Chapter 4 Emery
EMERY
The injection in my neck still stings even though an hour has already passed. I rub the spot and try to listen as Mori grumbles about the plans for phase one of our mission. He has the whiteboard covered from top to bottom with a detailed layout of the hideout we’ll be infiltrating.
“Are you listening?” He firmly crosses his arms and glares at me.
I glower, sinking farther into my arms folded over each other on the table with my chin at the center of them. “Yeah,” I mutter passively.
No. I’m not really listening. I’m thinking about the bottle of pills that are weighing heavily in my pocket. Nolan’s words echo through me, “Each bottle is a two-week supply. Four every four hours when you’re awake. If you get injured on the field, take more as necessary.”
A sinking feeling shifts in my gut. Am I crazy for signing up for this? If Mori can handle it, then I should be able to as well, right?
A sharp whistle cuts through the air, and a marker smacks the center of my forehead.
“Ow!” I guess the injection hasn’t taken effect yet.
I look up at him sharply. His eyes are wide, like he himself is surprised with his own actions before he swiftly blinks his amusement away and returns to his stoic, usual expression.
“Did you just throw a fucking marker at me?” I snap, rubbing the spot with a glower.
His eyes darken and he steps closer to the table until he’s pressing his hands against the surface of the wood.
“This isn’t a game. This mission is going to be among the most dangerous our squad has had to execute.
So enough with the careless shit. We don’t have time for it,” Mori says in a low tone that stirs something deep inside my chest. My cheeks feel flush and warmth pools in my stomach.
Are these side effects of the drug? I worry. Please, God, don’t let it be an aphrodisiac. I’ve barely been able to keep myself in check as it is. Mori is unfairly handsome, his scars, tattoos, and unusually pale-blond hair. I’m weak to his beauty.
He doesn’t seem to notice my shortened breaths as he pushes off the table and resumes writing notes on the whiteboard.
He shoves his left hand into his pocket while he casually recites the blueprint plans.
Mori looks like a professor right now, but instead of being in professional attire he’s wearing his black hoodie and athletic sweatpants that hug his sinewy thighs.
“…wanted to teach at an old university. It didn’t matter where…” I jolt at the sound of his voice in my mind. Was that a memory? I press a palm to my forehead and shut my eyes. Were…we close before? I can’t imagine him actually sharing something about himself with me.
Mori continues to go over the mission details, unaware of my distracting thoughts, but I can’t bring myself to focus.
“Tell me something about me,” I interrupt him.
He pauses, turning to glance back at me with his usual scowl. “What?” he asks as he narrows his gaze.
“Help me remember who I am, because I’m having a hard time giving a shit about missions when everything seems so utterly pointless.” I keep to myself that he clearly used to be more open with me. There’s a time and place for everything, isn’t there?
He takes a deep breath, misery lingering in his gaze as if telling me things about myself hurts him in some way.
I knew it. He’s been purposefully keeping things from me. But why?
I lean back in the chair, kicking my combat boots onto the table and crossing both legs, then my arms. “Spill.” It’s a borderline order and his eyes darken at it.
“One thing?” he eventually says slowly. Something nostalgic in his tone as he lets his eyes trace my face, dipping to the crux of my neck with something edging too close to desire.
“Mm-hmm.”
Mori turns his face back to the whiteboard, shoulders slacking as he exhales.
The air between us seems to shift. I feel a distinct tug deep down at the dreariness that surrounds this man.
It’s enough to drown in. Enough to fall six feet under.
I wonder if anyone else has seen this side of him before.
I hope not. I selfishly want it all for myself.
“You always used to have your hair braided. The moment you were out of the showers, before bed, every waking breath I’ve known you—your hair was braided.
And when your hand was injured and you couldn’t do it yourself—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head at words unspoken.
I haven’t heard his voice this low and nostalgic before. It piques my curiosity.
Braids? I glance down at my hair, pink and waist length when it’s untamed like it is now. I thread my fingers through the loose strands and make a simple braid, then look up at him for confirmation.
He must read the apprehension in my expression. It doesn’t exactly feel right.
Mori shakes his head and murmurs, “You didn’t do them like that. Would you like me to show you?”
His smooth voice draws me out of my mind and snaps my attention back to him. He’s moved closer, sitting on the edge of the table a few feet away from me. My breath catches in my lungs. I didn’t even hear him walk over here.
I consider him for a moment. His eyes are calm and patient as I wrestle with the idea that I’ve forgotten something so personal to me.
It seems foolish that I keep having flashbacks of him, but not of myself.
“Um…okay,” I say carefully, eyeing him with caution.
Mori extends his hand, pale under the fluorescent lights. “Come.” His command is subtle and yet it rings through every bone in my body. All the sensations of I’ve done this with him before trickle through me like water running down chains.
My boots drag across the table as I lower them and reluctantly stand, moving toward him.
Once I’m standing in front of him, I get an overwhelming wave of his scent.
Birchwood, the first thing I smelled when I woke up.
It’s such a lovely taste that blooms through my senses.
My fists tighten at the memory of soft summer eyes and easy smiles that were only for me.
I blink and the image is gone. A sad and sorrowful man in place of it.
