Blaine
THE FLOOD - OLIVER HAZARD
I’ve never been well-acquainted with nerves or anxiety. My position in our illegal empire didn’t allow for such frivolities. I was raised to be detached. Collected. A scheming force of nature operating from behind the scenes, driving our business interests and raking in the profits.
The Phantom.
Ridiculous, really.
If my commitment to that goal wavered at any time, there was no doubt about what my father’s response would’ve been. I have the marks to prove it. Imperfection wasn’t tolerated, nor was uncertainty in the face of enemy fire.
Now? Shit, he’d have a field day watching me check and recheck my weapons a million times over while waiting for the red light to turn. Nervous anticipation buzzes in the haze drugging my extremities, but I don’t have the benefit of smoking a blunt to take the edge off.
“Are you ready for this?” Ember watches me from the passenger seat.
“I’m honestly not sure.”
“I wouldn’t blame you for being a little worried.”
“A little?” I laugh flatly. “I’m fucking terrified. Didn’t know it was still possible.”
“Everyone gets afraid, Blaine. Even scary mobsters.”
“Pretty sure my scary mobster days are over, sweetheart. I’m now a regular, garden-variety criminal without a whole lot of firepower left.”
I’m thankful we haven’t attached our comms earpieces yet. The last thing I want is for the rest of our team to hear that pathetic admittance. Getting them to agree to this plan took two days of back and forth as it is.
Police cordons litter every major road into the city, adding to the suspense. In the wake of the penthouse attack, their presence on the streets has tripled. Officially, the public still believes the explosion was related to gang warfare.
In London’s glittering business district? Yeah, right. People aren’t stupid. Tension is at an all-time high; evident in the scurried footsteps and furtive looks of those on the streets.
“The city feels different.” Ember reads my thoughts, picking up on the palpable unease.
“Like a bomb primed to explode.”
“Blaine! Not funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“Too soon,” she mutters in disbelief.
The rundown suburb on the outskirts of London grants us a level of anonymity. I’ve no doubt the location was selected carefully. All communications with Angela have been through Gunnar’s mysterious contact, adding to the precariousness of this mission.
I don’t know these people.
We’re taking a stab in the dark.
Admittedly, it’s a risk that involves expert air support from above and an entire team of trained agents waiting on standby to intervene at a moment’s notice. Deadly rage in guns and leather will drop from the sky if anything happens to us.
“There.” Leaning forward in her seat, Ember nods at a bank of dreary-looking businesses. “Is that it?”
“Seems so. Let me circle a couple times.”
“Why choose a sandwich shop of all places?”
“It’s nondescript. Hardly rouses suspicion.”
She fiddles with the strap on her hip holster. “I don’t like it.”
“Nothing is going to happen to you, I swear.”
“I’m not concerned about myself. You’re the one Madden wants mounted on a spike for his entire crew to see. Boxing us in where no one can see is the perfect plan.”
“This is too cloak and dagger for my father.” I scrutinize the closed, grey-scale facade. “He would sooner strike outright and land the killer blow. Just look at your penthouse.”
“Maybe that taught him to try another tactic.”
“In that case, I’ll take great pleasure in running down every last traitorous motherfucker waiting inside to kill us over sandwiches and tea. Satisfied?”
The frigid look she spares me reveals she’s not impressed. I do love that furious blaze in her eyes. Brows all scrunched, red head tilted, pouty mouth pinched but still eminently kissable. Her rampant fury is an entrancing thing.
“This isn’t the time for messing around.”
“Relax.” I reach over the centre console to snag her hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
“How can you trust this woman?”
“I don’t trust her. But we have all the backup we need, a viable escape route and plenty of reason to blow the place to hell if need be. I’m not playing nice anymore.”
After circling for a third time and spotting nothing out of the ordinary, I release Ember’s hand to steer us into a parking spot.
We both take a moment to attach our comms, slotting the flesh-coloured mechanisms into place.
“HQ, do you copy?” Ember tests.
“Copy that,” Warner responds drily. “Be careful.”
“We will,” I affirm, checking mine.
“Anything happens to our girl, I’ll be holding you personally responsible, Blaine. Trust me, you don’t want to know what that looks like.”
“I don’t mind describing,” Axel chimes in down the line.
“No need.” I roll my eyes in Ember’s direction. “I can imagine just fine.”
“Damn. Why is everyone always spoiling my fun?”
“You can describe it to me later, Ax,” Ember purrs down the line. “All the gory details.”
“Sounds like a hot date, babe.”
