by M. O. Mack
She was on pins and needles. “Charge? Are you okay?”
He left the engine running and stared out the windshield at nothing. “Ed killed himself,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“The moment we stormed your house, he locked himself in the bathroom. He must’ve heard us coming.”
What a coward. Couldn’t even face his death like a man. “So he took himself out. I bet you found him cowering in the bathtub.”
“Something like that.”
“And the rest of his men?” she asked.
“Done. Dealt with it.”
“So…it’s over.” She let out a slow breath. She could hardly believe it.
“Yes. And as far as anyone’s concerned, he and his men fell off the face of the earth. Job was done clean and completely successful.”
“And the women?” She stared at the side of his face, eagerly searching for any sign of good news.
“There were only eighteen, but we took them to a friend of mine. He has ties in the State Department and will ensure they get assistance and see their families again.”
Two women had died since she’d left. Her heart went out to them, but that was not on her. Ed and his crew did that.
Emily let out a sigh of relief. Was it really over? It is. I’m free. I’m fucking free! “Did anyone get hurt?” She referred to his team.
Charge blinked and finally turned his cold gaze on her. “Not yet.”
She jerked her head back. She wasn’t following.
“The money, Emily. The money,” he said.
“Oh no…” She tilted her head and stared at the ceiling of the truck. Selfish fucking coward. Ed died before anyone could talk to him. “The team didn’t get paid.”
Charge was silent, but she felt an ominous shift inside the pickup. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. From the periphery of her vision, she could see Charge’s left hand shoved down near the edge of his left thigh, next to the driver’s side door.
“You’re going to shoot me, aren’t you?” she asked, not bothering to look at him. In her heart, she knew that was what he had to do, and it wasn’t negotiable. A deal was a deal. There were rules. “Couldn’t they have at least sent someone else and just done it without me knowing it was coming?”
“I wanted it to be me—someone who knows you.”
“Oh,” she muttered quietly, the shock of the moment feeling completely surreal. He didn’t want her to die alone. “I’d run, but I’m pretty sure you’d put two bullets in my head before I opened the door. Plus, it’s very thoughtful of you to make sure I knew what happened with the job. Thank you. I can die in peace, and that means a lot.” She finally turned her head and looked him in the eyes.
The cold grays weren’t so cold anymore. There was a sadness in them.
“You remind me of her,” he said softly.
“Of who?”
“My sister—the one Ed killed,” he replied solemnly.
Ah. So that’s who she was. “Now that Ed is gone, I hope it brings you peace.” She sighed. “If it’s any consolation, he was a very good con man. I’m sure she was smart—smarter than me, anyway. She didn’t marry him.”
His dark brows furrowed. “But she never had the common sense to run from him. You did.”
Charged stared at her, the two of them locking eyes.
Emily understood she would never really know Charge or what thoughts brewed in the dark corners of his mind, but she was grateful it would be his face she’d be seeing last, and not Ed’s. Charge had seen something in her that had made her stop feeling like a victim. He’d pushed her and made her feel strong. For a few short moments, she got to know what it was like to be the hero. Yes, the situations had been fake—Charge needing help, freeing that hostage—but her responses weren’t. When push came to shove, she stepped up, and now she knew what she was made of. I am not weak. I am not nothing. Ed was wrong. And now she could die being completely free of him.
Emily leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Charge’s soft, full lips. He didn’t flinch or push her away, but he didn’t kiss her back either. No matter. The kiss wasn’t about that. She simply wanted him to know she forgave him and understood. Killing took something from a person. She got that now. She simply didn’t want to put another dent in his soul.
She pulled away, faced forward, and closed her eyes. “I’m ready.”
She waited and heard a click. She made fists with her hands, bracing for the pain. Her heartbeat was so loud she swore the truck’s windows were vibrating.
But then…nothing.
She opened her eyes to find Charge with the gun in his lap, but he wasn’t looking at her. The photo of his sister was in his hand. It must’ve dropped from her hoodie when she’d slid inside the pickup.
He stared at the thing for several long moments. Not a word. And somehow she knew he’d changed his mind. Maybe his loyalty to the team and his rules were outweighed by other things.
Finally, he spoke. “Take the ticket and get on the bus. You’ll be safe in Wrangell. For a while, at least. Then I’d consider getting lost in Canada. Maybe head to Europe after a few years.”
“What if the team finds out you let me leave?”
“They won’t. I’ll tell them you’d already taken off. I never saw you.”
She frowned. She didn’t want to die, but she didn’t want to live on the run the rest of her life, either. “Isn’t there another way? I didn’t deceive anyone. Ed died before you could get the location of the money.”
“Your end of the deal wasn’t held up. They don’t care why—they’re hired guns, not a charity.”
“Okay. What if I go back and try to work it out? What if I offer to repay them?”
“With what? You have no job. And you have no hope of ever making that kind of money. Ed might be dead, but sooner or later, people will start asking questions about his disappearance, and yours. They’ll be waiting for either of you to resurface.”
Meaning she might be free of her husband, but she would always have to look over her shoulder and lie low. That meant taking low-paying jobs where people didn’t ask too many questions.
“The only two options,” he added, “are for you to get on that bus or take the job.”
“Take the job? You mean your job.”
