Jayne smiled. “At last I’ve found the elusive Senator Tecumseh. It’s such a pleasure to meet you. Again.” She held her pistol aimed at his chest. Though she knew she wouldn’t shoot him, the look on his copper-dark face confirmed he wasn’t quite so sure. She reached out with her other hand, her injection ring primed and ready. “Come, darling. Take my hand and let’s leave. You and I have much to discuss.”
“I’m not a fan of discussing anything at the point of a gun,” the exotic-looking senator said. He refused to drop the tomahawk.
Jayne kept the smile on her face. “Now,” she said. The command was followed instantly. Two men burst through the opening at the far end of the chapel, taking advantage of the distraction she’d caused to get their weapons right up next to the heads of her adversaries.
“They’re secured,” a voice said in her earbud.
Without looking, Jayne’s smile broadened. “Now. Let’s try this again shall we, darling? Come with me, drop that silly axe you’ve got, or your security team will have their brains painted all over the inside of this…chapel.”
Still, he hesitated.
Jayne felt her patience slip. “Come now, my dear senator. I’m sure you wouldn’t—”
“You bitch,” a voice from Jayne’s past snarled from the other side of the chapel.
Jayne kept the pistol on Senator Tecumseh but turned her head. There she was. Svea, 13, her rival, her one-time ally, her nemesis. Jayne’s hand reached up to her face. Svea had given her the scar; she was the woman Jayne had sworn to kill with her bare hands.
The smile faded from Jayne’s face. “Well…isn’t this something?” Another man appeared behind her and rushed forward through the rubble, keeping his weapon trained on Tecumseh. Jayne lowered her pistol.
“I knew you were here…I knew it. I could feel it.” Jayne stepped through the rubble, picking her way between the rocks to avoid falling. When she stood an arm’s length away from Svea, the smile returned. “It’s good to see you again, darling.”
Her one-time ally spat at her feet.
Jayne turned to face the SEAL. “And you’re the famous Cooper Braaten. So you’re the one who’s been hounding me halfway across the world.”
He smirked. “You deserved it.”
Jayne frowned. “I deserve nothing. Reginald was the one that put everything into play. All of this,” she said, spreading her arms to encompass the post-Korean Flu world, “can all be laid at his feet. Not mine.”
“You killed the president of the United States.”
“Not true,” she said, raising a finger. “Your own government claims he wasn’t legitimate. At best, you can say that I issued the orders to have the vice president killed…but even still, I didn’t do it myself.”
The former SEAL shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t give a fuck. You’re going down for it.”
“And what about you?” She stuck out her hip, traced the outline of her body with her free hand, and pouted. “What do you want?”
“Let me get my knife and I’ll show you,” he said with another smirk.
This time Jayne’s pout wasn’t fake. “Well, you’re no fun. Take him outside and shoot him,” she said, directing her henchmen with a wave.
That got the desired reaction. Senator Tecumseh screamed, and his eyes went round.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jayne purred, “I didn’t know you had feelings for him.”
“Leave him out of this,” Svea said in a low voice that got Jayne’s attention immediately. “It’s me you want.”
Jayne smiled. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time,” she said, staring into Swede’s blue eyes. “I like the hair, darling. Red suits you. You have the perfect completion for it, you know.” She reached out and traced a fingernail along Swede’s cheek. “How do you get such smooth skin? It’s simply not fair.”
Svea flinched under her touch and frowned.
Jayne kept her smile plastered in place. “Do you remember when you gave me this?” she asked, tracing the pink scar on her cheek with one finger. “I’m going to get a little payback for that now, dear.”
Svea snarled. “Anytime, anywhere.”
Jayne drove her fist into Svea's solar plexus, targeted precisely to knock the wind out of the younger woman. It worked. With a whoof, she doubled over, gasping. Jayne turned and took two steps away, then dropped her pistol to the rubble at her feet. She rolled her neck, stretched her arms and cracked her back.
“Right here. Right now.”
“What about the—” began the man with his rifle aimed at Braaten’s head.
“We’ve got time,” Jayne snapped. It wouldn’t take her long to pummel this bitch into the dirt. She waved off the guard keeping his rifle on Svea. “Step back, let her move.”
She glanced at Braaten. The man looked ready to explode—the chords in his neck stood taut, and he leaned ever so slightly forward, ready to jump across the space and throttle her with his bare hands.
“You’ve got spirit. I like that…I’d love to get together when this is all over…” she said, teasing him.
“You’re sick!” cried Senator Tecumseh. “What the hell is this?”
“I’ll deal with you in a minute, darling—right now I need to teach someone her place.”
Jayne turned back to Svea just in time to see that red head snap up, blue eyes spitting fire.
Well, this should be fun.
Svea charged, her right arm straight, her left arm cocked for a vicious punch.
