The Origin

by Youkey, Wilette

  “I can do it myself,” she said once more. “Really.”

  The last thing Alex wanted to do was to leave her alone with her physical and emotional wounds, but he had no other choice, not when she pushed him out and closed the door.

  * * * * *

  “What do you mean she’s back at her apartment?” King said into the phone as soon as Smith had relayed the night’s events over the phone, feeling his blood pressure rising once more. He reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a near empty bottle of pills.

  “She’s there with her friend, Alexander Dahlgren. I’m parked across the street from her building, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.”

  King grunted after taking a sip of water, finding it hard to believe that his own daughter would choose to go to her apartment rather than run home to her father, or at the very least, to the safety of the police station. For once, he wished she had not inherited his iron will.

  “The two underlings, Felton White and Dane Carlton, turned out to be night janitors at the building where they held Olivia. They’re both now nursing shoulder wounds in a jail cell,” Smith said, and King knew the Australian man was grinning from ear to ear, as was his usual M.O. “This was a Mickey Mouse setup. They only had one gun amongst them.”

  “And John Mathers?” King said, who had not at all been surprised to learn that an ex-employee was the one behind the extortion caper. John had been one of King’s most promising protégés, at least, according to what his supervising officers had reported, but he’d been fired after reliable intel surfaced that John would soon try to woo King’s clients away in secret. King admired the man’s ambition and drive, but he did not tolerate duplicity. You could not try to lure business away from Richard King without suffering the consequences.

  “No, he disappeared from the scene. It’s almost like he vanished into thin air.” Smith paused then said, “Did you know his identity all along?”

  “I wish I had. But, no. He dropped his phone in the van and I heard everything. Including my daughter ordering you around.”

  Smith chuckled, always the good-natured, stone-cold killer. “You know what they say about the apple falling from the tree.”

  King could not help it; he smiled. His daughter was safe and he could not have been more proud. He only wished he could tell her in person.

  “How is she, Smith? Is she badly hurt?”

  “Apart from small cuts on her face, she was otherwise unharmed.”

  King nodded. His daughter would be fine. Unlike her mother, Olivia was resilient of spirit and would recover. Still, he had to err on the side of caution. “But Smith, keep a close eye on her. And make sure that Dahlgren boy doesn’t leave her side tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just do it,” King said with a tone that left little room to argue. “And Smith, your assignment will be ongoing until John Mathers is found and brought to me.”

  As they discussed the terms of the extended assignment, Smith argued that Olivia would take issue with her privacy being violated even further, but King vehemently disagreed. He felt deep down in his marrow that if Olivia knew exactly what was at stake, she would do the same thing to ensure the safety of her own offspring.

  * * * * *

  Olivia stepped out of the bathtub, watching the last of the glass swirling down the drain. She wound a towel taut around her head and prepared herself for the person who would peer back at her in the mirror.

  She took a deep, steadying breath.

  What she saw would have normally filled her eyes with tears, but she was spent, empty of energy to even care that half of her face was marked. Her only worry was that she would bear scars that would remind her of this night for the rest of her life.

  Turning her good cheek on the problem, she slipped into a thick, indigo robe and went to face her impromptu house guest.

  “Make yourself comfortable. I’m heading to bed,” she said, finding Alex sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands knitted together.

  He looked up at the sound of her voice. “Hey, it just occurred to me that I’m finally getting to spend the night at your place,” he said with a grin. It was just like him to always lighten the mood with a joke, and for the most part, he was usually successful.

  She forced the uninjured corner of her mouth to stretch, hoping that the effect was a lopsided smile and not a frown. Then turned to leave.

  “Mei?” Alex crossed the room with four purposeful strides and stopped in front of her. She took a small step backward and pulled the robe tighter around her chest, an instinctual reaction that took them both by surprise.

  Alex moved away, clearly crestfallen. Some other day, maybe as soon as tomorrow, she would feel regret, but not tonight. Right now, she couldn’t summon the energy to care about the feelings of a wannabe knight in tinfoil armor.

  “Yes?”

  He took a deep breath. “Sleep well. I’ll be right here if you need me.” His hand twitched at his side and she knew he wanted to hold her, but she was thankful that it remained where it was.

  “Thank you,” was all she said before padding down the short hallway. Once inside the safety of her bedroom, she closed the door, making sure to flick the flimsy little lock on the handle, and turned on both glass beside lamps.

  Inside her choked closet, she fetched a shoebox that housed a pair of her favorite electric blue Louboutin pumps and a silver revolver. She had purchased the firearm a while ago, after she’d first moved to her own apartment, and being as it had never seen the outside of the shoebox, she had luckily never found a use for it. But those halcyon days of a gun tucked away in a closet were long behind her now.

  Checking to see that the revolver was loaded, and of course it was as she’d never even fired it, she carefully laid it on the bedside table then finally climbed under the doughy weight of her comforter. Her eyes had already drifted closed when the name that had been tugging at the back of her mind all night finally pulled its way to the front.

