Chapter 33
Kara - Present
“Don’t walk away, Lucy.”
It’s too late. I’ve already turned my back to him.
“Kara,” he says this time.
I halt when he says my name and rests his hand on my shoulder.
“What are you so afraid of?”
“I—” The words die on my tongue as something out of the corner of my eye catches my attention.
Immediately on high alert, I grab Owen’s hand and turn around, holding my fingers to my lips.
I silently walk out of the doorway, into the hallway, and up to the wooden ornate banister that looks over the reception hall below.
There, filling Andrews’ grand foyer area are six people dressed in black, faces covered in balaclavas. All wearing the exact same tactical gear as the ones at the gala. It’s in the details.
The weapons, the body armour, the knife placements, the movements. These are the same company, unit, army fucking squadron, who knows. But they are one of the same.
Reporting into the same master.
I pad back into the room and quietly close the door.
“We have company. Six. And you can bet we have another team coming round the back. Take the hard drive, get some shoes on, and get ready to move,” I instruct Owen, who mutters to himself and moves into action.
Pulling on socks, a Henley and a pair of combat boots Andrews supplied him.
I open the wardrobe, grab his bag and another empty one, and throw it to Owen. “Pack whatever is useful. Just do it quietly.”
I go back to rummaging in the cupboard and tap the bottom, knowing Andrews as well as I do, there will be a weapon in here. I’ve just got to find it.
I work methodically, tapping the base and running my fingers along the seams until I feel something. I pull the fake bottom and grab the thirteen-inch tactical combat knife.
“Perfect,” I say, grinning, holding it up to Owen, who by this point, knows that I’m slightly unhinged and just mutters under his breath.
“In a minute, we are going to exit this room. You are going to go to the master suite where there is a balcony. You will climb down the trellis that runs up to said balcony and you will make haste—”
“Make haste?” he whispers. “How the fuck are you speaking right now? Have you been watching Bridgerton?”
“Owen,” I hiss at him. “Shut up and listen. You will haul your arse along with that golden fucking hard drive, and you will head to Andrews‘ out house. You will go inside, you will lock the door, and you will wait until I come and claim you. Do you understand me?”
“You can’t take on six men.”
“Twelve. And don’t be so sexist. There could be women, too.”
“What do you mean, twelve?”
“There’s probably two teams of six. Anyway, Andrews is downstairs, it will be fine. Ready?” I wave him off as he opens his mouth, goes to say something, thinks better of it, and nods instead.
“Repeat the plan.”
“I will go to the master suite, climb down the trellis like Spiderman. I will make haste,” I pull a face at his quip, “and go to the outhouse where I will lock the door and wait. You see the irony of hiding until you collect me, right?”
“But it’s not a cupboard, therefore it’s not the same. Ready?” I turn and go to open the door.
“Lucy.”
I turn, and we stare at each other. He steps forward and kisses me.
“Be careful, you can’t die until after we’ve had the conversation you’re trying to avoid.”
“That would be quite an extreme solution,” I grumble.
I hear shots from downstairs, meaning it’s the perfect time for us to move, as the distraction of Andrews shooting will draw their attention.
“Move.”
I open the door and move tactically towards the stairs, keeping close to the wall. Simultaneously, Owen runs towards Andrews’ master suite, dropping the bag he packed, with it being too awkward to carry.
My grip is firm on the tactical knife, where I hold it close to my chest. The team of six has split into room clearing procedures.
The front door is open, where I see one soldier left protecting their exit. Their back is to me, so I pick up speed and launch myself from the stairs to the doorway, thrusting my knife through the skin and arteries in his neck, slitting his throat.
He gurgles and falls. I grab his gun from his broken body and drop to my knee, rifle in my hand, waiting for the fall out of my attack, but no one comes. I grab the body and pull it out of the line of sight and pat it down, gearing up with anything useful.
This includes his body armour, where I slide my tactical knife, a round of ammo, and Oooooo grenades. Perfect. Now confident with my state of affairs and improved attire, I head back into the mansion.
Firing comes from the library. Andrews can hold his own, so I sweep right, heading in the opposite direction to remove the threats quickly, efficiently, and get the hell out of here to meet Owen.
I turn from the grand entrance into the smaller hallway and see the back of two intruders, with the third dropping back. He’s about to turn around, checking their six, so I drop to a knee, grab the automatic rifle, and fire off two shots. One in the chest, followed up quickly by one in the head.
I don’t stop to check the body. He’s down for good. Instead, I move quickly along the corridor where I’m in the open, and head through the door where the rest of the dead commandos’ team just went.
As I enter, I sweep my eyes across the space and then drop to the island that stands as the perfect cover in the centre of the vast kitchen.
Commando two is heading into the adjoining seating area, whilst commando one sweeps the open plan dining room.
I peek out from my island spot. Shame it’s not the beach and sea kind of island, line my shot up, and fire.
Commando one is down, I aim at commando two, fire the shot before he has even realised his friend is down.
I’m that quick.
I decide to flank the library, where Andrews is currently holed up.
Moving swiftly, I slip through the large bi-fold windows, the cool night air brushing against my skin as I crouch low.
My footsteps are light, deliberate, barely making a sound as I press myself against the side of the house.
