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“We’ll stay,” he says gently.

“Really?” Is he going to sit here and watch me kill this guy?
Because, those are my intentions. I think I was clear about that.

“If I had a chance to retaliate against someone who killed one of my brothers, I would. And no one could stop me.” His eyes change—they soften. “Do what you have to do for her. I’ll back you
up.”

I feel wild inside, powered up and ready to attack. I’ve been waiting for this.

“I have something for you. Wait here.” He stands up and jets out of the room. He returns with a bag I haven’t seen him with, which
I’m
now seeing contains two 45 mm handguns. He shoves one of them
into
his holster and looks back up at me. He reaches for my hand and pulls me toward him. “Turn around.” I do as he says without
question. Is
this trust? He’s holding a pistol and told me to turn around. I’m breaking Mom’s rule. “Another reason I had my truck delivered to
us. Couldn’t sneak these babies through TSA.”

He loops his finger through my back belt loop and I feel a tug. His knuckles sweep against my bare skin and I feel an electric zap charge through my body. My breath hitches and my eyes close in response to his warmth. My need for him is growing by the minute,
but he’s here
to protect me. Nothing more. I swallow my unsure feelings as he spins me back around to secure a small holster around my waist. Once secure, he slips the pistol in and stretches my shirt down over the holster. “This is only for self-defense,” he says, lowering his eyes
to my gaze. “That’s
my only rule, Cali. You wait for it to be self-defense. Rules of engagement. I’m sure you’re familiar.”

“I thought you couldn’t shoot?” I quip.

He smirks a bit as he pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and tosses it to me. I hold it up to my desk light. It’s his target
from the shooting range. The holes put together make up the outline of a smiley face. I should be pissed that he played me like a fool, and
I had
a moment where I believed he couldn’t shoot, but this is pretty good. I can’t contain the smile that’s overpoweringly creeping across my
lips.

“Well I’ll be damned. Is that a smile, Miss Carolina?”

I bite my cheek in an attempt to stop. “You lied,” I say playfully.

“And you have a breathtaking smile.” His lip stretches up,
hinting at a smile of his own. “So, I guess we’re even.”

His eyes are studying mine and the moment is making my
stomach twist into knots again. I’m not sure he realizes he’s staring. Or maybe he does as he flinches a bit and clears his throat. “Well. Good night.
I’ve thoroughly secured the apartment. We’re safe.” He turns and
walks out of my room, closing the door behind him.

I’m left here confused and wondering what just happened in the past three minutes. I want to slap my own face. I shouldn’t have to keep reminding myself about Reaper and how much I trusted him,
as well. He looked at me the exact same way.

TANGO

I’VE FELT PAIN.
I know the intensity of it and the way it controls your mind and body. But watching Cali in this much pain is almost too much to bear. Everything with her needs to be slow and thought out. I can’t let her stick around and kill this guy. She’ll go to jail. She isn’t thinking clearly. But if I try to drag her out right now, she won’t comply, and I don’t blame her. I know what it feels like to want revenge. The feeling is almost consuming. I can see how she would think she has nothing to lose by killing him. Everything has already been taken from her. But she has the chance to start her life over, and I don’t want her to lose that. It’s my job to protect her. And waiting here for her sister’s murderer to show up, isn’t very logical, but I do have faith that even as a form of self-defense, we can take him down before he has the chance to try anything stupid.

I swear I saw some softness in her icy blue eyes earlier. The look
made my heart ache. And my heart doesn’t ache. Not for anyone.
I’ve
been trained to protect the innocent, and that’s what I’m doing. I
haven’t
gotten this wrapped up in a mission before, and I’ve never been
affected this much. Usually, I complete the job and move onto the next, but I have a feeling it won’t be that easy this time, especially since this is my last job.

I know what I read about her, but there is so much more to know. I know better than anyone, you don’t judge a person by
what’s in their
file. If that were the case, I’d be considered nothing more than a murderer of the innocent. Explosives will give you that sort of
reputation.

I sit down on my bed and pull each boot off, placing them down
side by side next to my bed. I fall backwards onto my pillow and
fold my arms across my chest and close my eyes.

As the wheeze in my lungs acts as a white noise, the
apprehension begins. It’s too empty . . .

***

 
The streets should be bustling, people moving around, children yelling
as their parents rummage through the street market. I’ve been in too many of these situations, immediately realizing that this isn’t going to end well. Looking behind me for my guys, I quickly realize they’re gone. Fuck! I flip my right hand over, twisting my rifle to the side to remove the magazine. No rounds. I reach down to my vest. No mags, just empty pouches. I reach to my thigh. No sidearm.

Wonderful.

My nerves tell me what’s next as I duck into a doorway just as the pops begin and the rubble starts flying. Fear sets in now as I start thinking of
how to survive with no ammo, an unknown number of people firing small arms at me and no team for support. Nothing in here to improvise with except a small table and chair. There’s a window on the opposite wall, which I quickly but cautiously run to, trying to see what’s on the other side of the building. No one. They must all be in the street. Do I wait until they breach
the doorway and try to intercept the front man for his weapon? Capture is not an option; I need to take as many as I can down with me as I go. Death somehow seems justifiable as long as those assholes come with me.

This is it.

As I hear their voices grow louder, my hands tense, ready to grab the rifle barrel when it peeks through the door. If I can get the weapon out of his grip, I can drive it backwards, hopefully crushing enough of his facial bones
to render him useless.

My breathing is heavy but slow. I see sharper and hear clearer than normal.

Silence.

The door implodes and I miss his weapon. Within a second, my left hand instinctively grabs the lower portion of his jaw and my fingers clench through his tongue. I grip his jaw like a handle to hold tightly as I disable him.

