Yield (44 page)

Fucking stupid.

I had a baby inside me but what choice did I have? Let us both remain here as his for the rest of our lives? What if this harmed the child? Which was worse? Living in his prison or dying? Then there was the best possible result – living free, with my baby in my arms. It couldn’t happen if I didn’t do anything at all.

This was as awful as my decision about Hugh – it was impossible to be sure which was right.

I dived and arrowed down through the water, determined. One target. I kept my eyes on the knife, zeroed in on that dark thing at the bottom of yards of water, like some robot on a mission. I always could swim well. Fainting was
not
happening. My fingers closed, and I swooped into a turn, pushing off from the bottom and kicking.

The trail back up was marked with curls and blots of red.

Chris

You’re fucking tough for a prissy accountant.
The words of my helper, a giant of a man in jeans and green camo shirt. I wasn’t small either, and he’d seen me kick a man halfway across a room. I guess he’d met all sorts and I was small potatoes. He had three friends to back him up too.

My helpers, courtesy of Moghul.

I stood there, watching them deal with the mess like they figured this was no worse than a day at the supermarket. I was cool on the outside too, but on the inside, I was rerunning the last ten minutes, thinking through what Moghul had said.

Your decision. Do as you see fit. The business is yours if you want it, want to fight for it. I want my hands clean from now on. However, I’d advise seeing him before his friends arrive later today. You really don’t want them around. Not if you want to be in one piece after.

His advice had been terribly suggestive. Glass’s friends were SAS and sundry assorted ex-military types. Armed to the teeth, I gathered. And so...this had happened.

I’d knocked on the door, all polite, recognized Glass, even minus that blond mohawk the original pictures showed. I’d told him who I was. His buddy, Sam, sat on the sofa at the far end of the room, near the window, same as the surveillance pics had shown.

“Hi, you’re Glass, right?”

“Yes. You are?”

I think he knew from square one. Suspicion had been there, in his voice, his face. Expected, but the guy was still confident. He had years of war and killing in his history. I was a paltry accountant who dabbled in martial arts and liked BDSM and, lately, women who came to me via nefarious means. Only two specific women, but I guess he’d know that too.

I’d killed only one man, close up. I knew I could kill, but I was sweating this.

This man wasn’t bad, just a guy looking for his woman, and Moghul had her.

Me, I had four men outside this unit, waiting for my go ahead. Press a button on the device in my pocket and they’d come charging in. This was my choice, not theirs. They’d only scoped the unit and made the assault plan.

Let Glass live and he’d demand what I knew, threaten to expose me if I didn’t say. Moghul would go down. Maybe I’d be okay, maybe not. Moghul wasn’t my best friend but...there were fucking millions at stake here. The properties he was handing me, alone, made it an incredible gift. Even if I wound up all the dirty businesses he ran. I’d seen a summary, had the rest on a computer file. So much to go through, it would take days.

The good thing to do would be to give up Moghul. But I didn’t know this Glass from a bar of soap. Moghul was like me, hard, but fair. He’d take care of Wren, no matter why she was with him.

My past wasn’t precisely clean. My future could be cleaner. A few words, tell him Moghul’s address, and I was done. My chances of coming out of the alternative unscathed were crazily impossible to predict. Microseconds, only microseconds, all it took to sway this, one way, or the other.

“I’m Chris Garrick.” I stared into his eyes. Should I, could I, do this? I wasn’t a killer. “I have some information for you.”

“How’d you find me?” His hand was behind his back and I guessed he had a pistol tucked back there. Guessed he could draw it and shoot it faster than I could hit him...maybe.

“Vetrov.” Ahhh, that piqued his interest. “He thinks I’m running away. I’m not a man who runs. He told me you wanted me. I can tell you where he is, for a price. Mostly for just leaving me alone.”

“Come in. Then turn around, lift your arms.”

The hallway of this apartment block was deserted. We owned most of this floor. I fingered the button through the cloth of my pants pocket.

The things you can arrange with a shitload of money at your disposal. I guess he never figured on anyone being organized, so quickly. It had surprised me too. Moghul must have put these guys on standby.

I pressed the button.

The boom rocked the room, as the planted charges blew access holes in the wall to either side and behind him.

While I looked shocked and stepped away, he was already pulling his gun. Maybe he would’ve shot me before I did anything. Maybe not. The bullets in his back distracted him. My kick got him a second later. Lucky they didn’t accidentally shoot me too, but then, these guys knew their business.

Now this. A blood-splattered room. A body being stuck in a bag.

I guess I was a killer.

Time to make myself scarce and make use of all the ways to hide that Moghul had clued me up on. I took out my phone to tell Andreas it was plan A, after all.

Wren

Climbing up the ladder happened, step by wet step. My feet, I had to tell them what to do, every single step, or they forgot. How much blood had I lost? It was just the day, my mind insisted. Just all the...stuff.

Whatever.

I found myself face first on the cold tiles, wet, and my knees slipped as I scrambled to all fours. I’d left a puddle of blood and water.
Jesus.
It always looked worse when you added water.

Blood...spreads.

The knife! If I’d dropped it? But it was beside my hand. I stared, gathering energy. Steel handle, with ribs all down it for grip. No wonder that had hurt going inside.

I rose to my feet, by stages, like an old woman, breathing hard.

