SOLD TO A KILLER Page 7

  Bear closes the door and I immediately lock it behind him. Not that I don’t trust these men. But the phantom of Barinov’s sweating body still haunts me.

  I lie on the bed. I think I’ll be awake for a long time, too wired just like Roma, but as soon as my head hits the pillow, exhaustion takes me and I sink into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Roma

  I wait in the living room for Bear, trying to keep myself calm. I’m a killer. I’ve roamed across the States and killed bad men my entire life. I’ve killed men with sniper rifles from a quarter-mile away and thought nothing of it. I’ve been in bars when four men have turned on me and I’ve beat every damn one of them. I’ve killed and I’ve fought my entire life. And through it all, I’ve been calm. I’ve never let anything shake me. But Bear . . . Bear is different. If there’s one person on this planet who can get to me like nobody else can, it’s Bear. And listening to his footsteps as he walks down the stairs—slow, as though he doesn’t want to reach the bottom—I’m nervous.

  I, a man trained killers and ruthless men refuse to look in the eye, am nervous.

  The door to the living room opens slowly, the door creaking. The sound seems to slide over my skin like something alive, squeaking, pressing against me. My breathing comes quick. I never knew my dad, my mom, anyone. I’m a nowhere man, a specter at the feast, outside the normal run of things. Sometimes, when I’m driving through the suburbs, I glance into people’s windows and see them about their normal business, dinner and TV and family and laughter. I couldn’t be further outside all of that. But in Bear I found a different sort of family, a trainer as well as a father figure, a man I can look up to as well as a man I can fear.

  He paces into the room, his solitary eye glaring at me.

  “Roma,” he mutters. “Come outside. I need to talk.”

  “We can talk in here,” I say.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “Because I might shout and that girl doesn’t deserve that.”

  With a sigh, I stand up. Bear leads me to the front door and waves down at a pair of boots. “They’ll be too big for you, but it’s better than nothing.”

  I pull on the boots. He’s right. They’re too big. I tie the laces as tight as they’ll go and follow him outside. We weave through the overgrowth and walk in silence toward the hill. We walk until the cottage is far away, stopping beside a huge, lonely tree which throws its branches out and shades us from the sun. Bear leans against the trunk of the tree and watches me.

  “You’re angry,” I say, facing him.

  His lips tremble and his chest is like the rumbling of a volcano before eruption. But when he speaks, his voice is ice. “You’re going to kill that woman’s father,” Bear says. “Mr. Black is a political man and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had some goddamn snake’s plan which involved killing the father. I heard about the kidnapping. I heard about the security. As far as I can see, the only reason you’re saving this girl is to get the ambassador to relax his security . . . and then you’ll kill him.”

  He’s good. But then, he always has been.

  I face his square on. There’s no point in lying now. “That’s right, Bear,” I say.

  His lips twist. I can tell he’s trying to keep himself calm. He fails. One second he’s up against the tree, the next he’s in my face, roaring. He moves like light, like a blink, with killer’s speed. “This is exactly the fucking reason I left the fucking game, Roma!” He grabs me by the shirt and brings his face so close to mine I can smell the wine on his breath. He bares his teeth, growling. “Innocents, it’s always the fucking innocents who are caught up in it! Always the innocents who have to pay the price! You’ve saved this girl just so you can kill her father! What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with Mr. Black?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” I say. “There’s more to it.”

  I try to keep myself calm. It’s Bear, after all. But there’s only so much a man can take before he fights back, no matter who it is. If any other man tried to grab me like Bear is right now, he’d be levelled out.

  “It’s not complicated!” Bear roars. “You’re going to kill her father, Roma. Her father! And don’t play me for a fucking fool! Maybe I’ve lived out here for a long damned time, but don’t make the mistake of thinking I’ve forgotten women. She’s in love with you. Or she’s pretty damn close. And you . . . oh my God.” His voice goes quiet. “And you feel something for her, too,” he mutters in disbelief.

  “Let go of me, Bear,” I say, my voice shaking with the effort of staying cool.

  “This world is fucked,” Bear says. He takes a step back, letting go of my shirt. “This world is fucked and the most fucked part of it is Mr. Black. Roma, lad, this girl feels something for you. I can see it plain as day. And you feel something for her. You’re lying to her, lad. You’re lying to her and you’re going to ruin her life. Her mother’s dead, isn’t she? Ambassador Fellows’ wife died soon after she was born. Which means you’re going to make this girl an orphan.”

  “There’s more to it than that,” I repeat, but my voice sounds weak, my words empty.

  “There is never more to it,” Bear says, voice bitter. “That’s just what you and Mr. Black and men like you tell yourselves so you can sleep at night. But the truth it, there’s never more to it than the tears and the blood of the innocent. How many widows have we made? And, aye, when it comes to pedophiles and rapists and killers and the scum, fine, I don’t care. Their fault for marrying evil men. But this man, Roma, and this girl, they’ve never hurt anybody. Why do they deserve the pain?”

