Authors: Chanel Cleeton
This has terrible idea written all over it, but he knows as well as I do—
I never could back down from a challenge.
The other assets working out at the gym gather, standing in a semi-circle in the front of the room. Whispers fill the air. Those who have been here the longest are no doubt filling the newer assets in on our shared history. I grew up training with Luke, fighting him, besting him, losing to him, learning from my mistakes as he exploited my weaknesses.
“No rules?” He throws the words out like a dare, and for a moment the mask he’s worn since his return drops and I see shades of the boy I once knew.
My blood hums at the arrogant glint in his eyes. He wants it down and dirty? Fine with me.
“No rules,” I agree, following him to the mat in the middle of the room, wishing we didn’t have an audience. I’m not used to being so exposed; I do my best work under the cover of darkness. And if I know Luke, things are about to get intense pretty quickly.
He attacks first.
The move is so fast it nearly knocks me back, barely giving me time to lift my arm to block the hit. Pain shoots through my body like a thousand knives jabbing me.
Shit.
It’s been years since we’ve fought, and he’s only gotten better. A lot better. He knows how to fight, how to turn his body into a weapon to cause maximum damage.
But then again, so do I.
The next move is mine, my elbow connecting with his jaw with a quick jab. His head snaps back as adrenaline rushes through my body. We aren’t supposed to enjoy fighting, aren’t supposed to take pleasure in our skills. And I don’t—
Most of the time.
But there’s something in this—a wildness that feeds the beast inside me. We’re amped up from training, our heads filled with a constant energy to push ourselves to the limit. To be the best. To maximize our physical limits. It’s hard to welcome death into our lives as much as we do and not feel like you’re walking on the edge.
Luke tosses me a grin, his eyes taking on a feral light; he loves this as much as I do. This is what we were born to do, some savage part of ourselves that loves the fight and thrives in the dark. In that moment, our gazes lock; we speak without words and become one.
His leg swings out, connecting with my side. I struggle to keep my face neutral, my body absorbing the rush of pain.
Show no weakness.
Around us, assets cheer. The sound roars in my ears and then disappears, and suddenly it’s just Luke and me, and somehow we’ve traveled back in time. It hits me like a punch…I’ve missed this.
I’ve missed him.
My leg muscles shriek in pain as my body kicks into a whole other gear. None of my opponents in the past two years have been as good as he is and it shows in my fighting.
I refocus my efforts on my next attack. This time I use my elbow, jabbing Luke in the stomach. The noise is barely audible but I hear it anyway, the sound singing in my blood—
A gasp of pain, simmering below the melody of flesh against flesh, of heavy breaths, and a betrayal that screams louder than everything else.
Heat flares in Luke’s eyes. An instant later, he charges me.
Our bodies become a rapid battle of thrusts and jabs, parries and blocks. He doesn’t take it easy on me because I’m a girl. I doubt it even occurs to him. Instead, we fight like equally matched adversaries; what I lack in size and strength, I make up in speed and agility. And then I realize I have another advantage over Luke—
He’s fighting angry. Each movement is tempered by his rage, by his desire to hurt me, to get me back for deceiving him.
I’m his biggest weakness.
Pain floods my body with each hit, but in some weird, fucked up way I welcome it. How long has it been since I’ve felt?
We’re fighting in top gear now, two opponents so evenly matched that our movements have become almost a mirror of each other. After all, Luke taught me some of my best moves. With each thrust, the tension in the air increases. Our bodies drip with sweat; our chests heave with exertion. Our bare skin grazes each other with a tantalizing tease. It’s too familiar. Too easy to remember—
I lose my balance, my feet missing the ground.
Shit.
I grip Luke’s biceps, my fingers digging into his skin, pulling him down with me. As my back slams into the mat with a thud, pain shoots through my body.
Luke groans above me, his palms and knees hitting the mat, his arms wrapped around me, his body hovering over mine. I blink, staring up at him, adrenaline crashing at the same time another emotion spikes inside me. I’m like a train hurtling off the tracks, slamming on the brakes, my body reduced to a jagged network of fits and starts. He leans down, his face inches away, his muscular length pushing me into the mat.
Jesus.
His gaze pins mine, forcing the breath from my body in harsh pants. I have to remind myself to breathe; he’s everywhere, his scent—sweat and
Luke
—surrounds me. His cock brushes against me—hard and ready—and I feel a rush of satisfaction at his spectacular break in control.
