A minute later, an engine sounded in the distance. Then headlights broke the peaceful dark as Alexei rolled up in another Range Rover, gloved hands on the wheel.
He cut the engine and jumped out, surveying the fight scene with sinister professionalism. “There is no time to get rid of this mess.”
I sighed my ascent. “Sweep the scene and leave them for Sambini to pick up?”
“Yes, but I will do it. You should go.”
I frowned. The carnage this night had turned into wasn’t my favourite thing, but neither was leaving a brother to clean up after me. I owned my actions and I’d chosen to be here. If the ship went down, I’d be on it.
Alexei had other ideas. “They do not know you and it should stay that way.”
“It’ll take longer on your own. More risk.”
“Is mine to take.”
I jerked my head at the mark at my feet. “What about him?”
“He is one more reason you should not stay.”
Because Alexei was going to kill him. Like maybe I should have in the first place. This dude had seen my face. If the feds got hold of him or he found his way back to his employer... “All right. I’ll move out and wait for you down the road.”
Alexei shook his head. “Disappear, Folk. Is as much an order as I will ever give you.”
He rarely called me by my actual name. I took the hint and backed off, returning to my bike and saddling up.
By the time I’d rumbled back to him, he was already piling bodies into the vehicles, hefting dead men with a strength his slim frame belied. Like most of the Rebel Kings I’d grown close to, if his life had played out different, he’d have made a good marine.
Leaving him still felt wrong.
I slowed my bike as I passed him.
He cocked his gun at me.
Point taken.
I hit the road, heading west through Surrey and Hampshire, chasing the dawn as I made for the only place I wanted to be when my hands were as dirty as they’d got tonight. Alexei was wrong to name me after any deity, let alone Veles, but I couldn’t deny the pull in my soul for the endless expanse of the ocean. Rough or calm. Cold or warm. For me, there was no better therapy.
A beach thirty minutes from Whitness had become my favourite, on this continent, at least. It had high cliffs and a sea pool, but no parking, so even on a bright summer morning, the pretty white sands were deserted, save a couple of dog walkers.
I left my bike by the sea wall, swapped my ruined jeans and jacket for the faithful shorts in my saddlebag, and hiked along the clifftops, enjoying the balmy breeze in my weary face. I was used to not sleeping for days at a time. I’d trained for it. Made it part of me. But that didn’t stop the burden of fatigue wearing me down, especially now I was alone, thoughts drifting and unconstrained by the people around me.
At the top of the steep path, I stopped thinking about Alexei and the men we’d killed tonight. I stopped thinking about Rocco and his boys. About Locke and his big squishy heart. Instead I pictured sandy hair and caramel eyes. Warm hands and a shy smile. As I reached the cliff edge and peered over the top, I let the memory of his kiss wash over me.
Eclipsing.
Healing.
But I didn’t deserve how good it made me feel. Not while blood that wasn’t mine still stained my skin. Decoy was a soldier. He’d seen war, and he’d fought in this life too. But there was a purity in his heart. An innocence that didn’t deserve the tainted man that stood at the top of this cliff.
So I jumped.
8
DECOY
“Daddy, why did that man jump into the sea?”
I couldn’t speak, my stomach wedged in my throat. The only comfort I took from my baby girl’s befuddled question was that she didn’t seem to know it wasFolkwho’d plummeted sixty feet into the Atlantic Ocean.
