by M. O. Mack
“So you knew who I was. Did Sampson tell you?” she asked.
He rubbed his chin. “Yeah, well, he didn’t have to. I’m Sampson.”
What the…? She tried to let that sink in, but it didn’t go far. “Wait. So you hired me?”
He nodded.
“And then you showed up and threatened me and—”
He held out his hand. “Look. When you applied for the job, I really was looking for someone to just answer the phone—I was waiting for a call from some people who don’t like having their voices recorded. And I needed someone who wouldn’t ask questions or give a shit if they saw something unusual. People who apply to the ‘paid in cash’ jobs typically don’t want to be found, and keep their mouths shut. But when I recognized your name, I saw it as an opportunity.”
“For what?” she snapped. The entire time he’d known and had been playing with her life. It was inexcusable.
Charge continued, “I thought: Well, here’s a gal who’s got some pretty bad people after her. But she’s not out there selling drugs or prostituting. She’s trying to earn some money. Honestly. She’s also managed to get this far and not get caught. So I thought I’d give you a go.”
“Go! Go for what, asshole?”
“You’re smart. Why do you think?”
She inhaled slowly, letting the pieces free-fall: Rick showing up with money. Charge showing up and demanding money. The beat-up woman. The call for backup. The truck. The men chasing her. The hostage situation. All of it fake.
“You were testing me,” she muttered. “They were all your people.”
“Yes. I wanted to see how you handled yourself under stress.”
“But it wasn’t just that, was it.” He had tested her trustworthiness when Rick and that woman both came in and left money in the office, and when Charge said he needed help, she came running. A loyalty test.
“What was the truck about? Why did you have me pick it up?” she asked, feeling the rage build. He had treated her like a rat in a maze. Why play her like that? What gave him the right?
“The truck was to test your ability to see a job through even when everything goes sideways. You did well, by the way. You kept your wits and delivered, just as I predicted—which was why I had the team waiting to come out and congratulate you.”
Rage. Blind rage. “I’m sorry,” she snarled, “but did you just say I was driving around, risking my life for a test? I could have crashed! I could have killed someone.”
“But you didn’t,” he said smugly. “After everything you’ve been through, you tried to save that woman. I gave you no instructions other than to deliver the ransom, but you knew what had to be done. You even killed someone to get her out of there.” He chuckled. “Marco says you were a natural. You didn’t hesitate pulling the trigger on him. Unfortunately, you didn’t get to hear his praise directly because the real cartel showed up.”
“What about the hostage being shot?”
His eyes floated down to the floor. “That was real.”
So it was all just a game to him, a game that ended in people actually dying. “You sonofabitch!” she yelled, feeling the last thread of her sanity being yanked away. She pulled the gun from the blanket and pointed it at him. “How dare you! How dare you fuck with people’s lives like that. As if I haven’t been through enough!” He’d put her through hell and then, for dessert, thought he’d drag her into some bullshit with the cartel?
“Justine, those are real bullets. Please put the gun down,” he said calmly, not bothering to get up from his chair.
“No! You had no right!”
“I understand you’re upset, but listen to what I have to say before you decide to blow my head off.”
She pointed it at his groin.
“Or that,” he added.
“You have ten seconds to tell me why I shouldn’t put a hole in your dick. Another hole.”
“One,” he said calmly, “because I know why you ran from Ed. I did my research, and I am very aware of the kind of man he is—the human trafficking, the drugs, the women he’s holding hostage.
“Two, that situation back there with the cartel members was very unfortunate, but we all put our lives on the line to get you back, which says something about our team and the type of people we really are.
“Three, it’s time for me to move on. I’m tired. I’ve done what I can to hold back the tide of criminals terrorizing innocent people who just want to work, raise their kids, and live peacefully. And…” His voice faded. He looked away again.
“And?”
“And you’re braver, stronger, and more determined than I ever was when my Sampson put me through the test.” He exhaled. “You are the only choice for my replacement.”
What? Was he out of his fucking mind? “Replacement?” She blinked and started laughing hysterically. What could possibly persuade her to want anything to do with this…whatever it was? She laughed until she could hardly breathe and tears ran down her cheeks.
Charge sat patiently, waiting for her to get it out.
When she was done, he cleared his throat. “May I go on?”
“Please do.” She chuckled. “I haven’t had this much fun since, well, never, really.”
He shook his head at her disapprovingly. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I would advocate to have you take over, a person with no weapons training or combat experience—but that’s not what this role is about. It’s about being able to make the right choices in the toughest situations. It’s about putting what’s right ahead of your own fear and understanding that lives depend on you to do your job, even when you want to run. It’s exhausting work, there are no days off, and you question your sanity every day, which is why the mental resilience needed for this role doesn’t come from a gun. It comes from a deep belief in the work.”
“You mean, being Sampson—a mystical person.”
