Unleashed (End of an Assassin Book 3)

by Jordan Everett

  "A paranoid pothead was correct for once."

  Cori turned the laptop. The grainy and dark image showed only wooden support beams. Perhaps a basement, or a construction site. The audio was choppy, but Kaden made out soft whumps and grunts. The whumps stopped a few seconds later. A clatter, then a voice. "Ready to talk yet?"

  Silence. Kaden winced. If she and Benny hadn't been so strict about letting others use Goose, this would've never happened. She and Benny were clear on day one: Goose only works with Kaden, Kaden only works on trafficking. It was damn tempting to hand over the spare Gooses sometimes, but they had to stay true to their initial doubts; otherwise, they could be manipulated into handing over their power.

  The same voice said, "Grab that ice pick. Tickle his shins and call me when he's singing." Kaden rubbed her own bruised shins. This was not what she expected, not at all. She hoped the video ended there, but there was rustling and a scream of pain.

  Cori flipped the laptop back to herself, and silenced the torture. Tears ran down Cori's face. "I spared you the rest. His battery died two hours ago."

  A coldness gripped Kaden's core. Next came the ask, and Kaden guessed that George's life depended on her accepting. "You want me to get him."

  Kaden crossed her arms. George was sizeable, but not so much that he stood out. A friendly face, but not enough to be memorable. He treated everyone the same, which was a breath of fresh air from the disdain from the others. Vigilant Citizens brimmed with passionate workers, who placed this job above anything else in their life. For George, number one was decency to others.

  Cori said, "No. We will figure out how to compensate his family, but Sub Rosa expects a rescue. Unfortunately, we're forced to cut our losses. We're nipping at their heels, and they bashed us back." She dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "We are so close I can taste it. Josie is millimeters away from gaining the trust of the admins after over two years working the forums."

  "What will you do once you've identified the bosses?"

  "We anonymously point the authorities at them. They'll dismantle the website and put away the key players."

  Bitterness crept into Kaden's voice. "You're basically doing the CIA's job for them."

  "The FBI's job, yes. Sub Rosa has an informant within the FBI, but we'll make sure her colleagues don't miss our hint."

  Kaden stood and paced around the space in front of her desk, which was only four steps in each direction. There had to be a safer way. For goodness sakes, the law and the general public would support the end of Sub Rosa. VC shouldn't have to hide under a grocery store to bust those running the site. This should be easy. "Can you guys get law enforcement to order people, and bust whoever delivers?"

  "Obstructing the supply is the only long-term solution. There's always someone willing to sell."

  Kaden sighed. It wasn't easy, of course. Reality didn’t care for how anything should operate. That's why the black market was so burrowed into society, like a tick. She suddenly hated the word “should” and everything it suggested. A bitterness formed in her mouth, and she sipped her water. It didn’t wash away the taste.

  Kaden ignored it and said, "This is all fascinating and heartbreaking wrapped into one, but why am I here?"

  "We are grateful for your work in fighting human trafficking, but this has changed things. Sub Rosa knows of us, so we need you and your Goose to hop in with both feet for the larger mission, to take us to the finish line. Be our field lead and stop the profits from human misery."

  Kaden crunched her eyebrows in frustration, and heat warmed her core. Whenever she played a pawn, everyone suffered.

  If Kaden wanted out of the self-imposed confinement to trafficking, it wouldn't be this emotional decision Cori was encouraging, because that always led to trouble. Kaden liked George, but she'd made her position so clear to Cori, and Cori asked Kaden to disregard her own directive. It was disrespectful. She opened her mouth, but Cori held up her hand and said, "Think about it. I know your intentions of being here. However, I'm asking you to take everything you’ve learned recently and rethink your resolve."

  Kaden's ears reddened. She hated when Cori talked to her like an unstable teenager, especially if she was reading Kaden perfectly. It took all of Kaden's willpower to stand and walk from the room, instead of snapping at Cori for trying to guilt her into doing what she wanted.

  She stomped into the training room to find Omar hopping around little orange cones. Perfect. She strode to him, and he waved, even though he was only four feet away.

