“She is until we know otherwise.” My tone steadies into a gruff demand, conveying that I won’t budge on this matter, buthe still deserves exposition. “If Stone trained her, then she’s been programmed to never involve innocents. So, she’ll focus on me. At least for now. And she’ll do it pragmatically. Her eyes betray her. She’s calculated, but not vindictive.”
He sighs with acceptance and understanding. “That’s why you opened the door.”
“Partly.” I wander over to the bar, pouring us both an evening drink. “She needed to know she wasn’t safe here. That making a move and getting out would be impossible. And I needed to assess her. She won’t attempt a hit on me here. She likely wasn’t instructed to. Nor will she cause any harm to the rest of you or the girls. I’d guess her mission is for intel. Pattern of life on me so she knows when I regularly leave the resort. To see if I possess an in with the media conglomerate or have knowledge regarding them. And possibly Rena’s location.”
Speaking of Rena, I’m running late for a video call to join her and Ty, tucking the little monsters into bed. Since visitation is scarce these days,Papawreads them a story three times a week. It generally coincides with family dinner so Rena feels included.
He takes the crystal tumbler of whiskey when I hand it to him, swilling it and deciding to trust me, like he always does. “What’s your plan?”
With my glass in hand, I amble toward the door, eager to return to the family. “To invite her into my world. Keep your enemies closer.”
He smirks, gearing up to goad me. “And if she makes a move in close proximity?”
“Then I’ll kill her myself.”
“Or fuck her yourself?” he counters, his dimple declaring his satire.
Siblings always sense things.
It’s not surprising that he went there, but I hate how it blasts me back to how helpless I felt to the gravitational pull towardher. I hadn’t intended our encounter to be seductive. But there was an undeniable allure about Zara, even though I hate myself for succumbing to it, if only for a brief interaction.
I open the door, but I don’t move to head back to the family. “While that could be an enjoyable tactic to shake out her secrets, she’s too young.”
His rationale etches its arrival into his forehead. “If your math is correct, she’d be about twenty-nine.”
“Yep,” I scoff. “The youngest child I raised was fifteen years my junior. And she’s given me two grandchildren—in essence. Eleven years is a lifetime.”
“Yours isn’t over, Axe. Something other than taking care of everyone and everything might be good for you.”
“And your advice is to seek that with the woman who was likely hired to kill me? Whose side are you on?”
A hearty laugh bellows out of him as he brushes past me. “Yeah. Maybe not her. Although I find it curious that she was on a date with another man, and your protest as to why you wouldn’t pursue her had nothing to do with that.” He side-eyes me, waiting for the confirmation of that fumble because a part of my brain has indeed determined Beck is a nonissue—which is concerning—but when I don’t give him anything, he continues, “Don’t dismiss her because she’s young. She likely far out-skills you in the killing department, even with your history.”
My father forced me to train with an assassin too. But other than Ryker, the only people who know that are dead.
“That’s precisely where she’ll fail. I know what she’s capable of. She has no idea what to expect from me.”
ZARA
“What the hell were you thinking, Zara?” my father growls into the burner.
I’m in my bathroom in the hotel suite because, apparently, my life moments will now be marked by lavatories. Fancy ones, but still. Beck is in his room and snoring, last I checked, but I have my bedroom door locked, the shower running, and an audio jammer turned on to prevent any listening devices from prying.
“I get it. I messed up. If you need to pull me, I understand.” Crossing my fingers like I’m twelve, I hope that’s not the case.
“It’s my fault,” Tripp pipes up in the background, and it sounds as though my father snarls at him in response.
“Don’t be mad at Tripp, Dad. I begged him. He really didn’t have a choice.”
“We always have a choice. And you both made yours.” My father’s disapproval bleeds into his booming tenor, as does his distress. “This is not a job I can blow.”
Tripp crumbles under the weight of my father’s judgment. “We could still send her to Kazakhstan.”
Guilt gnaws at me. I hate disappointing my father, but I do not want to go there. I’m not sure how to convince him of that. “I don’t—”
“You can’t. It’s too late. The missions are connected, so you’d be compromised. We can’t risk it. And if I pull you now … goddammit.” A huff of his exasperation storms through the phone, the rumble of a cyclone, threatening to tear me to shreds. “This looks personal. We are hired to be the invisible arms of the client. Not bring our own baggage with us!”
I can count on one hand the number of occasions my father has yelled at me. All of them involved a time he thought one of us might die. He embodiescalm and calculated. Almost always. Sometimes, his pain morphs into anger. Maybe that’s true of most warriors. Regardless, this might be the first incident he can’t swoop in to save me. He’s more recognizable than I am.
