Prophet

by S. M. West

Saturday 2:15PM

  Nick

  “Are you going to kill me?” Her voice is small but deadly serious.

  The plate I’m rinsing slides from my hand with a loud clash into the porcelain sink. I peer at Maggie staring at me. Kit almost chokes, bending and coughing a few times before standing. Water glistens in his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” She lowers her foot from the stool, poised to limp to his aid.

  “I’m fine.” He clears his throat and with each passing second, he looks more like himself. Color rushes back into his cheeks.

  Neither of us answers her question. Her words lure me back to my call with Slaughter, her brother, yesterday and my talk with Maggie last night.

  She gave no indication she overheard the conversation or my threats. I even felt good after our talk. We fell asleep facing each other and woke the same way, with our hands entwined.

  This morning, she’s been quiet, resting and reading for most of the day. Her foot looks much better, and she’s even walked on it a bit, but I’ve told her to stay off it to speed up her recovery.

  “None of this makes sense,” she practically whines, frustrated. “We got away from the Russians. And who were you screaming at last night? When does this end?”

  Being sure to not glance Kit’s way, I study her. I’d hoped after last night’s conversation, we’d turned a corner. If nothing else, I thought we stopped the charade and accepted our roles in this messed-up game.

  Her question is puzzling. If she didn’t have her own agenda—working for her brother—it would be understandable how she can’t accept this situation when she’s not here of her own free will. But that’s not the case. Being with me is part of her endgame too. I just need to outsmart her and her brother. The Brit’s outcry for her freedom yesterday is proof they are close.

  Kit clears his throat, and she looks to him. I refuse to. “It’ll be over soon. It’s not safe to leave you on your own right now. The Russians are looking for both of you.” Once Kit’s done sharing way more than I would have, he walks out the door.

  He isn’t a fan of my plan. If he can’t deal, he can go, but he refuses to leave me exposed. A true friend even when we’re at odds.

  She slides her gaze to me, and we face off. Nothing I say will placate her. She doesn’t know that we’re leaving shortly for Montreal, and the less she knows the better.

  “What he said.” I shrug and turn to the sink to finish cleaning up lunch.

  “Why did I think our talk last night changed things? I keep expecting you to tell me what the hell is going on,” she snaps like an angry girlfriend.

  “Oh, you mean like you opening up about that shit the other night?” I tilt my head to the side, and she averts her gaze. “Your freak-out in the woods. I’m still waiting for an explanation.”

  She’s stock still, eyes wide with fear, gawking at me. It’s clear she isn’t going to say anything and fed up, I turn away. I need some air.

  “Nick, I can’t—” She stumbles over the words.

  I’ve already put some of it together. Phobias, but the why and what happened to her are still a mystery.

  “I’m asking because maybe I can help.” My stomach tangles at my lie.

  I want to help, but the reality is we aren’t on the same side and this will be over very soon. We’ll never see each other again in a matter of hours. I can’t help her.

  She sighs and gives me her back. I watch the hypnotic sway of her thick ponytail as she hobbles to the couch.

  “You already have helped,” she says, so low that I almost miss it.

  Our eyes collide, and I beat back wishes that can never be. I have no choice but to stick to the game plan. None of the other options are as foolproof.

  Undeserving of her warm gaze, I dry my hands and follow Kit’s lead outside. Distance from Maggie doesn’t help. My irritation grows tenfold at my limited options.

  Kit’s closing the trunk, having likely loaded what we’ll need for the meet.

  “Don’t do this, man.” He crosses his log-sized arms over his chest.

  My hand roughly rakes down my face, and I wince at the ache in my jaw. I’m healing nicely, too, but my face is still tender and bruised.

  “It’s the only way this works.” Mirroring him, I fold my arms.

  “She has nothing to do with this.” He’s completely on her side, and I wish I could be, too, but she’s on Slaughter’s team. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

  “How can you say that? You really believe meeting her at the loft was coincidence?”

