Chapter 41 It’s Giving Male Rage Masking Abandonment Issues
AMANDA
This is absolutely not the fucking day for this.
I wake up with a splitting headache, my mouth tasting like I’ve been gargling gym socks, and the distinct sensation that I’m tied to a chair. Which, upon opening my eyes and taking stock of my situation, turns out to be correct.
Fantastic.
The warehouse around me looks like any generic villain hideout from every B-grade action movie ever made.
Concrete floors, exposed beams, dramatic lighting that’s probably meant to be intimidating but honestly just makes the whole place look like a depressing photography studio.
A man stands about ten feet away from me, wearing camo pants and a tactical vest. He looks like a G.I.
Joe action figure that got lost on his way to Comic-Con.
“Oh, good. You’re awake. I was starting to think I’d have to wait all day for you to join the party.” My voice is hoarse, but I manage to coat it with sarcasm.
The man turns around, and I get my first good look at him. Blond hair, square jaw, and aggressively American features that belong on recruitment posters.
“Mrs. Steele,” he says, like we’re meeting at a fucking business conference.
“Hmm, actually, it’s Miss Bennett. Seems like this is a wrong-number situation.” I test the ropes around my wrists. Tight but not impossible. “And you are?”
“Your worst nightmare.”
I roll my eyes hard enough to see my own brain. “Oh, wow. Super original. Did you practice that line in the mirror, or does it just slip out when men are in peak midlife crisis?”
His jaw tightens, which tells me I’m on the right track. Nothing pisses off wannabe villains like being made fun of.
I settle back in my chair. “I have to say, this whole staging is very 2015. The chintzy warehouse, the cheap lighting.” I give him an appraising look.
“I assume there’s going to be some monologuing, yes?
” I nod my head as if encouraging him to answer.
His jaw clenches further. “Are you going to tell me your evil plot for world domination next? Because I have to warn you, I’ve seen John Wick like seventeen times, so my expectations are pretty high. ”
“You think this is a joke?”
“I think this is amateur hour.” I gesture around with my chin since my hands are currently unavailable. “I mean, seriously. Tied to a chair in a warehouse? What’s next, are you going to dangle me over a tank of sharks? Maybe threaten to cut me in half with a laser?”
The man takes a step closer, and I can see anger flickering in his eyes. Good. Angry people make mistakes.
“You have no idea what you’ve cost me,” he says, his voice getting tighter. “What your very existence has cost me.”
“My existence?” I blink at him. “Buddy, I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure we’ve never met. I would definitely remember someone with your particular combination of dime-a-dozen features and obvious personality disorder.”
“We haven’t met. But I know all about you, Amanda. I know about your little morning coffee shop routine. I know about your ridiculous obsession with pink. I know about your job, your friends, your monthly Monday night family dinners that you hate.”
The specificity of that sends a chill down my spine, but I refuse to let him see it. “Wow. You’ve really done your homework. Do you also know my Netflix password? Because if you’re going to make me sit here, you could at least update me on the episodes I’m missing.”
“I know about Chad.”
I scoff. “Chad? A guy from a dating app? Good detective work there, Sherlock.”
“I know that Chad is Kade Steele.”
My world tilts sideways. Chad isn’t— He can’t be—
“I can see the wheels turning,” the man says with satisfaction. “Finally putting the pieces together?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But my voice sounds weak even to my own ears.
“Kade Steele works for me. Has for the last fifteen years. One of my best operatives, actually. Or at least, he was until he met you.”
I feel my breath catch. “Works for you doing what?”
“Contract kills. Black ops. Work that requires complete focus. Complete dedication. No personal attachments, no distractions, no emotional complications.” He scowls. “You’ve been a complication from day one.”
“I… That’s…” I’m stammering like an idiot, but my brain refuses to process what he’s telling me. Chad is Kade. Kade is Chad. My husband has been the one talking to me, flirting with me, telling me bedtime stories. Knowing exactly who I was while I had no idea who he was.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I? Didn’t know you exchanged vows with a hit man?” His laugh is harsh. “Think about it, Amanda. How else would he know so much about you? How else would he have access to the things he has access to? How else would he be able to afford the kind of lifestyle he lives?”
