
With her head forced back, unable to tuck her
chin under his arm to get free, she was trapped, and by his estimates she only had about twenty more seconds before she was unconscious.
Come on, fight me. Don’t give in. Figure it out. Fight.
As if she’d heard him, Camille suddenly dropped her weight, forcing him to support her fully, which bent him forward and let her wind her leg behind his. In an instant she buckled his knee, and twisted out of his grip. Camille’s first gasp of air was followed by a sharp elbow strike that felt like a stab to his kidneys as she landed atop him, before rolling to the side.
Good. A smart move, quick thinking under pressure.
But then she stayed close to try and finish the fight, and with her on the ground next to him he was able to catch one wrist as she tried to hit him in the throat. He threw one leg over hers to block the kick he knew would follow, a curse escaping her lips as she went to strike with her other arm. Twisting, Smith avoided her fist and was on top of her a moment later, her wrists pinned, his weight settling over her thighs – and as he looked down at her, with her curves under him, his brain short circuited for a moment.
All he could think of was the kiss they’d shared.
They’d been in this same position, her cheeks flushed the same way, and he remembered the eager way her lips had parted for him, how she had pressed upward into the kiss. He still dreamed about it sometimes, dreamed about more than just a kiss before waking up rock hard, but he pushed it all away. Pushed away the memory of Bill trying to convince him she wanted him. Actually wanted him – because it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what either of them wanted, or how much he wanted to kiss her again. This was about what Camille needed, and more than anything she needed to understand the reality of her situation.
Smith took a moment to catch his breath, feeling the tremor in her muscles as she evaluated his position. Don’t back down now. He kept his voice empty, cold, “What could I do to you right now, C?”
“Kill me,” she spoke through gritted teeth, her anger at failing to win the fight surfacing.
“What if I didn’t want to kill you? What if I wanted information out of you?”
“Then you’d fucking torture me.”
“Or?”
Camille went quiet, her muscles still, and he forced himself to maintain eye contact with her as the situation fully settled over her. Crystal blue eyes flickered before she spoke softly, “Let me up, Smith.”
“No.” He moved his face a little closer to hers. “What could I do to you right now? Say it.”
“Let me the fuck up!” Jerking hard at his grip on her, she tried to tilt her hips and break free, but he dropped his weight over her and squeezed until he could feel the fine bones of her wrists grinding under his hand. A low whine of frustration escaped her and then she mumbled a series of curses, clenching her eyes tight.
She has to face this.
Using his free hand he grabbed her chin hard and forced her to look at him again. “You need to say it. Out loud.”
“Smith -”
“Say it!”
“You could fuck me, rape me, do whatever you wanted.” The words were hollow, distant, and somewhere, in a part of his mind he was ignoring, the words were barbed with broken glass and razor wire, tearing him up.
“Yes.” He swallowed down the bile in his throat. “You’re a beautiful girl, C. And you won’t always be hunting targets that don’t know how to fight. You won’t always be the hunter. Sometimes people will come after you. Trained people, strong people, and they might want you to tell them something you know.” He released her chin, running his thumb along her cheekbone before he made himself pull his hand away from her soft skin. “And they aren’t going to stick to simple torture with you.”
“Simple torture?” She rolled her eyes, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Like torture is nothing?”
“They’re not just going to hit you, threaten you, or whatever they would do with me or any other man – they are going to do whatever they can think of to break you.”
“I want up.” She pulled at his grip, but he landed his free hand on her hip and squeezed, holding her still.
“No. You need to listen to me. I want you to think about your nightmares -”
She writhed under him, twisting, arching her back and digging her heels into the earth behind him as she tried to break free. “Smith…” her voice was painfully soft, but he couldn’t stop.
She has to know. She has to hear this. She has to understand.
“Listen to me, C. Think about your nightmares, think about what those men did to you -”
“I don’t want -”
With a growl of frustration he raised his voice, almost shouting at her in the empty park, “Do you really think they were the only men who would want to hurt you, C? Do you really think no one else would if they got the chance? If they had you vulnerable, if they needed you alive, if they needed something you had?” There was a sheen of tears in her eyes as she tilted her head back, her wrists twisting in his grip, but he shifted his weight forward and crushed them mercilessly against the grass. “Camille! Answer me! What would you do?”
