14. Wesley
14
WESLEY
During Nina’s lunch, Mason and I meet at Jack’s office. There’s an array of food when I arrive, and my stomach growls loudly.
“Have a seat,” Jack says. “Help yourself to any of it.”
And I do just that. The large, round conference table holds a monitor showing CCTV footage. Mason and I get to supervise our clients while eating. Nina sits quietly among the group while Maia seems to chat endlessly.
“Princess Beverly wants to get a feel of how they’re liking the country,” Jack explains as he gathers his plate of food. “Anything you two want to add?”
“She and her sister are talking about the charitable things they can do as princesses,” Mason says.
“They also asked Mason and me about what the racism is like here,” I add.
Jack raises a brow. “And what did you say?”
“Better than others in the EU, but Black Maldanians are really the ones to ask,” I reply with a shrug. When Jack purses his lips and nods in approval, I add, “Would it be all right if I directed them to you for those questions if they bring it up again?”
“Sure, I don’t see why not.”
Silence falls over us as I resume eating with frequent glances toward the monitor. I spot a table filled with tea, coffee, dessert, and seasoned bread with olive oil—a Maldanian tradition. I stare a little too hard at Nina’s ass as she walks and later bends over to sit. Did she have to wear that dress today?
Thwack .
I nearly choke on my sandwich as my head gets smacked forward. I chew furiously with incredulous eyes on Jack, and he narrows his gaze and points to the screen. “If there is anyone who’s off limits, it’s her.”
Mason laughs.
Have I had less-than-holy thoughts about her? Absolutely. But I would never act on them. This job is too important to mess up. I shove down a final bite and clear my throat. “Sir, I would never?—”
He holds up a hand to cut me off. “Do not forget why you’re here— how you’re here. To a lot of people, you’re nothing but a criminal who flipped for a deal.”
“That’s—”
“ I know the truth. Not everyone does. You’d be in prison right now if not for your conscience and bravery.”
Brave is the last word I would use to describe myself. There’s nothing brave about the things I’ve done. I started because of the money. I finished because I was too scared of dying before doing some good in the world.
I don’t tell Jack I would be dead rather than in prison. Santiago wouldn’t have been caught if not for me. He was too smart to be on the police’s radar for years. I made the right choice by turning on him; he lied to me. He promised he wasn’t trafficking people, and the memory of those chained-up girls still haunts me.
I was a straight-and-narrow soldier before Santiago found me. I might’ve been an army ranger, but I was the quiet one. Most of my underground jobs were quick, in and out on a private plane overnight or less. The few times a year I would see Santiago or his associates, none except him would look me in the eye despite being depraved criminals themselves. That should’ve been my first hint to quit.
“You got me this job,” I remind Jack. “I wouldn’t disrespect you—or her—by crossing that line.”
He leans back in his chair. His expression is either unamused or disbelieving; I can’t tell which. He sighs and tosses his napkin over his empty plate. “Princess Beverly intends to introduce the girls to the Higher Court.”
“Is the plan still to keep their identities concealed?” Mason asks.
“Within the Court? No.”
I take a bite of a cold french fry, and it reminds me of Nina’s grimace when she ate the fries from Moritzi’s. She hated them but was considerate enough to keep that to herself. “Then what are the plans to ensure they won’t sell the information to the highest bidder?”
“NDA contracts in addition to all members giving up their phone upon entry and being searched for wires or other devices.”
We continue the discussion even as Nina gets up and wanders the garden. Jack switches the footage on one of the monitors for me. After a few minutes, Princess Beverly joins her.
Even with no set date for the introductory dinner, the three of us review the security plans.
“We’ll finish this later,” I say before we start reviewing the guest list. With a glance at the monitor, I spot the group rising and exchanging farewell hugs. When Mason and I reach them, I notice that Maia has made a good bond with Princess Vanessa. Nina doesn’t share their enthusiasm.
The sisters have a short conversation before Nina tells me to drive her to the heart of the city and park—the same thing we’ve been doing so she can explore on foot. Her sister doesn’t join her this time, and it’s just me trailing behind.