  With monumental effort, she opened her eyes, reached for the cordless phone and dialed. She was glad when the answering machine picked up, rewound and finally beeped. “Daniel, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m okay. Alex is here with me,” she managed to say then promptly fell asleep.

  25 | FAITH IN THE SILVER TONGUE

  Daniel was having a bad night. He’d killed three people, burned down a building, been shot twice, had his face beaten into pulp, lost a countless amount of time while unconscious, and still he hadn’t accomplished his primary goal. Olivia was still nowhere to be found.

  He groaned as he sat up from the carpeted floor. His face was already starting to heal, broken bones setting themselves, roots pulling loose teeth back in. Still, the healing process left a pounding headache in its wake that threatened to slice his forehead open. If he never got shot again, it would be too soon.

  He looked around the office space for John, but knew that he would be long gone by now. Daniel could have sworn John said something about taking Olivia, about being sent by King, but he couldn’t be sure. Everything that came after the revelation about Rap’s death was an inexplicable blur.

  Gingerly he searched around the offices for any clues, any sign of where they had taken Olivia, but found nothing but a tomblike expanse of empty cubicles and abandoned potted plants.

  At a loss for what to do next, he washed his face off in a restroom, exited through the window he’d broken in the lobby and lumbered towards the nearest subway station. He needed a bath, four aspirins, and a clue.

  By the time Daniel made it home, he had suffered through the migraine that was throwing off his vision and balance, as well as endured the looks of horror from late night subway passengers.

  After taking some aspirin and water, he fell in a heap on the couch, wanting a moment’s rest before resuming his search for Olivia. Suddenly he noticed the blinking light on his answering machine, and his hope jumped a notch.

  With some effort, he pushed
himself up off the couch and made it to the answering machine. Relief consumed him like a tidal wave when he heard Olivia’s husky voice.

  “Daniel, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m okay. Alex is here with me.”

  The instant flare of jealousy quickly overrode his previous emotion. Daniel had spent all night looking for her, taking lives and bullets, only to find out she was spending the night with that blond prick?

  He picked up the phone and dialed her cell phone number with a speed fueled by outrage. She had made a fool out of him.

  “Hello?” the familiar husky voice answered, and despite himself, he felt some relief seep into his wall of anger. “Daniel?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said through his teeth. “Bye.”

  “Daniel, wait!”

  He held on, despite the strong desire to hang up. “What?”

  “I was kidnapped for ransom,” she said in a strained whisper. “Tonight, before the ballet.”

  “I know.”

  “Who..?”

  “Your blond friend told me.”

  “They took me, tied me up and put duct tape over my eyes and mouth…” She stopped, choking on the words.

  He gritted his teeth. “Did they hurt you?”

  A long stretch of silence, and finally, “I’ll heal.”

  He closed his eyes and fisted his gloved hand, aching to exact justice. Or was it vengeance? He couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

  She was quiet again for a long time, obviously weighing her words. And whether it was actually present or not, he felt the full force of the accusation in her voice when she said, “Where were you?”

  “I was busy tearing apart the entire city looking for you. You don’t even know what I had to do.” You don’t even know what I’ve done!

  He took a deep breath to gather his scattered emotions. God, he felt as if he were crumbling apart and dispersing in the wind. “I’ve done horrible things tonight, Liv. To find you.”

  “I’m found. I’m okay.”

  He hesitated before saying, “Do you want me to come over?”

  “No, I’m safe for now. I have my gun and my doors are locked. And Alex is here watching the door.”

  “What is he doing there?” he demanded, realizing he sounded like a jealous ape. But he was fresh out of word filters and didn’t care.

  “Just relax, Daniel,” she said in an even tone. “He is just a friend. Please believe me.”

  Just a friend my ass, he thought, but all at once he felt the pressure of insecurity ease off his chest. “I believe you,” he found himself saying.

  “I’m glad,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Goodnight, Daniel. Go to sleep.”

  He managed to stumble backward onto the couch before his brain closed up shop, the phone still in his hand.

  * * * * *

  John Mathers looked out across the quiet street to the BMW parked across the street. Inside the Assassin sat, acting as though he wasn’t sitting guard for Olivia King. A half hour had passed since she and her protective friend exited the car that John had easily stowed away in and still he’d not found the courage to exit the car lest he be spotted. He was invisible, hell, even his blood was completely transparent, but the Assassin would surely spot a car door opening on its own accord.

  He sat back in the seat, his hand still clutched to his side that the bullet had grazed. He had sat in the back of that car and watched the passing streetlights rendering the contours of Olivia’s face, revealing the torment that he himself had put there. It would have been so easy to take her hostage again, right there and then, and finally finish what he’d been unable to do half an hour earlier. But once more, he couldn’t do it.

  He was a villain, he knew that much. But, God, he was such an awful one. Whoever heard of a bad guy saddled with a conscience? He wished he could just act on impulse and damn the consequences, like he’d done when Daniel Johnson had appeared. The utter glee with which he’d pummeled the guy had been alarming, and admittedly, freeing. If he could just hold on to that feeling, he could be a truly effective force.