  He said, "Hey, Kaden, you want in on my training session? Lots of agility, followed by a bunch of strength training."

  "We're sparring, now." Her motives were selfish. For her, light sparring laid the perfect environment to contemplate. It increased her blood flow and kept emotions from gripping her, almost like meditating. Perfect for deciding whether to abandon what she'd once believed to be the most sensible option.

  He stopped, halfway through the mini-obstacle course. "I’m training though."

  "It's my job to train you for the field." Kaden stepped toward him and raised her arms. "The field's got a world of surprises. I'm soft for warning you at all."

  He nodded and spun into a back kick. She ducked. He jabbed toward her jaw, and she blocked it.

  With Omar vying to hit her, her mind retreated from the fight. The decision to tackle the human trafficking component of Sub Rosa had been simple: selling people is wrong. Beyond that, it seemed too easy to say that every illegal substance you could think of shouldn't be purchasable from the comfort of home. These things were illegal for a reason.

  The Xanax she'd asked Benny to buy for her should be used with therapy, but she didn't want to, and that was her choice. What about others who wanted, or even needed, items accessible only through Sub Rosa? Did she have a solid reason to hinder them more?

  She started to sweat, and Omar's fist grazed her shoulder.

  Once, she'd forgotten her lunch bag in the classroom, and when she returned, her teacher was taking pills at her desk. Kaden paid no mind until the woman yelped, and Kaden read on the bottle "CBD." The woman pleaded with Kaden to keep the secret, said it was the only medicine that helped. The incident confused her. What did she care about her teacher's medicine? Her understanding developed as she became an adult, but her response remained unchanged: what did she care?

  Smack! He had landed a hook. Cheek stinging, she rolled to the side to reset. Omar paused, and he said, "You didn't even move. Were you spaced out?"

  Ugh, but Omar—who was the kindest person she'd met in years, respectful, and passionate about his work and friends—had been tormented because of the website. The world needed people like him, and a long stint of rotten luck brought him to a basement for months, a prisoner waiting to become a slave, all because the website made it easy to find the customers.

  "Nope." She jabbed for his face, forcing him to dodge.

  "You're overthinking it then," he said, face glistening as he pursed it in concentration.

  He didn't know how right he was.

  In her mind, Kaden had painted the Sub Rosa issue as too complex for her to judge, but the decision was obvious now. A lawless platform couldn’t exist. Poison ran in every byte of the website because it left itself open to all products. Heck, even the black market had its own rules. Where there were buyers, there were opportunists willing to risk their lives. It was impossible to amputate human trafficking from the rest of Sub Rosa, so they had to decimate the whole diseased site. Cori had been right all along, and gracious to respect Kaden's wishes thus far.

  Every category of Sub Rosa products collected hideous stories. Hedgehogs starved in transit. Vaccines were given to the vulnerable with strings attached. Kaden just hadn't learned them all, but she sure wouldn’t hunt them down for inspiration. Whenever she heard those stories, she was grumpy the rest of the day. Avoiding them didn't make them disappear.

  Damn logic. She couldn't ignore her aha moment that showed the right path forward, eve
n though taking orders without understanding their full consequences represented another area of moral grayness—her worst fear at this point. She'd have to face it, as always. She hated the decision.

  Unpleasant emotions often flowed out when sparring, but a sudden fury boiled over, and she wasn’t playing anymore. She faked a jab then struck out in a full roundhouse kick, aiming for Omar’s neck. Omar ducked just in time and stepped back, eyes widening at the change. He came at her again, and she used his momentum to slam him onto the padded mat. He panted and stayed down.

  She winced, embarrassed at her outburst. She said, "Sorry. You let your guard down, though," and jogged back toward Cori's office. The idea that Sub Rosa shouldn't exist already tasted sweet.

  She used both sleeves to wipe sweat from her forehead, then flung the door open. Moe sat where Kaden had ten minutes earlier. Cori looked at her with a flat expression, and Moe turned around and predictably glared. This wasn't Company, where Kaden was handed orders without understanding the reason behind them. Kaden trusted Cori's vision.

