That Was Then (The Re-Do Series Book 1) (4 page)

K
endall

I’m dying to eat another package of Oreos, but I simply torture myself and stare at Charlie as she licks each of her fingers instead. We sit in the brightly lit chamber of her garage, cushioned in the large sofas in her office.

Charlie is moaning and carrying on just to annoy me. I’m trying not to stare at her. Instead, I focus on the picture frames hanging from her walls. I’ve got my own special frame. There’s one of her mom, who died when we were both young and also one of Charlie’s dad.

But most of the photographs are signed images of
Dust and Ashes
, one of the most famous reggae bands since
Bob Marley and the Wailers
. Charlie is dating Trey Johnson, the hot and former bad-boy drummer.

I’m kind of jealous that something so exciting happened to Charlie, but I’m not surprised. My cousin is
gorgeous
. She’s not rail thin but she’s not my size either. Charlie’s a healthy balance.

Her face is a testament to Caribbean beauty. Her long curly hair is perfect. It refuses to frizz even though she always has it stuffed on top of her head. In fact, Charlie’s the reason I wear my hair like that.

I have no siblings, so my cousin has been my role model for as long as I can remember. She’s only a couple months older than me but she’s ten times more womanly. I wish I’d gotten a hint of her self-confidence. And her body type. And her hair.

“You sure you don’t want any of this?” Charlie taunts, extending the package filled with chocolaty goodness.

I glower. Sometimes, I don’t know why I love this girl.

“That’s not nice.” I pout.

“I’m just offering. It’s so good. Nice and crisp today.”

She slips another cookie in her mouth and stares me down.

Fine. Two can play that game
.

“You know what’s sweet?” I casually stare at my cuticles, “wedding cakes. Speaking of weddings, when are you and Trey getting married?”

She chokes on an Oreo.

I laugh.

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s a valid question.” I wave my hand in the direction of the blue packet in her hands. “And you were pushing me way too far.”

Charlie slaps the cookie crumbs from her over all’ed lap.

“Trey and I will get engaged when we’re ready.”

“Which is when?”

“None of your business.” Charlie covers her face. “Geez, why is this such a big deal? Have you been talking to my dad?”

“No, and it’s a big deal because you’ve been dating for four years! Don’t you want to get married?”

“Alright,” Charlie puts the Oreos away, clearly done with the subject. “I’m sorry for messing with you.”

I smirk but back down.

“Sorry for bringing up the whole marriage thing. Even though I really do want to know.”

She slants me a look.

I blow her a kiss. Pushing off the couch, I stand and stretch.

“Thanks for fixing Lula.”

Charlie follows suit and rises to her feet.

“I really wish you’d buy another truck.”

“No way,” I shake my head. “Lula’s timeless. There’s no replacing her.”

“If you say so.” Charlie follows me into the garage.

I slide the palm of my hand over Lula’s hood. A bit of chipped paint sticks to my skin.

“Charlie made you all better, didn’t she?” I coo to my truck.

“You are so weird, Kenny.”

“I know.”

Charlie tosses my keys. They land solidly in the crook of my elbow. I’m surprised that I caught it. There was a ninety percent chance the keys would end up on the floor.

“No more duct tape. Temporary solutions can’t fix long-term problems.”

I press two fingers to my forehead and salute.

“Yes, Doctor Phil.”

“And the next time an insanely hot guy asks you out, say yes. If you’re uncomfortable, I can stake him out for you. Make sure he’s legit.”

I’d discussed John Doe the minute the taxi dropped me off at Charlie’s garage this afternoon. We’d conversed the topic to death.

Grinning wide, I get into my car.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

She waves as I back out of her shop and drive down the lane. I live in a neighborhood fifteen minutes away. The apartment building is small and only hosts six rooms under its roof. I like it because my neighbors are quiet and old.

They leave me in peace and I return the favor.

My phone rings as soon as I unlock my apartment. It’s Courtney.

“Hey, C.”

I set my bags on the stand by the door and kick my shoes off.

“Kendall, I have the information on your Mystery Man.”

My heart rate kicks up a notch at the mention of his name. Well, at the mention of his nickname. I guess.

“Lay it on me.”

