Suicide Mission (Guarded Secrets Series Book 1)

by Sara Schoen

  “Like what groups?” I asked as I focused on correcting my slouching posture. I had always slouched, and my mother and Mrs. Ricker had always told me to straighten my spine.

  “We have some specialty groups here that handle very specific missions together, but the team can be broken up and each person sent on an individual mission that goes with their skills. The teams will either have a team tattoo, or they will get a tattoo based on the skills they bring to the team. I know that Spit Fire and Whiplash have one, Demon, I know has a few, and I believe that Fire Fox has one, but I don't know if you've met him yet.” I shook my head to tell her that I hadn't met Fire Fox yet. “It's probably for the best, but anyway, Ms. De Luca gives them to us, but I got mine done before I came here; I got it done by a monk. I have another one on the center of my back from the Americanized version of an Arabic tattoo, and it can also be called a Hamsa. You can get one when you join too if you like, I plan to get more and you should think about it if you decide to stay.”

  “Oh,” I said, trying to absorb the information I had just learned. There was so much being thrown at me at once, I wasn't sure what to do with it. Between the mission, the information on the Cardoza cartel, and everything having to do with the agency, I felt as if I was constantly split while trying to work out everything in my mind.

  I thought that was the end of the conversation, but then as I tried to get comfortable next to her, I heard her ask, “Have any ideas on what you'd get?”

  “I'd get a lightning bolt,” I said, remembering all the times I watched lightning with Alex during storms. He had been there to keep me calm after my suicide attempt, it was his way of making sure that I was safe for the night, but I found an odd comfort whenever I watched the lightning crackle in the sky. “It would want it to start at my shoulder and travel about three-quarters of the way down my arm.”

  “Anything else?” she asked, honestly sounding interested in our conversation, although she never moved from her meditating position, nor opened her eyes—only broke the silence and the race by talking to me.

  “I would get one in memorial of my parents, but won't these tattoos be noticeable during missions and when we leave the building? Won't people recognize us eventually?”

  “You rarely leave this building, you're allowed to leave after you've been here for a year, it depends on the story they feed out into the public when you're able to leave, and even then it's only for a day, unless you're out for missions or you have special permission. It's a birthday present you could say, to leave at times other than missions, but your tattoos can be covered; and they can also hide you. If you go missing and dye your hair and get colored contacts from Ms. De Luca, then you won't look like the girl they are looking for especially with the tattoo.”

  “I guess so, but I would think it would be really noticeable.”

  “Not if you don't get caught,” she said with a smirk. “Now, shut up and start practicing your breathing. Take long deep breaths and clear your mind of everything. You need your body to be fully relaxed, and I need you to slow your heart rate.”

  “What does breathing have to do with training to be a thief?” I asked before I could stop myself. I saw a flash of anger enter her eyes before it was swept away by a mischievous gleam in her eyes. I knew that it was a dumb question to ask once it left my mouth and now I was going to get yelled at for it.

  “You should know by now that breathing is a vital part of life. Would you like to stop breathing or do you remember that you can't live without it?” she asked with a cheeky smile.

  “I remember,” I grumbled as I tried to mimic her pose to practice my breathing. She got up as I closed my eyes and started to concentrate on breathing. She was quiet for a while; I could feel her eyes on me, critiquing me. Her footsteps were the only sound I heard, her breathing was so soft I had to focus to hear it, but when her voice chimed it would shock me by how loud it was compared to everything else.

  “Pretend you’re singing, breathe from your diaphragm not your chest,” she ordered, before her hands met my body and she forced me into the position she wanted, a perfect ninety degree angle between the floor and my back.

  “Why does it matter?”

  “When your diaphragm is engaged in breathing you can utilize more oxygen.” She must have heard me scoff or seen me roll my eyes under my closed lids. “Don't believe me? Fine, pull your shoulders up to your ears and try to take and hold a deep breath like you've been doing chest-breathing,” she said, as if it was an insult.

  I followed her instructions and as I took in a breath, my chest cried out in pain when I tried to deepen it.

  “How was that?”

  “I see your point,” I said sourly.

  “Good, now breathe with your stomach more than your chest. It could help your asthma.” Her footsteps walked away from me, allowing me to take a minute to relax from the strained position she had put me in.

  I didn't bother asking how she knew about my asthma. I hadn't brought it up to her, but I'm sure she read it in a file or heard from another person. I sat up normally again as I heard her move something off of the far wall before she walked back over to me. She started to walk around me like a predator stalking her prey, eyeing me as if I was supper and she was starving. I didn't realize the purpose of whatever she had taken from the wall until she started to hit me with a long stick to straighten out my posture.

  “Don't slouch, but relax. Your back has to be kept straight and your eyes can remain focused on what is in front of you or you can keep them closed. Just breathe and focus.”

  “What is that thing?” I asked when she tapped my spine with the stick again to tell me to straighten my posture. It sent vibrations through my spine, and made me uncomfortable. She was hitting vertebrae in my spine, it was starting to hurt.

  “It's a Khakkhara. It can be used as a walking stick or a weapon. Right now it's a training method. Now shut up and focus on your breathing.”