  With some effort he wriggled into the front seat but quickly realized he had absolutely no clue how to hotwire a car. And he’d lost his phone in the van, so he couldn’t even look it up on the internet.

  Utterly disgusted with himself, he decided to just exit the car as inconspicuously as possible and hope that the Assassin wasn’t as observant as his reputation suggested.

  A few minutes later, he was running down the street towards the underground station, the little burst of adrenaline masking the pain from his side and the biting chill of the New York night. He needed to find someplace warm, to gather his thoughts and assess his physical situation.

  A while later, he was creeping down a busy corridor of the Mt. Sinai Hospital ER, working hard at not running into the hurrying staff and the people they were wheeling around. He grabbed some bandages from a passing cart, slid into an elevator and soon discovered a relatively quiet floor. He found an unoccupied patient room and settled in, with the intention of staying the night.

  The first place that John visited was the bathroom, and under the blast of warm water, he scrubbed at himself with a washcloth as though he were grating the very skin off his body. Afterward he emerged, feeling raw but still quite transparent. He wiped the steam off the mirror, staring at the empty space that his naked body should have been occupying, and came to the realization that his tattoo on which he’d spent a countless amount of money, time and agony was now gone. The detailed tribute to his brother was no more, like Rap himself. Out of everything that had happened that night, this loss hit him the hardest, and the tears flowed down his once-handsome face, the evidence of his mourning imperceptible even to himself.

  Later he emerged from the bathroom, his side firmly bandaged, and headed straight for the telephone. He needed to save the only thing of worth he had left to his name. He dialed his apartment with a nervous hitch in his throat.

  “Natasha?” he said into the answering machine. “Are you there?”

  Several heartbeats expired before he finally hung up then dialed once more to check his messages. The first and only one was from Natasha. “Hukarere Matera,” she said in the icy tone she reserved for when John had truly wronged her, like the time he’d been caught drunkenly kissing another woman at a party. It had taken a lot of time and groveling, but she’d forgiven him then. Surely she would do so now.

  “We are over.”

  If he could blanch from the stunning news, he was certain he would have.

  “You had me fooled, John. I thought you were one of the good ones. I honestly thought we had a future together. But kidnapping a woman for ransom? What, you thought I wouldn’t find out? The police were here, John! They took me to the police station, they interrogated me for hours, and all I could say was that I didn’t know anything. That I don’t know who you were, after all.” Her voice trembled, and he knew in his gut that she had been crying. “I’m going back to California. And please don’t even bother to come looking for me, because I never want to see you again. This is it, John. Bye.”

  How appropriate, because you never will see me again, John thought as he returned the handset to the cradle. If the disappearance of his brother’s tattoo caused him to cry, the loss of Natasha left him frozen and unable to breathe.

  He had purposely kept her in the dark about the kidnapping for her own protection, so that she would not be implicated should the plan go awry. She didn’t know about the unjust dismissal from work, about the fact that the woman they had admired at the ballet had been integral in his plan for retribution. Natasha had known absolutely nothing by design.

  Mostly, he never told her for fear that she would judge him and see him as the greedy, ambitious man he was. If Natasha had even caught a glimpse of that vile man, she would have said goodbye to him long ago. And so he had endeavored to hide it from her, to mask that
small part of himself that was not altogether decent by overcompensating in tenderness, by playing the role of the upstanding man.

  It took becoming invisible, but now he was free to unleash the immoral side of him that was screaming for vengeance.

  And vengeance he would get. For the loss of his freedom, for the loss of his very appearance, and for the loss of his Natasha.

  26 | A PORT IN THE STORM

  Olivia awoke the next morning disconcerted and sore. For a moment, she wondered if last night’s events had all been a dream; then it all came rushing back, reminding her of the reason why one side of her face felt aflame and she was aching in various parts of her body.

  She rose gingerly and straightened the bed, staring blankly at her embroidered quilt as she caught glimpses of the nightmare she’d had, both in the dream world and in reality.

  After automatically performing her stretches, she changed into some jeans and her “bloated day” hooded sweatshirt and tiptoed out into the living room to find Alex quietly asleep on the couch with a blanket over his torso. One arm was thrown over his head and both his feet were hanging over the armrest.

  So much for her steadfast sentinel.

  Olivia crept closer and caught an unguarded view of Alex, free of pretense and affectations, not all that different from the conscious Alex with his lips that were always ready with a flirty smile.

  She started the coffee maker and was rinsing out two mugs when Alex came padding in a few minutes later, wearing a white undershirt, wrinkled pants, and a rumpled smile on his face.

  “Morning,” he said with a croak and leaned against the counter as he straightened his clothes. “Must. Have. Coffee.”

  Olivia smiled. “I hope you like it strong.”

  Alex yawned and scratched his stomach. “I like it any way you can serve it,” he said on flirt auto-pilot. He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry. Yes.”