Authors: Chanel Cleeton
Between Shadows (19 page)
He touches the upper right-hand corner of his closet. A moment later, a panel slides back revealing cash, passports, and a gun.
“If you need to get away in a hurry, take this. I want you to be safe. I want you to know that even if they have the upper hand, we aren’t without resources. The other stuff is in the garage.” Luke jerks his head toward the open door. “How much longer do you think it’ll be before Grace finishes cooking?”
“I don’t know, twenty minutes or so. Why?”
“That sounds like plenty of time.” He strides over to the bedroom door, locking it with a decisive click. He turns back to face me, a slow smile spreading across his lips. There’s a knowing gleam in his eyes.
“Should we really do this right now?”
Luke walks toward me. He leans in and claims my mouth in a deep kiss. “Yes, we definitely should,” he murmurs against my lips.
He lifts me up as though I weigh nothing, wrapping my legs around his waist. His cock brushes against me—hard and ready.
Turns out he’s right.
I wake to the smell of bacon and eggs. I wake in Luke’s bed.
We agreed sleeping together would be too confusing for Grace so Luke gave me his room while he slept on the couch last night. I can still smell his scent on the sheets.
I want to trust Luke when he says everything will be fine, but I’m not used to standing on the sidelines. Luke wants someone to take care of; it’s in his nature to play white knight. I’m just not sure I want to be rescued.
I get out of bed, running a hand through my hair and padding down the hallway. With each step, the aroma of bacon and eggs gets stronger. As I near the kitchen, I hear voices. Luke and Grace are talking and cooking together. The sight of Luke grilling bacon brings a smile to my lips.
I lean my head against the wall, listening to their conversation, relishing in the seeming normalcy of their routine. Grace hasn’t had a lot of normal in her life, and even if it’s just breakfast, I’m glad to see her getting it.
“Did you know my parents?” Grace asks him.
Luke passes her a carton of eggs. “I did. I used to stay at your house when my parents went out of town.”
Why don’t I remember that? Why is everything before the Academy still at best, fuzzy around the edges, and at worst, completely blank?
“What were they like?”
The longing in my sister’s voice breaks my heart. I should be the one to give her these answers; she shouldn’t have to ask Luke. I have very few memories of my mother; I remember her laugh, her face. That’s it. My father is pretty much a blank.
It takes Luke a moment to answer. “They were nice.”
There’s something in his voice—something that makes me wonder if there’s more.
“Do I look like them? I don’t look like X much.”
“You look like your mom,” Luke answers with that same even tone. I find myself hanging on his words as much as Grace is.
“Does X look like our mom, too?”
“No. X looks like your father.” Another pause. “She has his eyes.”
It’s a strange thing to hear. I have no memories of my father. It’s weird to think I take after him when I can’t picture his face.
Did my parents know about Ares? Where they aware that the Academy wasn’t what it seemed? I desperately wish I knew. At the same time, I can’t help but wonder if they would have been disappointed to see what I’ve become. I used to take some pride in my skills. Now all I’m left with is shame.
Suddenly, Luke turns his attention away from the stove. His voice trails off as our gazes meet. He grins.
“Good morning.”
I can’t keep the smile off of my face. “Good morning.” I walk over and give my sister a hug. “Breakfast smells amazing.”
“Are you hungry?” Luke asks.
“A bit.”
“You’re in luck, then; it’s almost ready.”
I get the utensils and drinks while they finish cooking. We sit down at Luke’s table in some unorthodox semblance of a family. Grace seems happy enough as she makes small talk and jokes throughout the meal. I’m the one who’s jumping out of my skin.
I’ve never been great about change; the routine of being an asset has always been welcome. Sure the missions changed somewhat, but I always knew what was expected of me and what needed to be done. But here with Luke, I haven’t a clue. My life has changed so much over the past week and I’m struggling to catch up, to figure out how I fit in all of this craziness. Suddenly, I need air.
“I’m going to go for a run.”
Luke frowns mid-bite. “By yourself?”
I frown back. I know he’s just worried, but we’re definitely going to have to have a conversation about his need to protect me.
“It’ll be fine. I just need to get some fresh air.” I stare meaningfully at my sister. “Maybe you and Grace can stay here.”
For a moment I think Luke’s going to argue with me, but instead he nods, a look of resignation on his face as he turns to Grace. “Are you up for showing me some computer stuff?”
Excitement flashes across her face. I take off before anyone can protest.
###
I stop in front of the big iron gates, staring up at the imposing entrance. The wisest thing would be to keep away from Father Murphy. But knowing what I know now, I can’t help but think I need confession more than ever. I wait in front of the church, weighing the blot on my immortal soul against the stupidity of getting caught here again. Guilt wins out.
I may not be religious, but peace settles over me as soon as I enter the church. I’m not entirely sure I believe in God, but I want to believe there is
something
greater than all of us out there. I have to.
I pause before a group of candles in one of the side altars, slipping a pound into the donation box. I light a candle, the flames dancing before me.
Fire.
Something about it pulls at me again. Even now, the simple act of lighting the candle brings forth a tremor in my hand. And I’m instantly catapulted back to that night.
Why can’t I remember? And why do I think Luke remembers so much more than he’s willing to admit?
I stay while the candle burns down, attempting to recall memories from my childhood, but no matter how hard I try, it’s all a blur. Grace and I rarely talk about our memories. She seems to remember a bit more than I do, but still—it isn’t a lot.
I used to think my faulty memory was a blessing. Now I’m starting to wonder.
“You’re back.”
I jump at the sound of that warm Irish accent.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
I turn to face him. It takes me a moment to speak. “Thank you for taking care of my sister.”