  Kaden blinked, aware she appeared half crazed with her sweat and redness, and said, "What is it you need me to do?"

  Four

  The mystery man was late.

  Cameron wished she could control her thoughts as well as she perceived the thoughts of others. Seemed like it should be a package deal. Even though she sat alone at an outdoor café, her posture remained rock solid and her hands and fingers trembled. Her level of fear now occupied a different galaxy than her everyday anxiety. After all, she'd never betrayed anyone, much less an assassin with a broken mind.

  All day, worry over trusting criminals and drug dealers had bounced around in her head, amplifying itself and dampening her abilities to read others. While she welcomed the rare silence from strangers' lives, that it was due to her own terror overshadowing their noise wasn't ideal. Ironically, she tried to distract herself by butting into the days of fellow patrons. At two p.m. on a cool Tuesday, there wasn't much fodder.

  Every occupied table was its own island on the spacious patio. Customers worked on their laptops, while others pretended to work on their laptops. A retired couple read paper newspapers, and a business meeting at the largest table had a surprising amount of people calm and engaged. A gem of a business meeting.

  Stone walls covered in ivy and lined by flower beds enclosed the space. Overall, she was trapped in her anxious silo at the quaintest café she’d ever visited. This spot should be named "The Secret Garden with Coffee." As she watched a bee buzz away from a pink rose, her fingers numbed and her chest ached—warning signs of an oncoming panic attack.

  Farm. Her future farm was her mental haven, the reason she’d agreed to betray her old colleagues: to run a retreat center for artists. Clients would spend their days doing whatever art they practiced, and during breaks they’d help on the farm. Starting the work exchange program would cost a fortune, but, she’d be left with her own thoughts, a downright luxury. The ache from her chest lifted. She closed her eyes and lost herself in daydreams about her future animals.

  "Hi."

  Cameron jumped, and there was a young man who looked nothing like her expectations, not the slightest. He had a round, tan face and brown eyes. The skin on one cheekbone was bumpy and uneven, like something had once torn it. Road rash, maybe. Black, curly hair peeked out from under a purple beanie. His frame was small, a bit taller and bulkier than her. "Hello," she said.

  "I'm Jonas. We're meeting today, yes?"

  Cameron tried not to grind her teeth. The name was a lie, but the man she had arranged the meeting with had emphasized to use no real names. One slip, and they’d walk. She couldn't read not-Jonas beyond that, because her own anxiety had spiked again. She stared at him, didn’t even feel herself blinking. Why, oh, why did she get mixed up with these people? "Yes. Aren't you cold?"

  It was about fifty degrees, but he wore a black fleece and dark green denim jeans. Cameron tightened her wool cardigan around her. Jonas sat down and said, "No."

  For every bit of nerves disturbing her, he sat relaxed. He took out a quarter and started flipping it on the top of his knuckles. "You don't have to whisper. The fountain covers our voices. So why are you taking our offer? You’ll live with this decision."

  Cameron cleared her throat, remembering to be an active participant in the conversation. It was easy to forget as a natural observer. She said, "The money, foremost. My former employer, uh, Susie, is a brat who has made a fortune on acting out on her own bratty tendencies. Now she's upset about the consequences. Speaking of which, what's the payment and when do I receive it? Give me your best offer up front, and I know you need me."

  Jonas leaned over and said, "Seven hundred thousand." Cameron's heart skipped a beat. The retreat would be perfect. He leaned back. "The payment is in the trunk of a rental car on the corner. Just drive it away."

  "I don't know how to drive."

  He gave her a flat look. "Figure it out."

  Right. She sat here on his terms, but she had to know something that she couldn't glean her usual way. "Tell me about your beef with these guys."

  "They started messing with our operations. This is self-defense, and when we fight, we deal a winning blow. No games. Are you in or not?"

  Cameron blinked, sensing that she’d met him before. He was too young to have gone to school with her, she'd only worked at Lowe's, and she was a hermit otherwise. Maybe the mental hospital. She chewed her lip, but couldn't place him definitively, so she gave in. "Fine. What's the tracker?"

  "Hang out with Susie." He placed the nickel on the table. "Put this in her purse."