As I swing my right palm down onto his ear, I hear the hollowed crack below my hand.

***

I wake up, half screaming, half shaking, soaked in sweat. Catching
my breath, staring at the ceiling above my face, I think of how I’ve
come to hate my dreams, my experiences, and my mind in general.

CALI

The brightness of the sun spills into my room, so I pull the pillow over my head. I need coffee and we don’t have any. My phone vibrates on my nightstand as if it were an alarm clock. Every day this
damn thing
wakes me up with Google alerts for sightings on Reaper. I suppose I was already somewhat awake today, though. I slap my hand over the phone and drag it off the stand until it falls onto the bed. I peek
my head out from below the pillow and wait for my eyes to adjust as I pick up the phone and bring it into focus.

It’s not a Google alert. A text message from a blocked number displays across my screen.

Cali, I’m in Boston. Meet me at 112 Beech Street @ 1:00 p.m.

I want to see you.

Love, Dad.

I shake my head, baffled by this message. Dad always calls me Carolina, and he doesn’t use twelve-hour time. This is definitely not
Dad.

My feet drop off the bed and slide into each boot. I lace them up
and pull a new shirt out of my bag. I pull it over my head and open the door. Tango is leaning on the wall opposite of my door, one foot
on the wall, and one hand holding out a coffee.

“For me?” I ask, my voice croaking.

“I locked you in and ran down the street. And you were none the wiser.” He presses his tongue out between his lips, but doesn’t smile. He’s cute.
Ugh. Take it back
,
Cali.
I take the hot cup and toss my
phone at his now empty hand. “What’s this?” He drops his foot from the wall and handles the phone with both hands.

I take a sip of the coffee and close my eyes, momentarily
enjoying the beautiful toasty warmth running down the back of my throat. “Thank you, for this.” I lift the cup and tap the air.

“Carolina, what is this?” Oh, we’re back to formal names. Nicknames must belong under a drunk category. “This isn’t your
dad. I tried to tell you last night.”

I shake my head and pull my phone from his hand. “My dad calls me Carolina. And the last time he used twelve-hour time was
when I was probably twelve. So, yeah. You were right.”

“I have an idea,” he says, heading toward his bedroom.

“What?” I chase him down the hall. “What are we doing?” I’m hoping we’re going to this location. We’re going to hunt Reaper
down and I’m going to fucking shoot him point blank.

 “Go grab your stuff just in case . . .”

He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. I get it. I run back to my
bedroom and place my coffee cup down on the dresser before changing into clean clothes. I open my bags and scoop up the few hanging shirts I threw into the closet and dump them in my bag.
Then I rip the sheets off the bed, roll them into a pile and shove them inside too. Lastly, I
unplug my laptop and smother it between the compacted sheets.
Zipped and ready to go. I throw my bags over my shoulder and snatch my coffee back from the dresser.

“Ready,” I sing in an anxious voice as I walk toward the front door where he’s waiting.

He whips the door open and sticks his head out, looking in each direction before moving forward. “Stay behind me, just in case.”

Unfamiliar with this area, I don’t try to follow the signs on the roads. The only thing my mind is set on is figuring out what we’re going to do when we arrive at this location in Boston. We turn onto another highway, and I happen to notice one of the signs we’re
passing by. It says:
Cape Cod, 20 miles
. I’ve heard of
the Cape.
It’s at the tip of Massachusetts, definitely not near Boston.

“Where the hell are we going?” I ask.

“Away.”

“Okay. That’s it. I want some additional proof that you’re really a bodyguard. I have no idea who the hell you really are, or what your intentions are. I don’t trust you, and I don’t trust a word you
say. You
could be kidnapping me for all I know.” I kick my feet up on the dashboard and lower my seat back. I pull my glasses over my eyes and fold my arms. There has to be something I can do to change his
mind. Maybe if I forfeit my body to him, he’ll actually start answering my questions. Sex is usually a good answer to problems and it wouldn’t be the worst last resort.

“I can say, I’m sorry. But I doubt it’ll matter to you.”

“No, it won’t matter. You won’t even answer simple questions.”

“Fine. I’ll answer a simple question. Go ahead, ask,” he says
with a snippy attitude.

“Do you have a family?” Out of every question I could have asked, this one popped out of my mouth first. I feel like slapping
myself for not thinking this through a little more.

 “I had two parents and a sister, yes.” His hands tighten around
the steering wheel and his jaw grinds subtly back and forth. Then
again,
maybe we’re getting somewhere. I’m starting to see a slight
possibility that he isn’t as different from me as I thought.

“Did they all die?” I can’t imagine anyone’s luck being so poor
that
they could lose their entire family on three different occasions. It
must have been some kind of accident.

He pulls in a sharp breath and chews on the inside of his cheek. “Can we just not go there? I answered your one simple question. Please.”

I nod, wanting to say I understand. But now I just want to hear what happened and to tell him he’s not alone. Although, he knows he’s not alone. He knows I’ve been through the same type of pain. And I know what it’s like to shut down and keep to myself. For that,
I can respect his feelings.

“I think I’ve made my intentions of keeping you safe, clear. You could be kidnapped by worse, you know?” he says.

I pull my glasses down onto the bridge of my nose and twist my head to look at his smiling profile. I smile in return, again.

“Hey now, two smiles. What did I do to become so damn
lucky?”
He turns on the radio and starts tapping his hands on the steering wheel to the beat of the country music. “I’m going to make you trust me. And believe me.” His words come out with a bit of vigor, making him sound a little more conceited than I had originally
thought him to be.