Target: Hard Target Part 11

"Grandfather said he had enough a.s.sa.s.sins. He said that Romanovs needed to look to the future. I was the future of the Bratva. The next day, there was a laptop sitting on my bed when I woke up." Yet, he still taught me how to take a life.

"That was how I felt with my parents and granny. I was there to entertain them or they didn't pay me any attention. When my dad would come around, I tried to make him smile, tried to be the boy he wanted... that's how I learned to shoot, load, and clean guns. But I couldn't please anyone. Couldn't make them love me."

"Didn't need to worry about that though," she says, repeating me almost word for word.

"Why is that?" I grin at her, wriggling my brows. I cannot wait to hear her answer. Surely, she showed them how wrong they were. Surely, she left town in a blaze of glory as she headed across the ocean and started a whole new life.

"Because I learned to be happy and love myself without them," she says, momentarily stunning me with her confession.

You make me happy. "We have a lot in common, you and I."

She gives me a sad smile. "It sucks, doesn't it?"

"Not at all."

"You're just saying that because you want me to blog about your ma.s.sive paycheck."

"Shut up." I take her hand in mine and kiss the knuckles, something I've been doing at least two or three times an hour.

As we get closer to the bank, I check the rearview mirror.

Dmitry pulls back, the distance between us growing. He takes the next left and that's the signal for all's clear.

"There it is," Morgan all but squeals. "I've never been so happy to see a b.l.o.o.d.y cross in my life."

"It's not supposed to be b.l.o.o.d.y," I point out.

"I know," she says wryly. "I was attempting to be English."

"Point made."

As we inch closer, the feeling that this is a very bad idea grows in the pit of my stomach. While I don't think we're driving or walking into a trap, I can't in good conscience had over something information worth killing over to the bad guys.

Even if I used to be considered one.

A parking spot opens up and I pull in, then just sit there, letting the sports car idle. Flexing my hands as I rest them against the wheel, I can do nothing else, but wait.

"Why aren't we getting out?" Morgan asks, her voice thin. "The bank is right there, Ben. Right there." She points at the Depository, as if that will help me move.

"I don't know what's on the drive." Violet hasn't responded to any of my emails and I'm worried. Either my messages were intercepted... or she's been silenced.

Neither conclusion sets well with me.

She tugs on the door handle, but I've locked the car down. No one can get it or out. "Please, Ben, I just want this done and over. We're so close."

"I'm sorry, love, but I can't."

Her chin quivers with her effort not to cry. She wipes at her eyes, at the tears that want to fall because of me, and whispers brokenly, "I don't want to die."

Reaching over the console, I pull her to me as best I can, running my hands up and down her back. "I don't want to die either, but this is too easy."

"Who cares?" she says with a sniff. "Leave the stupid package and let's go."

"We don't know what's on it, and from what I have seen, it doesn't look good. Why in the world would a criminal organization want a drive containing pictures of single cells?"

"They want to start a new dating website and need customers?"

I groan. "Morgan. Be serious. Bad guys want scientific information that they are willing to kill for. Think about it."

"I don't want to think about it. I like my version better." She sniffs again. "Please, let's just go inside and finish this. Afterward, we can go on with our lives and have lots of s.e.x."

"And then what? Watch our backs? Wait for the inevitable, they know too much and need to be silenced'? That's no way to live."

"At least we'd be alive," she counters, sitting up. "I can live with that."

Straightening, I frame her tear-stained face in my hands. "No, you can't. Trust me. I've lived that life, that constant looking-over-your-shoulder bulls.h.i.+t. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"You're a hacker. Isn't that part of your job description?"

"I used be apart of an organization far more dangerous than Wraith."

She licks her lips. "What one is that?"

"The Bratva."

"Who?" Her nose scrunches. She genuinely has no idea.

"Russian Mafia."

"Oh." Her lips turn down. "Did you have a choice?"

"Yes and no."

"Did you enjoy killing people?"

"You don't want to know the answer to that." With a sigh, I let her go and put the car into drive.

"I don't think you did," she declares. "I think it tore you up inside because you're a good man at heart. Good men don't relish killing people, even the bad guys."

She's right. I never enjoyed killing, never relished seeing the light fade from another's eyes as they drew their last breath. Later, I would always ask myself what would have happened if I had made a different choice. If I had decided to gas them instead of put a bullet in their head.

But I knew the answers.

