THOMAS
A tormenting surge of guilt struck me like a severe punch to the gut. I swallowed hard, shut my eyes tightly for a minute. Neither action relieved the discomfort.
“What is it, Thom? You look like you’re in pain.” My younger brother, John.
He and Evans had arrived at the penthouse before dawn. Before I went in to shower.
I had sworn not to touch Katie, not like that, not yet. She had pushed me, parading about in her so-called pajamas, rubbing her arse against my cock, asking me to recount the time we’d spent together. None of it excused my behavior. She wasn’t to blame.
I’d never managed impulse control and restraint properly. Discipline had largely been imposed upon me by my brothers rather than by my own self-compliance. I meant to change that and grow the fuck up. I’d done well enough … until Katie.
The way she wanted me, begged me. My ego had—and would again—refused to let it go unanswered. But something stronger than even my ego gave rise to my transgression. Though she wasn’t aware of the mark she’d made on me, she had indeed changed me. Her pure soul had reached into mine, claiming parts of me that I’d never given another woman, compelling me to give her everything she wanted. Never mind the consequences. She owned me.
Katie had wanted to join me in the shower, and I’d been obligated to give in.
Christ, I had no idea how to manage our situation, moving forward. I had no plans to live without her, though she needed time on her own first. My position on waiting hadn’t changed, but I’d messed up by inviting her into the shower, further complicating matters. Because now that I had tasted her, watched her orgasm from my touch, there would be no instance in which I could deny either of us the physical intimacy we desired.
There was no help for the reality we faced. I fancied Katie’s beautiful mind, but I also craved her body, needed to thrust into her tight, wet cunt. The ache was bone deep. And my determined little love would drive me straight to it.
“It’s nothing,” I told John. “I’m quite well.”
I turned my wrist for the time. Five fifteen. Twenty minutes before sunrise.
“Listen, you don’t have to keep things low-key round me, brother. I understand why I’m here. I mean, you’ve been in and out of her room several times in the two hours since we’ve been here.”
“It’s complicated. We’ll leave it at that until I return.” I raked a hand through my wet hair and gulped down more coffee. “Grab Evans while I ring Will, and let’s finish up here. I need to get on with this lead before the trail goes cold.”
I need to be gone before she wakes.
No good-bye. Katie would question what was happening and give me shit for leaving.
Will answered on the first ring, expecting to hear from me. “John’s all right?”
“He is. And the family? I’m putting you on speaker.”
“Everyone is well. Ellie, Lissie, the babies. Mum is worrying over John, of course. Anything new from the reconnaissance team this morning?”
“The gunman is injured, but he’s not going to stay put for long.”
I’d put a bullet in his neck.
After the confrontation, Will had met with the director general. Director Martin called in support from two MI5 assets in the States. The men gathered intel on the prime minister’s assassin, the details mined primarily from a US military physician who’d turned coat and gone rogue. He’d treated the hit man’s wound. He’d also been amenable to the intel team’s bribe, offering up the exact coordinates of the safe house where he’d left the assassin to convalesce.
Our allies still had eyes on him, and we’d scheduled the attack for midnight.
“Keep the hit clean. Don’t overstay your welcome. Understand me when I say, it will cause her more harm than good if you fail to quickly purge the aftermath and return to her. Leave that shit behind with the body, Thomas. She’ll help you with the rest.”
I shook my head. “The situation isn’t the same for us.”
“You’re consenting adults. Her consent was legal even at seventeen, and I’m quite certain you know that. This fucking heroism of yours isn’t sustainable, and it can only cause heartache. Christ, Thomas, we’re not heroes. We don’t allow ourselves to be enslaved by any one situation. Who you are and whom you love can’t be changed. Learn from my mistakes. Do what you must to make Katie happy.”
Speaking with my brother was often like tapping into my subconscious. I already knew what he wasn’t afraid to say. Time would come when I’d be ready to switch gears, moving heaven and hell and destroying any obstacle to have her. She was mature and clever, which made her age a subjective barrier that wouldn’t stop me in the end.
“Your advice means quite a lot to me—you know that,” I said.
“But?”
John entered the room and interrupted, gripping my shoulder as he moved round me to claim the position on my right. A Hastings move. “Have you told Ellie that I’m here with Thom now?” he asked Will. “She wanted me to check in right away. Threatened to kick my arse over it.”
“She’s sleeping late this morning. I’ll tell her the moment she opens her eyes,” Will teased.
As they talked, I stared at John. Katie was only two months younger, but there was a remarkable difference between them when it came to their life experiences. My brother had traveled. He’d seen death and horror. He could defend himself and her. Kill if necessary. And he’d been out of the house, allowed to explore and discover on his own.
Katie was innocent, kind and caring, trusting, and being with me might change it all. Those were the stakes, and I’d lay them before her when I came back. I wanted her to know. I wanted to show her and make her choose me again.
“Contact me at once if you need anything at all, Thomas. And, John, keep me posted while he’s out,” our older brother said, and then he disconnected.
Once I was confident John and Andrew fully understood my commands, I packed up the laptop I’d prepared for the mission and grabbed my jacket and helmet. I flew out of the garage, heading for my flat, where Carl waited for me with a car.
