Bone Deep (8 page)

Bone dropped without a sound to the ground, shaking off the effects of Dmitry Asinimov. She had to focus so she pulled herself inward and concentrated on the hate. It was a silken shroud on her mind and a battering ram against her heart.

Kill, kill, kill
, it taunted.

So she obeyed.

She took the first man in silence, using his inattention to step behind him and pinch his carotid, incapacitating him. She took the knife in his side scabbard and stroked it over his neck before she turned and began the hunt.

She kept to the periphery of the forest clearing and took two more men before their presence was missed. When the hue and cry was raised, she stepped into the meager moonlight and waited.

They approached, not as unified front, but one by one. None of these then were Joseph’s men. More than likely they were Vadim’s, untrained and simply muscle for hire. She took them as they came at her, eliminating them with an ease that did nothing to silence her demon. She killed the second to last man with a slice over his abdomen, leaving his guts spilling from his body.

The final man stepped forward, thought better of it and then turned and ran from the clearing.

Her senses flared out. A twig snapped behind her and Bone turned, meeting the rush of a fist and ducking to avoid a solid blow. Now here were Joseph’s killers. His
Sicariorum
. The man’s silence was all she needed to realize these were First Team’s male counterparts. Their presence spoke volumes about Joseph’s desperation.

She took a fist to the cheek and twisted to miss the follow up. Blood welled, the copper scent of it a blessing in the crisp air. This was what she knew…this was where she found herself.

He was large man, compact but at least twice her size and so quiet she wanted to commend him. He too had been conditioned in the fires of Hell though she was sure hers had been hotter. Bone’s gaze narrowed as she picked him out of the darkness. She watched his motions, judging his timing. Then she waited.

He stilled and it seemed neither would move but then a second man rushed into the clearing. Joseph sought to end the game. He’d sent them to kill her this time.

“You cannot kill what you cannot see,” she whispered. She took a single step into the man and punched once, leveling him with a single blow to his side.

The thudding crunch of his ribs sounded loud as he fell to his knees, gasping for breath. She turned to meet the second assassin. He struck her in the leg and she was grateful for her training. Had she not learned to absorb these types of blows he would have snapped her thigh.

That was how hard he’d kicked her.

“Do not make me kill you, sister,” the man urged in a low voice. “Go with us in peace.”

“There is no peace with The Collective,
brother
,” she spat.

She side-stepped, kicked, and met his advance with a foot to the head. He staggered but didn’t go down. The first man stood then and they were in a circle of sorts. A ring of killers.

Bone laughed, her thoughts fanciful as she caught them looking at each other.

“
Ring around the rosie
,” she sang to the sky.

She attacked then, moving between them like water, a foot to a knee, a punch to a shoulder. A finger to an eye, an elbow to the head, and the dance became vicious. Bone became again what Master had taught her. She became death, let it flow through her body and out of her fists. It was systematic, her retreats and advances, a coordinated play that resulted in one man on his back, gasping for air and the other on his knees, waiting for the end she would give him.

They were worthy opponents but they weren’t her. She’d dealt with the first man at a distance in Moscow, just days ago. He could be their team’s sniper but he wasn’t Bullet. His movements had been easy to track, the light bouncing off his scope a clear indication he was nowhere near the killer Bullet was. When you trained with the best and encountered less than that, it was easy to evade the death they sought to bestow upon you.

The second man, though she had never seen his face before, was bigger than the first. His voice was distant as if the humanity had been carved from his chest bit by bit. Rough and bitter, he reminded Bone of herself but again, not as good.

“Tell me, who trained you?” she asked the man on his knees.

She didn’t venture close because while they might not be First Team, they were some of the best she’d come across in her lifetime. Joseph tried so hard to mimic the success he’d had with she and her sisters. The difference was the
Sicariorum
didn’t have a purpose. They didn’t have Ninka. They didn’t have a young boy who’d been born in the dark of night, fragile and innocent and theirs.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I am no one,” the man said.