“Is she safe?”
I wish I knew how to answer that one, but the lie won’t slip easily from my lips.
“I hope so.”
“I could help you, you know. If you would just trust me, I could help both of you.”
I think back to Malcolm’s warnings about Ares, his comment that they have spies everywhere, placed in high positions in the government. How can I trust my sister’s safety to the system? Father Murphy said it himself—Grace is a minor. At some point, he would have to report her to the authorities.
“I can’t.”
“Then why are you here? Why do you come here?”
I’m embarrassed by the way my voice catches. “I don’t know.” That at least is the truth. I used to have all of my moves meticulously planned. Now I have no clue what I’m doing.
There’s a moment before the priest speaks. “You must change your ways if you truly seek God’s forgiveness.”
“And if I don’t believe in God?”
I wait, expecting to hear him say that my soul is dammed or that I’m a hopeless case. Neither one of those things would surprise me.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” he counters. “You must believe in something.”
I frown. It’s more complicated than that, but I don’t know how to explain it; I lack the ability to put my emotions into words.
“Why are you here?”
“I don’t want to keep hurting people. And I don’t know how to stop.”
He’s silent, his gaze assessing me. “What do you know about Confession?”
I shrug. “Not much. I’m not Catholic or anything.”
“You confess your sins. You must truly be sorry for them. And then you ask God for forgiveness. And you must perform an act of penance.”
It seems too easy. “Would that work for someone like me?”
The priest smiles as if he knows something I don’t. “God loves all of his children. Even the ones who are lost.”
And so I follow Father Murphy to the confessional. And for thirty minutes, I lay myself bare. He doesn’t comment as I confess my multitude of sins. With each one, I feel a little lighter. Until finally he gives me my penance, and I sit in a little candlelight alcove in front of a small altar. I don’t really know how to pray, but instead I sit in the quiet, trying to reach out for something more. I’m still not entirely sure that it exists, but I want to believe. I want to believe my life has some greater purpose than killing, that there is some good I may do. Despite the grayness of the day around me, I leave the church filled with hope.
Until I see the car.
###
The squeal of tires jolts me out of my reverie. I jerk my head up, just in time to see four men dressed in black getting out of a black sedan. And then I see the guns in their hands.
Fuck.
My body freezes, my thoughts a jumbled mess. One word breaks through—
Run.
I take off, heading in the general direction of Hyde Park. Shouts sound behind me followed by the sound of heavy footsteps pounding the pavement. I don’t spare them a glance. Today the congestion works in my favor; the traffic is too heavy for them to follow me in their car.
I dart in and out of crowds, grateful that I’ve been running in the city for years. I’m used to navigating the congestion, the uneven sidewalks, the tourists standing in the middle of the street looking at their surroundings. I just hope the same can’t be said for my pursuers.
Adrenaline courses through me as I near the park. There’s no way I’m going back to Luke’s until I lose these guys. I can’t afford to put him in any danger. Or Grace. And then it hits me—there’s a department store up ahead. It’s massive. Jam-packed full of tourists. Tons of exits. If I were looking for the ideal place to get lost in a crowd, this would be it.
My shoulder connects with a pedestrian and I wince as a sharp pain shoots through my body. The guy shouts at me, but I ignore him. I jerk my head around, craning my neck for any sight of the guys chasing me. They’re a little farther back, but still there. Luckily my height—or lack thereof—helps me blend in with the crowd.
I head toward the store’s side entrance, hoping they won’t notice I’ve disappeared off the street. The second I pass through the heavy gold doors, I enter a sea of shoppers and tourists. I push my way through the crowd, searching for cover. I move behind a mannequin, my gaze on the door. I hold my breath, trying to remain still, waiting to see if they follow me in.
A minute passes. The door opens. One of the guys walks through, his gun no longer visible. He looks around the store.
Shit.
This guy looks at least ten years older than me, his neck the size of my thigh. Apparently, Ares has started sending their A-team after us.
I drop to the floor, pretending I’m tying my shoe. From my vantage point, I can just barely make out his black trouser leg. My heart pounds rapidly as I look around for any weapon I can use. I reach into my running jacket, pulling my knife out of my pocket. I flip it open, exposing the blade, my fingers gripping the handle.
The black trouser legs move closer.
I grip the knife even tighter in my hand, my knuckles turning white. I meant what I told Father Murphy—I don’t want to kill anyone. But these men will kill me without a moment’s hesitation. And they’ll do everything they can to use me to get to Luke and Grace.
The trouser legs move even closer.
I attempt to still my breathing as much as possible, to calm my rapid heartbeat.
The trouser legs stop right in front of me.
I can’t resist; I stare up—and
fuck
—into the assassin’s face. A look of surprise flickers. He opens his mouth to speak, his hand pulling the gun out of the back of his trousers. I jab the knife into his thigh. He screams and the gun in his hand goes off, the bullet whizzing by me.
I’m on my feet, racing through the store. Even with the silencer, the sound of the bullet hitting wood is loud. Ripples spread through the crowd, starting a panic in the store.
With each step I push my way through the crowd, elbowing people out of my way. In the chaos everyone moves toward the exits, a mass exodus of bodies that spikes my claustrophobia to a whole new level. I get lost in the crowd, searching for one of the back exits so I can escape into the anonymity of Chelsea.
I fight my way through the sea of people, pushing and ducking until the store’s large glass doors are in sight. There’s a panic erupting around me, making it even harder to get to the exit. I finally reach the outside, checking my surroundings with a quick glance. My leg muscles scream, exhaustion setting in. Pandemonium has broken out on the street, the chaos providing me with necessary cover. I head down the street, searching for a quick escape.
