He should have known the night would end up going wrong. The process had gone far too smoothly—the target had agreed to meet in that clearing with no questions asked. The guy hadn't even bothered to ask his name. And the men who'd rushed him, tearing out of their cover in the dark woods, should not have surprised him like that.
Of course, it hadn't stopped him from making quick work of them.
He laughed to himself, imagining the cops struggling to make sense of the scene. The wannabe brawlers and bodyguards lying beaten in pools of their own teeth and blood, the old bastard paying them slumped in his own corner of the clearing with a star-tipped round lodged deep in his brain. That had always been his favorite part, getting to glare into terrified eyes as he pulled the trigger, ending another self-obsessed life with a hot inch of lead.
He risked a glance off the dark road ahead as the moon cleared the puffy shards of cloud, a silver-white sliver in a starless black sky. He groaned faintly in pain, the throb of cracked ribs pushing past the fading buzz of adrenaline. He revved the bike's engine, the growls of the tricked out machine echoing behind him as he sped down the wet, empty road. The burn of the knife slash across his bruised knuckles didn't do a thing to ease his mood.
They better not fucking short me this time.
He pressed on the break as the meeting place came into view—a squat, derelict building that had been abandoned for decades, if not a century. He came to a careful stop in the overgrown ruins of the parking lot, the old bandana he'd tied around his hand damp with sweat and blood. The small flashlight he tugged from his pocket as he climbed off couldn't be tracked like a phone; he flicked it on and took a cursory look around, his open jacket fluttering like bat wings in the late night breeze.
The red paint was faded, cracked and flaking, patches worn to the rotted siding underneath, shards of window glass glinting in a narrow beam of cold blue light. The door had long since broken off the rust-eaten hinges, lying in pieces at his feet, gnawed and scratched by the animals that had made this place home. He ducked past the broken cobwebs hanging in the frame, tugging up his hood when he saw they were worse inside. The striped wallpaper was rotted and peeling, shredded to pieces, the walls layered with dirty rainbows of graffiti. Chunks of crumbling plaster laid scattered across the cracked and pocked floors. Dust filtered through the stale air with every step, disturbing the tracks that streaked and dotted it, making him grateful for the half mask they made him wear to hide his face. He dodged a busted bulb clinging to a stripped wire, the crunch of glass beneath his boots abnormally loud in this silent, dismal place.
It's actually starting to creep me out, he admitted silently, swiping at his tearing eyes with his sleeve. The visor on his helmet had broken off, so he'd been stuck with the wind and dirt from the road blowing into them.
"You took your sweet time," a deep, harsh voice said behind him. He knew the heavy accent well, though the words were still hard to understand. He turned toward the chilling tone, thankful that, at least, no longer got to him. He glared at the man dressed in black in the shadowed corner, hating the smug, mocking smile in the near colorless eyes that were all he could see.
"He brought friends," he answered flatly, then shrugged carelessly. "I took care of them, though."
The other man chuckled.
"As you always do, don't you?"
He reached in the fuzzy outline of the bag at his side and took out one of several large yellow envelopes.
"Your money's in there," he tossed it, dust clouding as it hit the floor. "And some info about your new job, I think you'll like this one."
He chuckled again, then turned to slip through another doorway, the door itself hanging crookedly by one broken hinge. The agent waited until he was sure the 'messenger' had gone before snatching his prize; he didn't let his guard down as he headed out, even as he pushed off his hood to tug on his helmet.
Freak.
The wind had continued to pick up, rustling through the branches overhead. He climbed on his bike, woke the engine and sped away, not wanting to linger out there any longer than he had to. He'd barely gotten away in one piece last time.
The moon was setting when he made it home, stowing his bike in the garage and cutting straight to his room. He dropped gracelessly on his bed, sighing at the familiar comfort before turning his head toward the packet he'd tossed on the nightstand. He groaned softly in annoyance as he sat back up to grab it, knowing he'd never get to sleep if he didn't open it now. He snatched the knife from his belt and sliced it open, making sure the stacks of bills matched his price before switching his focus to the folded packet at the bottom. His eyes narrowed when he saw the note scrawled across the top of the first page.
