CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
AXEL
Snow sprays beneath the beefy tires as I round the final bend of the mountain before the turnoff.
After days of verifying that the location Bernard and I had tracked down was correct, an overnight flight on my private jet, a helicopter ride, and several hours of driving, I can hardly believe I’m nearly there.
The scenery is breathtaking. Winter has already conquered the landscape, though until you reach the higher elevation, it’s more serene than treacherous.
A light dusting of glistening white to boast of holiday beauty.
Summits spearing cottony clouds. Lakes and wildlife and sparkling evergreens. It’s picturesque.
But here, deeper in the tree coverage and closer to the peak, it’s death in waiting. Fitting.
I’m already baffled as to how this is where my wife grew up—the girl who loves sunshine and warmth and shivered on my New Orleans rooftop.
The entire camp is not only challenging to find and reach, but satellite images only reveal a forest. Without a tip, there’d be no way of knowing it was here.
The immense steel gate is left open—here for lockdown purposes, ajar due to arrogance.
Who would dare enter the walls of an assassin camp, uninvited?
To that point, when I pass a line of runners to pull in beneath a canopy of coverage, every single one side-eyes me, keeping their pace but drawing their weapon. This should be fun.
Only Bernard knows where I am. The story my family and KORT got was that I was returning to Greece to consult with my CIA contact there, following leads personally.
My brothers even protested that. They wanted to send an army with me, but that wouldn’t serve my objective.
I claimed the extra men would slow me down. Then I left under the cover of night.
Bernard will notify KORT of the camp’s location if I don’t contact him within twenty-four hours. If that’s the case, I probably won’t be returning with a heartbeat, but I trust that Wells and Ivy will do what they can to protect Zara and the rest of my family at that point.
With my sunglasses on, I tuck a few weapons in my suit, grab the items I brought with me, and cut right through the line of runners on my way to what appears to be the primary building.
There are countless. Some small enough to be bungalows.
Some clearly communal. There are slivers of training grounds in the distance too—shooting ranges and obstacle courses.
This place would interest the military. Maybe they know it’s here.
It’s fucking cold, so I don’t bother removing my overcoat when I step inside.
More assassins are gathered here. No one welcomes me, but I take that as a positive.
Some cock their heads in recognition, puzzled as to why I’d be visiting.
The rest of these motherfuckers are itching to put a bullet in my head. They’re practically drooling.
After I stick my sunglasses in my pocket, I weave through a maze of hallways, passing a dining hall, a strategy room, and a simulation chamber that has a light indicating it’s in use before I peek into a gallery.
People are watching a forty-something-year-old woman hold her own against a younger man.
It makes me think of Zara, though neither of them is in the same league as her.
But it’s in there that I spot it—an observatory office. That’s where Stone will be.
I find my way to the staircase and climb to see the legend.
The door is open, and before I even cross the threshold, he greets me. “Your father didn’t pass on his goal to live a long life, I see.”
A death threat, but more amicable than I imagined, so I stroll inside.
“That didn’t work out so well for him.”
Stationed in a huge leather chair, he’s massive, his tatted arms crossed over his T-shirt-clad chest as he watches his warriors battle from his grand office in the sky.
This is his fortress. He’s done well for himself, built his own empire.
His hair is thick and gray with dark patches, same as his beard, but other than that, his fifty-something years don’t show. He’s always reminded me of a Viking.
“Not when his offspring was waiting in the wings to burn down his throne and build his own,” he sneers.
I saunter up beside him, observing a new duo in the ring, beating the shit out of each other. “Pissed that I did what you couldn’t? That I was the one to avenge your wife? You’ll find I conduct myself far different from him … and you.”
That earns me his irate glower. His eyes are a similar shade of green to Zara’s, which physically pains me to see. Christ, I miss her so fucking much.
“You killed Keller as a message to me.” His accusation is narcissistic, but valid.
Keller’s death and the order of protection declared to anyone employing Zara that I would go to war over her. But I knew Stone would see it as a censure for not avenging her himself and a warning that I intended to claim her.
“Yes.” I glance back to the fighting mats, wondering what the hell the point of this shit is if they don’t apply it to bastards like Keller.
