Chapter 5 The Scent of Death, Cordite, And Blood
THE SCENT OF DEATH, CORDITE, AND BLOOD
INEZ
Ihave never been entirely comfortable in the company of women—not that I've had many opportunities. I understand men, as much as anyone can ever truly understand the opposite sex. I have spent my life around men, and violent men at that.
I have never had a female friend. Not until Scarlett—a kindred spirit, if ever there was such a thing.
I find myself missing her company, and in particular the way she understands me.
We are women who have spent our lives spilling blood.
We have been used, abused, violated, and traumatized.
We have been steeped in violence. I don't need to explain it to her. She simply understands.
These women are…different.
They understand trauma. They know pain. They have suffered abuse.
They have survived.
They are me.
Every bit as much as Scarlett, they are me.
They hold me as I shatter.
Anjalee murmurs in my ear in soft Hindi, which of course I do not understand, but the tone is soothing.
Naomi is praying, her whispers so quiet I cannot make out the words.
The others just hold me, squeeze my arm, my leg, my shoulder.
I am weeping.
I cannot stop.
Something broke inside me. The dam holding back the ocean of tears I have spent a lifetime refusing to shed—that is what has shattered within me.
I hear myself keening, screaming, wailing.
I rock back and forth, and they hold me through it.
They don't shush me. They don't tell me it will be okay. They're just…here. They get it.
I could not give this to Lorenzo. Yes, he loves me. He accepts me as I am. He knows the darkest truths which define me, and still he loves me. This is a priceless treasure, I know, but he is a man.
He may sympathize, but these women empathize.
Mostly.
I don't know of anyone who can empathize with the guilt I carry for the thirty-two names tattooed on my back.
The flood of my tears flows, ebbs, and then subsides into shaking shudders.
The heat of bodies and breath is overwhelming and I cannot breathe, all of a sudden, but before I can say a word, they all pull away and get to their feet.
Naomi is last, and she takes my hands in hers and we stand up together.
They surround me, they're all still touching me in some way, and I find it…
acceptable. Comforting, even; I have not been able to tolerate physical contact from anyone in years. Not since that day.
I close my eyes, breathe. Wipe my face. Steady my breath. Examine myself—the state of my soul.
What I feel is nearly impossible to explain, even to myself. Weightlessness? Not quite. It's as if…as if I have carried a burden on my back and suddenly that burden is gone. The weight I didn't know I was carrying has suddenly been removed.
I suppose Ren would probably liken it to taking off your pack after a ten-mile ruck through the mountains.
I open my eyes and look around at the women, and I cannot find it in me to be embarrassed.
Only pathetically grateful.
"Ladies, I…" words fail me, then. "I do not know how to—" so shaken am I that I only realize I was speaking in Portuguese when several brows furrowed in confusion.
I am a bit too accustomed to being around Lorenzo, Solomon, and Scarlett, all of whom can switch between languages as easily as I can.
I let out a breath, smooth my hands down my thighs, and try again, this time in English. "Ladies, I would like to thank you. For…for…" my voice quavers, dammit. "For allowing me to…without…" I shake my head, hissing in frustration as words continue to dry up in my throat. "Fucking hell. Sorry."
Terra wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. "Girl, we got you."
I've never been gotten, before. It makes my eyes burn all over again.
"This is not why I came here," I say, after clearing my throat a few times.
"I cannot bring myself to regret the wasted time, even though we have very little to spare.
I am here with you now because you are in imminent danger.
My enemies—our enemies—are coming here, now, to harm you, in an attempt to bait your men. "
"What do we need to do?" Naomi asks, her voice soft but steady.
"Wait a second, though," Terra interrupts. "Can we talk about Lorenzo, though? Just for a second. Because girl, he…is…fine.”
I cannot help a small smile from stealing across my face. "Lorenzo is…" I blink hard, and dammit, I hate feeling so emotional. "He's…"
"You're still figuring it out, huh?" Annika asks. "We get that, for sure."
I frown. "I'm not sure that's it, exactly. I've known him most of my life—since I was sixteen. He…" I lick my lips and look at the ceiling. "He was my first everything. And the last. Not counting…you know…what happened. And Rafael. I don't count that because I didn't choose it."