'This job is going to be different. You've been assigned to protect this girl, not to kill her.'
He groaned again; he was a field agent, not a bodyguard. He scanned the information quickly, noting her red belt in karate, thinking this might not be as boring as he had thought. Several photographs were paper-clipped to the last page—a dark-haired girl about seven, standing with her big brother or a cousin in front of a coffee shop. She was older in the second shot, maybe twelve, slightly crouched as she got ready to shoot a basket, the hoop attached to a pale blue house above a white garage door. He rolled his eyes and skipped to the last one, his mouth going dry as he sucked in a breath.
The picture showed her from the waist up, not much younger than him; her beaded teal bikini was the perfect contrast for her soft copper skin. She lounged on her side with one arm in front of her, her other hand gliding through long, luscious waves of thick brown hair. He ached to lose himself in those deep green eyes, amplified by thick black lashes and warm gray eyeshadow. Her full, glossed red lips were poised in a seductive smile. He swallowed thickly, turning back to the first page.
'Name: Sione, Lena A
Date of Birth: 13 July 1997
Current Location: Blackwood Cove, California'
At least he knew where to find her, but her file made it sound like she'd lived a perfectly normal life, so why would she need protection, and why him? Had one, or both of her parents done something shady, or gotten themselves into some kind of trouble? He let out a breath, set everything on his nightstand and laid back, hands behind his head, echoes of her face flashing before his eyes as he felt himself nodding off.
Guess I'll just have to find out.
<<<>>>
Lena flipped absently through the guidebook again, her dark green eyes darting to the window every few sentences. The one-bedroom apartment was the front corner unit on the top floor of a new complex on the edge of town, just under a mile from the docks. The ferry was the only way on or off of the island, much of the sixty square miles still covered in forest. The slim book she'd snagged from the visitor's center had plenty of history, but almost nothing about the town currently; she hadn't noticed the title, Backstory of Blackwood, until she'd already brought it home. She figured it was still better than going in blind.
'White Island sits thirty miles off the coast of northern California,' she read for the fiftieth time. 'It's so named for the limestone bluffs that protected the original settlement from rough weather, parts of which still surround the town today. One local legend also claims that—'
She snapped it shut and turned back to the window. The two-lane road that led into town cut through what was left of those bluffs, after nearly two centuries of being hacked away at for construction material. It passed a large sign made of planks, painted a cheery white and bright ocean blue, welcoming everyone who saw it to Blackwood Cove, proudly established in 1834. From what she'd heard, the population had never risen much above three thousand.
The sun was setting, highlighting the carpet of trees in amber as the bright blue sky faded to the violet of a summer twilight. As excited as she was for the chance to start a new life, part of her still longed for the one she knew had ended years ago.
'Ended' was putting it mildly, she decided. It would be more accurate to say it had gone up in screaming, blood-tinged flames. The few officers she'd spoken to had only said they couldn't confirm a culprit, or a motive. One had even had the nerve to say it had likely just been a terrible accident. Even with what little she'd understood back then, Lena was sure they had all been lying. She'd wanted nothing more than to scream at them, to say it all could have been avoided if they had just paid attention in the first place. But they hadn't, and everyone around her had been forced to pay the price.
Well, nearly everyone.
Why did it have to happen? She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms. What did we do to deserve to all this?
Her eyes burned, but the tears wouldn't come. She'd buried them too deep for too long. She swiped at her dry cheek, then nudged the book from its spot on the back of the couch. It fell open on the cushion in front of her, showing another passage she'd read a hundred times.
'A thick forest of pine, maple, oak and birch still covers most of the island, the oldest trees dating back to before the first settlement. A large underground spring in the east hills feeds a web of ponds and streams throughout the island, replenished every year by the thaw.'
