Bone Deep (11 page)

“We have always had truth between us, sister. If he is yours he should know all of it, yes?” Bone questioned.

Arrow sighed. “I would introduce you to Adam Collins but I’m afraid that if you terrorize him, we will fight and you have just arrived. After so long without my sisters by my side, I would mourn your loss.”

Bone raised her chin in the air. “We have had this argument before, Arrow. I am stronger, quicker, and meaner than you. Threats will earn you that fight your soul is screaming for if you continue.”

Dmitry stepped to her, hovering at her back, waiting. For what, she wondered.

“Do not threaten him, Bone. Do not
ever
threaten him,” Bullet whispered harshly. “And it seems you have truths of your own to be concerned with.”

Bone’s spine snapped tight and she narrowed her gaze on Bullet.

“I will not hurt her. Not intentionally, I assure you,” Rand Beckett offered into the taut silence.

“You would fight your sisters?” Adam Collins asked, inserting himself into the conversation.

She looked at him, really looked at Adam Collins for the very first time. He, too, was handsome but where Rand Beckett whispered elegance, this man shouted warrior. Much like Dmitry, the well of his past was deep and littered with death. “It is all we know, Mr. Collins. Would you rather we held hands and sang Kumbaya?”

“You had the holding hands part a minute ago,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I wondered if breaking into song was coming next.”

“I believe a laugh would be expected here—something to alleviate the tension,” Bone mused between clenched teeth, no smile, and no laugh forthcoming. “He’s a funny man, Arrow. Like loyalty, it is a commodity.”

Arrow nodded and smiled. It was sweet and nothing Bone had ever seen from her sister.

She had hoped, long ago, that her sisters would possibly find peace. Perhaps that was still possible for them. Bone turned to Rand Beckett. “If you don’t hurt her, I won’t kill you. It’s a deal, yes?”

Rand looked over her head to the man who stood behind her. His jaw clenched then released and he smiled. “Deal.”

“The same deal I will offer to you, Mr. Collins. For as much as the death inside Arrow calls my name, she is still mine and should you harm her, I will hunt you, warrior, and I will eliminate you.”

Collins nodded, accepting the warning from another warrior. Arrow said nothing, simply sighed again.

“Now that the pleasantries are over, I am hungry. Tell me Carmelita is cooking.” Dmitry’s smooth-as-whiskey voice broke over Bone, and much as her sisters’ presence soothed her, so did his.

“She has indeed. A feast, I’d say. Shall we go eat?” Rand asked the group.

Everyone turned to walk into the house except for Bullet, who stayed where she was, staring at Bone. She wanted to warn Bone again, out of hearing range of her man, but Bone was having none of it.

Bone shook her head. “You cannot change what I am.” She drew in a rough breath. “What we all are.” Her gaze snagged on Rand who had stopped and turned back to them. “I am what Joseph made me and to venture too far from that makes me weak, sister. You are mine. Arrow and Blade are mine. I will not lose another one.”

Bullet nodded after long moments, which made the band around Bone’s chest ease somewhat. But still there were other truths that must reach the light and suddenly all she wanted was to fight the inevitability of it all.

How she hated Joseph Bombardier.

The others walked in and she was left with Dmitry. He stepped to her side, gazing down at her. “You want to fight,
kostolomochka?
”

He read her like a book. She had only ever had that connection with her sisters. Bone closed her eyes, unable to find her mind when she stared into his blue, blue eyes. “I do.”

“We will eat first. Then, if you still want to fight, we will,” he assured her.

Her response was immediate. “Not you.”

“You are too much for anyone else here. And since you gave me truths earlier, allow me to give you one in return,” he responded patiently.

She nodded—entranced by this man who had never ceased searching for his sister. What kind of love was that? To never stop searching? She would do the same for Bullet, Arrow and Blade. Was that then what she felt for her own sisters?

Love?

No. She could not claim that emotion. It wasn’t to be for Bone.

“Give me your truth, then Asinimov. But make it quick, my stomach is empty.”

He smiled and leaned down to her, his mouth a hair’s breadth from her lips, head angled as if he would kiss her. She licked her lips and tasted him.
Want
. It was a craven thing inside her.

“I do not like when anyone else touches you. And should anyone hurt you they will pay a thousand fold for it. There’s my truth,
Etzem
. As your sisters are yours, you are now mine.”

He raised his head, stepped around her and walked into the house.

She was left bereft, the afternoon sun shining down though dark clouds dotting the eastern skyline. She was not his. She was hers.

For both of their sakes, she had to remain that way.

•●•

They had given her a room in the west wing. It was Nodachi’s wing when he was in residence, Rand told her, but Dmitry was two doors down from her. She was similar in size to Bullet and when she’d come out of the shower, naked and ready to step into the unitard, she discovered yoga pants, a sports bra, and a T-shirt on the foot of the bed.

The room smelled of juniper and pine. As she put on the clothing she succumbed to more fancy. His hands had been on those clothes—the same clothes that now touched her body.

As with any other reaction she did not understand, she avoided looking too deep into it. Blade would mock her—tell her that without understanding the reaction she could not defeat it. Bone thought that to analyze it too much gave it power over you.

And Dmitry Asinimov, whether he knew it or not, already held too much of Bone in his hands.

So she dressed and walked the halls, taking the lay of the land and reminding herself of her reason for being here. When her sisters had attached themselves to the men of Trident, this house became a base of sorts for them as well. Out of everything they planned for these last years that had been unexpected. She walked the halls, noting every camera and door, every entrance and exit.