Our resident enforcer is suspiciously silent. I suspect he’s watching the surrounding area through a scope, preparing to pick off any unfortunate souls passing by at a moment’s notice. Less than an hour ago, Hyland was grumbling about the plan and scheming over ways to prevent Ember from attending.
“Are you ready?” I glance at her.
She nods, smiling encouragingly. “As I’ll ever be.”
Now that the time has arrived, I’m almost reluctant to exit the SUV. Indecision and child-like fear paralyse my limbs. When Ember cranes closer to lightly peck my cheek, I twist to snare her mouth in a deeper kiss.
The brief flash of contact settles my thrumming pulse. With her ferocious strength at my side, I can surely walk in there and face whatever lies ahead. This cliff dive won’t change anything. Not the past. Not my future. And not our partnership, forged in the hottest of flames.
“On my six?” I nibble her plush bottom lip.
“Always. I’ve got your back.”
“Then let’s get this show on the road.”
We part to climb from the car, both resting prepared hands on our weapons. In broad daylight, it wouldn’t be wise to draw so early. If there’s any chance of this meeting being legitimate, the last thing I want is to run in all guns blazing and scare the woman who birthed me.
Westend Deli is as workaday as it sounds. Of all the places to hold this reunion, it feels a little surreal. But the big, shuttered windows and quiet industrial surroundings do tick all the boxes. I have a direct line of sight inside the closed-up shop where two figures occupy a single vinyl booth.
My fingers flex on the cool metal of my gun. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult with the leaden weight settling on top of my panting lungs. From here, a feminine physique with elegantly styled hair is visible.
“You can do this.” Ember stands resolute at my side.
“What if she thinks I’m like him? She must hate me.”
“I don’t think Angela would agree to meet if she hated you. Hold your head high, Blaine. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“Did you imprison her?” She hits me with stormy, blue-grey eyes that flare with raw conviction.
“No, of course not. I would’ve gotten her out years ago if I’d known she was alive.”
“Then go in there and do exactly what you came to do. Have a little faith.”
At the steadying look on her face, I nod tersely then push open the door for us to enter as a duo. In an instant, the towering male in the booth rises, a weapon drawn at the ready to unload into us. Ember unholsters her gun while I spread my hands wide.
“We’re only here to talk.”
“Blaine Madden.” He gives us a tight nod. “You came.”
“Mind lowering the weapon?”
“Tell your guard dog to do the same, and I will.”
“My partner doesn’t take well to name calling,” I caution coolly. “I’d tread carefully if I were you.”
With her back still turned, the woman sitting at the table reaches out a hand to touch her counterpart. He glances down at her, his mouth sealed in a displeased line.
“It’s okay, Azrael. Stand down.”
Alarm trickles through me at the familiar name. Surely not. Even in my circles, rumours about the ghastly Angel of Death are few and far between. Most consider the infamous mercenary to be a ghost story rather than a real person.
He complies, lip curled in disagreement. “Fine.”
At my side, Ember follows the same path, tucking her weapon back into place. I feel her warmth shuffle closer to my side as the woman stands, exiting the booth to fully face us from across the shop floor.
Here goes nothing.
As soon as her features grow discernible, I completely forget how to breathe. Endless raven pits flecked with undulating blue waves peer back at me. The same eyes I meet in the mirror each morning, only slightly rounder and framed with lavish lashes.
She’s tall. Willowy. Light, chestnut-brown hair is pulled back from her narrow features and sweeping jawline in a neat updo. I don’t know what I was expecting, but simple black trousers and a neat chiffon blouse with billowing sleeves wasn’t quite it.
“Blaine.” She intones my name slowly, individually testing each syllable. “That’s what he called you?”
I unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “Last I checked.”
“Right… Thank you for coming.”
Head slanted, Angela takes her time looking over me, near-black gaze searing like corrosive acid. Her evaluation feels like being stripped bare. Not wholly unpleasant, but far more exposing than I’d usually tolerate.
“Will you sit?” She eventually motions to the table.
“Is it just the two of you?”
“Yes, no one else knows we’re here.”
“How can we trust you?” Ember vocalises from beside me.
“I have no ulterior motive here.” Despite my obvious mistrust, Angela sounds sincere. “I’m sure you can imagine the personal risk it took for me to make this meeting happen.”
“Does my father know where you are?” I cut straight to the point.
She shudders. “Do you think I would be here if he did?”
“Then how were you able to get away?”
“I’m granted certain freedoms. We’re safe to talk, Blaine. He isn’t coming here.”