Occidis: Sophia Moreau, Book 1

by Aisha Tritle

  “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him, Sophia,” said Jonathan, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Sophia said nothing. She was at a loss…and couldn’t find a reply.

  Jonathan backed away from her, his face pale. “I’m such an idiot,” he muttered.

  Sophia was still speechless. Was he right? Had she fallen for Ilya? She didn’t know…

  Jonathan sat back down and covered his face. He stayed silent for a while.

  Sophia shifted uncomfortably. He was being overly dramatic—but why? Why was this such a big deal?

  She cleared her throat. She was used to dealing with silence. But there was something unbearable about it this time. Her thoughts were running a hundred miles an hour, and she was beginning to have too many questions.

  Finally, Jonathan rose. He leaned over the desk; his green eyes seemed to penetrate into the innermost depths of Sophia’s mind. She could hardly will herself to hold his gaze.

  “Just don’t do anything you might regret,” he said.

  Sophia felt a tinge of surprise. That wasn’t quite what she’d been expecting. But then again, she didn’t know what to expect any more—especially from Jonathan.

  “I won’t,” she replied.

  “And I mean anything,” said Jonathan. “Anything you would ever regret in the slightest bit.”

  “Okay. I won’t.”

  “I want you to promise me, Sophia.”

  His usual demanding tone was nowhere to be heard. Jonathan was sincerely imploring her.

  “I promise,” said Sophia, confident she was making a promise she could keep.

  Jonathan walked to the edge of the room. It was plain that he still wasn’t satisfied. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said as he opened the door.

  Sophia hesitated before taking the cue to leave. There were still issues between them that she wanted to resolve…but she was tired. Her arm had started to ache again, and she’d stifled three yawns in the past few minutes.

  As she passed Jonathan, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. Before Sophia knew what was happening, he’d planted a tender kiss in the middle of her forehead.

  She couldn’t remember the last time someone had kissed her like that.

  “See you tomorrow,” she whispered, not quite aware of what was coming out of her mouth.

  Jonathan gently nudged her out of the room and shut the door behind her.

  She slowly went down the hallway, her fingertips brushing the kiss he’d left.

  19

  Ilya let out a long, low whistle. “Where does he get the money?”

  They were walking towards a private jet. Sunlight gleamed off its polished exterior. It looked excessive. Unnecessarily fancy. Sophia thought it looked so large she could very well get lost in it. She pulled her duffle bag higher up on her shoulder. It was heavy—not so much from the weight of her clothes, but the weapons stashed inside.

  “That’s a Gulfstream G550, Sophia. It costs more than $30 million,” Ilya continued.

  Sophia didn’t really care. But she knew she should. The source of Jonathan’s seemingly endless wealth was a mystery. But Ilya’s puzzled enthusiasm was what really interested her. It was a welcome change from his withdrawn attitude in the car. His face had been unusually pale on the way over, but the color was coming back into his cheeks.

  Sophia cracked a small smile as she observed his blue eyes glisten and jaw drop in awe.

  Yet again, Ilya was dressed impeccably. How did he manage it? Sophia was thankful that she’d been provided with clean clothes, let alone ones that fit.

  But here was the beautiful Russian, looking as if everything he wore was tailored. A simple blue linen button-up shirt covered his broad shoulders. Belted dark denim followed his long legs perfectly and ended right above crisp brown leather shoes.

  Sophia’s staring was interrupted when Ilya returned her gaze, and she quickly looked away.

  She bit her lip. The last thing she wanted was to come across as a creeper.

  “Do you want me to take that?” asked Ilya.

  “What?”

  “Your bag. It looks heavy.”

  “Oh.”

  They’d reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to the jet. Not much point in handing it to him now, but Sophia gave him her bag anyway.

  Ilya took it and stepped aside. “After you,” he said.

  Sophia rushed up the stairs. The inside of the plane was even more beautiful than the outside. Beige suede and leather covered the whole interior. A pilot stood at the front of the plane, an affable smile on his face.