“Yes. You’re off-limits if you’re part of the team. Also, they might be willing to forgive you if you work hard and give them your share of the fees for a year or two—until the million is paid back with interest.”
Her jaw dropped. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You wanted to back me into a corner.”
“No, Emily!” he let loose. “My plan was to offer you my role once you passed the tests. Then I’d train you and leave. And if you recall, you were the one who begged for a chance to convince the team to do that job. It wasn’t my fucking idea, and neither were the terms of the fucking arrangement!” He balled his hands into frustrated fists. “I’m just—I’m trying to give you an out!” He slammed his fists on the steering wheel.
She whooshed out a breath, taking an emotional step back. Seeing him like this shook her foundation. Did he really care about her life so much?
The answer made her more determined than ever to run. She didn’t want to repeat history. Ed had been able to lure her into his dark, violent life because she’d trusted him. She’d believed he cared about her. Never again.
“I can’t take the job,” she said. “I don’t want to live in that world and ki-kill people for a living, no matter how bad they are.”
He shook his head with disapproval. “I never took you for a coward.”
“I’m not a coward just because I don’t want to be a lion. I don’t have it in me. You were wrong.”
“Well then, that leaves you one option,” he said curtly.
“I’m sorry, Charge. And I’m really grateful for everything.”
Without looking at her, he nodded, jaw pulsing. “Better hurry, then. You’ll miss your bus.”
“Goodbye.�
� She popped the door handle.
He reached in his pocket and produced a piece of paper with a number. “Call me if you change your mind. Good luck.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Around two in the morning, the bus arrived in Denver. The passengers unloaded, most heading inside the small terminal to buy food or use the bathrooms. Her connecting bus wouldn’t be departing until five a.m.
She stood outside for a few moments, inhaling the cool Colorado night air, twisting her back and trying to coax the blood back into her legs.
She’d hoped to have some sort of epiphany during the seven-hour drive, but mostly she’d slept and tried not to think about how things ended: badly. She’d be on the run for the rest of her life.
Still, one thing had come out of all this: She’d learned that in even the darkest of places, a person could still find goodness. Charge taught her that. His soul was scarred and barren, yet even his frosty heart still managed to beat. If there was hope for him, there was hope for her to find her way back and trust people again.
Emily’s stomach grumbled with the hope of sustenance, so she went inside the nearly empty terminal. It had high ceilings, and several rows of green plastic chairs all pointed toward a TV set to the news. The convenience store in the corner was brightly lit, and a security guard stood chatting with a female clerk behind the register. Emily went inside, grabbing a bag of chips, a water, and a small sandwich. Engrossed in their flirty conversation, the two didn’t even bother looking at her when she paid.
Looks like security is busy securing himself a booty call for later.
She hit the bathroom, hanging her stuff on the back of the second stall door. Once done, she reached for her pink hoodie, but it slipped and fell onto the dirty bathroom floor.
Gross. And there was nowhere to wash it.
She bent down to pick it up, but when she reached, she noticed a pair of big black boots in the stall next to her. Right in front of those was a pair of women’s white sneakers. Both pairs of shoes were facing the same way.
Yuck. They’re having sex in this nasty place. God only knew what a person could catch here. But then why weren’t they moving? Why weren’t they making fucking noises?
That’s weird.
She grabbed her stuff and heard a muted whimper.
Emily froze again. That did not sound like a happy whimper.
She slid her gun from her shopping bag and opened the door, going to the sink to run the water. She hit the air dryer and tiptoed over to the stall again, standing up on the toilet. She peeked over the divider. A man with blond hair and tattoos on his arms held a knife to a woman’s throat from behind. He was fumbling with the back of her pants.
Jesus.
Emily carefully stepped down from the toilet. She wanted to tell him to drop the knife, but what if he slit the woman’s throat? What if he turned it around and said, “No. You drop the gun, or I’ll kill her”?
Emily glanced up at the ceiling. This fucker, this disgusting animal… He probably deserved to die—at least more than that woman—so why the hesitation?
Her mind flashed to Marco and the test. The feeling she’d experienced after pulling the trigger hadn’t been guilt. She’d only been worried about the woman. That, and Emily felt pissed off about having to kill Marco at all. Doing it meant giving up a piece of herself, of her innocence, and frankly it just felt wrong; a worthless animal shouldn’t be allowed to take away something so precious. Or a life. All in all, however, none of those emotions had superseded the good of knowing she’d helped someone. Yes, it all turned out to be fake, but maybe Charge had given her that test for a reason. It was the gift of knowing what she was made of.
And whether I’m a lion or a gazelle.
It took Emily a second to decide. She stepped back up on the toilet, looked down at the man, and pressed the gun to the back of his head. “Hey. Asshole.”
* * *
A day later, Emily stepped out of the semi, thanking the truck driver for the ride. It was funny, but she’d never hitchhiked before—lots of psychos and killers out there. But now it was her they should be afraid of. Lions were dangerous.
She shut the truck’s door, feeling the hot, moist El Paso air stuffing her lungs. “God, I hate the humidity.”
She walked over to the bus stop, sat down on the bench, and popped a piece of mint gum into her mouth. I hope for once I’m doing the right thing. Only time would tell.
She got out her cell, hit SEND, and waited for that deep, unfeeling voice to answer. “Hey. It’s Emily. I’m in.”
THE PAUSE
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