Chapter 21 #2
“Exactly.” He grins at me, and I shake my head, frowning.
“Why does that make you so happy?”
He ignores me, instead walking back into the main living room area and stands in the centre, looking at the empty drawers with his belongings thrown across his space.
“Now what are you doing?”
He stomps his foot, and takes another step forward, stomping another foot.
“Here,” he says, pointing to the floor.
“Ok-ay…”
“Help me move the sofa.”
I do as instructed, placing the gun on the countertop before we move the sofa off the rug that is covered in teal, blue and white abstract shapes, which Owen is now pulling back to unveil the modern, luxury, laminate flooring.
He stands and stomps again and grabs a knife from one of the kitchen drawers, kneeling on the floor.
I watch speechless, as he places the knife around each edge, and lifts the laminate piece, laying it next to his knee.
Leaning forward, he sticks his arm into the floorboards and rummages around. His tongue sticking out, that cute frown line back masking his features, his eyes look off into space. And suddenly, I am a young Lucy and Owen is a young boy, and we are off on one of our many adventures.
“Got it.” He pulls his hand out holding a small, locked box, and opens it with his keys. He holds up the hard drive.
“I’m not a complete idiot,” he says smugly. “The one in the toilet was a decoy, and it looks like they fell for it.”
“Well, not completely,” a voice says behind us.
We both freeze at the sound of a gun cocking.
Fuck.
I stand in front of Owen as I spin round. My eyes end somewhere in my hairline as they fall on the face of someone I very much recognise—except they have a gun pointed directly at us.
“Anya?” I ask confused.
“You know her?” Owen asks from behind me, but I hold my hand up to silence him.
“Hi, Kara.” She smiles smugly. Dressed all in black, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.
“What the fuck?” I hold my hands out and step towards her.
“Uh huh, stay where you are, little one,” she spits, the words sour in her mouth.
“I suppose you haven’t checked your phone recently.
Here.” She takes the gun in one hand, still pointed at my forehead, and reaches into her back pocket.
She pulls out her phone and throws it, it tumbles through the air in slow motion. I catch it easily.
“Came in this morning. I’m surprised he hasn’t called you to check on his favourite little one.”
“What’s going on?” Owen asks from behind me.
But I ignore him instead, staring at the screen, not quite believing what I’m seeing.
Target Lucy Cook, wanted dead, reward ￡1,000,000.00. Additional target Owen Cooper, wanted dead or alive, reward ￡500,000.
“Who put a fucking target on me?” I ask, furious. “And you. I thought we were friends.”
“Come on, Snow, it’s a million quid. I mean, Jesus, it’s more for your head than it is for your boyfriend here!”
“Well, this complicates things,” I say, reading the message again.
Anya continues to block the only exit, her gun raised.
“I’m going to need that hard drive,” Anya states.
“Do you even know what’s on it?” I ask, wanting to see the contents for myself more and more.
Owen says it’s enough to take down the serving members of cabinets. And colour me curious. I really want to know what will bring the country to its knees.
“That’s not going to happen.” Owen steps next to me, and I glance up at him.
“Get behind me, please,” I mutter.
“How about no!”
Anya is watching our little exchange with a smirk on her face.
“I’ve got to say, Snow, he’s hot. Have you made up after your shared childhood trauma?”
“Fuck you,” Owen spits, his body tensing. He steps forward and I grab his arm, holding him in place.
Anya may be small, but she’s just as capable as me—and she’s got the upper hand with the gun currently pointed at Owen’s chest.
“I thought the price was for my head, not for whatever is on that thing.”
“Added bonus.” She shrugs.
“So be it.”
I launch her phone, throwing it as hard and as precisely as I can, aiming directly at her face.
I push Owen roughly to the side, getting him out of the firing line as Anya pulls the trigger on the gun. The bullet flies through the air, hitting the spot Owen has just been shoved out of.
The phone hits her in the face, smack bang on her perfectly proportioned nose, followed quickly by my body at full force as I tackle her messily to the floor. Another bullet sounds and it misses its mark. Thankfully.
Adrenaline floods my veins, drowning out the sound of the gun hitting the floor and her grunt as our bodies crash into the apartment wall, cracking the plaster.
I don’t have time to think about the pain that is erupting along my ribs, or the air that has whooshed out of me, winding me.
No, instead I roll onto her body and grab her head and neck in a hold, squeezing hard.
There is no fight or dance.
This is me doing what I do best. Eliminate the target in the quickest way possible.
Her body writhes, her legs bucking along with her hips as she tries to fight me off. She tries anything to get me to release the death grip I have around her neck.
I look down into her eyes, which are wide and turning pink as blood vessels pop, the red spreading through the tiny veins in her eyeballs as I squeeze the life out of her.
Her hands pull at my arm, nails scratching my skin as she claws at anything to get me loosen my grip.
Anya’s good.
But I’m better.
Andrews always said watching me spar was something breathtaking.
It would be like flipping a switch.
One minute calm and collected, the next the beast inside had been released, and I would maim, hurt, and kill those that stood in my way.
Her eyes widen as she realises that I wasn’t about to incapacitate; I would be squeezing her until she takes her last breath.
I mean, what did the bitch think I’d do?
She chose a contract over a friendship. Not that you have many friends in this line of work. The reason being this exact scenario—you never can quite tell when one of those so-called friends will stab you in the back and choose money over loyalty.
Silence washes over the apartment as Anya goes limp.
I fall onto my back breathing heavily, her dead body flopping on top of me.
“Is she…”
“Yeah,” I respond, filling my lungs with much-needed oxygen. “Get your shit. We need to move.”
I tip my head to see Owen sitting on the floor, looking over at where I’m lying, his eyes wide.