  He looked remarkably similar to Jonathan—but tougher. They were of a similar build and carriage. But in place of ethereal features, this man had rugged ones. He shook Sophia’s hand.

  “Clayton,” he grinned. “Pleased to meet you. I’ve heard much about you from Jonathan.”

  “Pleased to meet you as well,” said Sophia. From the man’s firm grip and clipped British accent, she suspected was one of Jonathan’s old military friends.

  As Clayton’s gaze fell on Ilya, his eyes kept their jovial expression. But he didn’t introduce himself.

  “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes,” said the pilot, excusing himself. “Please go ahead and stash your bags.”

  Sophia sank into a chair. Her limbs were exhausted. She wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe the stress of the preceding days had caught up with her. Ilya scanned his surroundings, a satisfied smile on his face.

  “Isn’t this great, Sophia? We’ve got a bar, a TV so we don’t get too bored—“

  “It’s just too bad Kristin can’t be here,” muttered Sophia.

  Ilya settled across from her. The color had drained from his face again. He pulled the window shade up and stared pensively outside.

  There wasn’t much to see besides the tarmac. But it was obvious that Ilya was only looking for a canvas for his thoughts.

  “You alright?” asked Sophia.

  Ilya didn’t reply. Sophia sat, uncomfortable with the silence. Something was wrong.

  A minute later Ilya snapped out of his thoughts. “Hmm? What’d you say?”

  “I just asked if you’re alright.”

  The plane engine was roaring, and they’d started speeding down the runway.

  Ilya shot her a weak smile. “I’m fine,” he said.

  He pulled down the window shade and redirected his attention to Sophia. “How about you? Are you alright?”

  “I’m alright,” replied Sophia automatically.

  She always said she was alright. But was she? Would she even be able to tell if she wasn’t? Sophia let out a deep sigh. She’d bottled up and ignored her emotions for so much of her life, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d do if she ever actually faced them. She looked out the window and tried to calm her thoughts. They sat in silence for quite some time before Sophia spoke again.

  “I tried to see Kristin this morning.”

  Ilya cleared his throat. “Did you?”

  “I mean, I tried. But she was still out from the drugs.”

  Ilya’s brow furrowed. “Was she?”

  Something in his tone bothered Sophia…

  “Did you see her?” she asked.

  Ilya’s eyes widened. “What?”

  He’d definitely seen her.

  “You saw her.”

  Panic crossed Ilya’s face, before dissolving into resignation. “Yes,” he said. “I did.”

  “What time?”

  “Around 9 a.m.”

  A slight pang struck Sophia’s heart. She’d gone in a little after. Despite her gentle efforts to awaken Kristin, there’d been no response.

  “Looks like she ignored me,” she muttered.

  Ilya waved her off, trying to be a comfort. “I don’t know about that.”

  “What did you talk to her about?” asked Sophia, hungry for information.

  Ilya got up and walked to the nearby liquor cabinet. “Not much,” he said.

  He pulled out a cut-glass deca
nter and poured a generous helping of whiskey. “You want?” he asked Sophia.

  She shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  Ilya sat back down, looking into the bottom of his glass as if it held the answer to all of life’s problems.

  “Did she say anything to you?” asked Sophia. She was willing to patiently extract information from him.

  “She said a little,” said Ilya. “Nothing important.”

  Was he minimizing his answer to spare her feelings?

  “What did she say?” pressed Sophia.

  Ilya shifted uncomfortably. “She said she was feeling better.”

  “Does she blame me?”

  “She blames everyone, Sophia,” said Ilya. “You need to stop blaming yourself.”

  Sophia rubbed her eyes—a precaution to keep the tears from falling. “But I might’ve made a mistake,” she said, voice hoarse.

  Ilya abruptly set his glass down. “We all make mistakes.”

  “But I might’ve made a really big—“ Sophia was cut off.

  “We all make mistakes,” repeated Ilya, his voice just short of a yell.

  Sophia stared.