“Ehem,” Courtney recites. “His name is Alistair Rinaghi. He paid with cash. He’s staying in Room 104. You happy?”

“Thanks, C. I owe you one.”

I sigh and sink into the sofa.

“What?”

“I ran into him again.”

“You did!” Courtney shrieks over the line. “So you knew all of that already?”

“Not necessarily. It’s a long story. Hey, could you give me a minute?”

Infused with energy, I rush to my bedroom, gather my laptop, and quickly boot it up.

“Could you spell his last name for me?”

She does.

After a few beats of silence, my friend inquires.

“Find anything?”

“No, it’s coming up with a bunch of genealogies and books, but there’s no mention of that name anywhere. Are you sure that’s the correct spelling?”

“I am.” I hear shuffling on the other end of the line and then Courtney returns. “I took a picture of the company information with my phone. That’s the name he gave.”

“Oh my gosh. He doesn’t exist on the internet. He paid with cash. He must be… a secret agent!”

“Or he could be a big-time author who wants to write his next novel in peace.” Courtney offers.

I sniff and balance the computer on my lap.

“Whatever or whoever he is, I don’t trust him.”

“Why? Did he ask you out on a date or something?”

“Yup.” I reply proudly.

“What? You should have started with that! I want details!” Courtney demands.

By the end of my retelling, my best friend is cackling like a maniac. I know my shenanigans are pathetic, but the least Courtney can do is pretend to be sympathetic.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are. Is it that hard to believe a handsome guy wants to go out with you?”

“Hey! He gave a fake name. He could be a sexy serial killer for all I know.”

“Or he could be a nice guy who just wants some privacy. You never know.”

“Since when have you been pushing me to date?” I smile. “We’re the Single Sisters, aren’t we?”

“We’re the Single Sisters until a handsome man asks us out. Then we’re the dating sisters.”

I scrunch my nose.

“Wait,” Courtney snorts, “that didn’t come out right.”

“Either way, I turned him down. Maybe when the next hot guy comes around, I’ll know how to handle myself.”

Doubtful. If any other man with Alistair’s face exists, I’ll probably combust.

“Sure,” my friend chuckles, “I love you, Kendall. You keep me young.”

“What can I say? I’m just a magnet for trouble… and calories.”

“You are something else.”

We speak for a few more minutes and then hang up.

The mystery of Alistair Rinaghi, formerly John Doe, grips my attention and won’t let me go. I love a good puzzle. I’ve got a feeling that this guy may turn out to be a whopper of a thousand piece jigsaw.

A
listair

I remain with the Caribbean Assassins for seven days. Tatum bestows his favor and generously allows his agents to retrain me in the art of sword-play, fist-fighting, and endurance. Each session is brutal.

My body is bloodied and bruised. Every limb burns with fire from the coals that rained upon my opponent and me as we fought in the boiler room. The accident produced painful scars on the both of us, but we fought through the pain until a victor was crowned.

My left eye is swelling slightly thanks to the errant elbow of a rather enthusiastic new recruit, eager to prove his abilities. The young assassin was not the first to forget the rules of faux battles.

Though the fights are supposed to be relatively harmless, I fear that my body is more tired and weak than I would like. If Shadow were to approach me today, I would fall in exhaustion at his feet.

Still, I am indebted to Tatum and the Belizean Assassins. As it has been so long since I’ve trained with an Order, I’ve had little opportunity to sharpen my skills in battle.

Even in the height of my missions, my targets required no heightened levels of skill. Rather, my ability to blend into any environment was prized and ultimately led to my success.

I’ve grown soft with the years. My adversaries had been heavy on their feet, incredibly dependent on their weapons, and more muscled in their arms than in their brains.

With this complacency coupled with my inactivity, I fear I shall be no match for Shadow. An assassin who has been trained in every manner of combat and wit will not be so easily defeated.

Today is my last match, but given the state of my body, I have no guarantees that I will win. In the Brotherhood of Assassins, the loser must give his respect to the victor. I’ve had no issues doing so with the Belizean recruits that I do not know.

But I will be damned, if I bow to the buck prancing on the balls of his feet on the other side of the cavern.

“Are you sure you don’t want to back out, Old Man?” Damien shouts.

He is entirely serious and this enrages me.