He runs a hand over his face and mouth. “Jesus, Lucy, does disaster follow you everywhere?”
“I’d argue that it’s actually following you, but whatever.”
I push Anya’s dead body from me, and take Owen’s hand, which he is now holding out, heaving me up.
“Are you okay?” His eyes track over my face and body.
I nod, feeling the heat in his gaze. “Are you?”
“Sure. But what are we going to do about her?” His eyes dart to where she is now lying.
I lean down and grab her gun, passing it to Owen who holds his hands up in a no gesture.
“The situation has changed. You need to defend yourself.” I pull the clip out and reload it, putting the safety on.
“Safety.” I point to the small button on the side of the gun. “Press this, point and pull the trigger. Two hands, like this.”
I hold the gun in one hand with my second hand clasping the bottom. “It’s not like movies; there’s more of a kick back than you expect. Two hands will be better and give you more stability.”
I push the gun into his hands and turn my attention back to Anya, shaking my head.
“Shame, really,” I mutter, sighing, crouching next to her. I check for her pulse and open her jacket, grabbing her wallet, keys, and pick up the phone that is on the floor.
The screen cracked, but it’s working.
“Owen. Bag! Come on, we need to leave in two minutes.”
He’s standing there, staring at me like I’m a stranger. Again. Standard behaviour for when he looks at me nowadays.
He jumps into action and heads into his bedroom. I follow him, but stand in the doorway, watching as he grabs a duffel bag from his fitted wardrobe.
Comfortable that Owen is now moving, I turn my attention back to the phone, pulling up Andrews’ number, and dial it.
“Miss Harris.” His deep, smooth voice comes over the receiver.
“It’s me.”
“Little one?” He sounds surprised.
“I need an extraction.” I watch Owen move with purpose around the room, grabbing clothes and toiletries, throwing them into the bag.
“How many?”
“Two. Target is with me.” Owen glances over and raises an eyebrow. “Client, I mean. Old habits,” I say, smirking at Owen, who glares at me, raising his middle finger.
“Location?”
“Tar-Client’s apartment.”
“Time?”
“ASAP. I’m compromised. But you already know that.”
“Little one.” He sighs. “I saw.”
“Then help me, your arse is on the line here, too.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, my head beginning to pound, my injured arm hurting.
“Where to?”
“I haven’t worked that out yet.”
“Snow,” he states firmly.
I’m about to get a lecture and can practically sense him sitting up taller.
“Don’t start! I don’t need a lecture. What I need is you to send a goddamn extraction and I’ll sort the rest.”
“Go to my safehouse. It will have everything you need. Seven minutes out, get to the roof.”
“Roger.”
“And Snow, watch your six.”
The line goes dead, and I pop the phone into my leather jacket pocket.
“Lucy, I can’t run.”
“Like I said, the situation has changed. Do you understand what’s just happened?” I step into the room. “I’ve been marked, so have you. Well, you’ve been marked again. They are desperate for you to not be breathing anymore. Give me the hard drive.” I hold out my hand.
Owen shakes his head. “No,” he states firmly.
“Do you not trust me?”
He doesn’t answer, instead replies, “I’m not giving this to anyone, apart from maybe a judge,” he states.
“You think a judge isn’t as corrupt as everyone else?” I drop my hand and step into the bedroom. “Everything, everyone is corrupt. Why do you think a judge would be different? We really need to work on our hard drive plan,” I mumble.
Knowing Luca, I question why he hasn’t given Owen more instructions. Luca’s smart, he thinks everything through, so why not this aspect?
“Because I have to,” he snaps. “I have to believe that this is all fucking worth it, Lucy. Because why the hell am I bothering, otherwise? I hold the holy grail of evidence in my pocket. I have to believe there is still something good, someone still good, otherwise what did Jules die for? Why am I trying to make a difference to people like you and me, kids like you and me?”
He glares at me, jaw tight, chest rising and falling too fast, like he’s run headfirst into a wall of everything he’s been holding in. Rage. Grief. Fear.
“I’m so fucking tired of this, this judging. I will hand this fucking hard drive to the judge, or someone else who I trust, and if I die trying, you do it. You give me your word right here, right now, Lucy. That if I die trying, you finish this.”
“Finish it? Who the fuck am I giving it to? You don’t even know yet.”
I’ve no idea when he moved, but he’s standing in front of me now, so close I can feel the heat, the tension rolling off his skin like a storm beneath the surface.
His gaze doesn’t let up. And something in me stills.
“I will.” He says, voice low, but laced in a steel edge. Sharp and resolute. “I will figure it out. So, I need you to say the words.”
The hard drive sits in his open palm, so unimposing and normal looking. Like it’s not the most dangerous thing we’ve ever touched.
“I promise I’ll deliver it if you can’t.”
I step into him, slow, deliberate, pressing my hand over his and curling my fingers around the drive. Mine stay on top, anchoring him, grounding us both.
“But you can give it to them yourself.”
My eyes search his. “Whatever happens, we do it together.” I say.
He nods, once, barely there, but I see it.
I don’t stop myself. I rise on my tiptoes and brush my lips over his.
It’s a quick. Chaste. But it says everything I can’t say right now. That I mean it. That I still am who I’ve always been—someone who keeps her promises.
I’d deliver the hard drive to whoever this judge is, or whoever he deems worthy. And if anything happens to him, if he isn’t still breathing by the end of all this, I’ll make every single person involved pay.
Because there’s one thing that I’ve come to realise in the last day, and that’s Lucy. She’s still very much alive within me and she’s burning with the fire of Kara Snow. And something tells me if I embrace the strengths of who I used to be with who I am now?
Well, the world is in fucking trouble.