Still, he didn’t know where I lived. Which means he must have put a tracker on me somehow at the restaurant.
An associate outside, bugging my car?
No, I have blocking equipment installed. What then? Even the best sleight-of-hand men I know couldn’t pull off a drop from across a table, not when the mark is already a cautious fucker like me.
Then, I remember. Fuck.
The business card. Technology these days being what it is, there could easily be a chip concealed inside it, between two layers of card. I brought him here, brought the danger of my old life to Raven. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.
“Stringer, are you there?” Sophie’s voice breaks my train of thought.
“Yes.”
“I’ve just dispatched a team; they’re heading your way right now. Lock yourself in a safe room and wait for their arrival. E.T.A. thirty minutes. They’ll extract you and take you to a secure location.”
“No,” I tell her. “I’ll do it my way. Your team can clean up. By the time they get here I’ll be gone.”
She scoffs. “Don’t be an idiot, Stringer. You can’t deal with—”
I drop the phone and grind my heel into the glass as quietly as possible. This is going to be messy, but I won’t let them hurt Raven. I’ll lay down my own life if I have to, but nobody is going to touch her.
There’s a stroke of luck when I hear the hiss of a two-way radio from the bottom of the nearest staircase. Now I know where they are, and they still don’t know where I am. The element of surprise always was my greatest ally.
It hurts like hell, but I use my bad leg to hang upside down over the banister, scoping out the situation in the kitchen below from safety. There’s a guy at the bottom of the stairs, facing the opposite way, and another wandering past the window outside. If they have enough people that they’re stationing sentries, I’d guess I’m looking at five enemies. Sensible. It’s exactly the way I’d play it if I had a team. Unfortunately for them, I’ve always been a lone operative, and they’re not up to my standards, even now.
Using my hands as a pivot and my weight as a pendulum, I swing down behind the guy at the bottom of the stairs, wrapping my knees around his throat and hooking sideways, snapping his neck before he can make a sound. His body crumples to the floor as I drop, wincing at the pain in my knee. Shit, I’m getting too old for this. He’s wearing night vision goggles, and I take them for myself. I also tuck my own gun into my waistband and pick up his machine gun. It’s not my preferred weapon, far too imprecise, but if there are four more marines to deal with I’ll need the firepower.
Keeping low, I creep across the kitchen and slip out of the back door. The sentry is facing away from me, walking his designated route. If I had more time, I’d probably try to make the kill silent, but with Raven sleeping upstairs I’m willing to sacrifice stealth for speed. He doesn’t stand a chance as the machine gun fire rings out in the night, and I watch his lifeless body slump into the wall, then fall to the floor.
“Shots fired. Shots fired.” I hear the low voice from just the other side of the door and turn just in time to see it swing back. “He’s here! He’s here!”
He’s good, but he’s not expecting me to also have night vision, and I take him out before he can bring his weapon to bear. Unfortunately, I’m not quick enough to turn my weapon on the one coming from the opposite direction. I hear the gunfire before I feel the sting in my shoulder, instinct kicking in as I drop and roll behind the counter, avoiding any more serious wounds. I’m pinned down though as the guy continues to fire in my direction, using short bursts to avoid wasting ammo or losing his aim, and I have no idea where the last marine is. If he’s flanking me, I’m a sitting duck right here, so I have no choice but to act.
Taking a deep breath, I wait until the end of one burst of fire, then roll, kicking off with my good leg. The one advantage I have is that this is my kitchen, and I know that while the center island looks solid, its base is actually empty and thin enough that it won’t stop a round from one of these machine guns. As I roll, I take note of where the marine is crouched, then don’t waste a second, pumping every round from my magazine in his general direction, hoping that one of them will get through.
His scream tells me I’ve hit home.
Shots from his gun go wild, peppering the ceiling as he’s knocked back, and I step out, finishing him off with a single round to the head.
The two-way radio in his breast pocket crackles, and what I hear next sends a chill through my spine. “Stringer, can you hear me?” The Irish accent is unmistakable. “Answer me, Stringer.”
I pick it up and press the button to speak. “You fucking piece of shit. How much are they paying you? Trust me, it’s not going to be enough because you won’t have any time to spend it when I’m finished with you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Stringer. I’ve waited a long time for this. I’ve got this sweet, little brunette morsel of yours. So young, she smells so sweet,” he says, and I can’t stop the growl of rage that starts in my stomach and rumbles through my chest. “Come upstairs.”
