Jessica Clare - Last Breath

“So you want to take her to Hudson’s compound?” Vasily snorts. “It is, as the Americans say, your funeral.”

“You know where Hudson is?” Daniel looks a little surprised. “How’d you manage that?”

“While you were fucking, I pull strings and grease palms.” Vasily’s expression is utterly cold and he shoots another look of blame at me. “It is not hard to find people to notice a snow-pale man with a fetish for blonde women from North America who arms himself with dozens of mercenaries.”

I frown at his words. “Did . . . did you say snow-pale?”

Vasily’s gaze moves to me, his eyes slits. “Da.”

My heart begins to thump erratically in my chest, and I feel my skin prickle with an all-too familiar fear. I lick my lips and then gesture, asking, “Short, white-blonde hair? Pale eyes and pale skin? About this tall?” I gesture a few inches above my head. “Wears light-colored suits and sunglasses indoors?”

“You know this man?”

“That’s Mr. Freeze,” I whisper through numb lips. “The one who wants me back once I’ve been ‘broken in.’ He’s the one watching the embassy, waiting for someone to drop me off.”

Daniel’s arm tightens around my waist, noticing my fright. “He’s not going to get you. I promise that.”

“So,” Vasily says, “we leave her here, and you and I pay Hudson a visit. We retrieve this hacker and we find out more information about your sister. Everyone is happy.”

“Wait, no,” I cry out and cling to Daniel. This time, I’m smashing his face against my breasts, but I don’t care. “You can’t leave me here. You have to take me with you.”

Daniel’s voice is muffled against my breasts. “Fighter baby, you know I wouldn’t ask you to stay behind if it wasn’t safe, but—”

“No! You’re not abandoning me.”

“Regan—”

“I’m going with you.” Vasily being here has made me all edgy again, and I have a feeling I’m going to be clinging to Daniel harder than normal. Even the thought of Daniel leaving the room for five minutes and being here alone with Vasily is enough to make my skin prickle with gooseflesh. “You can’t leave me behind. You can’t. You promised.”

Daniel sighs. “I know. I know. We’ll think of something. It’s . . . fuck. It’s not safe, okay?”

“When has any of this been safe?” I ask him.

Vasily snorts.

“I’m going,” I say stubbornly.

“You are not invited,” Vasily says to me.

“If you leave me here, I’ll follow you,” I say, fighting the panic that’s rising. He can’t leave me behind. Not after all this. He can’t. If he does, I know I’m going to turn a corner and see Mr. Freeze lurking there, waiting for me.

“You heard the lady,” Daniel says. “She goes.”

Vasily spits out another phrase in Russian, and Daniel flips him the bird. They look ready to come to blows, staring down each other. After a tense moment though, Vasily throws his hands up, conceding.

DANIEL PEERS DOWN THE SCOPE of his rifle, scanning the compound far below. “That’s thirty-one,” he says. “Which means there will be more inside.”

The three of us are perched inside one of the hovels in Monkey Hill. We stopped by Luiz’s place, picked up our papers, and then headed back to the slums. Or at least, we did after both men tried to talk me out of going again.

I refused. I’m not leaving Daniel’s side. I won’t feel safe until he delivers me back to my doorstep in Minneapolis, so why does it matter that we’re heading to someplace dangerous? Everywhere is dangerous.

Once in the slums, Daniel paid someone to let us make use of his place for a few hours. Vasily guards the door, an enormous handgun held high as he scans the hallway. I’m crouching next to Daniel by the window, a piece of scratch-paper in hand as I mark an X onto my sketch of Hudson’s compound. I have an X every place that Daniel has found a soldier.

My paper is littered with Xs.

“Thirty-two,” Daniel murmurs. “One hiding in the stairwell. Fuck, the man has an army with him. Paranoid son of a bitch.”

I make a mark on my paper and look over at Daniel. He’s still squinting down the scope of his rifle, monitoring things. “So what does this mean?”

“It means we’re not going anywhere near him.”

I frown and peek out the window, gazing down at the walls of the place. It’s not exactly pretty—nor is it inconspicuous. The walls are made of enormous concrete blocks, and the double doors only open to allow the occasional truck in. The tops of the walls are curling with barbed wire, and Daniel has even said they have a sniper on the rooftop, like us.

“So why don’t we start shooting? Take as many out as we can and then charge in once we’ve picked off a bunch of their guys?”

Vasily mutters something derisive in Russian behind me, and I’m pretty sure he’s calling me stupid.

“No can do, fighter,” Daniel says, finally putting down his rifle and looking over at me. “I could pick off one or two before they notice, but then they’d figure out where we’re coming from and swarm up this hill. It’s too dangerous.”

“Why don’t we sneak in at night, then? We could get a few blankets and some ladders, toss a blanket over the barbed wire and climb our way over. I saw that in a movie once.”

“If he has thirty men outside, he will have thirty more inside,” Vasily bites out. “He is expecting us. He is ready. We need a new plan.”

Daniel rubs a hand down his face, looking as frustrated as I feel. I want us to go in there, guns blazing, and shoot Mr. Freeze in his ugly, pale face until he can’t come after me ever again. But if two assassins are saying it’s too dangerous, then maybe it is.

“So what do we do?” I ask.

“Tears of God,” Vasily says.

“Fuck. No way,” Daniel retorts. “I’m not taking Regan there.”

“What’s Tears of God?” I ask, my gaze moving between Vasily and Daniel. “What?”

“Remember I told you about the favela that’s controlled by the mercenaries? The one that no one fucks with?”

“That’s Tears of God?”

“They owe me favor,” Vasily says curtly. “This can be the favor.”

“Goddamn it, no, Vasily.”

“Why?” I ask again.