Jayne was ready for it and swatted away the clumsy lunge, shoving Svea painfully to the ground. The younger woman landed with a thud, encircled by a wreath of dust, but rolled to her feet quicker than Jayne would’ve expected.
Too late, Jayne tried to step back, but caught one of Swede’s heels in the back of her knee. She almost went down, and strained her shoulder in an attempt to stay upright, but managed to step out of range of the follow-up attack. Scrabbling through the rocks, they both regained their balance and set themselves in fighting poses.
“You’re quicker than I expected—that’s good. I’m looking forward to a good fight,” Jayne quipped.
“We don’t have time for this,” warned one of the men.
“When I ask for your opinion, you’ll know it,” Jayne said. She pointed at the guard who spoke. “If he opens his fucking mouth again, shoot him.”
“You’re insane,” Braaten muttered. The anger was still there, but she noticed he wasn’t straining to get at her anymore. Either the man had some sense after all, or—more likely—he was starting to become afraid of her.
Her mouth curled up. Nothing excited her more than when a man showed his fear. Maybe she would spend a little quality time with this ex-SEAL after she dealt with Svea.
They circled each other for a second like two sharks zeroing in on a wounded fish. The Swede’s eyes never strayed from Jayne’s. Jayne took a moment to examine the woman before her.
Trim, athletic, svelte even, Svea looked much as she had the last time Jayne had seen her in Reginald’s castle on Skye. They had fought before a roaring fire, and Svea had used a poker to slash her face. She remembered flinging the bottle of brandy at the fire behind Svea and using the explosion as a distraction so she could escape. Svea had caught her off guard then—she’d forgotten how well the Swedish bitch knew bataireacht—Irish stick fighting.
This time it would be bare hands, no weapons. Jayne smirked. Except for the dirk that she had hidden at the small of her back. It wasn’t big, but it would be enough to slit Svea's throat if push came to shove.
But Jayne was confident that wouldn’t happen.
She feigned a strike with her right hand, and held it just a second too long, so that Svea was able to throw a block and knock her arm aside—which is exactly what Jayne wanted. She used the momentum to spin her torso and hip-check Svea against the far wall.
With a thrust of one shoulder, Jayne cracked Svea's head against the wall. She jumped back and watched as her opponent dropped to the floor, dazed. Jayne casually brushed the dust off her right hip and smiled.
“Oh, come now, Svea, you’ve simply got to put up a better fight than this…” She licked her lips. “I’ve been looking forward to this for the past six months…get on your fucking feet and take this like a woman.”
From the ground, Svea tossed that flame red hair over her shoulder and glared at Jayne. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot, rimmed in red. For the first time, Jayne noticed there was a faint trace of red under Svea's nose, as if she’d been bleeding and didn’t do a good job cleaning it off her face. She looked weak. She looked furious.
Jayne’s smile widened. She looked infected.
“Why, darling, did you happen to taste the little present I left for the good people of Edinburgh?” Jayne paced in front of Svea waiting for her to stand. “I do believe you did…you look like a little under the weather…”
Svea's face stretched as her mouth widened in a snarl. Her teeth clenched, and she looked positively primal.
Jayne didn’t lose sight of the fact that Svea was clenching her hands into the rubble on the ground. She ducked easily as Svea flicked her wrist and sent several rocks flying toward Jayne’s face. As payment for cheating, Jayne drove her left foot into Svea's sternum and smashed her back against the wall again.
Jayne recovered from the kick and bounced back, slipping on the rubble. She threw her arms out to regain balance and glanced down at the sliding rubble pile, realizing she’d made a mistake. Svea barreled into her face first like a linebacker. They crashed to the ground in a cursing, flailing heap. Jayne pummeled her with fists and knees, then grabbed a handful of that beautiful red hair and yanked hard. She even heard some roots give way, but Svea didn’t seem to notice.
Oh, you’re definitely infected…
For the first time, a little uncertainty crept into Jayne’s confidence. She didn’t have enough data to know whether an infected person actually felt pain. She’d certainly seen enough evidence of them ripping each other to pieces over the past twenty-four hours, but she didn’t know if pain by itself would be enough to slow one down.
Jayne decided to find out. The next time Svea lunged forward to strike, Jayne sidestepped her and backhanded her wounded shoulder. Svea grunted and moved away, but didn’t seem that bothered by the pain.
That could have been your training. It also could’ve been the virus. Interesting…let’s try it again.
Jayne danced back and forth on the slippery rocks, pretending to be off-balance. Svea fell for it and lunged forward again. Once more, Jayne sidestepped, but this time she threw an open-hand strike at the wound on her opponent’s shoulder. The punch drove Svea into the wall, but still the stubborn woman didn’t cry out.