  “I just go where the money goes,” I say defensively. “That’s all.”

  But his words hit me hard. My hands clench into fists without me telling them to. My cheeks tremble and all I want is for Bear to transform into another man, anybody else, so that I can hit him. But the idea of hitting Bear makes me feel sick.

  “You trained me,” I growl, glaring at him. “You brought me into this life. You took a street kid and you made him into a goddamn machine, Bear. And now you’re going to stand there and grandstand about it all? How many jobs have you done? How many men have you killed?”

  “That’s in the past. That’s done. I’m never going back to that. You’re still in it, Roma. But you’re not in the life I was in, the life of crime families and hits . . . you’re not killing men who know the score, men who have made the choice to enter the life. You’re going to kill a politician. A good man. One of the few good men working for the American government. And for what? Money? Don’t you have enough of that?”

  I bring my hands to my temples, massaging. “Be quiet,” I say.

  Bear throws his hands up. “Why, am I starting to make too much damned sense?”

  “This is who I am,” I mutter. “This is who you made me.”

  “Aye, and I regret it. I should’ve taken you in and put you in a good school and shielded you from all this shit.”

  “Don’t say that.” I shake my head, wishing away his words. “We had some good times, Bear. Some damn good times.”

  “Aye, maybe we did.” Bear’s voice is softer. He takes a step toward me. “Maybe we did, son. But what’s it all led to, aye? To this. A stinking pile of shit with another stinking pile of shit piled on top of it. Innocents, Roma, civilians. We’re soldiers in this line of work and the worst thing a soldier can do is drag a civilian into battle.”

  Bear lifts his hand, places it on my shoulder. He looks deep into my eyes. “If you were anybody else and you told me what you were going to do, I’d kill you. I’d kill you without thinking about it. But I can’t kill you, Roma. I can’t even think about it. So all I can do is ask you to stop. Leave the life. Put it all behind you and—”

  “And then what?” I snap, batting his hand away. I take a step back. “And then what will I be? Some poor fucking orphan with no respect.”

  “You don’t have respect, boy, you have fear.”

  “Same thing,” I gru
nt, but even I don’t believe that.

  Bear watches me closely. He looks deflated, like shouting has taken it out of him. “You like that girl. Don’t tell me you don’t. How do you think she’ll feel when she finds out the truth, aye?”

  “She doesn’t need to know.”

  I feel a stab in my chest at that. I do like Felicity, more than like. And I’m lying to her.

  Bear shakes his head. “I’ve said what I needed to say. When it comes down to it, you’re a man now and I can’t do anything to stop you.”

  “That’s right.”

  I turn, meaning to pace back to the house. Bear grabs me by the shoulder, spins me around, and pulls me into him. He wraps his massive arms around me and hugs me close.

  “I love you, boy,” he says.

  Stunned, I don’t know what to say.

  Then he lets me go and begins walking down the hill toward the cottage.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Roma

  I lie beside Felicity on the bed, the sun beginning to set. She slept straight through the day and it looks like she’s going to sleep straight through the night, too. I can’t blame her. After everything she’s been through, she must be exhausted. I stare up at the ceiling as the shadows lengthen and the room creeps toward full darkness. Felicity rolls over and places her hand on my chest. I take her by the wrist and move it a few inches down, just below my pec. My heart is beating something fierce and I’m worried she might feel it, even in her sleep.

  Bear’s words go over and over in my mind. I hear them again and again, and each time is like a punch in the face.

  I try to blot them out. I imagine I am somewhere else, somebody else. I imagine that Felicity and I are really in one of those suburban houses, a regular couple thinking about regular things. I imagine that she wakes up and turns to me and asks me what time I want to have the barbeque on Saturday. I must remember to invite the Browns. I must remember to pick up the burgers and the buns. She’ll laugh and remind me of the time I forgot the hot sauce. And then we’ll kiss and I’ll jump from bed and brew us some coffee. I’ll go to work. As a mechanic, a builder, a cashier, I don’t care. And she’ll go to work as a fitness instructor, but not just a fitness instructor. She’s the most respected fitness instructor in America; she helps members of Congress and even the President trim the fat. People ask me if I feel overshadowed by her and I always tell them it’s comfortable in her shadow. I feel secure. Just being with her is enough. They laugh. They think I’m joking. But I’m never joking.

  I sit up, looking down at her. I was lost in the reverie for longer than I guessed. Blue moonlight spears through the window and rests on the ceiling now. I stare down at Felicity and I think: What the hell am I doing? Do I really think I can be close to her? Do I really think I can lead any sort of normal life? What am I? What, when you get down to the gristle and the meat of a person, am I, truly? A killer, a man for hire, a hitman. That’s what I am and nothing will change that. Not even the affection of a woman like Felicity. A woman I care about more than I’ll ever understand. A woman I want to protect . . . and a woman whose father I’m going to kill.