  He pauses, his lips a slash across his hard face. He knows coincidence will get you killed. Sure, she’s easy on the eyes, and when she’s not Lara Croft, she’s nice, sweet even. But it’s all an act. Why do I feel like I’m trying to convince myself of this?

  “We should get going.” He glances to his watch. “I’ll get her.”

  I let him go and slip into the driver’s seat. It’s more than a ninety-minute drive to the city, and we want to be there with plenty of time to scout the area. There’s always the risk that Yegor is doing the same, but my guess is he did it last night after we sent the text. They will be early, too, but we’re leaving with enough time to get into position before they arrive.

  The drive is tense and as we hit Montreal, we lose twenty minutes to traffic and construction. I swear this city is never without road construction.

  When we first left, she had dozens of questions, ones we’ve heard before, and I kept quiet, watching Kit squirm.

  At first, he responded without really answering, but he quickly learned that only pissed her off. When she became irritated with him, he followed my lead and zipped his trap. Fortunately, she gave up soon after that, and the rest of the ride was silent.

  We arrive with enough time to find the best vantage point and wait. As predicted, Yegor and four men arrive thirty minutes early. Maggie and I stand with our backs to a wall, the doors to a warehouse only steps away in case we need cover, and Kit’s our lookout, perched on the roof of a nearby building. It isn’t ideal; I wish I had more men. We’re already outnumbered.

  She’s surprisingly quiet, and it rankles me. I’d expected her to bitch and moan about not knowing what’s going on, but she hasn’t said a word since we parked the car. Her ankle is doing much better and she was able to walk.

  Just before they arrive, I run through the plan in my head, and my conscience nags at me. Something isn’t sitting right with me. Fuck, there’s no time to change course—they are here.

  We’re ten feet from Yegor, and he’s with another Russian whom I’ve seen before but never cared to know his name. The other three men hang back.

  Yegor is Drago’s most trusted man—he’s got brains and brawn. I’ve dealt with him many times.

  Maggie’s at my side, my hand curled around her upper arm, and a leer creeps across Yegor’s friend as he eye-rapes her. I want to fucking punch him in the face and cut off his balls.

  “Nick, why’d you bring your gash, unless you’re planning to share?” Yegor’s yellowing teeth are bared with his twisted smile.

  She recoils, and I clench my jaw. “What does Drago want with me? Slaughter told him I had nothing to do with the stolen shipment.”

  At the mention of Slaughter, as if on cue—she’s damn good—Maggie sucks in a shocked breath. Her huge, worried eyes dart between the Russians and me. She’s taking it a bit too far with the pretend surprise. Or perhaps she thought I was too dumb to figure out that her brother was behind this?

  Quickly studying her expression, I’m hit with a heavy sinking in my gut. Instead of understanding, confusion swims in her eyes. She looks like she’s trying to piece it together, to make the puzzle whole, but pieces are missing. She’s supposed to know all these details. She’s Slaughter’s fucking sister after all. She came to Lo’s loft on her brother’s orders and sought me out. Why the fuck do I feel like I’m the one lost?

  Yegor laughs, stepping toward us. “Whatever that asshole said doesn’t matter. Dr
ago wants you to pay. He told you to work for only him, and you never listen. This is why; look at the shit you’re now in. He will wait until he can get to Slaughter, but you, he wants now.”

  “Let’s make a deal. Put this behind us.” The words out of my mouth are foreign, even to me. What the fuck am I doing? “What if I gave him what I made on the job?”

  Even as say it, I know it’s a stupid offer. Shit, an insult. Even at triple my rate, I can’t come near the cost of all those guns, and if I clean out all my savings I’m fucked. I’d never be able to leave this life.

  Yegor tips back his head and laughs, long and throaty. The other guy beside him does the same. Meanwhile, the three other guys, standing further back, continue to scope the area like robots.

  “Nicky, I never thought you were so fucking dumb.” He flicks his wrist, and the men approach.

