28. Deniz
Chapter 28
Deniz
I ’m on the verge of collapse.
It’s been almost two days since I showed up on Chase’s doorstep with Clara, and I’ve barely gotten a few hours of rest since then. Between the wedding, jet lag, holding Clara’s life in my hands, and the sight of so much fucking blood, I’m drained to the point of disintegration.
I pull into Chase’s driveway and park my sedan behind the Hellcat, resting my head on the wheel and closing my eyes.
As soon as I called Charlie, another whirlwind of activity and adrenaline picked up. He sent a team to the docks to clear out any evidence of Clara’s presence. By some fucking miracle, despite the fact that it had been hours, port security hadn’t found the body of the other shooter, so they were able to dispose of him properly. A five-foot nothing woman in platform combat boots sporting a pink pixie cut had returned my car to Chase’s golf course, dropping the keys in my hand with a huge smile and not a single word.
Charlie and I spent a lot of time ensuring our bases were covered. Hacking into the surveillance system at the port, wiping and rewriting video feeds, doctoring the reports submitted by the security kid I interacted with—and every second of it, all I could think about was getting back to Clara. I could hear the distrust in Charlie’s voice when he told me, with no room to negotiate, that he and Gwen would be on the first flight they could get to Palm Springs. I didn’t even bother arguing.
Their plane will be taking off soon, and I need to prepare Clara for what’s coming, including the possibility that we missed something. Video footage of my cars, or droplets of her blood somewhere. Something that would leave her vulnerable.
None of the resulting chaos compares to how overwhelmed I feel about talking to Clara.
Taf texted me last night, letting me know that Clara was awake and eating, and that she seemed surprised by the circumstances of Kerem’s death. My stomach had bottomed out as I read the words, forcing me to pause my efforts to forcibly hydrate the blonde guy who was somehow still breathing.
I know when I walk into that house, we’ll both have to lay our cards on the table. And despite being terrified of the outcome, after so many months, I wonder if it will feel like a relief to have her know everything.
The need to finally let go, to lose this last vestige of manipulation, is what forced me out of the car.
Inside, the front hallway is dark—faint, warm light spilling from the living room. I told Taf I was on my way back, so I imagine the guys are hiding in their rooms. Clara, I’ve been told, has been sleeping on the couch.
She’s curled beneath a thick blanket, one side propped against a stack of pillows. In her hands is a small, black frame. She’s staring at it so intensely that, at first, she doesn’t hear me enter.
When she looks up, it’s like I’m taking my first breath since I saw her against that shipping container. The last time I laid eyes on her, she was on the brink of death, so cold and pale. Now, more color fills her cheeks, and although she winces in pain when she moves, it’s so much better than the lack of response I got when she was slipping away from me on the drive here.
“Can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s good to see you alive,” she says, letting the photo fall face down on the pillow in her lap. I can’t move, stuck in the doorway, my body exhausted and yet somehow still on edge. She’s here, alive and breathing, because of me. I could have let her die. It would have been so easy to leave her to bleed out, let her final breaths be the cost of Kerem’s. I should have. The man I was six months ago would have.
I could lie to myself and say I needed more time with The Syndicate, that I couldn’t get to Konstantin alone. But I’m tired of lying, both to her and to myself. I want her alive. I want her glares and her sharp wit and her claws. I want to see the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up when she feels my eyes on her. I want to know how much she likes that feeling.
More than anything, I want the gentle parts of her I haven’t seen. For her to sleep tucked against my body, muscles finally relaxed and mind quiet. I want her to feel safe with me.
“Same to you,” I reply, choking on the things unsaid. She winces again as she shifts in her seat. “Don’t move too much, you’ll pull your stitches.”
“You sound like Taf,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. The casual way she references one of my best friends soothes something in me. She leans over, albeit a little more carefully, and grabs a bottle of ibuprofen off the table, popping a few into her mouth.
“You want to tell me what happened?” she asks, gesturing to the chair across from the couch. I’m a little worried that I’ll fall asleep as soon as I sit down, but I can’t seem to say no to her.
“I think you should probably start.” Carefully, with muscles aching and joints creaking, I sink into the chair.
There are parts I already know, mostly from my conversations with Charlie. Who Lev is, how he’s involved with Konstantin’s team. She tells me how she’s felt someone watching her for the past few weeks, and her eyes say what she can’t seem to voice—that she knew it wasn’t me. The revelation that she can recognize when I’m watching her swims through me, pushing my pulse so fast it makes me lightheaded.
When she wonders why Lev came for her now, I provide additional context based on my and Charlie’s research. By all evidence, Lev and his brother Ilya were supposed to be in western Canada, maybe as far south as Washington, on another mission. That’s why there were no additional assets in Southern California—Lev shouldn’t have been here.
Charlie had posited that Lev might have been trying to prove himself to Konstantin, which he hadn’t explained, but Clara fills in the blanks for me now. How Lev has always been subordinate to his brother on the gun runner’s team, always looking for an opportunity to prove his worth.
Either way, Charlie’s fairly certain that Konstantin is aware we have his soldier. Which means any information Lev provides could be useless already, knowing Konstantin will likely close ranks and put extreme precautions in place to avoid a Costa retaliation.
I pick up where her memory fades, telling her how I brought her here and all the work her family and I have done in the past two days.
“I’m impressed you kept Lev alive,” she compliments, sipping water out of an oversized bottle. “Charlie hasn’t gotten his hands on him yet?”
