Fatal Assassin (Fatal Fae Book 2) Page 15

  She let out a long breath and sank into her chair, running her fingers through her hair, loosening the ponytail she wore. Her arms splayed behind her, stretching the muscles across her chest. Several rust specks dotted her coat and she flicked at them. Probably the psychopath’s blood. It wouldn’t do to be running around with his DNA on her. She’d have to find a hotel with laundry facilities.

  After another stretch and crack of her neck, she typed in a hotel search and waited. Her stomach roared, reminding her of its empty state, and her bladder protested its fullness. She closed the laptop and returned her desk chair to where it had been when she entered. Less OCD than it was covering her tracks, Nikala turned off the lights of her office and checked that she’d locked the door before she went to the toilet.

  She left the bathroom door open while she relieved herself, listening hard for any sound coming from Malcolm’s rooms next to hers. This high up, not even traffic disturbed her. As she washed her hands, she noticed a few spots of blood on her neck. They came away with a quick splash of water, but the dark circles under her eyes would take more effort. Gods, but she was tired. Not just from the day, but everything. Being Malcolm’s pet was almost as tedious as being Hunter’s prisoner.

  Not for the first time, she wondered what her life would be like if she could escape them both.

  Also, not for the first time, she shoved that daydream to the bowels of her mind. That was the path of crazy making and death. She’d never be free from Hunter or Malcolm. At least, not while either lived.

  Muffled voices in the lobby startled her and she stilled, her heart slowing with each syllable the men spoke.

  Malcolm. Shit.

  The voices came closer and she flicked off the light, then closed the door of the bathroom. A key scratched in the office door’s lock, followed by a squeak as the doorknob turned.

  Malcolm clucked his tongue. “Her bags are still here, but she hasn’t returned.”

  “We have business to finish.” Hunter’s gravelly, slightly slurred words hit Nikala in the abdomen.

  Hunter Pearson. Damn. What was he doing here?

  The door clicked shut and Nikala let out a long, slow breath. Her head pounded and chest tightened. Her first instinct was to grab her bags and leave the moment they entered Malcolm’s office, but she hesitated.

  Instead, she relocked her office door even though it was useless if Malcolm had his own key, and sat in her chair, tapping her fingers on the closed laptop. A moment later, she opened it and plugged in her headphones. Voices drowned out the sound of blood rushing through her ears.

  On the screen, Hunter helped himself to a glass of vodka without offering anything to Malcolm.

  “Viggo McCabe, you said?” Hunter shook his head and swirled ice in his tumbler. “Doesn’t ring a bell. But then, I meet so many people, it’s hard to keep names and faces straight. Did he mention me at all?”

  “Just Acelyne.”

  “And you told him nothing?”

  Malcolm’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “How long have we known each other? I’m not stupid, Pearson.” He chugged the liquid in his glass and poured more. “Yasheda and Jude lost her. I don’t recall giving the order for them to follow Nikala.”

  Hunter ignored Malcolm’s pointed stare and shrugged. “We’re at a crucial stage of our testing. We can’t afford to lose Nikala’s allegiance now.”

  “You make it sound like a bloody fraternity. Nikala’s loyalty has never been in question. You, my friend, are another story.” Malcolm pointed his glass at Hunter. “What happened to Maxx? Nikala said she never showed. Then this Viggo character just happens to make an appearance two days later?” He downed the liquor and slammed the glass on the cabinet.

  Hunter paced to the window and back to the comfortable chairs set around a coffee table as if it were a bloody lounge in someone’s home. He sat down, then rose and paced to the window again. He stood there several moments, his fingers working through his thick beard. He had been handsome once, but she’d erased those memories. He looked as she chose to remember him, with jet-black hair, clear, ocean-blue eyes, and a sloping, pockmarked face he tried to cover with a thick beard.

  She’d given him the deformity. At fifteen—after her attempt at seduction was rebuffed—she’d rebelled against him and his endless testing, endless lectures, endless imprisonment. He’d demanded she make coffee for him, such a simple thing, and she’d snapped. Nikala shuddered at the memory of that morning when she’d thrown a vial of blue liquid at him. The chemical inside burned through his skin to the bone, leaving his jaw permanently damaged. It had taken several surgeries to repair his internal and external injuries and even longer for Nikala to forgive herself.

