CHAPTER ONE #2
“Is this some sort of …” He can hardly muster the end of his question, but I wait him out, knowing what he’s getting at and eager to hear the traces of vomit in the inquiry. “Guilt reaction?”
I laugh, though my eyes stay planted on the simpler life we’re leaving in our dust. “Let’s hope not. It’s a little late for that.”
“Okay.” Worry thickens the air, so he attempts some encouragement, reminding me of our essential mindset. “Those monsters run a trafficking ring and do business with countless other pimping assholes and drug cartels.”
This is the same bullshit I’m always fed, and truth be told, I don’t need it.
I’m not taking the lives of innocents. We live by a code.
It’s evil with honor. I’m by no means a hero, but I’m only a villain if you’re Satan.
Or if you have a beer with him. That’s the hardest truth.
Not everyone we kill is the absolute devil.
Some are guilty by association. And some aren’t a lot different from us—willing to kill for the right price.
Or chained to a life they aren’t sure they want.
“It’s Dad,” I finally admit, twirling a strand of my hair around my finger until the skin whitens with outrage and I drop it.
“He’s been prepping me for that job in Kazakhstan.
I met the guy last month. He’s all right.
” I clench my fist, tired of filtering my authentic opinions.
“That’s a lie. He’s gross. I’ll be playing his wife indefinitely. Maybe years.”
“I thought you wanted that.” He flicks his blinker on, careening toward an on-ramp, and his taut judgment coils around me like a noose. “Not him, but the opportunity.”
“I wanted to be respected, to be someone who’s valued,” I concede, but I’m cognizant he won’t completely grasp that, so I add, “as much as the top hitters at our camp.”
“Well, that’s it, Zar. That’s the job of all jobs, the pinnacle of trust.”
“Yeah, but …” I huff, desperate for my big brother right now, not a colleague, not my handler, not someone who envies the jobs I’ve earned.
“It’s like saying goodbye to everything that’s me.
I’ll disappear inside that role.” I twist toward him, imploring him to shoulder the weight of all I’m suggesting.
“Don’t you ever just realize how fragile life is?
Take the deserving part out of it, the part where we play executioner to those who warrant that punishment.
Everything can be extinguished in a second.
Our breaths are numbered. That doesn’t ever wake you up? ”
He stares at the highway, unable to look me in the eye when he steamrolls over my confession. “We’ll be here when you get back.”
“No, you won’t,” I hiss, throwing my arm in the air, my nose burning with the tears I refuse to let fall.
“Not really. And neither will I. None of us will be the same. No contact with any of you, other than check-ins. A loveless marriage. Endless kills for a nameless boss. I won’t get an explanation for why someone is my mark.
You and Dad have spoiled me with that. I’m the best, but the most naive.
And maybe I want to stay that way.” The sincerity of my next statement clogs my throat, but still, I manage to expel it.
“I might have the skill to survive that job, but I’ll die there anyway. ”
He says nothing for five minutes, driving in silence that translates to those final moments before a jury delivers a verdict while I clamp my eyes shut and rest my head against the seat.
“So …” He clears his throat, betraying his conflict. “What can I do?”
I pop one eye open, daring to glimpse a shred of hope. “Convince Dad to send someone else. There’s time.”
Tripp shakes his head, veering into the airfield parking lot. “He’ll never go for it. He trusts you more than anyone, and this is … there’s a lot riding on this, Zar.”
He sounds panicked, frustrated, and exasperated, all at once, even though I always show up to save his ass when he fumbles a job.
But I refuse to let him off the hook this time. “A lot riding for him. And for me.”
He lets that sink in, and the sight of his wheels turning is the equivalent of a Ferris wheel ride. Whimsy with butterflies and a sliver of peril. My heart pounds against my sternum.
I need this.
“Okay, let me think.” The car stops with a jolt, and he scrubs his hands over his face.
Tripp notoriously thinks slow, which is why he has me on speed dial, so I close my eyes again and wait until his movement rattles my seat.
“I have an idea. It will piss him off, but once you’re in, he won’t risk pulling you. It’s too important to him.”
I bolt upright, thrill rushing in my veins. “Where?”
He plops a beefy file into my lap, tapping the manila folder. “Louisiana.”
I’ll need to save this light reading for the plane ride, but I’m too impatient not to get some answers. “How long?”
“No idea. As long as it takes.” He arches a brow in warning not to complain, and, yeah, that’s fair.
“There are layers upon layers for this one. I’m not even done with research and discovery.
We still need pattern of life. You’ll have to do some of it while you’re there if we’re going to outrun Dad. ”
Outrun Dad.
I adore my father. He’s what myths and fables are made of.
Intuitive and superior. He has strength and prowess that scarcely seem human.
He is the best, he trains the best, and he raised the best. I’m twenty-nine years old, and I still want him to be proud of me.
It’s more than the pride of a father. It’s the pride of a warrior.
Maybe I can nail this, and he’ll forgive me for stiffing him on the other job.
If he shoves aside his disappointment, he’ll see how many of his lessons pertain to this very situation.
Plans change. Adaptability is key.
Calm and calculated are the only emotions that apply.
Our mentality must always be mission first.
Perhaps adapting to a new assignment is what’s best for everyone.
“Well, it’s warm there and in this country, so I’m already leaning toward yes. How many marks are you anticipating?”
“None of that has been decided.” Tripp pauses. It’s laden, a caution sign that what he’s about to share is heavy. “It’s at La Lune Noire.”
“The establishment for the connected,” I answer on autopilot.
This is huge then, arguably bigger than my current orders. Tripp’s motivation for bringing me in against my father’s wishes is clearer too. This isn’t something he can fuck up.
Everyone in our line of work is familiar with La Lune Noire.
They provide a haven for the corrupt—Mafias, secret societies, dirty politicians, assassins.
For most, the Noires are the ally you can’t live without.
We have our reasons for believing otherwise.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued by the prospect of an up-close view though.
For the clientele, their services, and the Prohibition-inspired glitz and glamour. It’s legendary.
He scoffs a sardonic chuckle. “That’s the one. So, the risk is … steep.”
Steep and satisfying.
We’ve never spoken about it, but I don’t really need to garner the confirmation for what I know to be true. My father forbade any discussion regarding the Noires. Tripp and I understood why. We were young, but not that young.
Still, this seems like a good time to ensure clarity on the matter. “They’re the family that killed Mom?”
His jaw tenses. “That’s the one.”
Chance is a fickle thing.
“Sounds like my kind of job. I’m in.”