  I groaned to myself as I took my time to practice my new way of breathing. I had kept my eyes closed, and focused on her footsteps so that I could hear where she was. I tried to remain vigilant of my posture, but I had always slouched growing up, no matter what I did to try to fix it, and was sure at any moment she would hit me with her stick for it. It luckily didn't come, until I got bored with her training method that is. I was forcing myself to stay awake; my breathing, the quiet room and the warm air were enough to lull me to sleep. I fought it as I tried to think of other things, but all I wanted was to go back to bed.

  There wasn't any way that my type of breathing was going to help me on this mission, and what was stretching going to do for me? “This is stupid,” I grumbled when I thought Rum had walked out of ear shot. I was wrong though, Rum must have heard me because a few seconds later I was hit with her Khakkhara on my arm.

  “Focus doesn't typically go hand in hand with talking. So shut up and focus.” She growled as she hit me in the spine to straighten my back again.

  Chapter 13

  “You wouldn't believe what she's having me do, Damon,” I whined for the third time since Damon had come to get me for lunch. For some reason, even though Rum was my trainer, Damon was the one ending my training and telling me when to start. He would drop me off at Rum's and then pick me up for lunch, but that was probably because I didn't know my way around and needed someone to guide me. Without him, they would be sending search parties for me every time I went to the bathroom.

  “Don't forget to go see Ms. DeLuca before you go to sleep so she can show you the equipment and supplies you'll be receiving for the mission,” Damon said clearly trying to change the subject again. He hadn't responded to anything I said, and most times I was having a hard time believing he was even listening. From how he responded it was like he was having a different conversation compared to the one I was trying to have with him.

  “Damon, seriously. I just need you to talk to me about this. You know ignoring me isn't going to do anything, I will just keep going ba
ck to the topic until you listen.”

  He placed his tray on the table next to Raider before he sat down. “I told you, Sara, in this building you call everyone by their code name. It's Demon, just call me Demon.” He groaned as he rubbed his temples, clearly agitated by my refusal to call him by his code name when he still called me by my name since I didn't have a code name yet.

  “I'm sorry, Demon, or should I say Hell's angel?” I growled as I took my seat next to Spit Fire. She moved away from me slightly, clearly uncomfortable by my angry demeanor, or maybe it was that some of my food had splattered onto the table and near her when I slammed my tray down.

  “I don't appreciate the sarcasm. Call me Demon, that's it,” Demon ordered. “Now what were you asking about tattoos earlier?” he asked, yet again trying to change the topic. He had been trying to change the topic since I brought it up in line for food, and I was getting annoyed with him.

  “I don't appreciate you not listening to me and trying to change the topic. Can you go back to training me please? Your training at least made sense, hers doesn't!”

  “I can't be your trainer, Sara.” He sighed. “You need a constant trainer. Someone who will work with you for years to come if you decide to stay, a mentor to teach you and learn with you. You need someone that can help you practice the skills you already possess for your specific job. I am not a thief. I am nothing related to a thief. So therefore, I am unable to be your trainer, and I apologize for it, but no.”

  “Why can't you be my trainer though?” I whined, not understanding why I needed a trainer that was a thief when the last one died in the raid. We didn't have another thief to train me anyway, so really anyone could train me. “You said I would have many to help get a variety of training.”

  “Hey, Spit Fire, you have a tattoo right?” Demon asked, trying to change the topic again, but this time adding in other people so it would stick better. He clearly didn't know how determined I was to finish this discussion. I wanted him to be my trainer, not Rum. Her training didn't make any sense, between the breathing and stretching, most times with her on my back while I stretched, she had me practice ducking her stick. Most times I got hit more than I could duck and maneuver out of range. I could only imagine what she would have me do next.

  “I do. It's a giant Phoenix, on my back,” she said, speaking for the first time since we sat down, as she put a fork full of mashed potatoes into her mouth. This conversation clearly held no interest for her, and she seemed exhausted, but I could only think that it was because she was training. Her pale face was flushed, and her almond-colored eyes held a hesitant gaze while her voiced seemed to be pushing back her emotions. Her mind was heavy with the days to come, and nowhere near this conversation.

  “Why a Phoenix?” I asked curiously, playing along with the topic change so Demon wouldn't race off and try to ditch me like he had earlier when he handed me over to Sharp Shooter. He had gotten Sharp Shooter's attention, then gotten out of the conversation as fast as he could so that he could be away from me for a while. He really didn't understand how determined I was to have him hear me out about this, just to get him to reconsider.

  “I was reborn from the ashes thanks to the agency,” she said curtly. She pushed a few more forkfuls of food into her mouth, but when she glanced over to see my confused expression she took a moment to clear it up for me. She cleared her throat after she swallowed, then said, “You're not the only one with some sob story, Sara, and I just choose not to be open about mine.”

  “Will you ever talk about it?”

  “I very rarely tell someone everything. It takes a lot for me to trust a person and I don't tell people about my past unless I trust them,” she said bluntly. “Don't be insulted by that though, maybe one day I'll tell you. For now, all you have to know is that, I almost died. Actually, I died for three minutes, and then the paramedics revived me. I was reborn,” she said, effectively ending that conversation because I was afraid to push her further than she was comfortable with.