  “Why are you even friends with her?” asked Ilya.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s not a good person, Sophia.”

  “You don’t know that!” Sophia looked at him in disgust. What right had he to say these things? He didn’t know Kristin like she did.

  “I just want to know,” said Ilya. “I don’t get you two. She doesn’t even care about you.”

  Sophia felt like he’d slammed her in the face.

  Ilya’s cheeks flushed with shame. He sat back and covered his face. “Sorry,” he said.

  But Sophia knew his words were close to being true. She’d never really thought about her and Kristin’s relationship, and as the reality of it dawned on her, she choked back a sob.

  “I guess we were just thrown together,” she said, breaking the silence that had descended. “But I wouldn’t trade her for anyone else in the world.”

  “You have too much loyalty,” said Ilya.

  “Isn’t it better to have too much than none?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Ilya’s blue eyes seemed to have doubled to twice their usual size. They were studying her too intensely.

  Sophia turned her head away. “You wouldn’t understand,” she said. “You were recruited only a year ago. If you’d grown up with us, you would get it.”

  “You made do with what you had, Sophia.”

  And he was right.

  “You don’t know her like I do,” replied Sophia. She was grasping at straws. He was right. But she wasn’t prepared to admit it.

  Ilya refilled his glass. “I know her better than you think,” he said.

  Sophia scoffed. His interactions with Kristin over the past two years probably totaled to just a couple of hours.

  “Honestly, Ilya, you have no right to say these things.”

  “I’m just trying—“

  “She’s my friend, not yours,” snapped Sophia. “And so what if she and I were thrown together? You and I were practically forced to become friends.”

  “But I actually care about you. I care about you a lot.”

  Sophia’s heart seemed to stop for a moment. She stared blankly at Ilya, trying to catch her breath and find the words to say.

  His eyes searched her, expectant. Sophia was still speechless; she wanted to kick herself.

  Ilya drained his glass and turned around to refill it. “You deserve better, though,” he said.

  What? No, she didn’t. But Sophia still couldn’t bring herself to speak. She felt paralyzed. Paralyzed by what? Fear?

  Ilya sat down and redirected his focus out the window. He was so beautiful. And she’d just blown it.

  Sophia bit down hard on her lip as if trying to punish herself by drawing blood.

  Jonathan’s words from the night before flew through her head. It had seemed ridiculous at the time, but maybe it was true. She’d fallen for the man sitting in front her. But the last time she’d opened her heart up like that had ended in tragedy.

  An image of Colin flashed through her mind. Colin who had hanged himself. She’d given everything to him.

  The slight twitching of her hand caught Sophia’s attention. Her hand was shaking again. She smothered it between her legs and leaned back in her chair, embarrassed.

  It was Ilya who deserved better. He didn’t need a girl who went about trembling whenever she had to address emotions. And he was better than her. He actually believed everything The Org stood for was wrong. He had principles that led him to stand up against his uncle.

  Sophia had just been swept up in everything. She’d been chosen, Lord knows why. Unlike Ilya, she hadn’t been plagued with enough rage against the people that imprisoned her to proactively leave and try to end them.

  Sure, she’d been bitter. But who wouldn’t be?

  A sigh from Ilya caught her attention. He’d obviously given up on an answer. It looked like he’d given up on talking to her, too. That was probably for the best. Sophia knew she’d never been much of a conversationalist. Especially right now. Right now, she really sucked.

  She got up and grabbed a pillow and blanket from a nearby basket. The temperature in the plane was frigid, but the cold didn’t seem to bother Ilya. As she sat back down, Sophia wrapped herself up in the blanket and fluffed the pillow behind her head.

  Just why had she been chosen? Jonathan had gone to a lot of trouble getting her—and keeping her—out of Program Occidis. Why was she so important?

  The warmth of the blanket was comforting. One by one, the muscles in her body relaxed. A small thought in the back of her mind was irking her like a pin prick, Lund’s words on the day she’d been captured.

  “You come from bad blood.”

  That’s what he had said. He couldn’t mean anyone but her father.

