49 Seven
The rain was coming down so hard it made the roads look like a river. The wipers barely kept up, and even then, the view ahead was just a blur of taillights and road shine.
My jacket was zipped to the chin, collar turned up high.
My face had been hidden behind the bandana again, but the inside of the car felt too hot, stifling. My skin itched, wanting to be free. I rolled the window down two inches, just to suck in some air, but the storm found the gap and spat in my face.
I left it open anyway.
My pulse was loud in my ears. It was the same pulse I'd felt just a few hours ago back at the safe house, when Kimmy's mouth was on mine and her hands were clawing my back and her voice was begging me not to stop.
Fuck.
It was never supposed to be anything. She was the client, and I was the operative. She was the job. And I was the tool. The Bureau had rules about this.
Don't get attached or emotional.
Don't let your guard down.
Don't let them know who you are.
The secrecy surrounding your identity ensures the success of what we do.
But she knew now. She knew everything. She'd read it off the birth certificate, like it was an incantation. Like saying the words out loud made it real.
Milo.
I tried the name on for size in the privacy of my car, tasted the shape of it in my mouth. It didn't fit. Felt like a fake mustache, a costume for a party I wasn't invited to.
"Milo Mercer," I said. My voice sounded foreign, as if it belonged to a stranger.
It'll be okay, Mi—
It'll be okay, Milo.
That's what the young woman in my nightmares tried to tell me—my real name.
A series of images flashed through my head.
The figurine.
The dark-haired teenage girl.
Priscilla?
The angry voices outside the door.
My parents arguing?
The fire.
The searing pain of the flames leaking at the curtains.
It all started to make sense now. Those were my real memories, suppressed by years and years of conditioning.
I didn't know how to feel, whether to be grateful or pissed at Father. I wondered if his taking me in actually had made my life better.
I gripped the wheel tighter, blinking through the wet blur in my eyes.
I didn't remember the last time I'd cried. Maybe because I'd never done it. But I couldn't control it right now. The tears just spilled. Like some kind of invisible dam in my eyes broke.
The city lights smeared up ahead, diffused through the storm, and every exit sign looked like a challenge. The more I tried not to think about the past or about Kimmy, the more the memories pushed themselves to the forefront of my mind and the more she was there.
I chose to think about her instead of my fucked-up childhood. Her hair, her eyes, her body pressed against mine, the way she'd clung to me in the dark. The way she said my birth name, even though she didn't know what would follow next.
She'd called me beautiful.
I was a monster. Manufactured through violence for violence.
What a fucking cruel joke.
I took the next off-ramp, cut across two lanes, ignored the angry horn behind me. The Bureau compound was just ahead, when I noticed the dark sedan that had been following me for a while now.
I took the next left instead of right, circled the block, then hid in the dark alley, watching the vehicle roll by. Fuckers from Bale security were still following me. I needed to get footage from the club to Viper ASAP. I was getting tired of the tail.
I took my sweet time, waiting, then got back on the street and headed over to the compound.
Once inside, I went down to the basement where a row of lockers stood against the wall. I found the one that belonged to Viper and punched the code into the keypad, then placed the pendant inside.
It was done.
The target was nearing the inevitable end.
For a second, I stood there, unsure of what to do with myself.
I let myself think about last night again, about the way Kimmy had curled up against me after. The way she'd traced the ink on my chest with her tongue.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
I checked my burner, stared at the blank screen. I wanted to call her, but I couldn't make myself do it. At least not yet. There were too many emotions inside my chest, and I was scared I'd say the wrong word and it would all come crashing down.
Instead, I dialed Viper's number. I hardly ever used it, only in rare cases when my earpiece was broken.
"Why you calling my burner, boss?" he replied.
Because I want to do what normal people do. Use a goddamned phone instead of a spy tech. "It's done," I said. "I left the package in your usual spot."
"Efficient as always, Seven. Any issues with the goods?"
"No."
There was a pause. A typing sound in the background, rapid-fire. "You sound off, boss. Something on your mind?"
"No." I hesitated. "Can you check on Bale Security? I think they're still tailing me."
"Sure." He cleared his throat. "Your earpiece broken?"
"It got wet." I lied. "I also need a favor."
Another silence, this one longer. We didn't do favors. That was the rule. But Viper's been my eyes and ears for years. I knew he'd agree. His curiosity for the unknown was insatiable.
"Ah, I see. Don't want Daddy to know. That's why you're calling this line."
"He'll know, eventually."
"What's the favor?"
"I need you to track someone," I said.
"Who am I tracking?"
I tasted the name before I said it, rolled it around in my mouth like a pill. "Priscilla Mercer."
He didn't ask why. Maybe he already knew. Or maybe he didn't care.
"You got it."
I was about to hang up before he could say anything else but changed my mind and said, "Hey, Viper."
"What's up?"
"It's possible I maybe going on vacation soon." The Bureau didn't do vacation, and I had no idea if my plan would actually work, but I needed to manifest it, to say it out loud.
"Are you high?" Viper asked on the line.
"No."
"Well, that's odd."
"I'm just letting you know in advance in case you don't hear from me."
"I see," he responded, his tone abnormally serious like he understood what exactly I meant.
"Yeah," I muttered. "Anyway, just check it out about the person I mentioned."
"Of course."
I was scared shitless of what he would dig up.