“I am quite fine. Thank you for your concern.”

I shift the cape of the robe behind my back. It is a custom of this sect to wear traditional outfits in training. It is a bothersome thing and was the cause of the accident in the boiler room. The robes are highly unnecessary. I doubt that Shadow and I will battle in the ancient garbs.

Damien seems to have no problem with the clothing. He prances about confidently, parrying with his sword. His black robes are striking against his very pale skin. The hood flaps against Damien’s back, leaving his oval face and Asian features to shine in the light.

Tatum was hesitant to allow any of the recruits to fight with swords. They are too green and the risk of injury, though necessary to promote endurance, was too great. When Damien heard of the quandary, he graciously offered to oppose me in a duel.

We are surrounded by nearly the entire league of Belizean assassins. In their full battle dress of black hoods, black gloves, and heavy brown boots, they appear as demons in the flickering light. This is more than a simple training exercise and everyone knows it.

An energetic crackle tinges the air. Booted feet stomp against the floor and echo a heavy bass rhythm in the cavern. The assassins surround us in hopes of seeing a show. Damien seems quite eager to deliver and I am eager to put him in his place before the assembly.

Tatum steps into the middle of the cavern and holds his arms up. Immediately, a hush descends. The Cheif glances at me and then at Damien before his opening address.

“We have always worked in the darkness, without gratitude, without the spotlight. Yet, we bring light.”

“
He speaks the truth!
” The assassins reply.

“Today we witness two brothers combat in the dance of the ancients. Those who have gone before gifted us with knowledge. They live on through our honor, our courage, and our strength! They live on in our traditions.”

“
He speaks the truth!
”

Tatum swings his arms to his sides. “Let it begin!”

I fit the hilt of my sword securely in my clasp. The razor sharp edges run to a point six inches in length. The weapon is heavy in my palm, but adrenaline pumps through my veins. In this moment, the sword is as light as a feather.

Damien and I circle one another. I’ve parried with him before. He is weak on his left side, but his movements are quick. My hope is that the fight will end quickly with the point of my sword against his armored chest.

In my current state, endurance is not something I can guarantee.

“Yah!”

A shout escapes Damien’s mouth as the younger assassin ends our circling maneuvers and sprints forward. The silver metal of his sword glints in the light. I block his weapon with my own. The clang of steel against steel rattles my teeth.

We fight valiantly for ten minutes. Each second feels as a lifetime. Damien has discovered the impaired vision in my left eye and exploits it every chance that he can. My experience is the only thing keeping me from the tip of his sword.

Sweat slides down my face. The temperatures are excruciatingly hot and the robes have begun to cling to my body, further hampering my movements. Damien seems energized. He still bounces each time he strikes.

I have yet to deliver a blow and have turned to defending my stance and waiting him out. Unfortunately, my limbs are too exhausted to compare to his boundless energy. If I don’t do something, and soon, Damien will win this fight.

While avoiding his strikes, I watch the flow of his movements. I’d been too caught up in my pride to do so before, thinking only of my embarrassment if this young buck were to win.

Damien’s parries attack in a flurry at first and then peter out. He takes a breath between each cluster of blows.

I breathe deeply and step forward, keeping my balance as he delivers his last strike before the inevitable pause. Gathering my last bit of strength, I focus my energies on moving with speed.

In a fraction of a second, my feet shuffle. I strengthen my stance and lift my sword, feeling its weight like an anchor strapped to my shoulder. Working on the force of my swing, I disarm Damien.

His weapon clatters to the floor with a resounding clash. He rushes forward to retrieve it but freezes when I stick the point of my sword against his armor.

I am breathing harder than he is. It was a stroke of luck that I moved speedily enough to thwart him. Despite this understanding, Damien steps back and bows in respect.

The room is silent, but I feel the regard of each warrior.

Tatum strolls to my side and lifts my arm. My chest is heaving with each labored breath.

“We have a victor!”

Only then do the assassins surrounding us raise their voices. Damien straightens and strides forward. His hood flaps against his back with every step. He clasps my arm.

“I thought I had you for a minute there, Old Man.”

“So did I.”

I dip my head in respect of his prowess. Together, we raise our hands to the crowd.