  “I haven’t spoken to Maxx in weeks. As far as I knew, everything was set. I’ll go to Edinburgh tomorrow and find out what’s happened.” A tremor sounded in Hunter’s voice. “With this McCabe fellow asking about Acelyne, it must mean something’s happened on the other side.”

  Nikala sat up straighter and checked to make sure the memory card was still in her laptop, recording. Satisfied, she held her earbuds in place and listened harder to Hunter and Malcolm’s speech patterns. She’d sort out what “other side” meant later. For now, she focused on their body language and words.

  “You don’t think they know about us, do you?” Malcolm’s hands shook as he put ice cubes into his tumbler.

  “We have to assume they don’t, but take nothing for granted.” Hunter turned to face Malcolm, his deformity reddening with his intensity. “Send Nikala away. I don’t want her involved in this.”

  Malcolm scoffed and lifted his lips in a sneer. “Don’t play the compassionate father figure now, old friend. We both know the hell you put her through.”

  “With your blessing.”

  Nikala’s hands shook at the simple admission. She’d always known, but to hear Hunter say it stung. Tears threatened and she fought through her hurt to where she’d been trained not to feel. To act dispassionately and get the job done. That was her purpose. Her reason for living. She was a weapon, not a woman. The words looped through her mind and her hands continued to shake.

  “Yes,” Malcolm said into his glass, “with my blessing. For this.” He waved around the office. “I built an empire so you could play God.” His sigh carried through Nikala’s headphones.

  What the devil were they up to? More than ever, she needed to know what Acelyne was.

  “Just…send her away. She’s been through enough.”

  Did Hunter actually have remorse in his tone? Nikala shook her head and stifled a laugh. The day he felt an ounce of sorrow for what he did to her, she’d know it was the end of times.

  “Give me the shipment.” Hunter tilted his chin toward the safe.

  Malcolm fumbled with the keypad twice before getting it right. Hunter watched over his shoulder, clearly able to see the code Malcolm punched in. The door swung open and revealed two shelves: one with Malcolm’s laptop, the other empty save for some papers.

  “Where are they?”

  Malcolm’s eyes widened and he searched beneath both shelves. “I don’t know. They were here, locked up.” A slight tremble to his words made Nikala hunch over the screen. Malcolm had never trembled a moment in her life. He was a damn good actor, though. She almost believed he was frightened.

  She watched Hunter’s movements, nothing the stiffening of his jaw. Something wasn’t right. She knew the shipment had been there. Before she left for Edinburgh, she’d personally checked to verify all the amulets, less the one she stole, were in the safe.

  Hunter dragged a hand through his hair and swore to the ceiling. “We don’t have time for games. Where. Are. The. Boxes?” Each word came out a punch, but Malcolm didn’t flinch, didn’t waver.

  “You tell me. How do I know you didn’t take them, then come in here acting innocent? It benefits you far more than me to have them.” Malcolm leaned across the desk until he was inches from Hunter’s face. “Greed doesn’t look good
on you, old man. I’ve supplied you with ten times the specimens needed to be successful, yet you always demand more. Maybe you stole them because you know your project’s a failure and you needed someone else to blame.”

  Through the cameras, Nikala saw the two men face off: Hunter taller, Malcolm with more bulk. The air vibrated—actually shifted—and she stifled a gasp. How the hell could she see air? But it swirled with the slightest green hue.

  They stayed locked in a stalemate while the seconds ticked away. Neither man flinched or moved or so much as blinked.

  What the actual fuck was going on? Why were the amulets important? She’d thought they were daft trinkets filled with drugs or diamonds perhaps, that Malcolm had taken a fancy to, but now she realized they were far more valuable. Her hand grazed her hip, but where the amulet should’ve been hidden in a pocket, she felt only fabric and skin. Irrational fear zigged down her throat, choking her. After his impromptu search of her blouse this afternoon, she had no doubt he knew she’d taken one. And now she’d lost it. Malcolm would kill her.