A voice intrudes, somehow breaking through the rioting emotions ripping through me. “Enough.”
Luke jerks away as though he’s been burned. I blink, the thread broken, and then my gaze travels to the direction of the voice calling us from the other side of the gym. I rise slowly, staring across the exercise mat, satisfaction rushing through me at the sight of Luke’s red cheeks, the sharp rise and fall of his chest, his body clearly winded. At least I gave as good as I got.
Our gazes meet and a moment passes between us. An understanding of sorts. We’re cut from the same cloth, and as much as I wish it were otherwise, a small part of me—and him—revels in the savagery of our lives.
We live on the edge and we fucking love it.
I see too much of myself in Luke’s eyes.
One of the trainers stalks toward us, his face flushed with anger. “What are you doing? You know you’re not supposed to fight.”
It’s one of life’s little ironies. Despite training us to kill, they don’t actually want us fighting against each other unless it’s in a carefully controlled training environment. Probably because we all possess such unique skills. Plus we aren’t easy to replace should we accidentally—or not-so-accidentally—kill one another.
Luke steps forward, his body blocking mine. This is familiar, too. When we were younger, he always took the rap.
“We weren’t fighting.” Luke’s voice rings throughout the gym, his clipped British accent even colder than usual. The crowd around us has dispersed, but news of this will be all over the Academy by the end of the day. “The Director has me overseeing one of X’s assignments. I was making sure she’s ready.”
“It didn’t look like practice.”
My gaze darts back to Luke. He answers for me.
“It was. Take it up with the Director if you have a problem with it.”
Luke strides away without waiting for a response, his long legs moving smoothly across the room. In this, he hasn’t changed. He still carries himself like he owns the place, and in a way he does. Everyone’s eyes are on him, mine included. In a place where talent and skill are prized above all else, it’s impossible to ignore someone like Luke.
Without looking back, his voice reaches me.
“Meet me at six outside your dorm. Your assignment starts tonight.”
A slow smile spreads across my lips as I notice the hitch in his stride, even as the arrogance behind his words crawls under my skin.
There’s no way we can work together. From the beginning, since we were kids, we’ve brought out the worst in each other, the one thing the Director always sought to beat down—
Ego.
“Do you think Luke’s back for good?”
I struggle to keep my expression neutral.
God, I hope not.
It’s been a day and everything’s already a mess.
“I don’t think so, Grace.”
“He seems different. Tired.”
“He’s older.”
Twenty-one, now.
“Can you imagine what it must have been like? Being out on his own? Where do you think he was living?”
“I don’t know where he was; he didn’t say.”
It can’t have been London. Paris, maybe? I’ve never been. Rome? Another place I’ve read about, but never visited. I feel an irrational spurt of jealousy that Luke has been out exploring the world while I’ve been stuck here.
“I bet it’s exciting being out on your own. I bet he got to live somewhere really cool.”
Guilt fills me at the look of longing on Grace’s face. She’s spent far too much of her life holed up at the Academy.
“We live in London, Grace. It’s not like you’re stuck in the country somewhere.” I struggle to keep my voice light. If I know anything about my little sister, it’s to downplay things. Otherwise, Grace just freaks out. Somehow I’ve managed to shield her from the darker side of this life. Mostly.
“True, but it’s not like they ever let us go anywhere fun,” she complains.
“The city isn’t always safe. They’re just trying to make sure nothing bad happens to you.”
“You go out.”
“It’s different. I’m older.”
“I wish I were older.”
No, you don’t.
Grace sits cross-legged on the bed, a book resting in her lap. She looks young,
so young
. It’s not hard to remember her as she was when we first came to the Academy, just barely six years old. Somehow, almost impossibly, she’s managed to keep that same sweetness and innocence with her.
My sweetness and innocence disappeared long before we arrived at the Academy.
“Where are you going?”
I grab the leather jacket off my bed, zipping it up to my neck. “I have another assignment.”
“So soon? You just finished one.”
“Maybe I’m that good,” I tease, trying to erase the worry from her eyes.
“You’re the best.”
This time my smile isn’t forced. Grace is nothing if not loyal. She’s the only bright spot in my life and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her safe.
“I’ll be back early. I’ll bring ice cream or something. We can celebrate my birthday.”
