Scorpion

I watch Zalak from my periphery. She’s barely more than a vague lump on the roof. From here, the rifle looks like a stick poking out from the side of the building.

It’s been six months since the incident in the bathroom. Six months since we’ve touched each other beyond a friendly embrace. Six months of watching her get back into routine—this time with fewer hours and weekly therapy sessions. It’s what should have happened to begin with, but I was too optimistic. I wanted too much of her, and I didn’t step back to think it through.

Every night, the last thing I see before I fall asleep is how she looked on the bathroom floor. Broken, battered, and bloody. If I had lost her, I would be done for. The fire she relit inside of me would’ve been permanently snuffed out. I’d continue to breathe, but I’d know the answer if she asked me the same questions—I would be soulless.

Zalak is making improvements, though—even if she often spends more time being frustrated with her so-called helplessness than anything else. She’s voiced her concerns to me numerous times about how she might or might not be suited for certain missions, and that she shouldn’t be kept around just to be a “charity case.” For the most part, I disagreed with her assessment on her suitability for certain jobs. To begin with, at least.

There were tasks she was perfectly equipped for, except she was too caught up in doubting herself to see it. As the months progressed, her assessments became more appropriate, and Sergei was always there to monitor her and ensure that whatever we were getting into would be fine for her.

My theory is to introduce her to trigger situations at a distance so she can slowly gain control over her reactions. I spend every spare moment I have with her. She’s been my plus-one to every event that has required one. A task like today’s is standard, with low risk of outside influence. I wouldn’t normally need a sniper when meeting someone on my payroll. But special circumstances call for special measures.

Plus, she might get to shoot someone. That sometimes puts her in a good mood.

“The new shipment of ten was dropped off to the launder. Fifteen thousand from last month’s batch has been washed already,” Albert says in Dutch.

The trembling fool retucks his hands into his pockets for the fourth time in two minutes. I can’t believe that Goldchild trusted the idiot to play both sides. He couldn’t lie to a child.

“Fifteen?” I cock a brow. “Gwendoline usually returns thirty to me in a month.”

That’s not entirely true. She’s been dropping between one to five thousand every month over the past year. My recent visit to her confirms that she’s still keeping her promise of her “dirty thirties” to me. Then she waved a gun in my face—much to Zalak’s alarm—smiled, and said she can be reached by Skype if I have any follow-up questions.

Gwendoline has been washing our cash since my grandfather’s time. The arrangement is that we are her only clients, and she gets a percentage of the thirty grand she washes. Being the primary cash-handler at the department store she runs has its benefits.

Albert shifts his weight. Sweat beads along his brow line even though it’s meant to be a record cold month. “Changing times,” he explains. “People use cash less, you know? The Feds are cracking down too. She’s just being cautious.”

“Is that so?”

He swallows. “Spoke to her myself. She, uh… she’s thinking about retiring too. Said it’s time to slow down.”

I nod slowly. “She told me a different story.”

“Oh yeah?” His breath audibly hitches.

Did he truly think that he could cut me short and I wouldn’t find out? He’d give Gwendoline twenty thousand of my counterfeits, then throw in ten thousand of Goldchild’s to keep meeting the 30k arrangement.

Not only is Goldchild on my territory, he’s using my resources. I simply cannot stand for that. Picking off my men was bad enough. Using my contractors too?

Drawing a letter from my pocket, I hand it to him and take five steps back to protect my coat. Gingerly, he gives me a sideways glance before opening it. He clears his throat before he unfolds the paper, and there in black, bold letters are three words.

FUCK YOU, CUNT.

He only manages to widen his eyes before he’s ripped off his feet and on his back from the force of the blow. Blood splatters on the tin walls of the warehouse, and a couple droplets make it to the hem of my pants.

I scowl. That was cashmere.

Closing the distance, I peer over at him, watching him gape as he touches his bleeding shoulder. “I was… I—” Albert stutters.