He looked at me much differently then. I trace his features with my gaze at the thought.
“Now what?” I ask, coming across as annoyed when I’m actually nervous. I’ve never been this close to him. He’s as devilishly handsome up close as he is from afar.
He offers me a lopsided grin that makes my stomach flutter as he twirls his finger in the air. “Turn around.” Heat spreads through me at the pure enjoyment that flickers across his face.
“And expose my back to you?” Rude, I know, but this is Mori we’re talking about. Cutting off his partners’ heads, Mori.
He chuckles, the sound of it foreign to me, but it’s even lovelier than his grin.
“You’re just going to have to take a risk and trust me, love,” he whispers.
Mori’s British accent is soft and alluring.
I could listen to him talk and whisper things to me for hours on end.
His eyes flicker with amusement. I don’t know which it was, the chuckle or the smile, but I’m convinced he won’t hurt me.
I slowly turn around and take a steadying breath. “Now what?” I ask, but before he can answer, his fingers are already gently combing through my hair. He pulls the locks to one side, exposing the tenderness of my neck.
My shoulders tense as he brushes his finger pad over the injection mark. It’s still a bit tender, but the pain has long since faded. Nolan did say it could take twenty-four hours to kick in.
What Mori must think of me for being so reckless. I know the chances of having severe symptoms are high, and still, I long to be like him. To understand him more. To have his attention.
He clears his throat as if to recenter his thoughts.
“Now, you watch in the mirror as I braid, so you can remember how to do it yourself. Don’t expect me to do this for you again,” he says sternly, yet I can’t help but notice how carefully he touches my hair.
As if running his fingers through the strands brings him contentment.
I do as he says and let my eyes drift to the mirror on the adjacent wall.
He’s too tall, even while sitting, so he has to hunch over a bit as he untangles my mane.
I watch as he intricately parts the strands and separates sections.
The motions seem familiar. The weaving pattern isn’t obvious through the mirror, but I find my hands phantom tracing anyway. A small gasp escapes me.
French braid. The memory seeps back into me.
My eyes go from focusing on the technique and Mori’s working hands to his lovely face. His expression is set in a somber, weak smile. One that I imagine lovers give to each other when saying goodbye before long trips or finishing an art piece before letting it go.
He finishes and sets a braid over each shoulder. I look down at them and smile. This does feel more like me than anything else I’ve tried. It didn’t even cross my mind that something as simple as hair could start to resurface the person I once was.
“All done,” he murmurs, hesitating a moment before standing and walking back to the whiteboard. His absence at my back is instantly recognizable, and a cold weight sets deep in my chest.
I reach up and brush my hand over my shoulder, feeling that I’m missing something. A warm squeeze or perhaps a kiss there. Something. I return to my seat and watch Mori with a more feverish craving than before he touched me so delicately.
“Have you braided my hair before?” I ask, doing my best to keep my tone void of the desperation I have to soak in his words.
He draws out the valley between the hideout and the tree line we’ll be using for cover on the whiteboard.
“No.” His answer is easy, making me question whether I’m just imagining things from the way I felt just then.
Did someone else braid my hair for me? I’m certain it was someone dear to me.
My hand tenses over my shoulder, trying and failing to find the lost feeling.
“Is your name actually Mori?” I press him.
He pauses. Then a sigh.
“No.”
“What is your name then?” My lips firm into a flat line. Why doesn’t anyone call him anything other than Mori? We all use our real names when we’re off duty besides him.
“We’re going to wait here for the signal.
” He circles an area on the board, blatantly ignoring my question.
Okay, he clearly doesn’t want me to know.
I rest my chin on my palm and lean on the table.
“Once we get the go-ahead, we’re going in loud.
They’re going to be on us fast. Likely shocked and taken by surprise, so we need to have our defenses up.
It’s been confirmed that they have heavy artillery in there.
” He circles part of the building, a window from the second story.
“We’ll use the natural rock wall of the ditch, here.
Then once they stop, we’ll split up. You run right, I’ll go left. Got it?” Mori looks back at me.
I worry my lower lip, this plan really is suicide. It makes me wonder if their true mission is just to get rid of us and see how long we last like some sort of sick twisted game.
“Yeah, I got it.” I twirl the end of my braid between my fingers. His eyes catch the motion and widen for a brief second before he looks back at the instructions Bridger gave him.
“We’ll stop here for tonight, but first thing after drills tomorrow you’re back in that seat, and I want you to walk me through this yourself so I know you’re on the same page as me.
” He sets the notes down on the table and lights another cigarette.
The sound of his Zippo lighter clicking brings a smile to my lips.
I wish I knew why.
“I’ll figure you out, you know,” I muse, pressing my hands to the table as I rise.
His sage eyes meet mine, warming as he takes in my smile. “Oh? And how do you plan on doing that?”
I stroll out of the small room. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll find your weakness. You can’t hide whatever it is you’re keeping from me.” I fold my hands together behind my back.
Mori stares, raising a brow and grinning. “I’d like to see you try.”
There it is again. Something so familiar, yet no more than a nagging whisper over my shoulder. I’m afraid I’ll become infatuated with that nostalgic feeling.
I will remember who you are to me, Mori.