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Emma stared into the bathroom mirror and counted down.
“Three, two ...”
The heel of her right palm struck the side of her nose on one with a sharp blow. A sound reminiscent of a chicken wing snapping echoed in the small, tiled room. A groan quickly followed as her eyes rolled back in her head, and fresh blood dripped into the porcelain sink along with a few tears.
“Oh, fuck me. That hurts.”
Though her eyes watered, she stared into the mirror and nodded. She held a damp hand towel filled with ice gingerly on her face and waited for the bleeding to stop. Despite the swelling and dark bruise, the nose was set. Her eyes would have dark circles in a few days, but it would be better than having a crooked nose.
The idea to take the young woman did not go quite as planned. Emma had thought the large man was the primary threat and taken him down first. The bitch had fought like a caged mixed martial artist and managed to crack an elbow backward before the cuffs were on. When Emma drew a pistol and pointed it at her friend’s head, Amanda finally relented.
If Amanda had a few more years of training, Emma doubted she would have been able to take her in a fair fight. But life ain’t fair, deary.
She would have taken Amanda earlier, but she had to prep the safe house an hour north of Tampa, Florida. The small town didn’t even have a name, just a black dot on the map. Most of the stores had closed in the “downtown” area, leaving a gas station and corner store. It had only taken ten minutes to find an abandoned farmhouse in the countryside. They were plentiful. No one had been inside for years, and the dirt-floored cellar was perfect. There were no windows or tools to use to escape, and the thick timber in the middle was strong enough to tie them to.
With a final look in the mirror, Emma returned to the kitchen and sat in the only wooden chair. The home had been emptied except for a few items—the wobbly chair was one of them. Back home, this farmhouse and property would sell for half a million pounds, but here it sat empty.
She was jarred when the satellite phone rang. Only two people had this number, Mother and her father, Eric.
“Go ahead.”
“Your current assignment is now over. Go to ground and return home once it is safe to do so.”
“They got the fucker? Good.”
Mother chuckled. “No. Hunter bought out the contract.”
“Seriously? Wad the fuck?” Her nose started to bleed again, and Emma held the towel underneath. She would have to go to the gas station again and buy more ice.
“Yes, dear. Noah coughed up the money. Although, there was one strange thing.”
“Yeah?” Emma closed her eyes. All this for nothing and a headache. Oliver was gone, and no doubt the entire country would be looking for them. Hell of a mess for her cut.
She could hear Mother’s fingernails click on the keyboard. “It seems our American friends may be having a power struggle. The authorization was valid, but it didn’t come from the originator.”
Emma hummed as she thought it over, then an idea struck. A way to make it worthwhile. “Does the originator know about the rescinded order?”
Mother laughed. “Are you thinking of double-dipping?”
“Being paid not to do the job, and being paid to do it, sounds like a win-win to me.” Emma could hear the muffled screams from the cellar, and it lifted her spirits.
“Hunter can’t complain that we didn’t fulfill our end of the bargain if he’s dead.”
“Exactly.”
Mother cleared her throat. “Do you want me to activate your father and Iain? Or is this something you can handle yourself?”
Emma stood and grinned. She ignored the blood that dripped off the end of her chin. “How about we don’t mention this to anyone else, and we split the payout?”
“Tread carefully. There’s no safety net on this. But if you can do it ...”
“I’m not worried. What do you want me to do with the kids?”
“They are no longer part of this operation. Have they seen your face?”
“No.”
“Cut them free.”
Emma laid a finger gently on her nose, making her eyes water. She had plans for the bitch.
“I need some information before I start.”
They talked for a few more minutes as Emma scribbled in her logbook. One bullet for fifty-million dollars? Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.