  Cameron said, "She rarely carries a purse."

  "Not interested in excuses. A monkey can do this task. If you don't do it within a week, we'll take the money back and leave you in a much worse position than you are now. I’m not usually sent out, but I read people well, and you seem legitimate." This deal hinged on the opinion of a teenager? Cameron almost rolled her eyes but remembered that underestimating the cruelty of the young could cause a lot of trouble.

  Jonas placed a crisp twenty next to the nickel, then a car key with a Range Rover emblem. He stood and said, "This cafe has beer. Have one. Goodbye."

  Cameron hoped her heart would settle as she watched not-Jonas walk away. It didn't. Just a little more suffering, then.

  Her thoughts turned to Kaden, the selfish, misguided woman who she flat out didn't like or respect. The only reason she tried to right her wrongs, as Kaden called it, was to make herself feel better. While she believed her traumatic past hindered her rational thought, it wasn't true. She could've risen above it, at least enough to not go around killing people. Hardships are an opportunity to grow, and she formed excuses from hers instead.

  Benny, though. Cameron's justification fell through her fingers. The sucker had an enormous heart. Naivety and following his outlandish ideas had gotten him in trouble, but still, his biggest fault was falling for Kaden and sticking with her. At least he knew better than to act on his feelings.

  Cameron pocketed the nickel and key, grabbed the cash, and went to see the wine list.

  Kaden sat at the bar at Greenwater, where she had rapidly gained the status of a regular. Shelly, ever the professional, didn’t flinch when Kaden ordered a double shot of tequila and a tequila soda. Shelly slid her a rocks glass, half filled with the amber liquid. Kaden’s fingers grazed the Dave was here carving on the wooden bar as Shelly dropped ice into a cocktail glass.

  Kaden felt a little bad—must be exhausting to quell agitated people all day by giving them substances that may or may not make them behave. Soup Shack had been difficult enough.

  Her phone buzzed. Cameron Garside, her former employee, was visiting and wanted to grab a drink downtown later. Kaden mumbled, "Oops, I'm ten hours early, Cameron," and texted back to accept the invite.

  Kaden turned her attention to the daunting amount of straight liquor. Since Kaden splurged on good tequila, she savored the shots. Every so ofte
n, she sipped it if she didn’t need the alcohol at once. This liquor served a single purpose, and it disappeared in two burning gulps, just in time for Shelly to flip a paper coaster her way and place the bubbly cocktail.

  "Thanks," Kaden whispered.

  "What's the occasion?"

  "I have a meeting that promises to be nerve-wracking." She sipped the drink to rid her throat of the burn.

  "Good luck. Hope you get what you want."

  "Me too." Kaden forced a smile. With nerves already dampening, she could contemplate the possibilities of the impending meeting without going insane. In all honesty, the meeting could ravage what remained of Kaden's sanity.

  Her private investigator had news.

  The creak of the front door opening and the accompanying sliver of daylight jolted her depressed nerves. The young blond was tall and bulky and held herself high, squinting to adjust to the light and find her client wearing a floral headband. They made eye contact, and Kaden nodded and gulped her drink again.

  Kaden murmured, “Goose, record this next conversation. I don’t trust my ears right now.” The woman made her way over with flip flops clapping against her feet. The pink sandals, black maxi skirt, and green zippered hoodie made for an interesting outfit.

  "Kaden?" she said in a high-pitched nasally voice.

  "Lisa," Kaden mumbled awkwardly into her drink, then said so Lisa could hear, "Can I get you something?"

  "Do you serve half pints?" Lisa asked Shelly. Without breaking stride, Shelly grabbed a half-pint glass.

  A minute later, the two sat at a back booth, usually occupied by couples paying attention to only each other.

  Lisa sipped the little beer and stared at Kaden for a moment before placing a pink folder on the table. She cleared her throat, obviously a lover of her own reveals. Kaden refused to take part in games with the amount of cash she paid. She sipped her cocktail in hopes that her heart would stop racing.

  Lisa cleared her throat again, then said, "I'm ninety percent sure Aaron is alive."