The exterior cold beneath my fingertips, rough and uneven.
Shadows stretch across the pristine lawn, cast by the glow of the outdoor lights, but I keep to the darkest edges, staying out of sight. Each step brings me closer to the library’s window. My pulse steadies, my breathing controlled.
Almost there.
To my surprise, there are no other threats outside. Thank God something’s gone right. Owen will have made it to the shed. Hopefully he’s been as lucky as me and met no one.
Now, in my line of work, not many things surprise me, but they always say prepare for the unexpected. So, you can imagine my surprise when standing in the doorway to the library, is none other than Owen who has completely ignored everything I have just told him to do.
Why am I surprised? He never bloody listens. Why would he start doing it now? Instead of going to the safety of the shed, of course he’d put himself in the house with the hard drive, where there’s gunfire.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
“Where’s Lucy?” I hear Owen question through the open window.
“Where’s the hard drive?” Andrews counters.
Owen pauses and looks around the room at the fallen bodies.
“Safe.”
“You need to give it to me. I’ll keep it safe; they won’t think to look for it with me. They think it will be on you,” Andrews says, lowering his weapon.
He walks towards Owen, who takes a step back, shaking his head. “It stays with me.”
“Okay,” Andrews says, dropping the subject and walking towards Owen.
“Where’s Lucy?” Owen asks again. Something in the way he’s looking at Andrews is tense. He still doesn’t trust him.
Bloody macho men.
“You called for her, right before calling All Clear. I assumed she was here.”
He called for me? But it wasn’t all clear.
My heart’s already hammering against my ribs.
Something coils in my stomach like a snake that’s been sleeping and is now waking up preparing to strike.
A slow, creeping heat tracks up my chest and neck, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
The air heavy, charged with something I can’t put my finger on it.
What the fuck.
The realisation slams into me as movement explodes in front of me.
Andrews lunges for Owen.
It happens too damn fast.
One second he’s standing there, next he’s a shadow shifting in the dim light, attacking Owen who meets him head on. His blocks are quick, precise, but Andrews is ruthless, efficient, a predator in his element.
It takes me a moment, a heartbeat, to jump into action.
Yanking my gun up, grip tightening, I shoot the door with a sharp deafening crack. Glass shatters, and I leap through the remaining gap like fucking MacGyver. The noise and damage I cause stops the fight, as both of them dive for cover for what they both thought was an impending attack.
“It’s me Owen, you can come out,” I say, holding my gun to the spot that Andrews dived to. “You’re okay.”
He doesn’t move though, and although that hurts, can I really blame him?
“How can I trust you?” he asks.
How do I answer that? How can I give him the reassurance that he needs to believe that I have nothing to do with whatever the fuck is going on right now.
“Because it’s me,” I foolishly reply.
Nice one, Kara.
Well done, Lucy.
“Sorry, that was awful, but I don’t really know what to say to you that will reassure you at this exact moment.”
“Because she’s lying,” Andrews says from behind the pool table.
“Oh, shut up, you wanker,” I say, popping off a round when the bastard dares to pop his head up. “You have some fucking explaining to do.”
“Don’t take it personally, little one.” The bastard puts his hands above the pool table, and I actually want to hear what the shit head has to say for himself, so I don’t shoot him. Yet. He starts to emerge with his hands still above him.
“Talk,” I say.
Owen appears from behind one of the large leather chairs. The fire that was so alive earlier now burned to smouldering embers.
“You haven’t been completely honest with me, have you, Kara?”
I frown, shaking my head, because honestly, I’ve got no fucking idea what he’s talking about.
“You helped Luca.”
“Oh that,” I say, waving him off. “I owed him a favour.” I shrug. “You know how these things work.”
“I’m glad you think like that.”
Years.
Years I’ve worked with Andrews.
He trained me, taught me everything I need for this life. But every so often, no amount of training can truly prepare you for something.
Maybe it was cocky of me to think that the relationship I have with Andrews was more. The pet name he gave me, the years of him cooking me dinner, of wiping my blood and stitching me up. I was hated within Apex Security because everyone thought I was his favourite.
And yes, I’d be lying if there hadn’t been a truth in that.
I knew he held a soft spot for me, and Luca Knight always said weaknesses would be the thing that gets you killed in our life. But that weakness was Owen in my eyes. Not the weakness I had for believing that I meant more to a man like Andrews.
I may be holding a gun, aiming at him, but the safety is on.
My trigger finger is not ready to fire. I am relaxed, because I thought I had the power.
But how wrong am I?
Andrews has always been sprightly, always fought dirty, and this evening is no different. He dives and reaches behind him, pulling the Glock that was tucked into his jeans, and fires in my direction.
Owen screams my name as I dive out of the way of the bullets, launching myself behind the other leather chair.
What in the actual fuck…
I land on the floor, the air knocked out of me, and I gasp for breath. My eyes land on those embers, and I blink back the tears.
Andrews shot me.
The man who saved me from the streets.
The man who saved me from my past and gave me my future.
The man I idolised.
The man who told me I would be free after this assignment.
The man who, in this very moment, I realised set me up.
It was nothing to do with Owen being the person from my past, and everything to do with Luca fucking Knight and the sodding hard drive.
I’m an idiot.