by Lesley Young
“Bugs?”
“Yeah. Fuckin’ government's been up my arse for years.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Learned all I need about counter-intelligence from Dmitry’s ex-KGB boys.” My heart was in my throat, beating wildly. This was not only shocking news, but odd that he would mention Dmitry without snarling. Surely he suspected him of the assassination attempt?
“She’s clean,” said the man.
“Of course she is,” Jace said, winking at me. My heart skipped a beat, and then the butterfly army in my stomach resumed a skittish fluttering.
“Thanks, mate. That’ll be it for tonight, boys.”
The man nodded, and they all left.
He bent down to let out Miss Moneypenny.
“No. Just wait. Please,” I gasped, regaining my footing. It was all too much. I could not do this. I needed a moment.
Jace glanced at me—cross.
I shivered.
I had put on black dress shorts and a pale yellow silk shell, both insufficient given the air-conditioning. Buying extra time, I had straightened my hair and even applied makeup before packing up my belongings and coming here. I might have also wanted to look attractive, in case I had my work cut out for me.
And the way he was looking at me, maybe I did.
“I am experiencing some extremely negative emotion toward you,” I mumbled.
“Well then.” He stood up. “I can say the same, Charlie,” he said firmly, putting his fists on his waist.
Oh. He was angry at me?
“I do not understand,” I said, stilled by his negative emotion, indeed, directed at me.
“You did a runner, again,” he said, one of his hands reaching out, clenching into a fist tight. He closed his eyes, shook his head, lowered it and took a deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t have a fuckin’ clue where I stood with you. I still don’t. Do you know what that feels like, Charlie? To care for someone who keeps doing runners? Do you?”
The space between us crackled. I had not anticipated this reaction.
How could I? It was out of line. Clearly.
“I almost died because of you!” I shouted at him—emotion bullying its way out front. “What other reaction could you possibly expect?”
He stepped forward and I braced for his . . . energy.
It was like the gust of a lion’s roar.
“I expect you to stand by my side, that’s what I expect. You said you believed in me. And then, at the first sign of shit, you fuck off. That’s bootsie, Charlie.”
“First sign of shit?” I asked, breathless, eyebrows raised. Emotion had seized my entire entity. I was nothing but raw, pulsing feeling. And I knew I needed to check myself, because rational thought had never been more vital to my survival—to B’s survival—than in that moment.
I withdrew inside myself and mentally slapped myself a few times. When I emerged, Jace’s beautifully handsome face was no longer fierce—but forgiving. He had been talking but I had missed most of it. “Christ, you think I ever want you in that kind of danger? Charlie.”
He stepped forward, but I gasped and put out my hand. “No. First we talk. No touching until we talk!”
He half-smiled.
“Alright,” he acquiesced, hands out, fighting a full smile. I wanted to wipe it from his face.
“You knew something bad was going to happen,” I accused. When his eyebrows raised. I added, “The guns.”
“No, I didn’t. I was just prepared, Charlie. Like I always am. Thinking ahead.”
“Who is number nineteen?” I demanded, much louder than necessary, my face red with . . . fury.
His face bunched up.
“You’re bent up about that?”
I did not say anything.
“None of your bizzo, but I’ll tell you anyway. One of my lawyers. Just another backup plan for emergencies, Charlie.”
“Have you been inside her body?”
His face pulled back and then his eyes narrowed. “What kind of question is that?”
I withdrew inside myself again, smacked by the sudden realization that the figurative green monster had taken hold of me. Sullivan had told me his sluzza was a lawyer. Why did I care?
Because. Because. Because.
“Look, Charlie, I’m not making apologies for protecting myself. I pay her with dosh, for the record, for her skills and her discretion only. Nothing else. And she came through for me. You owe her heaps of gratitude, actually.”
I found what he said to be true, logically, but my rage inside was only stoked further by his gratitude toward her—plus, my own pride reared up. I had helped, had I not? Why was he not thanking me?
