Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Lena!” Rafe burst into the room, his veins filled with fear and a murderous rage.
He’s going to kill her.
The man Lena had been questioning had his hands in a death grip around her delicate neck. Without a clear shot, Rafe’s only option was to go hands-on.
Putting the full weight of his body behind him, he threw himself forward in a move that would rival any professional linebacker on the field.
Both men went flying, away from the table and, as was his goal, away from Lena.
Her forceful breaths and rough coughs barely registered as he and the other man hit the concrete below with a hard thud.
Son of a—
The chair attached to the prick’s ankles clanged loudly, creating an awkward barrier as they traded a series of white-knuckled punches. Rafe’s head snapped to the right when the man’s fist made contact, though the blow was more surprising than painful.
Rafe swung back with a vengeance, his balled-up fist slamming against the assassin’s jaw. With a groan, the other man dropped back down to the floor while Rafe took advantage of the momentary reprieve.
Shooting back up to his feet, he reached for the pistol concealed at his lower back. With the weapon freed, Rafe started to bring it around, fully intending to fire. But before he could pull the trigger, the man on the floor used his lower body strength to swing the chair in Rafe’s direction.
The metal frame slammed against his right knee, causing his leg to buckle beneath him. Rafe lost his balance, and the gun went flying from his hand as he tumbled to the side.
Rafe managed to twist his body mid-fall. A deep grunt escaped as he landed on his back with a thud. The would-be assassin attacked with a growl, dragging the chair along with him as he half-crawled, half-leaped onto Rafe’s suddenly prone form.
In that moment, the situation became clear. This guy wasn’t going to give up. It was either kill or be killed, and since Rafe had no intention of dying today—
He strategically positioned himself mid-altercation so he was on his knees behind the other man. Facing the opposite direction, Rafe reached back and grabbed the guy’s head.
From his peripheral, he could see Lena standing feet away, to his right. Hard, body-wrenching coughs and gasps for air gave away her own internal battle. A renewed inferno of rage sparked to life within him, spurring him to put an end to this once and for all.
Using a move he’d learned in the early weeks of his MI6 training, Rafe squeezed the man’s head as hard as he could while jerking his arms forward.
As he did, he also gave the guy’s jaw a purposeful twist. Bones snapped, the fatal move instantly separating the base of the man’s neck from the rest of his spine.
The worthy adversary’s entire body grew limp. Rafe let his hands fall to his sides as the other man fell lifeless to the floor. It was over. The other man was dead, and—for now—he and Lena would live to fight another day.
“Are y-you . . . ok-kay?”
Rafe blew out several of his own loud, forceful breaths. From where he still sat on his knees, he looked up to find Lena stumbling her way to him.
His chest heaved as he slowly pushed himself up to his feet. He hid a groan when he felt a slight tweak in his lower back.
“I’m good.” He was, mostly. “What about you?”
She’d taken the worst of it, by far.
“I-I’m fine.” A failed attempt to clear the gravel from her damaged voice left her wincing.
But she wasn’t fine.
Not even close.
Rafe went to her. He placed a gentle hold on her trembling shoulders. “Try not to talk until we can get you checked out, okay?” His assessing gaze took her in from head to toe.
Her shoulder-length hair was mussed. Eyes were watery and red. His back teeth clenched painfully together when he caught sight of the bruises already forming on her neck.
“No.” Lena’s refusal was barely a whisper. “No doctors.”
He sent her an incredulous scowl. “The guy came damn close to choking you to death.” Too close. “You’re being seen whether you like it or not.”
“Hospitals are . . .” Another wincing swallow made her pause. “Too p-public.”
Rafe paused because, as much as he hated to admit it, the shaken-up woman had a point. “I’ll take care of it.”
This was one argument she wasn’t winning.
He pulled out his phone. The first in a series of calls was to a trusted physician he’d used in the past. One who works off-books and knew how to keep his mouth shut. For the right price, of course.
Next, Rafe called Slade to update the Tac-Ops team leader on the recent turn of events. With Slade’s promise to fill in the others, Rafe contacted his trusted clean-up crew last. A conversation that ended with the begrudging agreement to pay double for the back-to-back, last-minute jobs.
“Let’s go.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket before putting a gentle hand to Lena’s lower back. She sent him a questioning stare as he led her out of the room.
“Where are we—” she started to ask, her voice gravelly and rough.
