8. Ember
EMBER
GODDESS – XANA
Past and present collide somewhere in the battleground that separates our two groups, carving deep fissures in my mind that unravel my sanity. It’s familiar territory after spending six years existing in those crevasses to survive the trauma of captivity.
Each iteration of those horrific years lives in the face grinning at me. The torturous training sessions where survival was hammered into my broken skeleton. Fight after fight, proving my worth to the masters who held me hostage. Shedding blood to guarantee my next breath.
Carlos Morello.
Unspeakable, twisted memories form an onslaught, pouring from his painfully cold stare. At his amused chortling, my state of shock shatters, allowing rage to infest the skin stretched tight over my bones.
“You,” I spit out.
“Took you long enough, 768.”
Flashing pincer-like teeth, emphasised by his wrinkled olive skin and piercing eyes that gleam with victory, Carlos looks perfectly at home in the breezy dockyard. He’s unchanged. Stocky. Corded with muscle. Shoulders slightly hunched. Fists curled.
“ Mierda, it’s been a long time.” Carlos smiles slyly. “Thanks for joining us.”
“Where’s Luis?”
“Indisposed. You’ll be dealing with me now.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning he has outlived his usefulness. Even Senor Gael’s patience is limited.”
The others hover around me, creating a circle of protection. All my focus remains on Carlos. My ex-trainer. Gael’s right-hand brute. The monster who helped to break me. And he’s standing literal metres from us.
“Weapons down,” Carlos commands.
“Like hell!” Hyland yells back.
“You’re outnumbered.”
Multiple red target dots appear on the three men surrounding me. It doesn’t take long for terror to take flight inside me.
“Do as he says,” I plead urgently.
“Ember.” Hyland starts to move, freezing when the dot follows. “Shit!”
“He won’t hesitate to shoot every one of you and drag me away from your dead bodies, kicking and screaming. Trust me. Just drop the guns.”
“I’d listen to her, boys.” Carlos chuckles.
Blaine releases a snarled curse. “We have no choice.”
“I’d rather die,” Hyland lashes out.
At his grumbling, Carlos’s calm facade shatters. “Now! Do it!”
“Weapons down,” Warner concedes defeat in a huff. “Now, Hy.”
Metallic clanks signal the discarding of multiple guns, tossed aside and out of reach. I tug mine from my holster then lob it into the mix. If I surrender my gun, Carlos may wait to search me. I can use that to my advantage.
Hyland is the last to surrender his pistol, lip curling in revulsion. Still, Carlos refuses to lift the cavalcade of scopes trained on us, a hair’s breadth from sending every single one of us into an early grave.
“Why are you here?” I silently count the men circling my nemesis. “You’re a long way from home.”
“For you.”
“Then it was a wasted trip.”
“That remains to be seen.” Carlos’s laugh is downright sinister. “This all could’ve been avoided if you’d simply obeyed. No one had to get hurt.”
Venom turns my mouth sour. “You killed Josh.”
“Senor Gael is most concerned by your continued refusal to return home,” Carlos explains pointedly. “This bloodshed is all your fault.”
Casting a critical eye over my entourage, Carlos pauses at Blaine’s presence. The sneer he unveils is sickeningly smug.
“Blaine Madden.”
“You’re looking better than the last time we met.” Blaine smirks in cold, calculated rage. “I’ll take great pleasure in amending that.”
“I believe you’re standing on the wrong side of this dispute. Your interests would be better served over here.”
“I’m fine where I am.”
“Your father will be disappointed to hear that.”
I don’t need to look at Blaine to feel the impact of Carlos’s cheap shot. Armed or not, I’m certain that Blaine wants to tear his head clean off with little more than a huff for the inconvenience.
“Where is dear old dad?”
“Give me the girl, and I’ll be happy to share,” Carlos offers.
Blaine’s mouth slams shut, his expression stormy.
“Pity. You’re all fools.”
“We’re here for Thomas Lawson.” Warner clutches to a facsimile of control. “This doesn’t have to end in a fight. Surrender him to us.”
“Ah, the infamous Anaconda Team, I presume.” Carlos rolls his neck from side-to-side. “You just couldn’t give up on the bitch or her pathetic brother. Could you?”
“Coming here was a mistake, Mr Morello. You’re in our jurisdiction now.”
“How has that worked for you so far? We’ve been operating in this country for two decades, pendejo . It’s never stopped us before.”
“You know what happened to Dimitri Sanchez,” Hyland interjects from my right side. “Would your employer care to follow in his footsteps?”
“Dimitri was eliminated by his own foolishness,” Carlos dismisses. “He had grown reckless, obsessed. We don’t mourn his loss.”
“Then what happens when you meet the same fate? Who will Gael have left then?”