  I want to lean down and kiss her on the forehead as a final goodbye, but if I do that, she might wake up. Instead, I take her hand and move it as softly as I can away from me. Then I stand up and creep to the door, wincing as the floorboards make an aching sound. I unlock the door and slide out into the hallway, closing it quietly behind me.

  Bear will keep her safe, I tell myself. Bear will make sure nothing happens to her. But I can’t be here. I can’t do this to her.

  Bear was right. I can’t have it both ways. I have to choose. Do my job and kill the ambassador or stick by Felicity. I can’t have both. And no matter how I feel, I’m a killer.

  I stop in the hallway and look to the door behind which Felicity sleeps. I’m constantly shocked by how much I care for her. There’s the physical attraction, sure, but underpinning that is something I have never felt for a woman. Some foreign emotion—affection, longing, love—gives me goosebumps as I turn from the door and make my way down the stairs.

  I can’t have both. The life or Felicity. I pull on the oversized boots and step into the darkness. The village is over the hill, Bear said, so I’ll head over the hill. From there I’ll make my way back to the States and wait for Bear to give Felicity back to her father. Then I’ll kill her father.

  I look to the cottage, a dark mass in the night, and then I turn up the hill and begin walking. Bear told me about a Greek legend once, a man who had to leave his lover and could not look back or she’d be taken into hell. I don’t remember the names or how the legend finishes, but it comes to me now.

  Just don’t look back.

  I feel my legs beneath me, aching as they have never done before. It’s not the swim or the madness of the past few days; it’s the thought of never seeing Felicity again. Or, if I see her again, it will be on the TV, speaking to a pack of reporters about how much she loved her father and wearing black mourning clothes. The image is sharp, cutting, and I feel like roaring out against it all.

  I’ve never reflected on the life. I’ve killed more men than I can count, anybody the organization ordered me to, and I slept like a goddamned baby afterwards. This is different. This is something outside of my experience. Somehow, I think my nights of deep undisturbed sleep are over. Even now, walking through the night, I see Felicity’s face. I smell her skin and I hear her voice and I feel our kiss. The kiss most of all because it lingers on my lips like a phantom, like it’s happening this moment.

  Because of Felicity, the entire life seems different than it did only a few days ago. I would never have let Bear’s words affect me when it came to any other job. But now, with her . . .

  “Don’t,” I breathe, clenching my teeth. “Just, don’t.”

  I’m almost at the top of the hill. Once I’m over it, this part of my life will be over.

  I’ll kill these feelings and go back to my cold, emotionless days.

  If only it were that easy.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Felicity

  When I wake up, groggy and rising out of a nightmare in which Barinov’s slug-like hands were literally slugs, their slime trails crawling all over me, I reach across the bed for Roma. I want to feel the solidness of him. The solidness which tells of safety and security. The solidness which tells me that he’s here and nobody can hurt me. The solidness of a man protecting his woman. It’s something I’ve never sought before. Something I’ve never needed. I didn’t need a hero to protect me. A Knight in Shining Armor, Mr. Right, etc., etc. I never needed any of that. But circumstances have changed and I’m more adaptable than I thought.

  I reach across, longing for his solid arm, the firm muscle of it . . .

  But he’s not there.

  I listen, trying to hear if he’s walking down the hallway, returning from the bathroom. But there’s nothing. Except for a light breeze whistling whistles against the cottage, the night is silent.

  I sit bolt upright. Roma!

  I jump to my feet and creep as quickly as I can through the house, down the stairs. I stop at the door to the living room. Bear sits in one of the armchairs, smoking a pipe, the crackling embers a low orange glow in the darkness. His eye looks small and strange above the dim light.

  “Where is he?” I breathe.

  Just looking into Bear’s face tells me something is wrong. I don’t know the man well, but even a complete stranger could tell he looks pained, like he’s just lost something very important.

  “Where is he?” I repeat.

  Bear sighs. “Up the hill,” he says.

  “Sneakers!” I demand.

  “The cupboard under the stairs,” he says. “The previous owner was a woman. Think she left some boots.”

  I spring to the cupboard, throw it open, and root through the darkness. My hands fumble over an old mop head and other random bits and pieces, seemingly designed to obstruct me at this very moment. I’m painfull
y aware that every moment I search here, Roma is getting farther and farther away. But why? my mind demands. Why would he do this? He was sent to save me! I try to pretend that it’s just business. I’ll have him fired for this! I roar as my hands finally find the boots, mud-crusted and beat-up, but serviceable.

  I run to the stairs, sit down, and pull the boots on. But it’s nothing to do with his employment. It’s me. He’s running from me. It’s been less than a week and already my feelings for this man dwarf any of my past encounters. If you piled my affection for Roma and my affection for the men before him, one pile would reach the stars and the other could be mistaken for a gopher mound.

  When the boots are on, I don’t waste any time. I jog to the door and throw it open.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to be found,” Bear calls from the living room. “Roma’s an inscrutable man, aye, like a sheet of rock.”