Those men wouldn't have stopped until I was dead. Or my brother. Or Everly. Or anyone else I ever cared about.

However, the fact remains that I enjoyed making my aunt and uncle pay for what they did to me as a child. And I sure as h.e.l.l enjoyed killing the man that almost executed Morgan. While I can excuse one, I cannot excuse the other.

"Let's get this sorted, yes?"

She nods.

"I killed my aunt and uncle, slowly, mind you, and I enjoyed every f.u.c.king second of it."

Morgan shrinks away from me. "You-you did?"

"For nearly five years, they starved me, beat me, and... did things that no child should ever have to endure." I stare off into the distance. Memories clawing at the box I've put them in, demanding to be let out. My chest grows tight. Panic sets in.

A child screams. Not a child. Me as a helpless toddler.

Morgan touches my face and it takes everything inside of me to not strike out at her. Instead, I slowly turn to face her again.

Her eyes flash with anger. "They got what they deserved." She peers at me from beneath her brow, as if trying to convince me of her opinion. "Some people need killing, Ben. It's not a popular thing to say, but evil exists in this world and good people have to take it out."

"What happens when evil no longer exists? What will good people take out then?"

She gives me a sad smile. "Evil will always exist in a fallen world."

I don't want to debate religion or a fallen world with her, but I do know that her words have eased the tightness in my chest. While she can't possibly give me absolution for my sins, she's given me the second best thing.

Understanding.

There is no possible way I can allow her to continue on this journey with me. "We have to leave."

"I understand."

G.o.d love you for it. "We're to meet Dmitry. Like you, he won't be happy, but he will go along with Plan B."

"What's Plan B?"

"I'll let you know as soon as I figure it out," I lie.

"I'm sending you away."

Hurt and betrayal flash in her eyes. "You want to get rid of me?"

I scrub my hand over my face. This is not how I imagined things would go with her. Thankfully, we're sitting in the living room of one of my safe houses and not in a hotel. Dmitry sits in a nearby leather club chair, his casual pose of leaning forward with his elbows on his knees deceptive. His green and gold gaze misses nothing.

"No, I want you to be safe and I need to figure things out."

"By leaving me with someone I don't know?"

"I'm not leaving you," I insist, when in fact I am. "I'm sending you to Grandfather. He will keep you safe. Arrangements have already been made."

"Is this the Plan B you said you'd let me know as soon as you'd figured it out?"

"It's sorted, which is why I'm telling you."

"You're lying to me." She shakes her head, her blue eyes water, then fill with fire. "Why didn't you just tell me when we were parked by the Depository?"

"Because I thought you would fight me on it. Perhaps make a scene."

"I would have argued with you, but eventually, I would have understood." She shakes her head. "We're supposed to be a team, Ben. I've spent almost four days with you, running from and to bad guys. The very least you owe me is honesty and you promised not to keep me in the dark."

"I can't tell you the exact second I made up my mind."

"But you could have told me about the possibility of it." She gestures to Dmitry. "I a.s.sume you planned with him since he'll most likely be the one taking me to..."

"Russia," he supplies.

"Thank you."

"It's for the best, mllaya moyna."

She yanks at her hand, then throws something at me. "Don't you mllaya moyna me." The wedding band I gave her hits me in the center of my chest. I catch it as it falls. "You can take this with you."

I shake my head, moving to her and gently grabbing her hand. "No."

She shoves at me. "I don't want it."

Dmitry gets up to stand by the door. His face is pinched. He doesn't like this anymore than I do.

"I have to be able to keep watch over you even while you're with a man I trust almost as much as I do you." With a heavy heart, I watch the fight go out of her.

She allows me to put her ring back on, but she doesn't allow me to take her into my arms. "If you trusted me so much, you would have told me as soon as you and Dmitry planned everything."

"Please understand."

"Oh, I understand. I'm in the way." She stands, grabbing the Louis Vuitton suitcase. "I took your stupid guns and ammo out and put my clothes inside instead."

Dmitry clears his throat.

"Fine," she says with a huff. "I kept one gun and three clips. Happy?"

Dmitry nods.

"Very happy," I admit. My Morgan is not a willing victim.

"Is your car in the garage?" she asks him while ignoring me.

"Da."

"Is it safe to get in?"

"Da."

"This trip is going to be ah-mazing. I know it." She glares at me one last time, then leaves the room.