  Finally, Hunter blew out a breath and pounded the desk. “Find them.” Hunter’s voice became low, feral. Nikala dragged her attention away from the missing amulet to the conversation. “The project is close to realization. We need more, Malcolm. At least two hundred. And they must be stronger. The last batch didn’t survive the first test.”

  Survive? Nikala breathed deep and blinked to focus. Hunger and exhaustion were making her hear things. Hunter couldn’t have said “survive.” Her mind raced to the experiments he’d performed on her and she shuddered. How often had he said he was surprised she had survived? Then he’d pet her hair and call her his beautiful lily, strong and enduring.

  In a flash, she was back in his manor house outside Aberdeen—alone, in pain, and in need of companionship. His visits were brief those first few years and she’d begun to long for them in the way one welcomes blissful oblivion from heroin. He became her drug.

  “If you’re unhappy with the quality, I suggest you and Maxx sort it out.” Malcolm shut the safe and leaned against the desk on his fingertips. It wasn’t a usual tic of his and she paid closer attention to the way his thumb and forefinger curled in toward his palm. That left three fingers supporting his weight. Three. What did three mean?

  “I don’t have time. Thanks to your ineptitude, I’ll have to scrape together what I can from my research. Send your dogs to find Maxx and make certain she understands there can’t be any more mistakes. No lost amulets, nothing broken.” Hunter leaned across the desk, mimicking Malcolm’s action of a few minutes earlier. “You’re getting sloppy, old man. Don’t make yourself redundant.”

  “How dare you.” Spittle formed at the corners of Malcolm’s mouth. “Without me, none of this is possible.”

  A sneer twisted Hunter’s deformed lips. “Send Nikala away. Suggest a holiday, send her to Venice to check on supplies there. I don’t care. Just make her leave for a while.”

  Malcolm had never been stupid and Nikala saw the mechanics of his brain working in the way his eyes lit and his jaw shunted from side to side. “You send two of my best people after her, and now you want her gone. Why, Hunter? What have you done?”

  “Yasheda and Jude were a test. I needed to know how she’d respond to people she was comfortable with. She let them live tonight, but I’ve no doubt she’d eliminate them if there was a next time. And yes, I like to keep tabs on my experiments, but it wasn’t personal. This is. I’m not ready yet to include her in our end game. Until such a time, I don’t need her asking questions.”

  Did Malcolm know Yash and Jude had been enhanced? He had to know. Nikala squirmed in her seat. Maybe the contents of the amulets were what gave them their strength. She put a hand to her chest. Her strength increased with adrenaline, did it work the same with them?

  Malcolm’s laugh burst through her headphones. “You are a contradiction! Have you forgotten who trained her to ask questions? It’s as much a part of her as breathing.” At Hunter’s glare, Malcolm grinned and waved a hand. “Yes, yes, I’ll send her away. Somewhere tropical so she can work on her tan and maybe learn to relax. She’s far too high-strung. Or maybe Ireland, where she can drink all the Guinness she pleases.”

  Nikala should’ve been annoyed that they spoke about her in unabashed terms, but she was proud of the woman they described. A flush of warmth spread over her cheeks and she giggled to herself. She was the monster they’d created. It served them right that she was too good at being herself.

  Hunter strode to the door with Malcolm watching his every move. There was an unspoken—if not respect, then certainly a reluctant alliance—between these two, one that needed further examination. Until this moment, she’d accepted that they were business partners and friends, but what wasn’t being said intrigued her as much as what was spoken.

  Neither said goodbye and when the door closed behind Hunter, Malcolm sank into his leather chair.

  Hunter strode past the office where Nikala quietly tracked his movements. His head swiveled in her direction and for a moment, she felt as exposed and vulnerable as she had every time he’d inspected her after one of his experiments. She knew he couldn’t see her, and yet, she felt his probing stare as if he were in the room with her. Felt the immediate need to submit to him no matter how much it hurt.