Wait, what on earth was wrong with me?! Here I was betraying him, and at the same time looking for praise. I clutched my head. He was talking. I had not been listening.
“. . . obviously I picked a place I thought we would be safe in. I’m fuckin’ pissed off, Charlie, as you can imagine. No, actually, let me be clear with you, I’m psychotic over what happened, and the motherfucker’s going to pay!”
I glanced at him, anxiety and . . . heartache made me nauseous. Yes, I had a sickness of the heart. Not cardiovascular disease related, but feelings were somehow constricting my arteries, making it harder and harder for my heart to pump blood to my body.
“You know who did it?”
His face darkened. “Yeah.”
“Dmitry,” I whispered.
He glanced at me.
“I heard men shouting Russian,” I explained. In fact, I thought it was Dmitry, Bennie (which was the only way Blaise could have known) and Joe, possibly, conspiring.
Jace shook his head.
I was confused.
“They were Russian, alright. But Dmitry would never send in men who gave away who they were. No, it wasn’t him.” He shook his head. “Trust me when I tell you, if it was Dmitry, neither of us would be standing here right now.”
“But, in Port Douglas, at the reef on the boat, he said he wanted you to get what you deserve.”
“Charlie, love. Ever occur to you that you don’t know everything?”
Blood flooded my cheeks. He was calling me out for being over-confident.
“I told you that you had it wrong that night, and I was right. Dmitry meant good things because he thinks I deserve good things. We go way back.”
“But he called you terrible names!”
“Didn’t he call everyone nasty names that weekend?”
Oh.
“Yes,” I whispered, realizing perhaps that was just his personality.
Jace was smiling sadly. “No. Who would want to get rid of me and set up Dmitry for retribution?”
Goosebumps of realization . . . and sorrow tingled down my arms. So he knew.
“Bennie. That’d be right,” he muttered. I experienced relief even as Jace crossed his arms over himself protectively. I stepped forward, longing to comfort him, selfishly counting my blessings that I did not have to deliver the bad news myself, or account for my source after all.
Sullivan Blaise escapes again.
“He’s been battling an imaginary war with me ever since I branched out,” said Jace quietly about Mr. Bennett. “Nothing I could say or do would make him see I wasn’t standing in his way. I handed the reins over to him in front of Dmitry in Port Douglas just like he wanted, too. Paranoid cunt.”
Jace walked around the island and opened up the fridge door, helped himself to a beer and drank half in a series of gulps.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have B betray me in that way. To want me dead?
I wanted nothing more than to protect Jace from other threats, namely Giuseppe’s son Joe, even as I sharpened my own knife.
“What about Joe? Mr. Bennett met with Joe in your office—”
“No. Joe wouldn’t’ve fucked his father over like that. No, it was Joe who told Giuseppe Bennie and Simon had plans for me. Giuseppe was the one who called and warned me.”
I was shoc
ked. Enemies were turning out to be friends, and friends, killers.
And lovers, snakes.
He shrugged, placing his beer on the counter. “That’s the cost of that life, ay. I’m paying it . . . when I shouldn’t be. That’s why I want better.” His dark eyes flashed on me. “I’m sick to death of the petty minds, the turf wars, the wasters and the wannabes, the no-hopers. I’m so close to making a real go of things for myself. Another week or less, in Vegas, and we’ll be safe. I swear to Christ, Charlie.”
I stepped up to the counter opposite, drawn to his words, his passion. He meant it; I knew it. Because I did have faith, still.
“In Vegas?”
“Yeah, we leave tomorrow.”
He eyed me speculatively.
“To establish the new Knight Enterprises hotel?” I asked quietly, praying to the heavens, if it existed, that was all he was going there for.
“Yeah. But it’s not mine.”
I glanced in his eyes.
“It’s for Giuseppe. Getting him this hotel, it’ll wipe the slate clean between us. I owe him, you see, for where I am today. He helped set me up and this hotel will clear up any debts. I’ll be free from his control at last. It’s why he and Joe warned me. Giuseppe wanted to make sure he got his hotel.”