I sigh and look in Zalak’s direction. “Second time lucky?”

Her groan crackles through my hidden earpiece.

After a couple seconds, another shot rings out. This time, the blood splatter makes it all the way up to my trench coat, and I shake my head. Well, this is going straight to the dry cleaners. The upside of the stain is that Albert has stopped being so irritating. He was a bad employee, and even worse company. This is my real charity.

I kick his side.

Nothing.

Splendid.

I lower myself onto my knees. Appraising the gaping hole in the center of his chest, I feel for his pulse then grin. “A confirmed kill at fifteen hundred meters.”

“One thousand four hundred and fifty-two,” she corrects.

“I’m rounding up.”

“Two shots. It doesn’t count.”

“Bureaucracy is boring.” Hence why I have been encouraging the use of live targets. Dummies are outdated.

“Get in the car, Mathijs.”

I sigh and begin walking to the car. I love it when she gets bossy. “I hope you’re in the mood for Thai tonight.”

She makes a noncommittal sound.

I’ll take that as a yes.

Zalak and I agreed that it’s time for her to get back to working full-time. It’s her second week back, and so far, there have been no incidents. I mean, it was all in good time really. Some of Goldchild’s men started shooting at me while I was walking back to my car, and she only froze for a moment, then shot a guy down and remained unfazed for the rest of the night. I gave her therapist a bonus for that alone.

Goldchild—the motherfucker—has become even more of a nuisance. He put a hit on my head—not that Zalak knows—and it’s become awfully inconvenient. Honestly, I’m quite offended that he’s only offering fifty grand for my death. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’d say that at an absolute minimum I’m worth two hundred grand.

Leaving Albert’s body behind for the police or Goldchild to find, I slide into my seat and wait until I hear her motorbike rumble to life before I give the driver the signal to head home.

There’s a certain peace that comes with knowing that Zalak is sharing the same roof as me. Obviously, she protested when I situated her a couple doors down from my room, but she hasn’t raised an issue with it since. It makes falling asleep easier. More specifically, it makes checking on her easier—not that she knows that either.

Once I arrive home, I head straight toward the kitchen to prepare dinner. The sound of an approaching motorbike reaches me ten minutes later. Ever the overzealous guard, she must have done the rounds, tailed us to make sure we weren’t being followed, then did the rounds again. I used to worry for Zalak when she was by herself. Now I worry for the people around her. Who would have guessed that killing people could be so therapeutic?

She enters the kitchen a couple minutes later and heads straight for the stereo to turn on the music. Then she picks up a knife and starts chopping the scallions. We direct each other on various tasks that require doing while she simultaneously rolls her eyes at me every time I flirt with her. It’s a symbiotic relationship of sorts.

I place a hand on her waist, feeling her rock-solid muscles, then look over her shoulder as she slices the vegetables. “The way you grip that knife does things to a man, Lieverd.”

“I will cut you with it,” she says with a deadly smile.

Romance.

I grin, singing along to the music while we serve up dinner. I crack open Mom’s specialty wine and pour us each a glass. We settle on the stools next to the bench and dig in. If I had to give the food a rating, I’d say six out of ten—work in progress on both our parts. The company makes up for it.

When we’re finished, I turn to face her. Our next discussion has no room for uncertainty or games. It’s a matter of life, death, and the future, and I need her to make her decision with her eyes wide open. Because I’ve already made mine.

“We need to talk.” Strong start, but there’s no point beating around the bush.

Zalak’s brows knit, and she pushes her plate away. “Okay…”

I clasp my hands together to stop myself from reaching for her. “I am going to ask you several questions, and I want you to answer truthfully without concern for our arrangement or my feelings.”

She nods slowly.

“I’ve told you about the secret society I’m part of. What I left out is how fucked up they are. The Reckoning is coming. Every ten years, the Exodus hosts a celebration that allows members to do whatever they wish without fear of the law. The tenth year is tomorrow.” The muscle in my jaw feathers at the thought.