Where was he? How could I do this? How could I not try to kill this man? I studied my trembling fingers. I wasn’t stopping. Fuck this. Only one thought impaled my mind. This was the only way out. Unless I wanted to stay forever.

Forever. Forever. I counted my way with the word, padding onward. The one time I looked behind me, I saw a trail of pink footprints.

Water spreads blood. I’m fine.

So thirsty.

I found him on the patio, staring out at the pool. His strong shoulders, the bulk of his arms, and his stillness reminded me of a perfect sculpture. He kneeled, wearing black drawstring pants only, as if meditating. I trudged onward, my feet slapping the tiles, until I stood over him, poised, the knife held in the right way for slipping between his ribs. Odds were I’d catch it on one. Then he’d beat me, or kill me.

My breathing rasped so loud, I knew he must hear me.

“You know I’m here.”

“Yes.” His tone shocked me, hard, like he’d said it through nails.

“Why?”

“Because...this way, I know. All or nothing.” He laughed, and again it was harsh. “I brought you to this. You’ve got the knife. Decide. I know you so damn well. I predicted you’d get this far but you’re bleeding more than I expected, girl. I need to fix that.”

“It’s the water,” I whispered.

Over his shoulder, I saw a tablet lying before him, and on the screen were four squares of camera footage. One showed the viewing room, others the trail of my footprints.

Moghul waited, passively, for me to strike? I wavered. Yes, I got this far, but killing him was no longer easy.

Kill, or be his.

Stupid me.

You can’t live with a force of nature.

Glass was waiting for me.

I had to do this.

If he let me. My grip on the knife crunched in.

His head dipped a little. “I have to tell you this. Chris sent me a text. Glass found him and arranged a meeting. I’m sorry, but he’s dead.”

What? Who?

“Chris?” I frowned, completely lost. Why would that matter?

“No, not Chris. Wren, Glass is dead.”

Oh yes. Today was a good day. I swayed, resisting collapse, because I’d never rise. “What?” I said, huskily.

“He’s dead. It’s only fair that you know.”

Fair? Fair? How was this fair? I sobbed and caught myself, put my hand to my mouth. “No!”

“It’s true. I’m sorry.”

More stupid sorries. I raised the knife, knuckles clamped on metal, trembling with rage and weakness, dying to hit him.

“Did you tell him to kill Glass? Did you?” I thought I’d screeched that but it came out muted. Tears poured down my face and I didn’t even feel sad, just lost, just fucking demolished. If this was grief, I wanted my money back. I dropped my knife hand, letting my arm flounder at my side, and nicked my thigh.

“No. I did not. Wren. I need to stop the bleeding.”

But he didn’t turn.

He gave no excuses. If nothing else, he was honest. Telling me that had made me want to kill him. He must have known that. He must. Killing him too...why? Everyone I cared for was dead and I wanted to add another? My heart hurt so much. Glass was dead. I’d never see him again, be in his arms. There was so much more I needed to do with Glass. So much more life.

I wiped at tears with my arm, struck by a storm of misery. Some of this was his fault. It
must
be.

Stung into motion, I lashed out and the knife stuck an inch into his upper arm. When I tried to pull my hand away, I found he’d turned and grabbed my wrist.

His glare was steady, but I glimpsed anger.

“Do you really want to kill me?”

“No!” I staggered back, sobbing, only to be brought up short by his hold. “No.” I put one hand to my face, wanting to hide. I didn’t want to kill him. I wanted to die.

“I thought not.”

“You were never going to let me go.” I whispered that to my hand, not expecting him to hear.

“You think I’d just give up?” he snarled, his grip crushing my wrist, and I gasped, feeling the
throb, throb
of blood through my arteries, beneath his fingers. “Leave you to exist with another man? You weren’t meant for that. What a waste that would’ve been. No, I was never going to let you go.” He began to methodically twist the knife from me. “Never, fucking, ever will I let you go.”

Then he released my hand. I heard the knife clatter to the floor.

There was no one left. For a woman who had everything, I had nothing. My legs wobbled and gave out and I went to my knees with a thump. Pitiful, but my face seemed to dissolve in tears and snot. I wept, folding up. My forehead bumped the floor.

I was so cold.

He could do what he liked to me. I didn’t care, at all.

Despair was a place with no address, no pretty flowers on the table, no hugs, no one worthwhile. Only me.

His fingers touched my back, prodding softly then pressed a while. No words were spoken and my crying degenerated into a sad dribble of tears.

“You’re coming with me. Just that little bit of pressure has stopped the bleeding. I don’t think you can have lost that much blood. It’s a small tear. I don’t know why it bled as much as it did.”

I heard him say that and more, as he carried me somewhere. My stomach and my eyes hurt from the crying.

“It was the water. It makes blood spread, stops it clotting,” I said quietly, shivering and making my teeth chatter.

“Maybe. Once I get you to drink, and I stitch this, and you rest, we’ll see. I’ll get a doctor if I have to. I think you’re mostly exhausted. Which isn’t exactly a surprise. Say okay.”

As he walked, my body shifted against him, reminding me of being in a boat at sea.

Say okay.
An instruction. Maybe I needed those, just for a while. That he was going to stitch me made me feel better, if anything. I didn’t care if it hurt. I did care that he wanted to do it.

“Okay.” Then I added more, because it was niggling at me. It was like I held the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle or something. An indefinable itch. “I’m sorry I cut you.”