My mind races through every interaction I’ve had with real Chad. The helmet he never took off. The way he touched me like he’d done it a thousand times before. The way my body responded to him like it recognized something my brain refused to see.
The voice. God, the voice. How did I not recognize his voice?
Probably because I spent eight years building walls so high that even when he was right in front of me, I couldn’t see him.
“No,” I whisper.
“Eight years,” the man continues, clearly enjoying himself now that he’s managed to turn the tables on me.
“Eight years of dealing with an operative who’s never been the same since he got drunk and married some random girl in Vegas.
Eight years of watching one of my best assets turn into a liability because he couldn’t get over a weekend fling with a dumb broad. ”
“It wasn’t—” My throat closes up. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. “We were married for a month.”
“Exactly. One month, Amanda. Barely enough time to learn someone’s middle name, let alone claim true love.”
But it felt like forever. It felt like I’d found my person, my other half, the missing piece I didn’t know I was looking for. Four weeks that burned brighter and hotter than anything before or since.
And now I find out that he’s been watching me this whole time? Playing games with me through an app while I tried to pick up the pieces of my life and myself? The hurt threatens to consume me, all mixed up with anger and confusion, because how could he possibly do that to me?
“And then,” he continues, “just when I think he’s finally moving on, finally getting back to being the operative I need him to be, he decides he wants to retire. Retire! Because of you!”
“So you kidnapped me?” I ask flatly, trying to get control of my spiraling emotions. “What exactly is that supposed to accomplish?”
“It would finish what I started eight years ago,” he says. He leans in slightly, his voice almost casual. “Because I was the one who hired the hit squad to kill you.”
The scar on my forearm suddenly burns like it’s fresh. I can hear the screech of metal, feel the impact, taste blood in my mouth. He did this. This man sitting in front of me caused the accident that nearly killed me.
“Honestly, I was surprised you survived.” He shrugs like we’re discussing the weather.
“But when Kade left on his own, well. That’s what I wanted anyway.
Problem solved. Or so I thought. Because then the stubborn bastard wouldn’t rest until he figured out who was behind the wheel of that car.
And once he found out, he started hunting them down.
I had connections with the Petrov family.
Fantastic arms dealers, and they owed me favors. That’s why they’d agreed to the hit.”
His smile darkens. “But when Kade killed the first of them six months after the accident, that’s when things got messy. The Petrovs turned on me. Thought I’d sent Kade after them. Threatened to expose our entire arrangement unless I handled it.”
“So you used him.” The words come out barely above a whisper.
“I weaponized his rage.” He sounds proud.
Actually proud. “Started sending anonymous threats, photos of you, messages about how you’d never be safe.
Always perfectly timed after he’d eliminated another name.
Kept him motivated. Kept him hunting.” He laughs.
“I turned Kade into my personal weapon to systematically wipe out the entire Petrov family. Because fuck them for thinking they could turn the tables on me. Took eight years, but he got every single one of them, all while he kept his distance from you.”
I try to process what he’s telling me. Eight years of Kade thinking he was protecting me while this excuse for a man pulled the strings on him like he was nothing more than a puppet.
“Now that they’re all dead, now that the job is done, he thinks he’s just going to walk away?
Run back to you? Live some picturesque little life playing house in the suburbs?
” He steps closer. “That’s not how this works.
He’s far too valuable for that. So I’m going to eliminate his distraction permanently.
If he has nothing to go back to, then he’ll go back to the only thing he’s ever had. Work.”
“You’re going to kill me,” I deadpan.
“I’m going to make sure you actually die this time, yes.”
His words crack open something inside me.
It forces its way past the shock and hurt and betrayal.
It’s anger. Rage. I am absolutely done with this bullshit.
And I am not some helpless damsel waiting for rescue.
I’m Amanda fucking Bennett. I’ve broken someone’s nose with a Louis Vuitton clutch and didn’t even scuff the leather.
I can fieldstrip and reassemble a handgun in under thirty seconds while blindfolded.
I’ve dislocated a mugger’s shoulder in a parking garage with my bare hands and still made it to lunch on time.
This mediocre G.I. Joe wannabe thinks he’s going to kill me?
Fuck that.
I test the ropes again. They give slightly. Across the room, I can see my purse dumped on a table next to some communication equipment. My gun is probably still inside it. I just need to get over there.