Naomi's silver gaze searches me. "But you aren't ready, are you?"
I shake my head. "No. And I'm afraid I never will be. I am afraid that I can never give him that part of me."
"Which part, Inez?" This is Tatiana. "Sometimes we have to name our deepest fears out loud before we can fight them."
"My body," I answer in a whisper.
"Does he love you?" she asks.
"Yes."
She holds me by the arms. "Then it'll work out. It may not be easy, but it will."
Naomi, soft and sweet and shy but with a core of pure titanium, kisses me on the cheek—I'm so stunned by the unexpected affection that my cheeks flush hot.
"It really will." She cups my cheek. "You know what I endured.
It isn't…" She trails off with a huff. "I'm not comparing.
When I went there with Silas, it was frightening, at first, but it was worth it, Inez.
So worth it to find something as beautiful as my relationship with Silas.
You are strong. And Lorenzo seems very kind.
Be honest with him. Be brave. If he loves you and you love him, you will find your way together. "
"You make it sound so simple," I say.
The door leading up to the club opens and Lorenzo appears in a rush. "They're here. They're coming."
Instantly, everything vanishes—all that's left is the icy calm that is my customary emotional armor. I glance at Lorenzo, and I can tell something has happened—I can see it written in his features.
I lean close. "Are you alright?" I ask in Portuguese.
He smiles down at me, touching a soft, delicate kiss to my forehead. "Yes."
"Something happened, though."
He puts his lips to my ear, whispering. "I met Jakob."
My world rocks on its axis. "You…what?"
"Up there. We had a glass of scotch and talked for a moment. He's gone now, I think."
“You saw him? You spoke to him?"
He nods. "It was dark. I couldn't pick him out of a line-up, certainly. He has a very recognizable voice."
"And he told you his name?"
He frowns. "You seem shocked."
"I am. My employer is the most secretive man I've ever known, and I include Rafael." Of everyone in my life, Lorenzo would be the last person I'd think Jakob would show himself to. "What…what did you talk about?"
He juts his chin at the hallway and the exit sign at the end. "Talk later. Pugli's thugs are approaching and I've got…" he produces his pistol from the back of his jeans, ejects the mag, counts rounds. "Eleven rounds left."
"Come." I lead him at a run back up the stairs through the dark, empty club—I catch of whiff of the cologne Jakob wears.
We reach the security booth. A rack of servers with their array of blinking lights stands on one wall, encased in glass.
I open the case, reach my arm inside behind the bank of servers—which give off an incredible amount of heat—and hunt around with my fingers.
After a moment, I find what I'm looking for: a small button, slightly concave, along the back left corner near the top.
I press it, and something clicks, something else hisses, and then I step away as the entire case rotates away from me, revealing a recessed space about the size of a telephone booth.
It is lined on three walls with racks of weapons and ammunition: assault rifles, submachine guns, pistols, and shotguns, with boxes of ammo for each and empty magazines, as well as pre-loaded mags.
"Now we're talking," Lorenzo says, his face lit up like a kid at Christmas…or so I imagine. I've never experienced such a thing as anyone would consider a "normal" Christmas.
"Jakob and I are the only ones who know this is here," I tell him. "None of the guys know."
"Why not?"
I stare at him. "They're operators. They'd be up here all the time wanting to get out the guns."
He snickers. "Oh. True."
He selects an HK416 and I do the same, stuffing our pockets with magazines for those and our sidearms; I grab three more and a spare mag to go with them, and then I close the case once more.
I snag several radios as well, and we head back down to the common room.
I select the channel we use in the club and key the radio.
"Toro, Taj, Fonz. This is Inez. Come in, over. "
Toro's voice crackles across the line. "Go for Toro."
"Tangos inbound," I say. "Converge on the common room in the Arrow quarters ASAP."
I get three affirmatives and a couple minutes later, Toro, Taj, and Fonz emerge from the stairs. They take in the women, wide-eyed, and then Lorenzo and I—loaded down with rifles, pockets bulging with magazines.