“He should’ve been fucking dead the day he set her up.
” Just the thought of what that bastard did boils my blood like the first time Zara mentioned it, so I pace to the opposite side of his office, where a window overlooks the simulation chamber, though I don’t stop to observe.
“Ten goddamn years? And she paid off his debt? How the fuck could you let her do that?”
He rises out of his chair, and while age might be a factor, he’s a beast. Six-five, which is only a half inch taller than me, but he’s got an extra fifty pounds of muscle on his frame.
“She paid off her debt,” he roars. “And she had more help than she deserved. She got herself into that fucked-up mess. How dare you show up here and question me? We don’t kill for vengeance, or we’d end up picking each other off until there was no one left.”
“No one left but Zara, I could live with.”
He startles, glaring at me as if that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, and I swear I could kill him for that notion alone.
He shakes his head. “So, this is how you planned to approach life with her?”
Not wanting anyone else to overhear this conversation, I shut the door and turn back to him. “You mean ending anyone who dares to fuck with her? Yes.”
“I mean cleaning up her messes for her. That’s what you’re here to do, right? Clean up the absolute fucking disaster she created.”
“Tell me you’re fucking with me, Stone. Jesus fucking Christ, tell me this is a joke.
” I slam the files I brought with me down on his desk.
“I expected you to relay the disappointment of her client, to inform her she might be neutralized. As a commander. But as her father, I assumed you were fighting for her behind the scenes. All this time, I believed you were this respectable man who risked everything for your children. Something I could understand. And I would’ve taken this shit to the grave. ”
He arches a brow in question, strolling over to his desk to peruse my good-faith payment, but I don’t wait for him to respond.
“Your daughter is brilliant and fierce. I’ve seen her in action.
She is … astounding. You trained her well.
And she’s so fucking smart … but she’s more than her skill.
She’s everything. So, yeah, I’d clean up her messes.
She’s allowed to make mistakes because she’s human and mine and deserves the goddamn world. ”
He lifts his chin, and something like pity coasts across his face. “And she left you.”
I don’t let a single cell in my body betray how deeply that slices, how much insecurity swims in my veins that he might be claiming that from a vantage point of knowing what the hell is going on. Instead, I feign confidence. “Because she was forced to. She had something she needed to do.”
The something she had to do could only apply to a mission he’d sanctioned so he should be aware of wherever the hell she is. My world in his hands is haunting. But I resist the urge to spin my watch and keep my focus planted on him, awaiting his response.
“What makes you so sure?”
“I know my wife.”
He slants his head, studying me. “And if she stays hidden?”
“Then I become a treasure hunter.”
He laughs at that—disbelieving more than malicious, but annoying all the same. “And leave your fortune behind?” He waves his hand in front of me. “Who are you without the suit?”
“I’m hers. La Lune Noire is already at a deficit. That is Zara’s empire now. I won’t stop until I bring her home. She is my future and my fortune.”
He frowns in thought for another beat. I hope he’s fucking testing me for Zara’s sake. Because if he doubts she could mean that much to me, to anyone, then I will destroy him before he can cause her another drop of pain.
Eventually, he taps the files that detail all the shit my father had on him—the very reason he’s perched in this covert tower instead of on acreage in Tennessee.
I know what he’s wondering, so I supply the answer. “That’s the only copy.”
He rounds his desk and takes his seat, indignation written in every feature. “And you think if I owe my client a life as restitution for Zara botching a job and fleeing, this file will suffice?”
“You being her father should be enough for that,” I snipe before I pull myself together, stuff my hands in my pockets, and swallow my fury.
“But the file—the fact that I had it all these years and never wielded it—should be enough to win me something. So, if a life is what you need, take mine and spare hers. Tell your client I fucked up the mission for her. Since they wanted to infiltrate La Lune Noire, I’m guessing they’d be thrilled to have my head.
You handing me over for them to do the honors would go a long way. ”
He’s clearly at a loss for words, so I go on.