Relief showered through me, and astonishment.
“That was the deal you made in Port Douglas.”
He nodded, watching me. After a moment, flat, he said, “I’m also meeting with some members of a new high-caliber . . . organization.”
I tried to still all my facial muscles. His big black eyes were watching me, unblinking.
“One with really epic potential,” he continued, “which will establish me firmly as untouchable. No one from my past would dare threaten me then. They appreciate my keen eye for real estate development, and my discretion,” he added.
“Oh. Well. That’s promising,” I said.
I should sound more enthusiastic, perhaps.
“Really.” I added.
Now would be a good time, Charlie.
“What is its name?” I whispered.
“What’s that?” asked Jace. “Didn’t hear you there, Charlie.”
I glanced into his eyes and they were challenging me—to create a negative emotion in him.
Why?
Did he . . . know?
No. He couldn’t.
He held me there on a wasteland, no direction to go.
“Nothing,” I choked out, thinking of the tattoo on B’s back—an archangel reaching for the heavens.
I burst out into tears—blinded—not caring, only feeling. Where would I find the courage? I wished I could . . . disappear.
“Shh,” he whispered in my ear. He was beside me and I melted into his strong arms, which wrapped around me, and rubbed me, making me feel worse . . . better . . . then twice as bad.
“Everything’s alright now,” he said. I believe he meant the danger had passed. I shook my head, emotion shattering everything I was into tiny mirror shards, nothing reflecting back at me that was decent or worthy.
I looked into his caves, wanting him to save me.
“I’m so scared,” I confessed.
“I know, and you don’t have to be. I know.” He hugged me to him and released me again. “And I’m going to make it safe. I promise. I’m twenty-six steps ahead, Charlie, remember, ay? Stop that, okay? It’s hurting me to see it,” he said, tenderness in his face, which only made me cry harder.
I would have to hurt him yet, far worse.
“I’ll keep you safe.” He kissed my head, shaking me a little to get me to stop. “You just have to do one thing. You have to quit doing runners. You have to stand by me.”
I rubbed my face dry. He placed his hands on my shoulders.
“Look at me, Charlie, ay?” I did as he asked. “I don’t want this without you. That future I want? Means half as much to me without you. I felt it before, but I really felt it after you scarpered earlier today. You think you can do that? Stand by me?”
Standing by him was exactly what Interpol wanted. I wanted to scream.
What he was asking me . . . how would I have answered if Interpol wasn’t forcing me to do their bidding?
Yes, that was what I needed to resolve.
A few hours ago, I had decided I wanted to make something of my life. Staring at him, feeling his hands on me, the comfort and safety he promised, believing in him with all my heart, it occurred to me that standing by him and making something of myself weren’t mutually exclusive. I might even be stronger standing by him.
But it wasn’t my choice to make anymore.
And he couldn’t know that.
“Will standing by you require a flak jacket in the future?”
After a moment, he laughed out loud. “No.”
“I am serious.”
“I know you are. That’s what’s funny,” he said, grinning. “And no, it won’t, I promise.”
“But . . . what about . . . Mr. Bennett and Mr. Carlisle?”
His face fell. “I’ll take care of them.”
I wondered at the ache inside.
Empathy.
Standing on my tiptoes, I kissed his lips hoping a gesture of affection would make him feel better. It appeared to distract him at least.
We were near melting to the floor when Miss Moneypenny made her feelings known. Jace released his grip on me only after I asked twice. He was frustrated.
I let Miss Moneypenny out of her carrier, and she dashed straight for under the bed. It took me twenty minutes to coax her out while Jace waited quietly, conducting business on his laptop. I followed Miss Moneypenny around his place as she explored tentatively. He accompanied us, between phone calls in the bedroom.
I told him his suite was just like he said, impersonal. The one exception: two bookshelves full of well-thumbed business books. I knew he was a self-taught man but seeing it was believing it.