“We have plenty of allies. This isn’t a fight you can win.”
Tension creates an unbearable pressure in the sea air, encasing us all in a suffocating bubble that only bloodshed can penetrate. The same fortitude that entered me when I tackled each fight Carlos arranged allows me to step forward now.
Every last gun pointed at us remains locked in place. That’s when I realise they aren’t aiming at me. Not a single one of Carlos’s thugs. All of them remain focused on the men spread out behind me, holding them hostage.
“Em,” Warner warns.
I hold up a hand. “Don’t move. He only wants me.”
“Quite right.” Carlos beams at me.
“Where is my brother?”
“Do you want to see him again?”
“Where is he?” I repeat.
“Come with us and find out.”
I take another step forward, despite more protests coming from behind me. I have no idea how Hyland is holding himself back from charging after me—bullet or not. My next words won’t help his turmoil.
“I’m tired of running. We can discuss a mutually beneficial surrender… once I have proof of life. I want to see Tom.”
“Surrender?” Hyland hisses. “Fuck no!”
A scuffle from behind causes all of Carlos’s backup to tense, fingers dancing on triggers. I glance back to see Warner and Blaine restraining Hyland’s arms, barely stopping him from chasing after me and killing himself.
Returning my gaze to Carlos, he stares at me, and I stare right fucking back. Both assessing. Weighing up our opponent. Backup aside, I think I could take him, though we’d both emerge bloodied. But if that’s the way it has to be, then so be it.
“Caged rats always sing for their supper in the end.” His smile drips revolting satisfaction. “Very well, 768. Have it your way.”
Carlos nods to one of his men. My heart rate ratchets up several notches when two foot soldiers disappear down the steps at the back of the dockyard towards where the cargo ship is moored for its resupply.
“You know, helping these fools is a waste of your talent,” he adds in distaste. “All that time spent training you… and this is what you choose to do with your gifts.”
“Gifts?” I laugh flatly.
“We created you.”
“You beat me! Tortured me! Broke me!”
“I created the perfect weapon.” He gestures towards the men at my back. “Not a whore to be kept on display in Sabre Security’s hall of fame.”
The wind blowing off the North Sea cuts into me, adding to my shaking. My nails slice into my palms where I’m clenching my fists tight enough to hold my rage back. By a fucking shoestring.
The two goons quickly return, ascending the dock’s steps with a sagging heap of skin and bone between them. My entire line of sight narrows to that barely recognisable ghost as bloodthirst rages through me.
Ghostly pale. Limp. Unconscious.
Misshapen from bruises and swelling.
My big brother.
Heartbreak is such a weak term. Frail. Pathetic. As if a human heart could quietly break like a cracked eggshell. The sight of my brother doesn’t break my heart—it smashes, pulverises and sweeps it away without any care for the remaining dust.
“Tom...”
“Here you are.” Carlos waves grandly towards his captive. “Proof of life.”
“What the hell did Luis do to him?”
“It’s safe to say that disobedience runs in the family,” he chortles. “You weren’t just being a brat all those years to make my job difficult.”
Tom’s level of disobedience is spelled across every inch of visible skin beneath the ripped, bloodstained shirt and trousers hanging from his starved body. Another chunk of my shattered heart splats against the floor of my stomach.
The single dependable constant in my life despite our ups and downs… is now almost unrecognisable beneath mottled bruises. Purple, angry blotches that tarnish his pasty-white face, neck and arms.
The crusted lacerations that slash each bruise appear to be oozing. He’s being dragged, his legs buckled and unresponsive, head swaying like a loose bag of change attached to his shoulders. A terrified part of me worries he’s already lost to us.
Pure hatred turns my words to icy daggers. “For every mark on him, I’m going to tear a chunk of flesh from your body with my bare fucking teeth.”
“Ah, the fighting spirit. Nice to see you haven’t lost it in retirement.”
Fuck this. I’ll go with Carlos just for the privilege of killing him myself. He’s taunted me for the very last time.
“What will it be, 768?” Carlos watches his men drop Tom’s lifeless carcass at their feet. “Perhaps I’m open to a trade after all.”
“Tom walks free. My team too.”
“Ember—”
“Shut up,” I cut Warner off.
“We don’t trade lives.”
With great restraint, I don’t scream at him.
“Em!” he urges. “Listen to me!”
Carlos studies the scene with visible exasperation. It’s the same glare that still features in my nightly torment. He spent hours watching me get beaten to a pulp just to criticise me afterwards.
“What makes you think we’d accept those terms?” he challenges.
My eyes narrow to slits. “Because you want me.”
“I personally couldn’t care less about you.” He flicks his wrist dismissively. “But what Senor Gael wants, he gets. My job is rather simple in that respect.”