“Hey—”
“No, Tripp. Tell whoever you need to since you spoke to me today purely as my handler and not as a brother. And tell Dad. There’s a reason he never sent me on long-term missions. I get it now. And in Kazakhstan, I would’ve been isolated. It wasn’t the same. I will not make friends with these people and become their nightmare. Deal with it.”
While there isn’t always a direct translation for our mantra since it’s an idiom, I snipe the sentiment of ournever say diemotto, “Nunca desista,” with disgust and end the call.
My stomach sloshes with acid.
They’re leaving me here.
ZARA
The cool air slaps my cheeks, and I inhale the damp, mossy sweetness. It’s refreshing. A perfect wake-up call, both for my morning and my grim situation. Dawn is my favorite part of day. It’s still and quiet. Secrets have room to breathe.
As soon as my feet clomp off the final step leading out of the tower suites, I set off to a run, past the countless guards that patrol the La Lune Noire grounds. Day and night.
Freedom instantly swims in my veins, my ponytail swishing with deliverance. For this fleeting stretch of time, I’m not abandoned or grieving my mother all over again. I’m not failing a mission for the first time, livid that I’m alone in this world, questioning my path in life, or attracted to a man who will very possibly end my existence—if I don’t end his first.
With each pounding step, I’m simply Zara. Or Penelope—that was my name before my mother was murdered. In most respects, Penelope died with her. But her essence is revived in snippets of shadowed liberation. Sensing that nine-year-old whimsy is always a tortured mix of hope and hurt. Today, I choose hope.
Maybe this is all I needed. To remind myself that I’m a warrior. That I don’t cower. That I don’t fucking lose. That I—
“Sorry, miss. That’s as far as you go.”
I whirl around and spot a thug—or guard—in a suit about twenty yards away. “Excuse me?”
“That’s as far as you’re permitted to go,” he reiterates, strolling toward me.
There are four others against the building, all staring me down. What the hell? Their job is to secure the resort, and they’re wasting their time with my morning run?
“Permitted by whom?” I ask, maintaining a stationary jog.
“Those are our orders.” He slices his hand through the air—like a fancy butler—at the trail encircling the grounds. “You’re welcome to exercise on property.”
This has to be a fucking joke.
“You’re telling me”—I peer up at the extravagant resort piercing the twilight sky, which is practically a city in itself, but that does nothing to quiet my rage—“I’m notallowedto leave?”
“That’s correct, ma’am.”
I keep moving in place, refusing to let these assholes steal my taste of freedom. “Do you go home after your shift?”
“Ma’am,” he grunts.
“For the love of Pete, do notma’amme again. I’m not even a member, though I highly doubt this would be typical in that instance either. I am an employee, who would like to—”
“You’re living in the suites,” he cuts me off.
That effectively stops my jog. I rest my hand on my hip while subtly cataloging my surroundings. “And, what, that makes me a prisoner?”
“Protected,” he corrects with a heaping mound of bullshit.
“How considerate.” I bounce on my toes, a clear indicator that I’m about to sprint—and he shouldn’t follow. “But I promiseif some bastard attacks me on the path, it will be their very worst and last encounter.”
He palms the pistol tucked into his waistband with a warning leer. “Undoubtedly.”
The other four wander closer now that this one has a hand on his weapon. This can’t be the traditional security lineup for this one area. It must be because someone relayed my skills—or assumed skills.
“Okay.” With a let’s-do-this clap, I decide to make the best of it. “How about we make this interesting?”