  The time has come. I’ll lay my cards on the table, and Maggie will have to do the same. Usually, when I know I’ve got an ace up my sleeve, the satisfaction is overwhelming and sometimes its own reward, but now, my guts roil and burn with disgust.

  “Call off the hounds.” I push past any unease and pull Maggie front and center. “What if I had something better than me?”

  One of Yegor’s eyebrows arches, and he holds up his hand; the guys approaching, stop. “Go on.” He’s talking to me, but his eyes never leave Maggie.

  “What if I had something that would make the Brit hurt more than you can imagine?”

  The dark beady eyes slice to me, bloodthirsty. “Get to the point.”

  “Do you know who this is?” My head tips to Maggie. I refuse to look at her, even with her gaze burning into my soul.

  “Nick—” She chokes out my name as if I’m her only hope.

  “My next fuck,” the guy beside Yegor says, and they both laugh.

  I fight the urge to beat the shit out of them. It’s her or me. “She’s Slaughter’s sister.”

  “No.” Maggie tries to break free of my grasp. “I hate John. He isn’t my brother.”

  I’d almost believe her, but DNA doesn’t lie. Yegor takes another step closer, his features keenly trained on the raven beauty, seeing her for the first time. Not as a bunch of holes for release but as something of value.

  “You have to believe me, I hate him.” She growls at me, fruitlessly trying to get away, but she’s trembling. It’s subtle, and my gut clenches.

  “This is very interesting development.” Yegor strokes the thin, dark hairs of his goatee. “This is good. Very good. What you have in mind?”

  “A trade. Leave me alone.” My eyes never stray from his, knowing if I look at her, all will be lost. “The slate is wiped clean and Drago holds no grudge against me, and I give you her.”

  I can’t even say her name. She’s only a means to an end. Nothing more.

  “I hate you,” she screams, kicking at me.

  Fortunately, I move out of striking distance but still grip her.

  “You’re a worthless piece of shit.”

  Her venom pierces my armor, coursing through my veins like poison, heading straight for the heart, and I deserve it. While my insides burn and constrict, my expression remains blank.

  The men laugh at her futile attempts to hit me, and Yegor nears. Her hatred for me blinds her to his presence and it’s too late for her to do anything when he wraps his massive arm around her torso, plucking her off the ground.

  Still refusing to look her in the eye—I’m a fucking coward—I release her and step back.

  Instead of victory washing over me at the successful barter for my freedom, guilt crushes my tightening chest. Yegor has her back to his front, her hair tousled and tears staining her unforgettable face. Like always, she glares at me as if willing my death.

  “We have a deal,” he says, squeezing tighter, and she gasps.

  As if an anchor is hitched to my insides, a sick, crippling sensation winds around my intestines and up my spinal column. With each step, he takes her from me, and the anchor descends into darkness, ripping my guts out and splattering them like a trail of chum in his wake.

  I’ve only ever felt like this once before. Léa. After what happened to her, I swore I’d never put myself in a situation to feel like that again. How did I fool myself into thinking I could? I have to stop this. The alternative will mean my death, but I can’t live with throwing Maggie to the wolves.

  Yegor turns his back to me, as does the other guy, dragging Maggie away. She’s digging in her heels, cursing a blue streak. I glance to the roof where Kit peers down with utter disgust on his face. I register his surprise when I give him the signal. The one we talked about. He insisted on having a signal in case I changed my mind. I was adamant that I wouldn’t, but obviously my friend knows me better than I know myself.

  Kit hesitates for a second before raising the automatic and firing. Bullets spray around us, but as planned, no one is hit. He’s creating a diversion, and it works.

  Not expecting it, the Russians run for cover, including Yegor, who releases Maggie for but a second before grabbing for her again. It’s all the time she needs.

  Thank fuck she’s quick on her feet even with an injured ankle, and she pushes through any discomfort to scurry away from him. I’d counted on that, and I’m ready to grab her.

  “Stay away from me,” she screams.

  She shoots daggers at me, but it doesn’t stop me from getting us to the warehouse.