Charge nodded. “Yes. Sampson is a cover. I’m not saying he never existed, but from what I know, the person before me was selected the same way: through a grueling test, which you passed with flying colors.”
I almost pissed myself and was kidnapped. How was that flying colors? “Then why give it up? Sounds like you’ve found your calling.”
“I’m proud of the work I’ve done, but it’s time to move on, especially now that at least one of the major cartels knows my face. They’re all out looking for me. And, frankly, I think you’re a better choice considering the challenges we’re facing. You’re quick, your heart’s in the right spot, and you’ll be able to fly under the radar—you don’t fit the typical profile of the people in this profession.”
Oh God. I can’t with this. The entire thing, minus being beaten and shot up with drugs, had been some bizarre job interview.
Her head began throbbing. It was a lot to take in when your brain had swelling and your body was coming down off drugs. “I don’t feel so well. I need to be alone.”
Charge held out a hand. “We’re in no hurry. Take all the time you need to think about it.”
“What if I say no? Will your guys hunt me down?” she asked bitterly.
“I only said that to keep you from leaving. But no. If you turn it down, no one will bother you, come after you, or show up on your doorstep as long as you never say a word. But know that if you say yes, Justine, this is not a role to take lightly. It’s dangerous. It’s life and death every day. The people who work for you are tough and well trained, but without you, they can’t operate safely. They need someone who’s smart and organized to ensure every job is vetted, everyone is prepared properly, and all of the angles have been covered so they come back alive. The forty-five in ‘suite forty-five’ isn’t an address or a place, it’s a reminder of what happens when we’re not on our game.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“The original team was comprised of forty-five individuals. We’ve lost five over the years—a tribute to how tightly our operation is run. We lost another two in that ambush, including the woman
who posed as the hostage. It was a failure, and it’s something I will have to live with. The forty-five is now thirty-eight.”
She’d always wondered about that. Why, in a strip mall with only six office spaces, would one of them be numbered forty-five? “If it’s so dangerous, why do they do it?”
“Good doesn’t always triumph, Justine. They’ve all experienced some sort of personal loss, and when you’ve spent a significant part of your adult life being trained to protect and kill, it’s a skill they’ve chosen not to waste. Also, the money is really good. But mainly, they want to do good.”
Pffft! “I’m sorry, but please don’t try to tell me that a group of hit men—”
“And women,” he added.
“Fine. Hit people. Don’t try to make them out as superheroes.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare. Superheroes wouldn’t show up at that warehouse in the middle of nowhere, drag the man who beat you outside, tie him to a tree, cover him in peanut butter, and let a wild pig have at him.”
Dear God. “They didn’t.”
“He was lucky. There were five other guys guarding the place who were relieved of various body parts, which were sent back to the cartel in Juarez.”
A shiver coursed through her. It was too gruesome for words. “Why?”
“Because, Justine, when you deal with animals who have no regard for life, you have to speak their language. And trust me, they’re not writing poems. They need to be afraid of us or they won’t respect our rules. Rule number one being they stay on their side of the border.”
“Why don’t you clean the other side up, too?”
“I’d love to. But you remove one cartel, and another fifty takes its place. This is the best we can do until people here decide to stop buying drugs and funding them. That said, we don’t just take jobs dealing with those guys. You’ve seen the files.”
Yes. She had. There were a lot of bad people—murderers, pedophiles, rapists.
He continued, “Those files, by the way, were burned on purpose. The cartel grabbed one of our guys a couple of weeks ago. At first we hoped he’d taken off without telling anyone, but when his cell turned up for sale online, it became clear that wasn’t the case. That’s how the cartels know who I am now—I made a lot of noise when I was out looking for him, and word got around. It’s why I needed to start pushing for a replacement and rush you through the tests. I can’t be effective at my job if everyone knows my face, and I’m the one being hunted.”
That would make things a little challenging, yes. “Did you find your guy?”
“A few pieces. Yes.” There was no emotion in Charge’s voice. “We don’t think he gave up much information, though, just the location of that house—which caught us by surprise, since we only just took out the real occupants a few weeks ago. We thought it would be safe to stage that final run for you, but I should have torched the place. A message to the cartel to stay out.”
“So, if he didn’t give anything up, why burn down the office? Not that I’m protesting. That nasty mall was begging to be bombed, but you had a lot of stuff in there.”
“I did it as a precaution.” He shrugged. “Those were old files anyway. I moved everything to digital years ago. Those guns were pretty old, too. Practically antiques by today’s standards. No electronic scopes. No silencer capabilities. Very hard to clean. And I wasn’t about to let them loose on the streets or sell them.”
Oh. She hadn’t noticed the age of the weapons. They simply looked like big ugly guns to her. “And the cash in that other room?”
“The room was empty—I’d already moved everything. But I have to say, I was impressed you figured out it was even there. I also like your suggestion for the new office—your office. Very smart.”
He was talking like this was a done deal. Not even close.
“So you see,” he added, “everything’s been dealt with. Or it will be if you take the job.”
