Chapter 12 - Smoke and Mirrors

She knelt on the floor, arms slack, knowing she had no way to fight what was coming next. Her head was down, pale blonde hair almost touching the floor. Two soldiers lounged against the wall as Karol and Gage were brought in. Karol had talked quickly, making the case that he was responsible for his younger brother and should be there to witness the test. The men thought he just wanted to watch but allowed it. Only the two guards stayed to make sure he went through with it. There was no danger here. This was routine.

Karol slammed a piece of wood into the soldier's head. It made a terrible cracking sound. Blood flew from the soldier's mouth as he fell to the ground. Karol hit him again. And again. The last thing Gage saw was the look of triumph on his brother's face.

Gage woke up, shaking. He barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting. It had been years since he'd had that dream. He rinsed out his mouth, then splashed water over his face. In his reflection, he saw a haunted look, her eternal gift to him.

His hand had gone instinctively to the scar, a long, irregular ridge. His eyes found the smaller scars that had followed – on his arms, his chest, his shoulders. There were more on his back. They were the map of his life, but he did not remember receiving most of them.

He turned on the shower, filling the room with steam, clouding the mirror so he did not have to see what he had become. He stepped into the scalding water, the nightmare still playing in his head.

It was always the same dream, the product of his teenaged mind trying to make it seem less terrible. He wondered why it did not change over time. The waking memories were far worse. They did not begin and end in that moment and were not so clear. The drugs they had given him had left him with scattered images filled with pain, dirt, hunger, humiliation and blood. Yet none of that compared with the horror of her rape. He purposely did not examine why.

He shook his head. He had done this to himself, first when he rescued Deira and again yesterday. He wanted to know she would fight if they caught her. He needed her to do that. She had not been able to hold him off. There was no way she would survive if Cavuto's men took her, and she did not seem to realize how bad it could get before they killed her. Perhaps now.

Perhaps now he should apologize. If he explained his motivation, she would stop thinking he was a good person. That would be safer for her, but he did not want to do it. He did not want to see how she would regard him then. It was selfish and stupid. But true.

He forced himself to check the video feed to make sure she was home. She was running through forms in the living room. Her gym bag was on the floor by the table. If she went for it when he got there, he might let her. One more scar would make no difference to him. Foolish thought. She could do some damage and there was work to be done. Bleeding might be easier than conversation, but it was not productive.

He drove by her apartment twice, checking to see if anyone was watching it. The cars were all empty, and there was no one out walking. He parked two blocks away and did another perimeter check as he walked. He thought briefly of calling her but decided against it. She was angry with him, so it was best not to give her any warning. He let himself into the building. By the time he got up the stairs, she was standing at the door.

"What do you want?" She was scowling.

"To talk."

"About what?" She had not moved out of the doorway.

"Many things. Shall we have this conversation in the hall or would you like to invite me in?" He tried not to get irritated.

"I'd like to kick you down the stairs, but you'd probably live through it."

"You might get lucky. But if I survived, I would be very angry." It was a statement, not a threat.

"Great, then we can go for another round of assault. That was so much fun last time," she sneered.

"I give you my word that I will not touch you."

"Fine. Come in, say what you have to say and get the fuck out, okay? I have things to do." She turned her back and walked toward the kitchen.

He stepped into the apartment and closed the door, keeping his eyes on her. When she moved past the table, he relaxed. She filled a kettle and put it on the stove, then leaned against the corner, as far from him as she could get.

"Speak."

"I wish to apologize for what happened yesterday," he began.

"And you couldn't do that over the phone? For some strange reason, having you looming in my apartment doesn't make me all that comfortable right now." Her eyes narrowed. "No, you didn't call because then I would have your phone number."

"That is not why."

"Why come here then?"

"Because apologies should be made in person."

"Well aren't you just the soul of courtesy." She rolled her eyes.

"And because there are other matters which I prefer not to discuss on the telephone." He should not have mentioned the phone.

"Get on with it then." She glared at him.

"I am sorry that I hurt you."

"What you did was humiliate me." She looked out the window.

"I am sorry for that, as well."

"Okay. That's done. It doesn't change anything." She folded her arms. "You said you had something else to discuss?"

He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and laid it on the counter. She glanced at it and back up at him.

"What's that?"

"Ways to reach me." He stepped back. "I should have left that with you before."

"Not like I have a lot to say to you." She took the paper and shoved it in her pocket.

"You may yet."

"Can we cut it the fuck out with the cryptic? I'm sore and tired and all out of patience with that sort of shit. Get to the point."

"Your water is boiling." He nodded at the stove.

"Jesus Christ! Can you not just tell me what the fuck you came to say?" she yelled.

"I will. But as it will take some time, you might as well make your tea." He kept his voice even.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and blew it out again. He went over to the couch and sat down. She thought about dumping hot tea on his head but decided against it. Still, the idea made her feel better. She took her cup into the living room. He twitched when she sat on the windowsill. She looked over her shoulder and shrugged. There was no one outside. There was never anyone outside. It wasn't what you would call a 'walkable' neighborhood.

"Okay, I'm here. I'm listening."

"I have been working on the plan for the job."

"One would hope," she said.

"If you feel you are ready, we should be able to do it in a week."

"I felt I was ready the night I met you, but that didn't work out so well for me, so maybe you and Nicky should decide if I'm ready." It galled her to admit that. He just nodded. It didn't improve her mood.

"There has been another... development. It seems that Sticks found a buyer for the contract after all."

"So where does that leave us? I still need to pay you back for finishing what I started that night."

"I think you misunderstand," he began.

"And I was a bit more flush when I asked Sticks to help me find a contract."

"Let me finish," he said. "Sticks found a buyer for the job. We are the ones who will do it. And we will get paid."

She stared at him for a moment, waiting for her brain to start working.

"I'm sorry. Did you just tell me that someone is willing to pay for something I was planning on doing for free?"

"Yes."

"So if you're getting paid by someone else to do this, am I off the hook?" she asked, wary.

"When the job is complete, yes," he answered. "I will need your... expertise to fulfill the contract."

"What do you mean?" She held herself very still, waiting for the catch.

"Sticks tells me that he trained you to work with explosives. He believes you to be rather good at it."

"Not as good as he is."

"Few are. But he believes you have the necessary skill to do this job."

"If he thinks I can do it, I probably can." She hadn't expected Sticks to have that much confidence in her. "What are we blowing up?"

"The warehouse."

"I assume we aren't going inside to set charges."

"That would be inadvisable." His mouth twitched with amusement.

"Good. That makes it a lot easier."

"I do not recall you telling me that you had that kind of training."

"Didn't I? How careless of me." She smiled at him.

"Very funny, princess. Perhaps you have other skills I should know about?"

"Oh, I have other skills," she said. "But nothing I care to show you. Let's just stick to murder and blowing shit up, shall we?"

"That should suffice," he drawled.

"Good. Are we done here? I need to get to the warehouse. Nicky will be waiting."

"You did not ask about the money."

"I don't care about the money. I care about the job. You want to pay me, then figure out my cut, take what you want, and transfer the rest into my account." She pushed off the windowsill and took her cup into the kitchen, leaving it in the sink with the other dishes. Twitch over that, you anal retentive bastard.

"Would you like a ride to the warehouse?" he offered, standing up.

"No. I'm going to run." She slung her bag over her shoulder and opened the door, looking pointedly at him. He walked into the hall.

"Next time you want to see me, call." She locked the door and followed him down the stairs, setting the alarm before leaving.

He followed at a distance until she reached the warehouse parking lot.