  “What about you, Raider?” I asked, knowing that he didn't enjoy talking to me after our sparring match or before that either as a matter of fact. He was still upset that I had beat him since he trained in hand-to-hand combat and I was a rookie. If I didn't know better I would say he let me win, but that wasn't in Raider's abilities to forfeit a match. Due to that, something inside me told me he also just didn't like me in general. Whether it was because I was an outsider, a rookie, or a girl was anyone's guess but mine.

  “I don't have any.” He growled, as if he was upset with me for interrupting his lunch. “I think they are useless. They do not show the determination, acceptance, or allegiance to the agency and our cause, as some consider them to,” he said curtly, finishing with a soft growl that ended the conversation quicker than Spit Fire had.

  I glanced down at my food awkwardly, trying not to look up and accidentally offend anyone else while I shoveled food into my mouth. I was halfway through my plate of food when Demon finally took pity on me and pulled me out of the silence.

  “Look Sara, I can't be your trainer because I scope out possible recruits. I travel around when not on missions to look for individuals that the agency has their eyes on. I determine if they have the potential and then bring them here. I'm the one that found you, watched you, and secretly motivated you to continue practicing to steal things. I needed to be there for you, as I will have to do for others, so that you can see your own potential and come to the agency.”

  “How so?” I asked him, uncertain of how he motivated me to continue to steal things. I had always just done it, and never thought of anyone secretly pushing me to practice the skill. There was nothing that I could think of when Demon had forced me to practice stealing anything, but then again, if I knew it I probably wouldn't have done it.

  “Remember when I called you out on stealing everything you had ever taken from me?” he asked without hesitation. He glared me down, knowing that I remembered that day, but I wasn't going to tell him. I hated that day and refused to even think about it most times.

  I offered a nervous smile to his question. “Of course not,” I lied.

  “Really? Because I do, quite clearly,” he replied with a lifted eyebrow, calling my bluff.

  I let out a nervous laugh because I remembered it too well, even though I tried to forget about it so that I could say I had selective amnesia. I used to take Demon's gum from his back pocket, his keys, and everything else when I wanted them or needed something and he refused to do it for me. There was one day I needed to go back home to get my history binder for my class next period. Having that binder was my grade for the week, because everything we were doing for the week was based off my binder. We had spent all week working on it and today we were supposed to give a presentation, a discussion, and a debate off of the work we did. I didn't finish the binder in class and had to take it home to finish, then spaced out when Alex and I were running late again. So, I tried to convince him to take me home to get it during the lunch period before my class, but he refused.

  So I convinced, more like manipulated, a girl to help me distract Demon. While he was flirting with the beautiful blonde I had scoped out for him on his way to lunch, I swiped the keys from his backpack. Of course, the girl was more than willing to help since she thought she was taking Demon from me. I mean she would kiss him in front of me as if it was going to bother me, but really it helped me. I took his keys, grabbed Mark, and walked right out of the school building, after avoiding the school security guards that were supposed to keep the students from leaving school. After we got out of the building we made our way to his car, and I gave Mark the keys. Mark took them gratefully and got in the car with a smile. I think he was just happy it wasn't his car I was taking this time and it probably explained why he stopped driving to school after Alex and I took his car. We made it to my house and back without getting caught by anyone, although when I got back to school I had a very angry Demon waiting for me outside of my history class.

/>   He spent the time before class telling me that he had planned to go get my binder during lunch after he realized how unfair he was being, but noticed his keys and car were gone. Demon started to tell me off for taking his car, his gum, his supplies, and literally everything I had ever taken from him in the almost sixteen years I had known him; it was a lot of stuff to say the least. By the time he was done yelling at me, I was ready to break into tears, but I held it back. I had never been good with dealing with people while they yelled at me, most times I just cried, but I refused to let Demon see me cry about it.

  “I would put gum in my back pocket that I knew you liked even that layered fruit gum that no one else I know likes, so you'd steal it. Left my keys in places you could get to them and over time I made it more difficult so you could practice. I could see the determination in your eyes and saw you improving. You improved quickly and learned from experience, and that's what we needed. While you don't listen and rarely have an open mind about new ideas, you were going to be recruited. Unfortunately, you now have a high standard to meet and we are just trying to prepare you for it,” Demon said, pulling me from my reverie.

  “That made sense though,” I said, catching up in our conversation. “You were honing my skills, this is just breathing! You made me practice stealing things without you noticing, encouraged me to try different techniques and motivated me to practice.”

  “Breathing is kind of an important factor in life, Sara,” Demon pointed out with a smirk.

  I groaned, he had basically repeated what Rum had said without knowing it and for some reason it really annoyed me. “But it's not actual training! When am I going to use stretching and deep breathing?” I asked, but when I looked at the mischievous gleam in his eye I stopped him from saying what I knew was about to come out of his thin-lipped mouth, and it was going to be anything but PG rated. “Don't go there, and don't say that I use breathing every day either or I will throw these mashed potatoes at your head.”