I toss the radio aside, letting it skid across the floor. There’s no point trying to reason with him. If he has Raven then he thinks he’s in charge, and shit I guess right now he probably is. If he’s holding her, I’m not going to be able to take him out without risking her life. Not without a distraction. Glancing around the kitchen, my eyes fall on the gas stovetop. Six burners, ninety-three thousand BTU’s, I know what I’m going to do.
* * *
Rounding the top of the stairs with my arms above my head, I see the grin of triumph that flashes across The Irishman’s face. Whatever this is about, he’s going to take it out on me one way or another.
“Toss the gun this way, Stringer,” he says, holding the edge of his knife to Raven’s throat. Her usually sparkling ebony eyes filled with fear, and the way she’s looking at me, pleading, scared, has me playing out all the ways I’m going to kill him for what he’s doing. “Nice and slow, mind you, wouldn’t want to make me slip now.”
I toss the machine gun to the floor. “What’s this about? Why make it personal?”
“Personal? Do you know how I’ve been living these last few years? When I could have been on a private island with what I was promised. I don’t suppose you remember Michal Novotny? Slovakian Mafia? No, I don’t suppose you would, given that he wasn’t your target. But you’ll remember his lieutenant, Stefan Baca, and his daughter Katarina.”
The names bring back a flash of memory. Stefan had decided to defect. He was ready to tell all in exchange for protection and a new identity. My job was to extract him and make it look like an assassination. His family wasn’t part of the plan, because taking them too would bring too much suspicion, but when I got to the location, Stefan was already dead. A bullet hole in his head that came through his bedroom window.
“It was you?” I ask, the realization dawning. It makes sense. The Irishman was a cleanup man. He knew how to take out a target at a distance.
“Michal was going to pay me a king’s ransom. All you had to do was your job, Stringer. Remind me, what’s the protocol when the main target is down?”
I’m not answering his bullshit questions. It’s rhetorical anyway, we both know the business. I grind my molars and try to reassure Raven with a quick glance as I watch the tip of the blade dimple her skin just over her carotid artery.
“Fine, you’re not going to answer. Extract to the rendezvous. That’s what you were supposed to do. But no, those fucking principles of yours reared up, didn’t they?”
I’d heard her voice. Barely fifteen years old, Katarina had cried out. Papa. She wasn’t supposed to be there. The intel said she would be at school. I turned toward her voice when the second shot came through the window.
“How is your knee these days, Stringer?”
The bullet had ripped through every bone in my knee, shattering it beyond repair. I’d barely hobbled out of t
here with her, somehow took her kicking and screaming to the extraction point, completing my mission in the only way I knew how.
It wasn’t until later I discovered exactly how much she knew about her father’s business, and how much she was willing to tell the CIA.
“Sounds like Michal’s reason for revenge, not yours,” I say, trying to keep the conversation going. So long as he’s talking to me, he’s not cutting Raven’s throat. The tension in my gut multiplies as I count to myself, the preparations of what’s happening below us in the kitchen my only chance to buy me the moment I need to turn this shit show on its head and get Raven to safety.
“I didn’t get paid, Stringer. Fuck. But Michal hates you. Oh, how he hates you. And when I told him I knew where you were…” He laughs. “Let’s just say he’s willing to make good on our previous arrangement. Well, which one should I do first, I wonder? You or the girl? Eeny, meeny, miny—”
Before he can finish his countdown, the explosion shakes the floor and it’s enough to knock him sideways, but the way the floor shakes also knocks me off balance. The incongruousness of the smoke alarm going off as his arm falls away from Raven’s throat isn’t lost on me. He reaches out for the wall to steady himself as I reach for the pistol still tucked behind me in my waistband.
My first shot goes straight through his hand and he cries out. “Get down!” I scream and Raven collapses to the floor as I take my second shot, exploding his throat in a crimson splatter against the wall behind.
I lurch forward, scrambling to my feet and grabbing Raven around the waist, the flames licking the bottom of the staircase already. I look behind me, one last glance to be sure, and I’m reassured his lifeless body will soon be turned to ash.
“You okay, baby? Can you run with me?” I give her a quick glance up and down, making sure there’s no visible injury as she nods and I pull her with me, heading for the back staircase, hoping it’s going to be clear, when she pulls away, frozen for a moment.
“Baby, I’m fucking sorry my life came back for me. But, we have to go. I have a drop in town, there’s money and identities, we can get to it and get away but we have to hurry.”
She shakes her head. “I have to…I need one thing. I’ll be two seconds!”
When she jerks her hand from mine, heading for the bedroom, my throat closes up, smoke already filling the hallway as I chase after her, but when I see why she returned I can’t possibly be angry. If she didn’t go back for it, she wouldn’t be the girl I know and love.
