Page 78 of Enemy of the Heart

Miller and Wellington nod to me as we approach the target, who’s thankfully on the couch. He’s asleep with a bottle of something clutched loosely in his hand.

I trade my assault rifle for my Winkler knife. Our practiced steps are light as the three of us move like a soundless blizzard. Miller slaps a black gloved hand over his mouth at the exact moment my blade slices through his carotid artery as easily as moving through water. He has enough fight in him to wrestle Wellington to the floor with only a single thud until his body goes still. I proceed through the tedious task of removing his head. It’s easier than it sounds with this knife.

When it’s clear that we haven’t woken the rest of the house, we begin collecting the bodies, which have been conveniently grouped together. Once we have them outside, I clutch the target’s head in my hand by the hair and shove it into the bag I brought then exit the home, closing the door behind me. Outside, Powers, Johnson, and Greer already have men on their shoulders, and the six of us swiftly leave the premises.

As far as operations go, this was as easy and short as they come. Fun, even, but they’re all fun, if you ask me. The best part is that it served to calm the violent thunderstorm that’s always moments away from raining controlled hellfire down on my surroundings.

Miller smirks at me as we all pile into the waiting SUV down the street. He’s feeling as high as I am. I could go for a fuck…or a real fight. I’m sure he’s thinking the same.

Wellington plays music as we begin the drive toward the Army base in Kazakhstan so we can report to Joint Special Operations Command, then board a flight.

“You good, Vandy?” Powers asks from the back, using my nickname.

I don’t know what he sees in my demeanor that makes him think I might not be, but I need to do a better job of locking myself down. This is my eighth year with the First Special Operations Detachment, and I’ve been wondering for a while if it might be time for a change. Since even before I could walk, the military has been the only constant in my life. I don’t know what my life looks like without it. God knows, I don’t do boring.

I roll my head from side, releasing the tension that always builds before an operation. “Ready to get home.”

Louhi

Early morning saturates the room in hues of burnished orange, ruby, and coral through the old, wavy glass windowpanes. My eyes flutter open, and my lips curl into a smile as I stretch like a cat waking from a long nap.

My eyes shift to my left to find Sean sleeping on his stomach, his forearm shoved under his pillow. The pinch normally present between his eyebrows is notably absent, his facial features smooth. As my attention travels south, I resist the urge to run my fingertips over the ripples of muscle in his back.

He looks beautiful like this: serene, calm, untroubled. I’m tempted to wake him for a repeat of last night, but the sight of him sleeping beneath the sheets stops me. The blanket pools around the lower part of his waist, and I smile at the sight. Progress.

Stealthily, I extract myself from bed. I tug on another of Sean’s T-shirts and pad quietly from the room. I could use another shower, but coffee first.

The house is silent; I must be the first one awake. Jace’s closed door confirms that as I pass. I finger-comb my short hair, smoothing down the wild locks as I flounce toward caffeine.

It’s only when I reach the mouth of the hallway that I sense something’s off. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck shoot to attention, and my eyes narrow as I scan my surroundings.

To my right, the living room is exactly the way we left it. A pack of cigarettes, empty wine and vodka bottles clutter the coffee table, streaks of crimson stains paint nearly every available surface from the walls to the floor, and feathers from destroyed pillows are scattered across the room like confetti.

As if this were a version of the game Spot the Difference in the world’s most fucked-up puzzle book, it only takes me half a second to parcel out what’s missing: the bodies.

When we all went to bed, there were dead bodies in a pile. Now, the only evidence they were here at all is the dried pools of blood that are slowly besmirching into the porous hardwood floors. A quick glance out the front windows confirms that the dead who were supposed to be covered in hoarfrost this morning are also missing. Missing in inaction.

I rub my eyes on the off chance I’m having some kind of ocular misfiring. I’m not. With that ruled out, I step farther into the room. Mercer was the one who took watch after Viktor last night. Did one of them clean up? Maybe someone moved the bodies elsewhere. After I procure coffee, I’ll wake Mercer to find out.

When I round the nearly destroyed sofa, my stomach plummets as my palms slam against my mouth, but it does nothing to stifle my scream. I crumple to the floor with enough force that my teeth rattle inside my skull.

A larger, more masculine form of my own lies on the floor, wedged between the coffee table and the sofa. A large pool of blood has amassed beneath him, but the worst part is that his head is missing. Taken like a basketball after a game of pick-up.

There aren’t any prayers left to pray that his life be spared, but that doesn’t stop me from saying them anyway, my head tilted back to the ceiling, crying out for whatever god might be listening. It’s an agony worse than the sharp bite of a bullet as it tears through my flesh. Being shot might be less painful.

Tacky blood seeps through Sean’s white T-shirt as I scramble over what remains of my brother and clutch him tightly to my chest. He’s cold to the touch, his body now slightly stiff. It’s unnatural and wrong. I can’t stop the wails that leave my lips as tears track down my face like relentless rain.

I’ve taken evidence of a kill before, but being on this side of things is unimaginable. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. I just got my brother back. He and Sean had only begun to get to know each other. No, no, no…

Wracked with sobs, I vaguely register the sound of heavy footfalls and murmured voices. I hiccup as my heart weeps.

A large hand that I know as well as my own clamps down on my shoulder gently and squeezes. “Louhi.”

I don’t respond, I can’t. All I can do is shatter here on the bloodstained rug with my brother’s torso in my arms. Blood rushes between my ears, making the conversations being had around me garbled as though I’ve been buried alive, the damp, cool soil separating me from the rest of the world. I didn’t protect him when he needed me most, and that tears a hole in my already shredded heart.

Has Mercer already met Tuoni? I imagine the Finnish god of death extending his hand to my brother the moment he took his last breath. Did Tuonetar, the lady of death, greet him with a snake head to eat and venom to drink before welcoming him into the underworld?

I’m fully cocooned in Sean’s steady, comforting presence as his arms envelop me while I continue to hold my brother. “Lou, baby, we need to leave.”