I was completely focused, my instincts vigilant and my reflex response primed, as should be the case for any man pursuing vengeance. Taking care of this motherfucker was personal. He’d tried to hurt my woman, and now, his life belonged to me.
Martin’s agents had the target on-site by the time I arrived at the safe house. I instructed them to wait outside in their van. No one was to enter the old farmhouse, not until I exited and the governor’s cleanup crew finished.
The moment I stepped inside and entered the same room, rage began to boil. It was a madness that took over my mind and allowed the other man to rise from my soul—the killer who’d been trained by his father to end life, the beast who would kill to defend Katie. It would consume me.
“You’ve been informed. You know my name and why I’m here,” I said, stepping into the light.
The prime minister’s assassin sat on a wood dining chair, military-grade paracord wrapped round his body, his wrists, his ankles. A thick cloth gag silenced his voice. He let out a muffled curse.
“Let me be clear. You’ll die with or without telling me what I want to know. Your words really aren’t that valuable to me. I can get the same intel from multiple sources. Should you speak when I allow it, doing so will not save your life. Saying shit that I don’t want to hear will prolong your suffering.”
Yanking at the cloth, pulling it down over his chin, I noted the bandage on his neck. Another few centimeters, and my bullet would’ve taken him out.
The motherfucker spat at me. His eyes darted about, looking round the empty room, sizing me up, searching for my weapons. “Fuck you,” he snarled. A threatening sneer. He was underestimating me.
“Good. You do understand,” I said, striking a blow to the side of his head. Blood ran from his ear. “I don’t intend to use weapons this time, as you can see.”
My brothers and I had trained as hand-to-hand combat fighters from the age of twelve, and we preferred to use our fists when punishing those who had tried to harm our family, our women.
The contracted assassins used by the British government were skilled sharpshooters, often lacking military combat training. The look of this one confirmed in my mind that it was the case in his instance as well. He’d trained with guns, not his body.
I walked round and stood behind him. If he spat at me a second time, I might kill him too quickly. “Tell me what Reed has on the prime minister.”
He was quiet. Motionless.
I struck the back side of the chair with my foot, sending him onto his face. I retrieved a knife from the one table in the room and then cut the rope on the chair.
“Nothing to say then.” Kicking the chair away from his body, I ground my boot against the wound on his neck.
An agonized howl. Blood pouring from the wound, pooling on the wood floor.
“I’m given a target when contracted, not a reason. You know this,” he rattled.
“Fair enough.” I bent and cut the ropes binding his wrists and his legs. “Get onto your feet.”
He didn’t move. “Get on with it and kill me, you fucking worthless imitation of your brother.”
Madness. Fury. I was nothing more.
Using his hair, I jerked up his head and snarled in his ear, “You will get the fuck up.” My hands were there before me, gripping on to him, his clothing, yanking his body upright.
A sharp blow to his right kidney. Another. One to the left.
Tortured cries. Panting. Wheezing.
He caught himself on the wall, hands frantic for purchase, his fingers digging into the crumbling plaster. “Put a bullet in my head, motherfucker. Do your job. Kill me,” he slurred, begging for leniency.
My fist drove into the center of his back, and he slid to the floor. I kicked him, turning him over. He would see my face when he took his last breath. I positioned myself over him, towering above, my feet on either side of his body.
The bastard was quiet again before closing his eyes, tears streaming down his face. “This … it’s about the girl.”
I dropped to my knees and roared, “No one comes after what is mine.”
As I pounded into his flesh, breaking bones, spilling more blood, he cried out incoherently, his words once again seeking mercy but receiving none. “I thought it was Reed. Didn’t want to hurt her. The blonde hair. I saw her. Another will follow. Use her to flush him out.”
My mind, my soul, both owned by rage.
Bloody, broken fists. My chest heaving.
No more words. No breath. He was beyond recognition. Eyes staring at me. Gone.
I’d beaten him to death.
I squeezed my own eyes shut.
My brother’s voice carried above the violent chaos in my head. “Purge … return.” His reminder. Leave my sick hell behind with the body. Will knew. He’d taught me quite a long time ago how to cage the darkness.
“She’ll help,” I said aloud.
I looked down at myself, searching, searching through the red, moving my gaze over my shirt, my skin. There. There it was, the little bird on my forearm.
Pushing up from my knees, I stood and straightened fully, breath still pumping angrily through my nostrils. Three steps to the left, I pulled on the dangling string and put out the bulb. There was no light then—no moonlight, no lamplight, nothing penetrating the thick black draperies.
I closed my eyes once more and pulled an image of Katie’s face into my mind. She was the peace that I’d found, the only peace I might ever know. A lovely light, burning brightly in the darkness, waiting to show me the way out.
The sound of breath rushing in and out of my chest climbed, rising into my throat, hissing through my ears. Slowing, softening, becoming my silence.
I needed to get back to Katie. Keep her safe. Allow her to warm my cold blood.
Not yet. I needed time to be certain the rage was locked down before seeing her.
Bloodthirst and anger had retreated, but shades of guilt remained. It wasn’t black or white. Guilt was my gray. It held me captive in the goddamn space between depravity and morality, selfishness and self-sacrifice, to condemn me for the lives I’d taken.
It tormented my heart, punishing me for everything I was about to take away from Katie.
Still, I would take what I wanted from her.
I’d just killed a man for her, and there was no coming back from that.