  17

  Cian walked past the security guards without a glance from either man. The tiny amount of magic he used to blur his movements would also prevent the cameras from capturing his image. At the special lift Nikala had used earlier, he paused. She’d placed her hand on the screen for recognition, but now that he stood before the innocent piece of technology, his senses went on alert.

  Undetectable by humans, the scanner had magic imbued in it. Cian glanced at the bank of other lifts. None of them had a scanner, only the one for Malcolm’s floor. He ignored the special lift for the restaurant and pressed a button for the closest one, entering quickly when the doors opened. The ping caught the attention of the guards, but neither moved from where they chatted at the front desk. Small mercies.

  This particular lift went as high as the floor below Malcolm’s then stopped. Cian exited, scanning the area as he did. No one greeted him, nor did he see any employees in the many offices that lined a long hall. He sped down the tiled corridor, his shoes making soft echoes against the walls. At the far end, he found the stairwell and gently pushed on the handle. The stairs were blessedly empty and he made quick work of the steps to the next floor.

  There, he was met with a locked door to Malcolm’s offices. Cian was fairly certain locking doors to the stairwell was against fire codes, but he wasn’t about to bring that to Malcolm’s attention. Not at the moment, at least. For now, he used a thread of his magic to unlock the door and ease it open without a sound.

  He stepped into the corridor just as a door shut and slipped back into the stairwell before a dark-haired man strode to the lift. He mashed his thumb against the button, clearly agitated. Cian held the door slightly ajar, but couldn’t get a good look at the stranger. A moment later, the lift’s doors opened and he stepped in without looking back.

  Cian slid from the stairwell to the edge of the receptionist area, staying in shadow. He crept to Nikala’s closed office door and pressed his ear to the wood. The sound of her retching drifted to his sensitive ears. An overwhelming need to comfort her hit him in the gut. He staggered from the force of it and glared at the closed door. Why would she be ill? And why did he feel the urge to take care of her? It was ridiculous, yes, but crushing in its insistence.

  He shook his head to clear that blasphemous thought and made his way silently to Malcolm’s office door. No sounds came from within. Cian turned the knob with care, easing the door open a fraction until he could see Malcolm’s desk chair was empty. Coughing came from the other side of the office, followed by mumbling. He snuck into the room and closed the door behind him before darting to a closet. Empty hangers hung on rods and shelves waiting for shoes sat
unused. The closet could’ve been a metaphor for his own life. Except, he didn’t need anything to make him feel useful. He was a spy. His profession made him invaluable to many.

  A nagging at the back of his mind, like a gnat too close to an ear, elevated his irritation level. It was that damned Nikala’s fault. When he’d called out to her from the shower and she hadn’t answered, he found his flat empty. He hadn’t been surprised, just disappointed. For a full minute, he dripped water on the floorboards, debating his options. Ultimately, he chose to follow her. Not to confront Nikala about her disappearance, but to see what had caused her to rush out. The sex, fast and dirty, had been at her prompting. Yes, Cian wanted it, but there’d been desperation in her movements. It was that vulnerability he needed to explore. If it could help with his mission, he’d not hesitate a moment to exploit her weakness.

  Now, as he hid in Malcolm’s closet and heard Nikala washing up after being sick, he reminded himself she was not to be trusted. Until he knew what Malcolm was up to, he would use her any way he could. And if that meant fast sex, so be it. He’d never been one to shirk his duties.

  Silence descended on the space. Cian counted five breaths. The sound of Malcolm urinating to his left was countered by a muffled noise to his right. Cian pressed his ear against the wall of the empty closet. Quiet sobbing followed by the sound of water rushing from a tap came through the plaster. He listened for any movement from Malcolm. When there was none, he surmised the man hadn’t heard Nikala. Not hard to do since the closet where Cian hid was between the two. He returned his ear to the wall.

  First, she was sick, then crying. What the hell was going on with her? An image of the scyver in the garage entryway came to mind. He’d arrived in time to see her thrust the knife into the man’s throat, then wipe down the blade on his sleeve. He’d hidden behind a pillar as she dragged the man behind trash bins. When she’d hurried away, Cian had followed, stopping first to make sure the scyver was dead, and then to take his wallet and keys.