“Ma’am, I really don’t think we have time for this…” said the second of her men guarding Braaten.
Jayne frowned. “Am I going to have to kill both of you?” She turned back to the task at hand.
Over and over again, Jayne sidestepped Svea's increasingly clumsy punches and kicks, raining down punishment upon her lithe body—strike after strike with fists, elbows, knees, and boots. Jayne didn’t know how long it went on, but when she began to perspire, she realized she was not only working over Svea like a training dummy, but she was getting a great aerobic workout at the same time.
Jayne bounced on the balls of her feet, ignoring the sliding rock pile under her. “Darling, I could do this all day, but I’m afraid I don’t have that much time…”
Svea glared between clumps of red hair, her mouth swollen and split. Blood trickled from a cut at the corner of one eye, from her nose, and her swollen mouth. One ear was red and swollen where Jayne had boxed it. She had cuts on her lips and her shoulder was a bloody mess, but still she stood, defiant and at least in the right fighting pose.
In the end, Jayne realized it was like smacking a piece of iron. Svea was just as tough as she was, had been through the same training. The possibility that the virus was dulling her senses finally drew Jayne to the ultimate conclusion that she would have to end the fight permanently.
Jayne lowered her hands, enjoying the suspicious look on Svea's face. “I really am sorry we couldn’t go on longer. For a second there, I thought about letting you go, just so we could do this again someday.” Jayne wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow and exhaled. “But I’ve got to run.”
“She’s got a knife!” called out Braaten.
Jayne frowned as she drew the little kilt knife she took from Reginald’s castle from her concealed sheath at the small of her back. “Dammit all!” she said, her eyes still locked on Svea's. “You ruined the dramatic moment!” She pointed with the stubby Sgian Dubh at Braaten. “Why the fuck is he still standing here? I thought I told you booger-eaters to take him outside and kill him?”
A scuffle ensued as it took both men to subdue the thrashing SEAL. Eventually they dragged him, screaming warnings for Svea out the hole in the wall.
Jayne waited until she heard several rifle shots before she licked her lips again, tasting sweat. “Now it’s just you and me, princess.”
Svea stared at her. “I’m going to kill you,” she said around her swollen lip in a raspy voice.
Jayne laughed. “Defiant until the end.” She sighed, looking at her sister in arms over the tip of her gleaming little knife. “Why did you leave us, sweet Svea? We had some good times together, didn’t we? Mmmm….” Jayne said, remember several non-sanctioned encounters they’d had in the early days of their training. Back then, they’d found comfort where they could. They were dark days—as they were for every new recruit.
Jayne touched the tip of the knife to her upper lip. “Was it because of what happened to your family? That nighttime raid when they took you away to join me and the others?” She watched for a reaction in Svea’s eyes and found nothing. “Perhaps it was what they did to your dear papa?”
Svea’s bloodshot eyes narrowed.
That’s what it was then…
Jayne laughed. “All this time, Reginald thought you’d left because of your personal view that what we did was just plain morally bankrupt. And here it was simple bad-blood! Oh, dear sweet Svea…if you’d only said something to me…we could have avoided all this unpleasantness!” She put a hand on her hip. “I really did care for you, you know…in the beginning…”
Svea spat a glob of bloody mucus on the rubble. “Spare me your lies, fitta.”
“Well…how rude,” Jayne said, one hand over her chest. “I’m only trying to make conversation…you know, make your ending a little less painful, dear. You see, you’ve gone quite beyond the pale. There’s no coming back from this, Svea. You know I have to kill you.” She looked down at the Scottish knife in her hand.
“Did you know Reginald gave me this thing? I never use it for fighting…it’s more…ceremonial, I suppose. He called it his mercy blade.” She snorted. “Do you know why?”
“God, you’re a long-winded bitch, aren’t you?” rasped Svea.
Jayne ignored the barb. “He used it to cut the throat of every person he killed. It belonged to his great-great-great-grandfather or some such hairy-assed Scottish chieftain from a thousand years ago or something,” she said waving her hand in the air. “That’s what he told me, at least.” She looked up from the little Sgian Dubh, rubbing her thumb over its intricate Celtic knot work carved into the handle. “Do you know who the last person who died under this blade was?”
Svea glared at her, apparently lost in her own infection-addled thoughts.
“Your father.”
That got the response she was looking for. Svea roared and lunged at her, arms wide and hands clawing the air. Jayne moved forward and ducked under the first strike, intending to drive her blade up under Svea's ribcage.
But the damn woman was fast—impossibly fast. She swung her arms down and knocked the Sgian Dubh off target—it embedded itself to the hilt in Svea's side, nowhere close to being a fatal wound.
“Oh bother,” Jayne said, stepping back and staring at the knife handle sticking out of Svea's side. “Now that’s embarrassing.”