The words she’d been conditioned to speak from the moment Joseph Bombardier took her all those years ago brought wrath that grabbed at her heart and shook until she thought she would expand and explode. It gnawed at her stomach, biting and rabid. She couldn’t ignore the need so she opened her mind and accepted it. She wrapped her hand around his throat and squeezed. He did not fight her.

“Do not do this,
kostolomochka
,” Dmitry said at her side.

She turned her head, sure she’d imagined his deep, soothing voice. But no, there he was, dripping wet, steam rising from his head, his face hard, his words even harder.

“Poshel ti na huj,”
she spat at him.

His face hardened and his eyes, those alluring blue, blue eyes that reminded her of Arequipa and Ninka, burned.

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “But not here and not now. Let him go. He is at Joseph’s mercy. Let the monster have his creation.”

She almost broke at his words—almost splintered apart. Would he do that to her if it came down it? Just let Joseph have her so she would be no more?

She didn’t release the assassin in her grip and his breathing slowed, wheezing in and out of his mouth in a death rattle. She raised her face to the star-shrouded sky and yelled, “I will not break!”

Dmitry grabbed her hand, a foolhardy move if she’d ever known one. One by one he released her fingers from the man’s throat and she allowed it.

She fucking
allowed
it. What was he doing to her?

“I will not break,” she vowed again, this time in a brittle whisper that scraped against her vocal cords.

He nodded as the man fell to the ground gasping. Then he looked at her, on his face a promise given life by his words. “I will not let you.”

The dogs had returned, their incessant barks and howls growing closer. Dmitry took her hand, the same one she’d been about to kill with and lifted it to his face pressing it against his cheek.

“Feel me,” he urged.

She cupped his face in her hand, the beginnings of his beard soft against her palm. Bone knew then what it was to want. The fight left her. As quickly as it had come upon her, the need to kill dissipated.

She swallowed hard. “I can’t.”

“You will,” he said and it was a promise.

The dogs entered the clearing and the man at her feet, gasped, “Leave, sister.”

She gazed at the man she’d almost killed. A man much like her. “Was Azrael yours?”

“He was and he was not,” the man responded.

He even spoke like she and her sisters…always it was riddles. They’d learned early to wrap their meaning in words that delivered everything but nothing.

“Joseph will punish you,” she told him. Had he been one of Azrael’s team she would have killed him. She made a promise to the other assassin before she took him and she would keep her word above all things.

He nodded slowly. “He will try. But you can’t kill what you can’t see.” His lips curved as he gave her words back to her. “Next we meet, I will not hold back. Death stalks us all and for First Team it is closer than it has ever been. Run, sister, while you can. The devil is not far behind.”

His threat did not move her. He’d done nothing more than speak the truth. “We will kill him first and free you all. Stay alive until then, brother, and know we are all killers at heart.”

Dmitry did not speak, just took her hand in his and started to run. She released his hand as soon as he grabbed it and followed him. Fatigue pulled at her but she was in much better shape than he.

When they made it to the banks of the river, he sighed. “I really fucking hate water.”

“So does Bullet,” she mused.

He laughed, the sound rusty but rising above the trees. The dogs began to bark again.

“We must swim, Asinimov. Can you do it?”

“I said I
didn’t
swim, not that I
couldn’t
.”

“Ah, doublespeak. Perhaps if I stick around you long enough I can learn this art form you excel at?”

He grinned and for some reason her heart unclenched in her chest. She carried the weight of the deaths she was responsible for this night and yet a simple smile from the big man made her burden…
lighter
.

“Perhaps,” he answered. “Though I think you’re already a master at it.”

He dove into the river and she followed, stroking hard for the middle currents before she rose and searched for him. He was there then, at her side.

His face in the moonlight was wan, pale. He was fading. She grabbed him under the armpits and rolled to her back, pulling him on top of her as she floated, riding the current. Hypothermia would set in shortly. They wouldn’t be able to go far but any distance from Joseph had to be enough.

“Stay with me. If you die, my sisters will kill me,” she said in his ear.