“He and Gwen are still in the air. But I thought you might like to be there when we…”
I close my eyes, unable to finish the sentence. Not only did I save Clara’s life, but I captured the man who shot her and have kept him alive, just so she can torture and kill him herself. It turns my stomach that this, more than anything, is proof that I don’t hate her.
Proof that I love her.
“He was really a happy kid, wasn’t he?”
When I reluctantly open my eyes, Clara’s staring down at the frame again. She turns it to me, but I don’t need to see it to know what picture is inside. Taf, Chase, Bashir, and I stand in a line with our arms stretched out in front of us. We’re all laughing hysterically, our faces turned to the right side of the photo, where Kerem is hanging mid-air. He launched himself off a planter toward us, stretching his arms above him so we could catch him.
He was nearly eight there. It was so long ago, and yet I can still hear his scream of joy, the way he yelled my name to get my attention.
“Yes,” I sigh, resting my elbows on my knees. “Yes, he was.”
The silence hangs between us, heavy and painful, pressure building on my chest.
“He died in Istanbul,” I say, hoping it will relieve the sensation. It doesn’t.
“I know,” Clara says quietly, watching me while I stare at Kerem’s face.
“In the fire.”
“I know.”
I hold out my hand, and Clara passes me the frame without pause. Kerem’s eyes are barely open. I remember a moment of fear when he called my name and closed them. Look when you leap, kardesim , I said when he landed in my arms.
“I knew when I heard about the fire that it wasn’t an accident,” I say quietly, unable to look away from my brother. “And when I found out who your family was, I became obsessed. I blamed the Costas for creating enemies so powerful and desperate that they would risk innocent lives to kill you. But I knew I needed you to find who set the fire.”
Clara doesn’t say anything—the only sound is her soft, even breaths. Even now, the reminder that she’s alive calms me and fills me with guilt.
“I blamed everyone I could think of, so I didn’t have to feel the shame buried beneath. If I hunted you down, used you to get to Konstantin, and then destroyed your family, I was making up for not being there to save him. For not protecting him.”
I had eyes everywhere, and yet I didn’t know he was suffering. I see threats from miles away, pinpoint them and exploit them and protect against them, but I couldn’t prevent his death. Having cameras all over the world meant nothing if all they allowed me to do was watch an ending already written. I would never be able to bring Kerem back, or let me forgive myself for not being there to pull him out of those flames. But I would never watch the past helplessly again. I’d create the future I needed. A future where everyone involved with Kerem’s death met their own painful end at my hand.
I want to scream. Oxygen is being ripped from my lungs, and I can’t breathe. Penance for letting my brother go overseas alone. For nurturing his kindness and selflessness. For not teaching him to prioritize his life, to get out of danger, to never be a hero.
“I’m sorry.”
Her whisper helps me break through the surface. I don’t realize I’m crying until I look up at her and feel the tracks on my face.
“I’m sorry that he died, that any of them died,” Clara says, grief as pure and real as mine swimming in her welling tears. “I know what we do creates enemies, and I’m sorry Kerem was collateral in their hunt for my mother.”
She’s not apologizing for the Costa family work, and somehow I’m glad for it. There’s no balancing scales of lives saved and sacrificed, but I think of the girls in that basement in Westmoreland and where they would be if The Syndicate didn’t exist. Do their lives justify Kerem’s death?
“Are you still planning to kill me?” she asks, voice laden with empathy at odds with her words. I can’t look at her.
“I don’t know,” I admit, brushing my thumb over Kerem’s face.
Maybe one day the rage will find me again.
Maybe I’ll forget all the things that make it impossible to consider ending her life.
Maybe one day I’ll look at her and I won’t see beauty and cunning and a sharp edge that cuts away the rotting, fettered parts of my soul. Even if now it feels like ending her life would end mine too.
“I don’t know if I’m going to kill you, either,” she says, and the sound of a smile in her voice convinces me to meet her eyes. At my raised eyebrows, she continues. “You did stalk me for months. And it’s not like I’d let you take me out without a fight.”
The pressure in my chest releases slightly. Despite the teasing lilt to her voice, I know she’s serious. And that makes me love her more.
“I want to kill him. Konstantin.” I admit, and her expression morphs into something serious and tight.
“You’ll have to fight Charlie and I for the opportunity,” she mumbles, cracking her neck and sucking in a sharp, pained breath. I don’t think before slipping out of the chair and onto my knees in front of her, gently running my hand up and down her injured thigh.
“We both deserve our revenge,” she says quietly, dragging her nails through my hair. “Maybe for now, we can go to war together, and we’ll figure out the rest later.”
The sound of her voice repeating the words I said to her when I proposed deflates the last of the pressure in my chest. I don’t know how we’ll accomplish it, but somehow I’ll make sure that figuring out the rest later includes her body next to mine for the rest of our long life together.
“Let me take you to bed,” I offer, swaying slightly on my feet as I stand. I’ve got about ten minutes before I’m unable to maintain consciousness.
“I don’t want to be up there alone,” Clara says, settling back into the couch. Has she been sleeping upright? How has Taf allowed that?
“You won’t be alone,” I promise, holding my hand out to her.
There’s a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but it melts away quickly, and she peels the blanket off her legs, allowing me to lift her carefully into my arms. I can tell it’s not comfortable, but I murmur to her in Arabic that I’ll take care of her. And she whispers back that she knows.
In the same spare room I took her to after Taf fished the bullet out of her leg, I gently place her on the bed. It takes me a few seconds to slip out of my jeans and shoes and slide in next to her. And even though I thought I’d never experience it, she pulls herself closer to me under the blankets, leaning her uninjured side into my body as we both fall victim to sleep’s demand.