Daniel shoots me a dark look, and he seems rather upset. “No one goes into Tears of God without being checked over first. They take your guns, they take your clothes, and they search you. All of you. I’m not putting you through that. Fuck that. We’ll figure something else out.”

Vasily barks something harsh to Daniel.

I swallow, trying to imagine being patted down by a bunch of mercenaries. Walking into a place like the one below, naked and vulnerable. But there are two people being held in that compound— Daniel’s sister is —and the hacker. Daniel’s told me that wherever we find the hacker, we’ll find Naomi. I can’t stop thinking about that. Maybe she’s suffering the same things I went through. Hudson likes them broken. I try to picture a girl like Daniel but broken, and I shudder internally then force a calm look on my face. “I can do it.”

“No, fighter—”

“No, Daniel. I said I’d go with you. I have to take the good with the bad. I can stand to be patted down by a few guys, I promise.”

His jaw clenches, and I can tell that he doesn’t like it. That it’s vulnerable, and we’ll be naked and at their mercy if they try anything. If they decide to get rid of us, we’re fucked.

But I trust Daniel. So I force a wobbling smile to my face. “Let’s go.”

Daniel

“THERE ’S NO WAY IN .” REGAN ’S dismay echoes my own internal frustration. It’s a sign. If you believed in signs, warnings, or symbols, the lack of an obvious entrance to Tears of God clearly said fuck off. I run my hand along the concrete walls and corrugated metal barriers that stand where the paved road indicates the entrance should be.

“What do you even know about this group?” I turn to Petrovich, who is standing slightly apart, hands on his hips, looking upward as if Touchdown Jesus will bend down from his place on the hill and part the metal seas for us.

“They are loyal, men of their word,” he answers and then points to the inscription written in Portuguese above the gate.

“What’s it say?” Regan asks.

“Revelation 21:4.” It’s a scripture. I read it out loud. “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain.”

“That sounds nice. Maybe it would be more comforting if there wasn’t a dagger punctuating the end,” Regan observes wryly. I flash her a quick grin. That’s my girl.

I pull out my gun and point it at the dagger. “What are you doing?” Regan hisses.

“Gotta get their attention somehow.”

Before I can squeeze off a shot, a door appears in the wall to my left, and a large hulking figure steps out. His heritage is indeterminate, which likely makes him a true Brazilian. Native Brazilians are almost a greater melting pot of heritages than the U.S. Afrikaan, Asian, and American mix in fantastic harmony. The only real important thing about this stranger is his size—extra large—and weaponry. He’s got machine gun belts draped over his chest like suspenders. On his arms are leather wrist guards that double as knife sheathes. He’s got an AK strapped on his back and an armory belt with guns, knives, and more ammunition.

Utopia is clearly enforced by martial law.

But all that show only means one thing: this guy must be a bad shot. I holster my gun, casually try to hide Regan behind me, and place my hands up in the air.

“We’re here to see the Knife’s Edge.”

“State your business.” He folds his massive arms across his chest, the movement pushing the hilts of the wrist knives out toward me. With a quick mental calculation, I figure I can pull out one of the knives and pin his hand to his chest in about ten seconds—that is, if the blade is long enough. Behind me I feel Regan’s slight form creep closer.

“We’re here to do a trade.”

“We don’t trade in flesh,” he growls.

Enlightenment dawns. He thinks we’re here to trade Regan for . . . something. I pull her to the side. “Nope, she’s with me. My Russian buddy is going to pull out some money so you can see that we’re interested in information and some services in exchange for cash.” I didn’t want the guard to get trigger happy when Petrovich reached inside his suit pocket.

Petrovich hands a wad of cash to the guard, who doesn’t even count it, just flips it in his hand as if he can measure us merely through the weight of the cash. Maybe we should have brought gold. Without a word, he disappears inside and closes the door.

“Nice friends you have, Petrovich,” I mock.

“I associate with you, do I not?” he retorts. Regan stifles a semi-hysterical giggle.

A minute passes. Maybe five. I cross the street and sit on the curb. We aren’t leaving until we speak to the person in charge. Petrovich stands by the door, like he’s a soldier awaiting orders.

“He’s super strange,” Regan observes.

“Yup.”

“Like, I think he really wanted me to beat him.”

“Yup.”

“Are all your friends that fucked-up?”

“Yup.”

She’s silent for a minute. “I guess I see why you like me.”

This brings a grin to my face. “Fighter, you’re the least fucked-up of all the people I know. You’re like the normal control in a sample full of crazy.”

“You weren’t always part of this world though.” She gestures toward the favela.

Leaning back on my elbows, I raise my face up to the sky. The sun is warmer here, more intense. Its rays touch you with a close hand. If not for the kidnapping, my missing sister, and the surly Russian standing five feet away, I could pretend I was lying on the beach sipping a fruity drink with an umbrella with Regan in a barely-there bikini, her body glistening with the oil I’d spread over every square inch of her. “You know why bad guys win?”

“No.” She sounds as despondent as I felt staring into Hudson’s compound.

“Because they live in these fucking compounds. When I’m done here, I’m going to buy my own fucking island and you and my sister and I are going to live there and drink fruity drinks with little umbrellas. I’ll grill some steaks, and after we’ve gorged ourselves, you and I will go inside and make sweet love while Marvin Gaye serenades us.”

“I like that you’ve put a lot of thought into that.”

Before I decide to get my gun out and start shooting holes into the walls in front of me, the guard comes out and gestures us inside. The door opens into a small room with one table. There are no windows here, and the space is dark and cool, lit only by a couple of bare bulbs. There are two other guards standing in front of the only exit. Nice. My gun hand twitches. The first guard hands the wad of cash back to Petrovich. “Strip.” I raise an eyebrow at Regan, and she gives me a wan smile.