I analyze the vantage points from the windows of each road we walk through. The buildings are made up mostly of family homes, yet plenty of my assignments were in residential areas.
I close the distance between us the more crowded it gets. She doesn’t notice the number of men ogling her as she strolls through an outdoor market. One man, though, stares a bit too hard at her. He’s pale, Caucasian, five-foot-ten, with dirty blond hair and a long nose. He wears a white T-shirt and cargo pants with many pockets. He looks Nina up and down. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought he was watching her ass. When he steps beside her and fakes interest in the stall merchandise, he swipes her phone from her bag.
I reprimand Nina in the back of my mind. She made it too easy. In a blink, I hold the man’s wrist at an unnatural angle. He cries out and lowers his body, leaning into my hold. I pluck the phone from his hand, shake it in front of his face, and say in Maldanian, “Go find someone else to victimize.”
Nina gasps and snatches her phone. “How did he?—?”
The thief doesn’t have time to get angry with me. I release his wrist and shove him back. He stumbles to the ground, fleeing as soon as possible. I hear the zip of Nina’s bag.
I take her purse and shift it on her body. “Keep it in front of you at all times.”
She stiffens as if suddenly mistrustful of all the people around her. I follow her out of the market and onto the road. Another twenty minutes pass. I watch her shop and buy a souvenir—an espresso cup. She buys a cup of vanilla gelato and I buy a bottle of water. She buys another souvenir. This time, it’s a necklace. She slides it right over her head, so I know it’s not a gift. She stops at almost every street performer and tosses in a coin or two.
While this day is mundane to me, I notice her discomfort break apart at the small activities. Nina stops to get french fries from a vendor, and she gasps after taking the first bite.
“Oh my god.” She inhales another one. “These are delicious. You want to try some?”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure ?” she sings. “They’re the best I’ve had in the country so far.”
The corner of my lips quirks at her enthusiasm. “No, it’s your?—”
She plunges a crispy fry into my mouth, far enough to stop any protest. “You’re not really living until you’ve tried one of these.”
I chew the rest of it, savoring the salty and seasoned flavor. Pretty good, can’t deny. She chuckles at my expression, angling the paper cone toward me.
“Told you. Want another?”
This might be crossing a boundary—sharing food. But it’s really good . I shrug and accept one more.
“You have a lot of scars,” Nina blurts, and I notice her staring at the mark on my forearm.
I stiffen. “It happens.”
She points to the inch-long scar. “What’s this one from?”
I inhale a long breath, debating how honest I ought to be. “Knife fight in Lisbon.”
She points to another on my bicep, right under the sun and moon tattoo on my shoulder. “This one?”
“Fell from a rooftop in Amsterdam. No—Berlin.” The pipe I fell on had been less than a foot away from impaling me through the ribs. The three-inch scar doesn’t show justice for the physical pain I felt that day.
“And the one on your hand?”
I don’t tell her it’s the most recent one. If she has any knowledge of wounds, she might figure it out herself. I clench and unclench my fist, studying the pink flesh. “I, uh—fire. It was in a fire.”
“Sheesh,” she huffs. “No wonder you’re always grumpy.”
“I’m…” I want to protest, but I can only imagine how rigid I appear to the world. “I’m selectively pleasant.”
Nina laughs, her eyes widening when a snort escapes. She claps a hand over her mouth, but a smile threatens my lips. Does she not remember she laugh-snorted this morning, too? It’s almost endearing—a humbling sound from such a graceful woman.
“Okay, let’s go before I do anything else embarrassing.” After tossing her trash in the bin, she nervously glances around, but suddenly gasps and snatches my arm. “I want to ride a moped.”
I follow her gaze toward the motorbike rental place up ahead. Dammit. I shouldn’t be surprised she’d want to do that.
“Do you have a license?”
“Of course,” she scoffs.
“An international license?”
“Oh.” Nina slumps her shoulders and laces her fingers in front of her. She purses her lips in thought. “No… but you do,” she says quietly, flicking her big eyes up at me in a pout.
My stomach tightens and I shake my head. “No?—”
“Oh, come on!” she wails. “Please?”
“Absolutely not. This isn’t part of my job description.”