Minutes later, we’re in my car, panting and coughing, her hand in mine as we race into the darkness and a new life.
“You okay, baby?”
“Are you with me?” She gives me a tight smile, her hair a wild mess around her face.
“Yes, always. I’m right here.”
“Then I’m okay, Daddy. I’ll always be okay as long as we’re together.”
“We will always be together, little feather. Life is going to be different from now on.”
“I can see. I never believed you were an accountant anyway.”
“I won’t be able to tell you everything, Raven. But, I promise I’ll tell you what you need to know. As soon as we are settled, as soon as we are safe.”
“I know.” She squeezes my fingers as I pull our hands over my heart. “I trust you. I love you.”
My chest tightens as I see her smile in the moonlight coming through the windshield.
“I love you, too. I’ve always loved you, baby. And I always will.”
I pull her hand to my mouth, kiss her palm and turn down the dirt road, taking us into our future.
Epilogue
Raven
Six Months Later
“Fuck. Fuck.” I pant as Stringer thrusts into me over and over, my whole body feeling like it’s throbbing with the need for release. But with us, it’s like a game. Neither of us wants to blink first. “Fuck me, Daddy.”
“One of these days,” he says between pants, “I’m going to get you to stop cussing.”
I’m bent over the kitchen counter, staring out at the white sand of the beach and the blue sea beyond. The sun here always seems to be high in the sky, the air always warm, and with a fresh sea breeze, life is good. The villa is bigger even than the ranch was at home, and fully a third of the island belongs to us, but Stringer keeps insisting it’s not going to be big enough for all the children he wants to put in me.
Our first is due in three months, and I can’t wait. I love my round belly, but to have a child in my arms is going to be wonderful.
He grabs hold of my tits through the loose maternity dress and thrusts hard inside me, and I can’t hold back any longer. With a wail, I feel my orgasm take over, shuddering every bone in my body. And a moment later, he fills me to bursting with round after round of warm cum, so much that I feel it dripping out around his cock, even as his fingers slide between us, mopping up our messy mixture.
When he slides out of me, I turn and find him waiting, fingers glistening, and I know what to do. I lean forward and wrap my mouth around two of them, sucking them clean. Then he leans forward and kisses me, and we share the flavor of our mating.
Stringer has promised me that in a month or so I’ll be able to contact Willow. I know she isn’t panicking about where I am, that Stringer sent her an anonymous message letting her know that we’re both safe, but I want to hear her voice. And I want her here with me when I have the baby. She wasn’t able to be here when I was married, and that made me sad, but Stringer and I didn’t want to wait any longer.
I still don’t know all about what happened, but I’ve decided I don’t need to. Stringer has his secrets, and that’s fine with me. I do know that the fire destroyed our ranch, but beyond that he hasn’t said much more and I haven’t asked. Whoever those people were, I think they’re out of our lives for good, but I know whatever dangers there were, Stringer is still worried they might come back for us. So, I’m trying to get used to my new identity, however hard that might be.
Wistfully, I glance across at the photograph of me and my mom, that day at the fair. It was the one thing I saved from the fire that night, going back for it despite Stringer’s protests. But when he saw me with it, I think he understood. And I’m glad I did. It meant that I was able to have my mom there when we were married on the beach, and that meant the world to me.
“How about we have dinner here, out by the pool?” he suggests, and I meet his gaze with a playful frown.
“No way, mister,” I tell him with a laugh. “You promised.”
He sighs, but I know he’ll do it. He loves me. He’s told me so many times I can’t possibly think otherwise.
“You know I’ll do anything for you,” he says, and I grin.
I know he will. How many men would literally kill for me? Risk their lives for me? He’s the one, the only one. I’ve loved him from the moment I met him. I know that Stringer will always put me first. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to make me happy.
See, there’s karaoke night at the local bar.
And tonight, I’m going to make sure he sings The Final Countdown with me. Even if I have to drag him up on the stage myself.
The End
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About Nikolai
Nikolai Andrew has been writing stories as far back as he can remember. His elementary school teachers used to have him stay after class to try to explain some of his more creative work but with a to-die-for smile and wisdom beyond his years, he always managed to charm his way out of trouble. Not much has changed, except he’s now found an outlet for his stories where he can show off a bit of his darkness, a dash
of dominance and a sprig of hopeless romantic topped with a whole helping of hot.
When he’s not writing, he’s playing with his many aquariums, searching for rocks, enjoying cheap vodka and making waitresses blush. He’s got a penchant for vintage Playboy’s and Vargas girls and a weakness for giving out spankings and cookies. Drop him a line anytime. He loves to hear from readers. Especially their own ideas on what he should write next.
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