"No," North answers with painful neutrality. "We're trusting your judgement on this one, Agents."
Leo shifts in his seat, discomfort easily read in his body language, the slight hunch of his shoulders, and the shaking of his leg. There's an oncoming storm of turmoil brewing across his face, the circles beneath his eyes seeming to deepen and darken, the angles of his features casting shadows.
It's clearly not the legal side of things that is making him feel so twisted up. Leo, the man who admitted early on he isn't comfortable with the more violent side of this job, will never be okay with the kind of mission this is likely to become. Black ops and blanket permission equals: no rules, no questions, and no consequences.
Someone like Leo needs consequences to make sense of things. To people like him, if we are without cost, we are without humanity.
Leo very pointedly does not let his eyes travel in my direction, like he thinks looking at me will jinx us and make the worst-case scenario come to pass.
"We'll get the job done," I promise North, keeping my face as impassive as I can manage. I don't want to react to Leo's trepidation with anything North could take note of and relay back to Snow. The last thing Leo and I need is Snow thinking there's discord between us. If nothing else, my freedom depends on our partnership. I'd rather not land my arse back in a cell because Snow decides we aren't a good fit after all.
North gives me a grim sort of nod in return. He understands, even if Leo does not, thatthisis the reason Snow gave me amnesty in the first place, why she showed mercy to an enemy combatant, an assassin created in the dark spaces. She did that so I could be what I am and do what I've been trained to do.
Whatever it takes.
Chapter four
Leo
Anhourlater,Jackand I are driving down a trail that leads in from a dusty and forgotten side road. It cuts through the thick and wild fauna of the jungle and could only ever be traversed by truck or a particularly hardy jeep.
At the end of the death trap, something that some people, optimistic souls that they are, might call a path, sits Bullet's compound. It looks far bigger in person than I expected, built from solid grey stone and metal, reminding me of a prison more than a private base belonging to an infamous gun runner. It's hidden deep within the jungle, overhung by trees so tall and sprawling they block out all natural light. Darkness permeates the area, shadows pressing in from every angle, giving the entire place an oppressive quality. The cloying heat doesn't help, making the air feel heavier, like it's trying to suffocate gravity and untether us all from this earth.
In short, Bullet's compound is a symbol of exactly what this mission is: a bad idea. I can’t imagine anyone looking at this and not thinking they made a grave mistake in coming here. A general sense of foreboding settles over me like a cloak, the muscles in my back and shoulders tightening reactively.
Jack picks up on my unease and gives me a measured look of doubt. It could be genuine concern, but his behaviour since we were given this mission suggests it’s more likely he’s worried I’m going to bottle it mid-mission and make everything ten times harder for him.
I’m determined to prove him wrong about that. If we can get through this mission with all our limbs intact and the intel we need to find Rohan, it will be proof to both of us that this partnership can work in the long term.
I park up outside the compound alongside another black truck. There are four vehicles in total parked in front of the compound, three trucks and one large jeep, all lined up in a row.
Jack turns in his seat, the case full of money clutched on his lap. He fixes me with one of his less frightening scowls and speaks with more softness than I would have expected, muting his edges for me like he does when he thinks I won’t notice how much effort it takes him.
"We can still turn back," Jack tells me, pale-green gaze unflinching and fierce as always. "Fuck Titanus Bullet. Fuck FISA. Fuck all of it. We can just go. Tell them we'll find Rohan some other way."
Jack doesn't like for me to know he's kind, because OI ingrained into him that kindness is weakness, and weakness is more than just unacceptable, it's a death sentence. You care, you die. You're caredabout,theydie. It's what his experiences have shown him, most prominently with his brother. Would Dan be dead if they didn't love each other? Maybe not. I know that's what Jack thinks. I know it's why he's so reluctant to let me get close to him.
Or it would be more accurate to say that's one of many reasons why he keeps me at a distance. To him, it's asafedistance, not one meant to cause pain. It does, though, that gulf of space between us. It hurts me more and more every day, digging just that little bit deeper, chipping away at my emotional endurance.
I reach across the physical space separating us and put a hand over Jack's. He tenses up under the gentle touch, his eyes narrowing sharply on me, his fingers twitching like he wants to check that he can still reach for his weapon. He looks unsure of my intentions but doesn't try to pull back, choosing instead to watch me with wary expectation, waiting for my response.
"Fuck FISA." I dip my head, a tiny smile ghosting my lips. "We're not doing this for them. We're doing it for Rohan. He needs us to get our shit together. Go in, deal with whatever bullshit Bullet is going to pull, and use the information we'll make him give us to rescue Rohan from his evil-overlord father. Becausefuck himtoo. Ian Stone." I sneer, dredging up all the hate I have in my heart for that monster, and there's a lot of it. "We're going to make sure he gets his. Burn his empire to the ground and steal back his heir and watch his bastard-fucking plans crumble to ash and dust."
There's nothing quite as motivating as revenge when you're staring down multiple barrels of a lunatic death merchant's guns.
And it would be at least partially revenge. For what they did to Jack and his brother. For what they've done to all the other Liquid Onyx survivors. For what they've done to countless innocent people over the years.
We are going to destroy them. Getting Rohan back is just the first step.
Jack seems taken aback by my vehemence for a few beats until my words seem to crystalise inside his mind, and he realises I'm dead serious about this. No jokes or bits or expectations of mercy.
I should be less shocked than I am when Jack uses his free hand to fist a handful of my T-shirt and yank me towards him, his mouth hot and ferocious as it takes mine in a kiss that curls my toes and makes my stomach do a double backflip. He pushes his tongue inside me like a flag being thrust into a freshly conquered piece of earth.
It's over well before I'd like it to be, Jack releasing my mouth with one last nipping bite of goodbye to my bottom lip. A warning or an appeal for remembrance. His eyes are lust heavy and smug and just a little bit crazed, satisfied with the debauchery he's committed and having to purposefully hold himself back from taking more, from taking every-fucking thing I've got to give him.
If I were a little more unhinged and a lot more self-destructive, I'd dive back in, and we’d go at each other hard in the back seat of the truck, pretending we're teenagers parked at some secret lover's lane. But we're both still aware of where we are. The windows on our truck are blacked out, so no one would be able to see from the outside, but still. This is the very definition of wrong place, wrong time.
As if hearing the words roll through my mind, Jack rebels against them with no small amount of prejudice.