“You don’t have to ride it! Just sign the paperwork and I’ll be off.” A hopeful smile spreads across her face. While I won’t say yes to that, I’d rather not be the one to steal her hope.
“I go where you go,” I remind her. “And even so, what if you crash?”
Nina shrugs. “It can’t be that hard to drive.”
“That makes me feel so much better.”
“Please? It’ll be so much fun! I’ll just—take a joy ride around the block and that’s it.”
“No.”
She grabs my elbow. “Then you can drive! I’ll sit on the back.”
Shit. If I don’t think of something quick, I’ll be stuck driving her around the city on a moped I’m too big for. It’s annoying enough doing so in a car. “You’re wearing a dress,” I point out. My hesitation only fuels her. She thinks she’s breaking me—and she is.
“I can sit to the side.”
“I—that’s dangerous.”
Nina crosses her arms with an amused expression. She sees right through my excuses. “I’ll hold onto you super tight. Pinky promise.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No,” I insist.
She grips my arm and tilts her chin up toward me. “Pretty please?”
“No.”
From this close, I notice a single, faded freckle under her left eye. She continues pouting her lips and I keep pushing myself to be annoyed. Shooting things down is easy when an arrogant soldier gets ahead of himself, but I’ve never had to turn down someone with doe eyes before. And fuck, I’d rather go back to boot camp.
My head starts spinning when she does little bounces and says, “Please please please please please please please please ? —”
“Nina—”
“Please please please please please please ? —”
“All right, fine, fine. Just—stop.”
Anything is better than Nina bouncing like this in front of me. She doesn’t hesitate to push me toward the rental place. “Yay! Come on.”
I spend the next ten minutes filling out paperwork and tampering down panic because Nina is waiting around the corner; the clerk will watch me drive off and won’t allow her to sit sideways. She should be supervised at all times. I only allow it to slide if she sends me fifteen-second updates. The rental clerk looks at me with skepticism at my consistently buzzing phone, but I couldn’t give two shits. Rather than count fifteen seconds between each text—because according to her, “it’s annoyingly specific” —she sends a slew of random shit.
Nina
Still alive.
I haven’t died.
Yet.
I want gelato again.
Get the pink moped.
Wait no, the red one.
Or the blue?
What about a classic black?
No, the cream-colored one.
Fancy and won’t absorb heat.
A lady just let me pet her dog. It was really cute.
I’m hungry.
Can we find a bookstore?
Wait it would probably close soon, right?
It’s not even five thirty, but everything closes early here.
Still alive.
A woman walked by dressed as an absolute icon and I want to be like her when I’m 70.
I want to drive up to Moritzi’s so I can watch the sunset again.
I’m sorry, but I can’t eat their fries again.
Are you done yet?
“Follow me,” the clerk says.
I pick out the beige moped as Nina wished and opt for one with a sissy bar for added protection. After disinfecting the rental helmet twice, I zip off around the corner. If I wasn’t so pissed at myself for caving into this stupid moped, I would have chuckled at her squealing when I roll to a stop in front of her.
“It’s perfect!”
It’s the most excited I’ve seen her since she arrived in Maldana.
I take off the helmet and hand it over. “Get on, then.”
“You expect me to put that thing on my head?”
I sigh. After watching her constantly put on hand sanitizer and carry a cloth in her bag specifically to keep her bare legs from touching public chairs, it wasn’t a far-fetched guess she wouldn’t want to wear the helmet. I hold it closer to her.
“I made sure to clean it myself,” I say, and when she hesitates, I add, “Twice.”
Only then does Nina accept the helmet and climb on. I manage to remain neutral with my tone and demeanor; it takes more effort than usual. Regardless of her sitting behind me, of her arms snug around my waist, I’m working . She’s my client who manipulated me into getting what she wants. I’ll stop so she can get fries she likes and I’ll drive up to Moritzi’s so she can watch the sunset again. The light will outline her and the word angel will haunt me. If doing all of this will keep her content and quiet, then so be it. I can deal with intrusive thoughts and ignore deep desires.
But if she begs me for something—anything—again, I’ll be undone and won’t trust my decision-making.