“No hospitals,” he vowed. “You have my word on that.”
“Then where?”
They reached the end of the hall.
“Save your voice,” Rafe ordered softly, holding the door open so she could pass by. “I’m taking you to a doctor I trust.”
“And after?” Lena blatantly ignored the order to refrain from speaking.
He sent her a look. “Once you’re given the all-clear, we’ll go back to my place to rest up and regroup.”
With Kozlova’s gun for hire out of the way, they had two, maybe three days to come up with a plan. Assuming no one else was actively trying to kill them, he felt secure in his decision to return to his home.
Rafe snuck a sideways glimpse in Lena’s direction. He’d been right there, watching from the other room as the nightmare had unfolded.
She could have died. So easily, he could have lost her in an instant.
If that man wanted her dead, he could’ve easily snapped her neck. Or gotten her gun and shot her in the head.
So why didn’t he? The images his subconscious thoughts created were ones Rafe refused to let himself see. It was impossible, however, not to wonder—why hadn’t the assassin taken Lena out when he had the chance?
If he’d killed her, I would have killed him.
No hesitation. He would have shot the man point-blank dead.
Suicide by cop wasn’t much of a stretch, as far as theories went. Rafe wasn’t a cop, of course, but the same concept still applied.
Kozlova’s reach had the potential to stretch far and wide, even beyond prison walls. Perhaps this way, the guy went out on his own terms. Not by a bullet, but with one last fight.
Better to die quickly at the hands of a merciful warrior like him than be tortured to death under the belief he was a traitor. With no way out, he’d attacked, knowing it would spur Rafe into action.
He knew I’d come for her. The bastard knew I was watching, and he used me to facilitate his own death.
“What are you doing?”
Lena’s pain-filled rasp broke through his post-action thoughts as he broke from her to head to the other side of the room.
“Getting the intel West sent earlier.” Rafe reached the metal desk.
Grabbing a brand-new flash drive from one of the drawers, he immediately got to work, transferring the valuable information. With the small device tucked safely inside his pocket, he walked back over to where Lena stood waiting.
“Ready?”
She nodded, following him toward the building’s entrance. Minutes later, they were in his car and back on the road, heading to a doctor who, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, didn’t even exist.
Three hours later . . .
Rafe stood in his den, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk as he sipped bourbon from the glass in his hand.
The soft glow of the interior lights above shimmered its way onto a long stretch of grass.
Beyond that were dozens of acres of dense trees. A natural barrier of protection.
The property had been purchased with safety and seclusion in mind. For Rafe, it was a haven of sorts. A place to escape from the dangers and realities of his world.
He hoped, at least for tonight, it would offer that same peace to Lena. After the day she’d had, the woman deserved quiet, and doctor’s orders had been to rest.
Rest. Ibuprofen. Ice applied to her neck in ten-to-twenty-minute intervals as needed.
Rafe brought the glass to his lips for another slow sip, welcoming the liquor’s slow, smooth burn. According to the doctor, the damage to her throat was minimal. Minor swelling. Some bruising. A scratchy voice, and a few scrapes from her own nails.
Those seemed to be the worst of Lena’s afflictions, thank God. No broken bones, and she never fully lost consciousness.
It could have been so much worse.
That man could have easily ended her life. If that had been his goal, Rafe’s close proximity wouldn’t have mattered.
She shouldn’t have removed his cuffs.
She also shouldn’t have put herself within the bastard’s reach. His thoughts wandered back to the part he’d played in the well-orchestrated plan. Not his, but the man he’d killed.
It was impressive, to say the least. The way their would-be assassin had moved despite the cuffs holding his legs to that chair. He was highly skilled, which only solidified Rafe’s theory that it had been the perfect setup.
He knew I’d fight to the death to save her.
And that was exactly what Rafe had done. He’d killed a killer to keep someone he cared about alive.
I couldn’t stand there and watch her die.
Rafe turned his back on the window in search of more bourbon as the sound of running water reached his ears. Lena was upstairs, taking a shower in one of the home’s several second-floor, en-suite bathrooms.
If this were a different day, he might allow himself to imagine her naked and wet. It wouldn’t be the first time, but that’s as far as it went. A fantasy that would never come to fruition.
Not tonight, anyway. Rafe was too angry to think about sex.
She could have died today.
The terrifying thought refused to stray far from his mind. He could have lost her forever. Not that she’d ever been his to lose.