Chapter 19 #2
I’ve felt it before, many times. Years and experience temper the edge. They make you a better operator, one able to resist the dangerous high of killing. The reality is that nobody wants a blood-hungry idiot on their team.
I learned long ago to channel the rush rather than be taken by it, to maintain focus no matter how fierce the bloodlust, nor how terrible the darkness.
But that was before I saw an entire fucking army coming for Zinaida Melikov and realized that there isn’t anything I won’t do to keep her safe.
It was only years of training, experience, and preparation that saved both of us tonight.
I’m uncomfortably aware that even if I’d found myself in that yard with nothing more than my bare hands, I’d still have faced them all without a second’s fucking thought.
And that disturbs me, almost as much as my utter loss of control in the aftermath.
Almost.
I kick the bike down the gears as we approach a roundabout, then give it so much gas it leaps beneath me on the exit. Zin clings to me, her tiny form like part of my own body.
I don’t ever want to let her off this bike.
I want to pull her off it and fuck her until the euphoria finally subsides.
And somehow I know that I could fuck Zinaida Melikov until the end of the world, and it would still never take away that fierce edge.
That still doesn’t excuse taking her like a savage.
Only I can’t quite find it in myself to regret it.
Just like I know that if any other client had put me through the insanity of tonight’s little escapade, I’d have quit on the spot. Walked straight in to Pigalle Mayfair, told Zinaida to politely go fuck herself, and walked straight back out again.
Do not pass go, do not collect a small fortune in Mercura.
But I didn’t.
Not even after I sat through that farce of a briefing, then listened in while her team tried to make plans between themselves to cover all the fucking gaps.
After all that, I still didn’t walk. Nor did I call Mak.
Instead I called Paddy and three women from my army days, all of whom are top operators and now work private security contracts.
I offered them a shit ton of money up front and explicit instructions: don’t interfere, go nowhere near the action, but make fucking sure you cover the retreat.
Then I armed myself to the teeth and rode like hell to get to Avonmouth in time to do recon.
It almost killed me to watch the NCA taking fire, let alone see the guns pointed at Zin. But emerging before the transport vans left would have shown the traffickers the only card Zin currently holds: me.
And doing that would have blown the entire reason she hired me in the first place.
I did consider asking Sally and Ana about the operation directly, before any of this shit went down. But their loyalties are clear, even if they had their doubts going in.
Despite their clear commitment to their shared cause, it’s obvious that Sally and Ana are more than aware of their limitations—and are uneasy at how increasingly risky these operations are becoming.
“We’re not prepared for the kind of danger we’re walking into,” Sally told Zin yesterday. “We can take down a few men here or there, but that’s all we’re set up for. And if we keep going to busts like this, we’re going to find ourselves in a war none of us are ready for.”
Wise words, considering the events of the past few hours.
Like all of Zin’s staff, the team at Sophie’s House are working beyond capacity.
And given the security risks that brought me into her organization in the first place, it should have been blatantly fucking obvious to Zinaida that she’s putting them in the path of unacceptable risk.
The fact that she’s willfully ignoring that risk is unlike her normal calculated approach.
It’s a clear weak spot, personally and professionally.
It’s also the missing piece of the puzzle. The piece that tells me who she really is.
I’m trained to identify what people crave, above all else. It’s one of the first rules of running intelligence: identify the needs of the target, and you find their weakness.
Ambition might be the spark that dragged Zin out of her father’s cesspit. But it’s her desire for justice that is the all-consuming fire driving her.
And it’s there that she’s the most vulnerable.
Sophie’s House matters more to Zin than money or power ever will. I already knew that, but tonight has brought home to me that her entire empire exists for one reason only: to rescue the victims of exploitation and wreak deadly revenge on those who subjugate them.
That pain I understand, better than most ever will.
The furious edge of rage starts to slowly trickle away.
I come through another roundabout, relishing the surge of the bike and the ice-cold wind against my face, the soft touch of Zin’s arms clasped about my waist.
I know what it is to feel helpless at the hands of a violent man. To be driven entirely by the singular goal of escape.
The difference between Zinaida and me is that I had a sister I needed to save and a mother too helpless to leave, even for her own children.
Had it been only me forced to deal with my sadistic bastard of a stepfather, I’d have killed him without hesitation.
And just like Zinaida did with Oleg, I’d have relished every moment of the pain I caused.
Instead I had Liana to care for. Which meant I had to run, to survive.
I spent the best part of two decades learning to channel that rage. To hone it into a tool I could use. I turned the rage into an elite combat skill set, from covert intelligence operations to stone-cold killing.
I put the savage bastard inside me on a leash, and I’ve damned well kept him there ever since.
Instead of taking my revenge on the man who deserved it, I took out my rage on a hundred battlegrounds. It’s the core of fury inside me that no amount of blood can ever truly appease, the original battle wound that never got dressed. I’ve learned to live with that rage. To use it.
But that doesn’t mean I managed to exorcise it.
The ghost of that past lives inside me like a dark passenger.
I’ve always thought that part of myself was something to hide.
Until I saw Zinaida crouched by that container and a dozen men stalking her with guns.
Because in that moment, it wasn’t the ruthlessly disciplined soldier who went into battle.
It was the dark passenger.
The untamed part of myself that I’ve kept ruthlessly contained since I walked away from my stepfather and into the careful control of the army. That drove me to become the best at what I did, and then kept me moving restlessly from one job to the next.
Right up until I found myself taking Zinaida Melikov in a shipping container like a wild animal.
And now that part of me is off the leash, I have no idea how I’ll ever contain it again.
Nor am I sure I want to.
The only thing I’m really sure of is that I need to find a way out of this contract.
Fast.
Because despite what took place tonight, I meant what I said to Zinaida back in my apartment: I don’t sleep with clients.
Which means that Zinaida can’t be my client anymore.
I turn the bike into the wind and speed toward London, Zin’s heat like a fire against my back, lighting the darkness inside of me.