The first time I went continues to live in my mind like a constant reminder of all the ways this world consists of black and gray.

She frowns skeptically. “That must be why Sergei has been even more of a dick lately. Why have I never heard of any of this before? It isn’t on the news. Never whispered about. Nothing.”

“We control everything,” I explain, as if that’s sufficient enough of an answer to cover the level of corruption this country runs on.

“Why are you telling me this? Are you planning on… partaking?”

“No, no. Me? Please. I can do that any day of the week. I don’t need a party for it.” I chuckle. “There’s a house within the mountains where a party will be hosted. As an Elder, my attendance is mandatory. I am required to bring a guest to the event—not to be confused with date, because a date would imply that you would come out unscathed. That’s why we need to talk.”

I told her I’d have her however she’d come. I’ve told her I’d wait a lifetime for her. I’d be patient, giving her everything she might need. But I want her more than anything else in this tedious world.

It kills me to just be friends with her. I want her in my bed every single night so the nights are less cold, then I want to wake up beside her so I know she’s still with me. One day, I’ll get to kiss her whenever I see her. Touch her every chance I get. I want it all, but I need her to want it too.

I wouldn’t bring her to the Reckoning if I weren’t so desperate for the permanence of her presence. The things that will happen there aren’t for the weak. As strong as Zalak is, she might not be able to stomach the abominable things that will occur in those mountains. I barely can.

Men turn humans into toys for their deplorable entertainment. There’s no elegance or decorum to how they handle themselves. It’s pure debauchery without reason. Gore without the finesse. For a single night, apex predators know what it feels like to be a god. And I want to bring my girl into the fold.

“Before you answer, there are things you need to know.” Christ, I should have drunk more wine. “If you say no, I will pluck one of Goldchild’s men off the street and make him my party favor. If you say yes, you will be forever connected to the Exodus. You will never escape it. You will be presenting yourself as my willing guest. Forever. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

Zalak’s brown eyes search mine. I wish I could tell what she’s thinking. I’m prepared for her to say no because she isn’t ready or because it’s too soon. I doubt the cause for her hesitation has anything to do with the potential for depravity.

The skin of her knuckles goes white as she grips the stem of the wineglass. “If it’s tomorrow, why are you only asking me this now?”

“Because I think you’re ready for the question to be asked. You aren’t the person you were when you first started working. You’ve become a force to be reckoned with, and I have no reservations that you’ll surpass anything put before you.”

Zalak has come so far in the past six months. She’s still as bitter as she was when we were kids, but she smiles now, and I hear her laugh almost every day. The haunted look is finally gone from her eyes, and she doesn’t always have one foot in Senegal anymore.

I would have given her months to mentally prepare for tomorrow if I thought I could proposition her without worrying she’ll hightail it the first chance she gets. “You will be pledging yourself to me in every sense of the word. In turn, you will be under my protection for the rest of your life. An act against you, is a direct act against everything Halenbeek. Once we take off for Vail, you won’t have the opportunity to back out. So, I ask, would you like to be my plus-one and lose faith in humanity in the process?”

She hesitates. “I have no intention of leaving. I…” The you in her declaration is unspoken, but I hear it all the same.

At least the humanity part isn’t her concern.

“Don’t think for a second that you owe me anything,” I say. “You have saved my life countless times already. That alone is priceless.”

“You’ve saved mine just as many times. But that’s not what I was going to say,” Zalak says hesitantly.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she places her hand next to mine, touching me without my prompting it. My breath catches in my throat when she finally interlocks our fingers. Willingly. Voluntarily. Then it’s knocked right out of my lungs when she looks at me with the same reverent need that I feel for her.

She squeezes my hand. “I don’t want to live in the past anymore, Mathijs.”

This woman couldn’t get any more perfect even if she tried. A smile explodes across my face, and I raise my wineglass. “To the future.”

And to the fuckery that will ensue tomorrow.