  “Maggie, stop. I thought you were working with John,” I rush to explain, pulling her along, but she’s stubborn and blinded by rage, oblivious to the gunfire.

  “I wasn’t. I’d never do anything for that man. Why didn’t you ask me instead of trade me?” When she says it like that, it sounds so simple. So right.

  “I fucked up.” I grab her around the waist, wrestling with her, knowing she’s a fighter in more ways than one, but her weak ankle has me at an advantage.

  “Let me go. I’d rather die than go with you.”

  Her vitriol hits the mark, and I stall for only a beat, feeling her hatred in a cold dark place within my soul.

  “You don’t mean that,” I grit out through clenched teeth, battling her and trying to get us to cover. “You can tell me how much you hate me later. Let me get us out alive,” I order.

  Tossing her over my shoulder, I run the last few feet to the warehouse, toward the back door where we left the car. Kit’s got his own escape route—the car is our only way out—and we’ll meet up with him later at the designated meeting spot.

  Once at the door, I push with my shoulder, but meet resistance, making my muscle and bone ache. It’s locked.

  16

  Saturday 5:49 PM

  Nick

  “We’ve got to keep going,” Maggie whispers, trembling beside me.

  The door was unlocked not even an hour ago. What the hell happened? The large, cavernous warehouse is dimly lit, and we stick to the dark corners as we make our way to the staircase.

  We make it to the second floor, where the offices are, without incident, but heavy footfalls aren’t too far away. Damn, we’re sitting ducks in this place.

  We slip into a small closet. I need to stash her somewhere and lure them away. This isn’t like the forest where we had not only the cover of darkness but also the trees and bushes to help conceal our movements. It’s only a matter of time before they find us.

  We’re about to leave, there’s nowhere to hide, when I spot a small hatch in the ceiling. An attic? If someone enters the closet, they aren’t likely to see it right away. It’s a supply closet. It would be a quick glance, and they’d move on.

  She follows my eyeline and shakes her head, vehemently. “I can’t.”

  Her vice-like grip hurts as her short fingernails sink into my flesh. The blood drains from her already pale complexion, and her eyes say everything she can’t.

  I don’t know the specifics, but it’s the dark or heights or both that freak her the fuck out. I don’t fully understand her fear, but her safety c
omes first.

  “You have to or else they’ll kill you.”

  “I hate you.”

  “Yeah. Hate me.” I’m sarcastic, knowing it’s true.

  “I don’t need your fucking permission.” Her tone is cutting, as sharp as her gaze, but I much prefer it to the fear that resided there moments ago.

  “You’ve got to go up there. Now.”

  “Don’t leave me.” Her voice cracks, turning her head to hide the tears rushing to her eyes.

  I’m done for. There’s no way I can resist. Whether it’s her expression—terrified beyond all reason with her eyes drilling into my soul, imploring me to stay with her—or it’s the broken vulnerability in her tone, I can’t go.

  “I promise I won’t leave.”

  What the hell is my problem? Since when did I lose my balls? We have to move quickly; they could discover this room any second now.

  My fingers interlace, flattening into a step, and with a hand on my shoulder, she plants her good foot in my palms. I hoist her up, whispering that I’m right behind her. She whimpers and moves the drywall aside to crawl in.

  It’d be smarter for me to make myself known and get the guys to follow me away from the docks, but I can’t leave her like this. Besides, I told her that I’d stay. I won’t betray her again.

  I can’t explain it. I’m undone by her distress, no different than when I’ve seen Caro at her most vulnerable. I can’t even think of Léa. My chest aches.

  Using the almost-bare shelving unit, my foot pushes off the edge and the thing teeters, threatening to fall over. I slide into the small space and pull the cover back into place. Shit that was close.

  It is attic-like, very small and dank. Maggie’s practically upon me, and I scoot us back a few feet from the door.

  Her hand curls around my arm, and she squeezes her eyes shut while her teeth bite so hard on her bottom lip that her pink flesh turns white, and I swear I see blood. I wrap my arms around her, and she scrambles into my lap.

  “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”