So here she was now, eating Trident’s food, wearing their clothes, breathing their air. Bone placed her spoon to the side, drank the obscenely sweet concoction Dmitry informed her was sweet tea, and glanced around the table.

Everyone stared. She raised an eyebrow at them as the woman named, Carmelita, the cook and housekeeper, began to dish more steak and potatoes onto her plate.

Bone held up a hand and the woman stopped, a huge smile on her face.

“Coma! Coma! Es bueno para tu alma, pequeña,”
the woman enthused.

Bullet lowered her head but a smile hovered on her lips. Arrow said nothing but her face was soft, her mouth curving.

“No tengo alma, vieja,”
Bone replied in a hard, mean tone.

The woman tsked and Bone was reminded of Juana. “Where is Juana?” she asked, not making a move to continue eating.

“She stays with the babies,” Bullet answered.

Bone shifted, reaching for the knife at her side and stroking the blade. “Does she still hum?”

“She does,” Arrow whispered. “And it is beautiful.”

“Mother—where have you buried her?” The question was pulled from her. She wanted to call the words back and swallow them—they conveyed weakness.

“She is on the ridge behind the house. The sun shines on her all day long, Bone. She is safe,” Bullet murmured.

Mother hadn’t been ready for the mission Joseph sent her on. The little Jewish girl from the streets of Tel-Aviv had taken care of the babies when Bone had been away, hence her name, Mother. She’d never been a killer. She had simply been another tool for Joseph to hurt First Team. Minton had taken the young girl’s life and left Bullet to bury her.

If she could resurrect him she would give up whatever part of her soul was left for the simple pleasure of snapping his neck over and over again.

Dmitry reached for and covered the hand holding the knife, pressing it to the table. “You are bleeding,
Etzem
. Perhaps it is time to fight?”

“I am happy to have taken him,” she said so softly she wondered if anyone heard.

“Yes,” Dmitry replied.

She looked up at him then and lost her breath. The man understood her in a way few others ever had or would. Why now? She had more to do and could yet lose her life in the process. Dmitry deserved someone softer—someone not versed in a thousand different ways to take life.

He pushed his chair back and walked around the table, heading for the doorway but not looking back. She followed, not glancing at her sisters or their men. She concentrated instead on quelling the virulent ache rising in her blood.

Her body softened, preparing—but for what? The lust on her tongue had a different flavor. It wasn’t the sour yearning to feel endings. It was a lighter, more colorful desire to know a beginning.

Dmitry walked with purpose, his wide shoulders a lighthouse in the midst of her present storm. She was on a hair trigger, unable to suppress the contrasting desires raging inside her body. She followed because she was unable to do anything else.

Fight, fight, fight
, her soul demanded.

Do not harm him,
her heart cautioned.

She was wary of the differences in her need. The unknown mocked her. She was a killer. It was all she knew, all she had ever known, all she wanted to know. Yet the blue of his eyes and the taste of his kiss urged her seek more.

She had told him earlier she didn’t know what it was to be afraid. Yet each time Minton strung her up on that cliff in Arequipa, she’d known the soul-rending thump of it. It mattered not how she yelled or struggled. Those ropes were her bane and her salvation and the simple truth was it had been fear that locked her muscles and kept her from falling.

She had prayed for the end so many times that when faced with a beginning she had no knowledge of how to respond. The end she could handle and was wholly prepared to meet with blood on her hands and hate in her heart. But now she was afloat in a sea of uncertainty. Not knowing how to move forward or back she decided to take refuge in what she did know…fighting.

With the miasma of emotion tearing through her, she doubted she could control the demon demanding bloodlust. She would have to ask Dmitry’s forgiveness before they danced with one another.

Bone watched him disappear through a doorway and followed, her footsteps sure, her heart anything but. She entered a workout room of some sort. Various instruments of health and fitness lined the walls of the enormous space. The ceiling was vaulted, with intermittent hooks dotting the pristine whiteness. From those hooks hung several ropes.

Kill, kill, kill
, the demon demanded.

She forced herself to look away lest she adhere to the mantra and become death. Dmitry offered her surcease from the violent winds whipping at her. She would not kill him—not this man who saw more inside her than she damn well knew was there.

Insight took her breath.

He’d introduced her to something she’d never known—not on the plains of Jericho, or within the stone embrace of Masada, not in the entire world. This man with eyes that reminded her of the day she became nothing more than a death-bringer. This man with his kisses that upended her heart, spilling out emotions she’d never imagined she could feel.

He’d introduced her to hope.

Her fists clenched and she looked back to the ropes.
Remember
, she told herself.
He cannot have you—you could be the death of him.
And he would hate her when he discovered the truth of who she was and what she had done, indeed, what she was going to do.

“I am versed in all manner of warfare,
Etzem
. Where should we begin?” he asked in a low voice.

He had stripped his shirt off, leaving him in black cargo pants. He had also removed his boots and her gaze was drawn to his feet. They were the same as his hands, big and strong. Bone allowed her gaze to travel up, over long legs she knew were thick with muscle and then up over his trim waist. There was a large scar along his abdomen. It wrapped from his navel toward his back as if he’d been almost cut in half. The muscles of his abdomen rippled and flowed into chest draped in more heavy muscle. His shoulders were wide enough to carry the weight of her world.