Job. Being the ringleader. For a group of assassins.
She looked down at her hands. “I get why you do it—dealing with these animals, I mean. But doesn’t killing them make you one of them?”
“Justine, if the lions of the world all decided one day that they didn’t want to play their roles, then the diseased gazelle would simply infect the entire herd.” He leaned over in his armchair, resting his forearms on his thighs. “The lion has its role to play because it must. The gazelle, the zebra, the boar cannot take its place.” He leaned back. “You’re a lion, Justine. So just embrace it. Cull the herd. Remove the sick. Because no one else will do it for them, and frankly, I’m glad. Who wants to live in a world full of lions?”
She frowned and pressed her hands to her eyes. She’d always seen the world in such a different way. Law. Order. Courts. Justice. Those were the pillars of a civilized society. But of course no system was perfect, especially when there were people like Ed who were part of it, determined to use their positions to circumvent the law in service of their own greed. So what happened then? What happened when the system failed?
“Can I think about it?” she muttered.
“I believe that’s a wise decision. May I have my gun back now? It’s the only one I brought.”
She gave him a look.
“It’s my weekend home. I don’t actually like having guns here—they just remind me of work,” he explained.
Interesting. She gave it over, grip first.
He took it and shoved it in the back of his jeans. She’d never understand how that was comfortable for anyone. Having a loaded gun pointing down your ass crack was like carrying an arrow up your nose.
“I’ll go get you something to drink and a sandwich. You rest.” He turned to leave.
“Charge?”
“Yeah?”
“If I say yes, what happens to those women? What happens to Ed and his crew?” Charge said he knew all about them, and she was determined to take Ed down. Nothing could get in the way of that. Nothing.
Charge smiled. “Anything you like.” He paused. “Just remember though, you might lead the team, but you don’t own them. Their loyalty is predicated on following the rules, one of which is never using them for personal vendettas or gain.”
She’d very much like to hear more about the rules, but only if she decided to go forward with this. “I understand.”
“Knew you would.” He left her alone with the crackling fire and her thoughts.
She finally had the truth, but that didn’t mean she knew what to do with it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sleep was a beautiful thing. Especially when she hadn’t had much of it for the past few years. Charge had returned with a simple meal—canned soup and a ham sandwich—and then removed her IV. Honestly, it was the first time in a long time that she could remember anyone caring for her. He even offered her some painkillers, which she refused. “No. I don’t want anything else in my body.” Not that she worried about becoming an addict after one dose of heroin. If anything, the entire horrific experience would prevent her from ever going down that path.
After a day of rest, food, and lots of sleep, she finally had the energy to get out of bed. Charge came in with scrambled eggs and orange juice.
“Do you have anything clean I can wear?” He’d already loaned her his robe—a huge blue thing that dragged on the floor—for getting up to use the bathroom. “I’d like to take a shower and go for a walk. Looks nice outside.”
“Sure. I’ve got a few things my ex left behind.”
Charge had an ex? It was weird thinking of him having a life outside of work, or showing romantic affection. For one split second, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him, but then quickly laughed it off. She would never be able to trust him. Not fully.
“I’ll take whatever you’ve got. Thank you,” she said.
He left the room and returned a few minutes later with a pair of pink sweatpants, a pink tank top, and a pink hoodie.
She raised one brow.
“She liked pi
nk,” he explained.
“I see that.”
“Well, you know where the bathroom is. There’s a new toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. Help yourself to my bodywash and shampoo.”
“Just as long as it’s not Old Spice.”
He frowned. “I have to run an errand. Don’t go anywhere until I come back.”
“Are you scared someone’s going to find us?”
“Scared? Never. Cautious, always.” He left the room, and she heard an engine outside starting up a few moments later. She ate her breakfast and then took a shower that lasted as long as the hot water. It was incredible. She would never take feeling clean for granted again. Even if he did use Old Spice.
She wrapped a towel around her body and then wiped the steam off the mirror.
“Oh God.” She covered her face and then slowly lowered her hands. Staring back at her was someone else. Dark circles under her green eyes, a black eye, and bruises on her lip and cheek. Her skin was a sickly shade of white.
How is this me?
A heavy pit formed in her stomach. Then it grew and grew until it no longer fit. She got down on her knees and threw up the contents of her breakfast in the toilet. Hot tears burned her raw cheeks.
After there was nothing left, she got to her unsteady feet and cleaned up, brushing her teeth twice. She didn’t dare look in that mirror again.
* * *
When Charge returned about an hour later, she was sitting in the living room slash kitchen area. The cabin really only had four rooms—the great room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. The pine panels on the walls had the typical rustic decorations she’d expect to see in a mountain hideaway—old chipped ceramic pots, antique snowshoes, and a few glassy-eyed buck heads staring off into the abyss.
She wondered why he’d brought her here. Why not a hotel? Why not a rental home? Why to his place?