She skipped ahead, skimming the story of how the settlers had stumbled upon deep veins of pure silver. One family had taken charge of the new mine and growing trade, while another organized and built the town. According to records, a ring of scorched trees had surrounded a small inlet, the only clear path in the rocky waters surrounding the island, thus the name.
She tossed the book on the glass coffee table and stretched out on the plush white sofa, trying to ignore the bruises and scabs covering her well-toned legs; she adjusted her long skirt to cover them again. Miranda, one of her best friends, had assured her the chest was still waiting in her attic, full of the only things Lena had saved. She'd promised to send it as soon as Lena told her it was safe, that she'd finally gotten away from the woman who had ruined everything.
I'm not about to let that bitch take anything else from me. She snatched the book and stuffed it under the glossy pale wood end table, just as a set of keys jingled softly outside. The lock clicked, and the door swung open, an older, ash-blond beauty strutting in like it was the Paris catwalk.
"Oh, you're still awake," she murmured dismissively, staring at herself in her favorite blue compact. Lena's glare grew icier as Kara dropped her matching purse on the tiny kitchen counter, blowing herself a kiss before she snapped the compact shut.
"How'd it go?" Lena asked flatly. Her stepmother had left that morning to sign the last of the paperwork for the house, putting an end to their month-long stint in the little apartment.
"Everything should be here tomorrow," she grabbed her purse, tossing Lena a white paper bag as she headed for the bedroom. "And before I forget, I got you something."
She shut the door and locked it; Lena's mouth watered when she saw Sweet Tooth in pale pink frosting letters across the front of the bag. She ripped open the top and pulled out a chocolate donut sprinkled liberally with powdered sugar, a local specialty that had become one of her favorites. She took a large bite, licking at the sugar that stuck to her lips, moaning happily at the sweet tartness of fresh raspberry jam. That was the best part.
She fished the napkin from the bag and headed to the kitchen to clean herself up; it was almost impossible to eat those things neatly.
I should take care of the carpet before she's done in there. She glanced at the closed door, sighing in relief when she heard running water. She could clean the apartment twice over in the time it took that witch to bathe. I don't want to give her another reason to—
She swallowed hard, forcing the thought from her mind. She'd already spent enough time on it today, and there was still plenty else for her to worry about.
<<<>>>
Kara came out of her annoyingly tiny bathroom two hours later, her dyed, damp curls tucked into the white towel twisted on top of her head. She tied her blue satin bathrobe tightly around her trim waist. The long perfumed soak in the tub had been just what she'd needed, after everything she'd had to put up with that week. It had taken that real estate agent far too long to find the right house, and even longer to persuade the sellers to accept what it had really been worth.
Then there had been Lena.
The girl had always been a problem and had recently decided she was old enough to not have to listen any longer. Fortunately, reining in troublemakers was what Kara Sione excelled at. Walking into the living room, she wasn't surprised to see Lena passed out on the floor, the pale carpet by her head dotted with brown crumbs, her hand draped limply over a half-dried paper towel. Lena had always had issues with food, especially candy and other sweets.
She picked up the crinkled Sweet Tooth bag and set it on the coffee table, recalling how easy it had been to add her own little surprise to that donut. She was sure the sedative would keep Lena out for the rest of the night, if not longer.
"Oh, you poor thing," she smirked, kneeling down to swipe the guidebook from its hiding place. Lena had really thought she'd gotten away with buying it on the sly. With mocking tenderness, she brushed some stray waves of hair from the girl's forehead, then traced the edge of a small, fading bruise at her temple. Yet another of the reminders she'd chosen to ignore. "When will you figure out that you can't hide anything from me?"
She nudged Lena's head aside and grabbed the thin, ratty blanket from the end table cabinet, then shook it out and threw it carelessly over the unconscious teen; no point in letting her get sick. The book went right into the trash with the bag where they both belonged.
She'll figure it out, eventually. She looked back over her shoulder, her full pink lips curling in a disgusted sneer. If she knows what's good for her.