“I’d fucking kill them!”
“What if you couldn’t?” He hissed the words at her, insisting that she face it. Face the truth. “What if they get their hands on you? What if they -” his stomach twisted, emotions surfacing underneath his cold exterior, but he made himself say it, “What if they rape you? What will you do?”
“Go fuck yourself, Smith!” She jerked her gaze away from him, trying desperately to get away, to escape this horrible truth, but he had her locked in place, pinned under him so she couldn’t move. Just like someone else could if she made a mistake, just like those men had before. Just like her God forsaken nightmares.
You’re a bastard. You are such a bastard.
“This is reality, C. You wanted this life? You wanted a gun, wanted to be a killer, you wanted to walk in my world? Well – this is what’s waiting for you. So what will you do when it happens?”
When, not if.
There were definitely tears now, leaking from the edges of her eyes and sliding into her hair, but her jaw stayed clenched tight as she let out a scream of frustration and rage. He could see the pain inside her, painted across her face because she was too raw after the nightmares to hide it right now, and he had known it. Used it… for this.
To make her understand.
After a minute she took a slow, shuddering breath, a cold calm taking her over as she stopped struggling against him. Her voice started out almost too soft to hear, but it grew louder, stronger, “Then they will have me, Smith. They’ll do what they want with me. They’ll fuck me, they’ll take turns with me – and then they’ll get lazy, they’ll make a mistake, and then I will fucking kill them.”
Hatred for these imagined monsters filled him up, the phantoms he’d created out of nothing to scare her, to make her understand what awaited her the deeper she walked into this world of death and violence – and he knew he wasn’t numb anymore. Not when it came to her, he could never be numb when it came to her, which is why he needed to know she’d survive. Had to know that she wouldn’t crumble. “So think that through, Camille. Imagine it. All of it. You think you’ll be able to pull the trigger afterwards? You’ll be able to think straight? Keep it together?”
Her blue eyes came back to meet his gaze, all the more blue for the fact that she was crying, and it tore into his chest. “Why are you doing this?” There was pain in her voice, pain that he had put there.
You really are a bastard.
“Because it will happen. Someday you will know something that someone else wants to know, and they will pay people to find you, to get the information out of you no matter what it takes.” Smith shook his head, ashamed by the predictable behavior of his gender. “And they will try to threaten you, and then they will probably try to hurt you, torture you, to scare you, but you’re strong. You can take the hits, C, you can deal with the pain, and they’ll figure that out too. And th
en -”
“They’ll rape me.”
“They will, because that’s worse than any beating. You know it’s worse, C. You’ve lived it, and I’ve heard you screaming and crying in your sleep, I -”
“Stop,” she sounded like she was pleading, like she did in her sleep, and it almost made him let her up.
“I need to know you won’t break, Camille.” He shook her with his free hand, his voice intense. “I need you to be stronger than what those men did to you, stronger than what other men might do to you. I need you to be able to separate, to think even when it’s happening, even when it hurts… so you can live.”
“I’m not some fucking victim,” she growled, and he was glad she was cursing, that there was steel in her voice again.
“Then prove it to me. You are beautiful, and there is not a man out there that won’t see it, and some of them will want to take advantage of it. So prove to me you won’t be a victim, no matter what they do.”
“How?”
“Get up.”
Camille was filled with a whirlwind of knives, her nightmares and memories clashing inside her, and Smith wasn’t backing off. He was telling her it would happen again, practically guaranteeing it, and as much as she wanted to show him she was strong, the idea of it had her skin crawling, her empty stomach roiling.
Her head was full of memories of her own screams, the nights she had begged from inside that closet to be let out, making promises if they would just give her water, feed her, swearing she’d be good. And there was no fucking way she’d ever be that person again, that weak, pathetic girl.
But, he’s right.
It was stupid to think someone else wouldn’t take advantage if they could. Sure, with everything she knew, everything she could do, the average asshole wouldn’t even get his hands on her. But someone trained? Someone that knew how to move, how to fight, how to kill? That was a whole different story, and she was literally face to face with it. Smith had her on the ground, pinned under all his strength, unable to move. If it were anyone else -
Early Sins (Dangerous Games Book 0) Page 12