“But we’ll need to get it documented so I know she’s safe. We need a story concocted to keep her protected from some other organizations as well. Once that’s settled—”
“What do you want from me?” he blurts out with all the fervor of a broken father.
Thank fuck.
“Answers.”
He rubs his hand over his jaw, his eyes glossy. “I don’t know where she is.”
That’s not the news I wanted, but maybe we’re getting somewhere.
I take a seat across from him, beginning with something simple. “Is she carrying out orders you sent her?”
“No.” The weight of her missing deflates his chest. “She agreed to terms, accepted the extraction out of Greece, and disappeared on us. We had no knowledge of the ambush.”
My pulse thunders to the beat of a thousand questions. When did she decide to accept the extraction? Was the marriage a ploy? Had she always planned to leave me? And so many more, but I settle on, “You don’t know why she disappeared?”
“I do not. I was concerned that you’d gotten to her.” He hurls his hand toward me as if presenting evidence. “And if you pulled this shit, maybe you are the root of her spiraling because Zara is usually steady and unaffected, but this devotion would win her over. Still, she left you too.”
She did, but I try not to dwell on that as I flick my focus to the tenets posted behind him. Above them is their motto, One sword. One shield. One stone. And below them is, Never say die. I wonder how often those phrases are her inner mantra.
“Who was she working for?”
He huffs a mirthless chuckle. “Not even she had that clearance.”
“What were the terms she agreed to?” I try, growing irritated.
“I can’t divulge that without compromising the client.”
“Was it KORT?” I press.
“Wouldn’t you know if it was?” He leans forward, skipping past the confirmation that I’m one of the chairs. “I assume you uncovered that KORT owned her years ago.”
Relief fills my lungs because we’re finally headed in a useful direction. “Yes. She killed Kratos’ men for them, on behalf of Keller. How long was she contracted to them?”
“A few years. But I negotiated to join her. My son and I helped her complete it early. Which is why her being on this job was doomed from the start.” He sighs, frustrated.
“Tripp—her brother—didn’t realize … I don’t disclose client names to the handlers either, so he didn’t understand what he assigned her to.
He knew there were KORT ties to La Lune Noire, but not that she’d ever worked for them—or even that he had. ”
Unable to sit any longer, I move to the simulation window, watching in astonishment as an assassin sprints through an exercise, thwarting and shooting both real opponents and pop-ups in what appears to be a mock warehouse. “So, what the hell does this mean?”
“It means … she’s smart, like you said. And she pieced enough things together that she realized she had to get out.”
The assassin finishes in just under two minutes. Cheers abound, so I’m guessing that’s good. It makes me wonder how many of the hit men who frequent my resort have trained here.
“What’s the fastest time?”
He doesn’t hesitate, likely knowing the stats of every impressive accomplishment in this place. “Seventy-six seconds.”
Or maybe he holds the record himself. That’s a hell of a lot faster than what I just witnessed. Unless …
“Who?”
“Zara.” A hint of pride threads that reply.
That’s my girl—my unstoppable Thorn. Slugger to my family. Noire queen to our empire. A fucking marvel.
Even though I feel like my heart is outside my body, I grin and poke at his ego. “Faster than you?”
“Yes. She’s a legend around here, like she was determined to be. But to be fair, I’m fucking old.”
A huffed chuckle escapes me because I relate to that more than I’d like to, but hoping to catch him off guard, I twist to gauge his reaction to my next query. “Did you send Shep to kill her?”
“Shep?” His brows knit to one confounded line. “Shepherd Lange?” When I nod, he replies, “No. When did he show up?”
Fuck. Had she misread what Shep was hinting at?
“Before I killed Keller.”
“Goddammit.” He slams his fist against his desk, muttering to himself, “And she thought it was me?”
“What about Beck Davis? Was that you?”
His head lifts with his answer before the words arrive. “What happened with Beck?”
“Killed in his home the day we got married.”
“Not us.” He shakes his head, but his wheels are turning. He knows something. “If she’s going against KORT, wouldn’t it be treason for you to protect her?”
“I will always choose Zara.”
“Good.” He stands and grabs his satellite phone. “I’m not sure what she’s doing, but I might be able to follow her line of thinking.”