“So I’m your responsibility?” he asked with a smile in his voice.

Oh, the man was stronger than he let on. She released him and he laughed again before he grabbed her hand and pulled closer to her. “It is much warmer on top of you.”

She would never admit it but his words stoked the fire inside her. Lust of a different kind rippled through her from head to toe. These were teasing, playful, flirting words and she had no experience with them.

“Nothing to say,
Etzem
?” he taunted.

“I should have let Azrael kill you,” she murmured, though a smile creased her face. Always this man found a way around her.

She had asked Bullet what love felt like. Bullet responded that it was the worst pain, a burning and tearing in your chest and a pick axe in your mind. Bone had determined never to feel it. Love was a weakness and her sisters needed her to be strong. Bullet had broken. Arrow had softened. They remained killers but someone else resided in their hearts now. Not broken but divided and they always would be.

Bone had watched Arrow’s face that morning as Bone stood behind Minton. Arrow had given a piece of herself to the one called Adam Collins. She’d watched Bullet the night they’d sent Damon to the afterlife, the wonder and relief that masked her face when she saw Rand Beckett knew no bounds. She did not doubt either sister’s dedication to their ultimate goal but the path would be much rockier because the weight of their burden was heavier.

It was best Bone shied away from the threat of softer emotions. She’d never known them and now wasn’t the time to learn. Now was the time to kill. Revenge demanded reckoning and Joseph’s was close.

“Who holds your mind?” he asked, his words slurring dangerously.

“I do,” she returned and tugged on his arm, pulling him out of the current and to the opposite bank.

The Neva River was wide in certain places and the current was strong. She’d lucked into a place that was a good distance from the other side of the river. Once they were on the bank, she pulled herself out of the water and helped him stand.

His weight was such that had she not prepared he would have taken her to a knee. As it was she struggled to help him into the woods.

“I must go back,” she told him once he settled.

“What? No!”

“Yes, I need my bag. Can you stay alive long enough for me to do this?” she questioned.

His brows lowered and his mouth flattened into a straight line. It was sad, that line. His full lips should never be compressed that way. “I’ve managed to live thirty-two years without your help, woman.”

She nodded. “Good. Then this should be easy.”

Bone took off before he could voice any opinion. Her bag was too important to leave behind. She was bereft without it.

It took her an hour to make the round trip.

“Well, well, well, glad you could join us,” a husky male voice said in the darkness.

She sighed. Loudly. “Lucky me.”

“Damn straight,” Grant said as he stepped from the tree line. “Your boyfriend would be dead of hypothermia had I not managed to stick around and find your asses.”

Her gaze zeroed in on Dmitry who was sitting on a log, dry and now wearing jeans and a black sweatshirt. “You called him?”

The man shrugged. “Even I have backup plans, Bone.”

“Playing both sides will get you killed, Grant,” Bone said in a low voice. She let her fury be heard, almost choking on it as she pushed out her words.

“Playing your side tends to kill others though, sugar. And poor Dmitry, well, I might need him in the future,” Grant said as he tipped up his ever-present cowboy hat. He rubbed his chin as he glanced at Dmitry with a raised eyebrow. “I saved a life here tonight. I’m a goddamned hero.”

“You’re the reason Trident always knows where we’ll be,” she forced from clenched teeth.

Grant smiled. “No, that’s your sisters’ fault. I’m the one,” he pointed at himself, “who’s always pulling y’all’s assess out of scrapes. Don’t forget who I am darlin’. I’m everywhere.”

She shrugged her bag on. “I’ll be off then. You’ve got friends, Asinimov. Goody for you.”

Grant smiled. Dmitry stood.

“Not without me,” Dmitry said firmly.

She rolled her eyes.

“You do that when you’re angry or frustrated. Roll your eyes. It’s the small tells that give the most vivid picture. You anger easily but you don’t lose control. It speaks to your strength,” Dmitry relayed in a low, almost cajoling tone.

She didn’t say anything.