The origami dragon I crafted using B’s tattoo as inspiration sat on one of the bookshelves.
My heart pounded and I stepped over to touch it. I clenched my eyes tight for a moment to stop the tears.
“Charlie.” Jace stepped close, perhaps seeing my body shudder. I did not know he was behind me.
I shook my head. I had to conceal my emotions. He knew of the dragon tattoo-origami connection.
“It is B,” I heard myself confess. “She’s struggling with something personal.” I thought of the German’s threats to accelerate her situation. “I am helping her.”
I glanced into Jace’s eyes, seeing the cost, measuring it, and deciding to pay it. “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her,” I told him fiercely. He needed to know. He deserved to know.
He stared deep, but I would not go inside his caves. I owed him that much: to betray him and take from him was low, too low. Instead, I imagined an army in those eyes, at its head the general, working through the news I had just delivered.
“Well then,” he said finally. “She’s a lucky sheila to have such a loyal friend.”
I sniffled, and stared at his throat.
“You hungry, Charlie?”
I nodded. He ordered room service and we waited for it on the sofa, watching the TV. I could not taste the burger but felt better for eating it. I could barely keep my eyes open, having not slept properly since before Uluru.
When Jace was done eating, he got back on the phone. I heard him discussing boarding for Miss Moneypenny and, suddenly alert, stood up right in front of him, my face bent in an intense frown. He hung up and I asked, “Why are you inquiring about boarding facilities?”
“Well she’s not coming to Vegas with us,” he said, spreadeagled on the sofa.
I stared down at him.
Earlier he had implied I was going with him tomorrow to Las Vegas. It irked me that he had not asked, even when it was what Interpol wanted.
He did not have to make it easy.
Of course I wanted to go, and would go, because it was a way home. O
nce in America, I would try to find a way to stay.
I fought strenuously to control the terrible dark gray and black emotions pressing down on me. When I emerged again, Jace’s jaw was clenched.
“I am not leaving Miss Moneypenny behind.”
His eyes broadcast a strange glint.
“Yeah, well you’re coming back, right.”
I gave away a clear indication of surprise—he had realized I was hoping not to come back.
“I know!” I exclaimed. That was too defensive. “I just can’t leave her again. I have been a terrible mother to her.” My voice had hitched, and I rolled my eyes at my own feebleness.
He tilted his head, his brow softened. “You’re way too hard on yourself.” He pursed his lips.
“All the same. I am not leaving her . . .” I omitted to say “behind.”
“Fine,” he snapped. “If it will make you happy, she can come. But we’ll have to smuggle her in on the way back to avoid quarantine again.”
“Yes. Please.” I added, greatly relieved.
After that, I let go of some of the tension, and we cuddled stiffly on the sofa, talking briefly about plans for the Vegas trip and how we would be leaving early in the morning. I fell asleep around ten p.m., desperate to escape all the . . . emotion. I slept heavier and deeper than I ever remembered having done before.
• • •
Jace must have carried me to bed. For that is where I woke up, with his cock pushing its way inside me, from behind, on our sides. Unprepared for the invasion, and remembering I was not free to take from him, I garbled, “No,” pulling away from his body. His arm grasped tighter around my waist, the other was arched above my head.
“Charlie,” he insisted, in my hair, prodding his way inside my body.
He wanted his morning shiny.
I pressed my legs tight together but it didn’t block anything. My heart rate had gone from a gentle beat to a sprint. I glanced at the clock, the only light in the pitch-black room. Early in the morning. Two hours before I would be flying back to America.
I felt . . . winded. Yes. That was it. In the fresh light of morning, I could see everything with absolute clarity. I did not wish to go back to America. I wanted to stay in Australia. I had failed. I was a failure.
“Let me love you. Everything’ll be okay, you’ll see,” he said, hoarse, forcing me onto my back and wrestling his way on top of my rigid body, spreading my legs forcefully with his knees. I wasn’t wearing anything under the long T-shirt.