  As her eyes drifted shut, the pictures Jonathan had shown her flashed through her mind. He’d known her father…

  Eight hours later, she found herself being shaken awake.

  “Sophia. Sophia, wake up.”

  A slight panic came over Sophia. She sat bolt upright.

  “Whoa,” said Ilya. “Calm down. We just arrived.”

  He held his hands out in front of him and spoke as if calming a wild horse.

  Sophia blinked at him. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  Lund had always roughly shaken her awake when they touched down after a job. Granted, he’d always knocked her out before…

  “No need to apologize,” said Ilya, helping her up and grabbing both of their bags.

  “I can carry mine,” protested Sophia.

  Ilya took her hand. “No need. Come on.”

  They exited the plane and walked down the staircase. It was pitch black outside, but hot. The humid air seemed to sweep around and cling to every part of Sophia.

  A large sedan sat a short distance away, lights shining. As they neared it, a tall man got out to greet them. He bowed before speaking.

  “Hello, my name is Yasuo,” he said with a thick Japanese accent. He wore a tank top and sweat pants. He was buff—there didn’t seem to be an inch of fat on him. The light from the car accentuated every bulging muscle.

  Sophia raised her eyebrows. No wonder he was wearing a tank top; he’d probably rip the sleeves of any proper shirts.

  Ilya pulled back the hand he’d extended and bowed as well. “I’m Ilya,” he said. “And this is Sophia.”

  Yasuo nodded. “Yes, yes,” he smiled. “I have heard much about you. Saren is very excited to meet you.”

  He opened the rear car door and ushered them in. “Please, I shall drive you to Saren.”

  The drive took a few hours, over windy mountain roads, a bridge, then small city streets. Sophia knew if the sun had been up, it would have been incredibly scenic.

  The car stopped outside of a large, wrought-iron gate.

  “Don’t get out yet,”
said Yasuo. He grabbed a remote from the passenger seat, and the gate started to swing open.

  They rolled along up to the house. Sophia could see it in the near distance. It didn’t look so much like a house, as a collection of variously sized metal boxes welded together. The aesthetic was too modern for her. Still, despite its cold appearance, Sophia knew a lot of people would kill for a place like that. It was huge.

  Plus, they were right by the ocean. Sophia took a big, grateful breath as soon as she stepped out of the car. A gentle breeze ruffled her hair. It was much better than the weather that had first greeted them.

  “This way, please,” said Yasuo, climbing up the smooth cement steps that led to the front of the house.

  A metal keypad was by the front door. But before Yasuo could enter a passcode, the door swung open. A woman, not older than 25 and dressed in tight workout clothes that clung to every curve of her tall, voluptuous body, stood grinning at them. Her skin was lightly freckled, her hair a shiny shade of auburn, her eyes were green and almond-shaped. Her grin showcased her blindingly white and perfectly shaped teeth. She was very, very beautiful.

  Sophia’s jaw dropped. What was this? She hadn’t expected this. She wasn’t sure why, but the sight in front of her inspired fear…and something else. Was it jealousy? She stole a look at Ilya; his face showed he was in awe of the woman just as much as she was.

  Sophia gritted her teeth. This was a nightmare.

  The woman smirked. “Hello, I’m Saren. It’s nice to meet you.”

  20

  Sophia let out a succession of quick breaths, her limbs moving as fast as her mind could make them. The wound on her arm wasn’t completely healed, but the painkillers she’d been given were so strong she felt no pain.

  As kicks, punches, and jabs came at her, she deflected them with little difficulty. Was this really the best Saren could do? This was the kind of training Sophia had grown up with. She was tempted to laugh.

  Suddenly, she was knocked off her feet. As Sophia’s chest hit the padded floor, the wind was knocked out of her. What had just happened?

  “You’re too comfortable,” said Saren. The auburn-haired woman wiped the sweat off her brow and put her hands on her hips. Her green eyes studied Sophia from their lofty height. Total judgment seemed to waft off her.