“Okay.” She grins. “I love you, X.”
The words come easier for her, they always have. For me, the words are something else entirely. But the emotion—
I love her so much it hurts.
“Ditto, Grace.”
###
Again, I bristle at his arrogance. “You’re such an ass.”
Luke ignores me, his pace steady and quick as he heads toward the main gates.
I lengthen my strides; he has to have at least eight inches on me. He’s all leg, moving with a confidence I envy. He’s always been like this—big, brash, bold, tough to keep up with.
“Where are we going?”
“Kensington.”
Henry Arnoff’s school is in Kensington. He’s jumping right into recon.
“We don’t exactly fit in for Kensington.”
“We’re not going on a social call. It’s dark out. We’ll blend in just fine.” His pace quickens.
There’s something up with him tonight. He seems tense and it’s not just my presence throwing him off.
“How are we getting there?”
“Bike.”
I scan the area. The night is dark, a slight chill filling the air around us. Nothing looks obviously out of place; everything is as it should be. And yet—
I can’t keep from looking over my shoulder.
Luke stops in front of a gleaming black motorcycle. A gasp escapes me before I can help it. My voice takes on an almost reverent tone that calls to mind Father Murphy quoting scripture.
“That’s a Ducati.”
There, in front of me, is my dream bike. It’s sleek, powerful, way more impressive than my old beaten-up motorcycle. I bet it’s fast.
“I’m not riding with you.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re a lie. The thought of riding all the way to Kensington with Luke—my body tucked against his—is its own special brand of torture. But hell, for that bike? I’d probably ride with the Director herself.
Luke reaches down and grabs a black helmet propped next to the bike, handing it to me. “We could go back and forth, but we both know you’re getting on this bike.”
The helmet hangs between us, my hands itching to grab it. My pride gets the better of me.
I fist my hands on my hips.
Luke laughs, the sound warm and rich. I used to like that laugh. It used to make my toes curl, used to make me want things I had no business wanting. Now it just makes me feel empty inside. The loss of what we had is an ache I can’t erase.
“You’ve gotten more difficult since I left the Academy. What happened to the girl who followed orders and was a good little soldier?”
It’s not a new argument between us. It was Luke, after all, who convinced me to sneak out of the Academy on my fifteenth birthday. Luke who taught me how to steal a motorcycle. Luke who always took the blame when we were caught.
Of course, everything changed the night I tried to kill him. Or maybe it changed even before that, the night he took me to bed.
I grab the helmet, careful to keep our hands from touching, ignoring the smug expression on his face. This is an assignment, nothing more. I can’t repeat past mistakes.
It was one night. One night that meant more to me than it should have and less to him than I wanted. One night I now wish I could forget. Maybe it would be easier to forget him if he hadn’t been my first or if I hadn’t spent most of my life—the life I remember, at least—following him around, doing everything I could to impress him.
Luke pulls his helmet over his dark brown hair. He climbs onto the Ducati, swinging his leg over the machine with fluid grace. For a moment he sits there, staring at me. Waiting for me to join him. Daring me to.
Hell.
I climb on, my body behind his, relishing the feel of the powerful metal beneath me. I ignore the knot in my stomach as I wrap my arms around Luke’s waist, my breasts pressed against his back.
“How do you afford a bike like this?” I shout over the sound of the engine roaring to life.
“Life’s different outside the Academy.”
It must be. We each receive a stipend for our assignments. In the beginning it’s not much, but it’s something. Most of us save it in offshore accounts the Academy taught us to open. It seems like the wisest thing to do given the nature of our lives. The Academy sees to our basic needs—food, clothes, shelter. There’s nothing I’ve ever really wanted.
Until now.
First thing I’m buying when I get out on my own and start making real money as an asset? A bike just like this one. No—better than this one.
The bike peels onto the street and I lean forward, adjusting to the motion, wrapping my arms tighter around Luke’s waist. He’s solid beneath my arms, his muscles hard. The asset in me admires what he’s become, the power that fills his body now. The woman in me admires his body for entirely different reasons.
I don’t know when I began thinking of Luke as different from everyone else, when I started seeing him as a person rather than just an asset. When I began wanting him. It was gradual, I think. Or at least it felt that way to me. We were always together, always training, always fighting. We were always together, and then one day I looked at him and I couldn’t look away anymore.
Being this close to Luke sends a familiar urge running through me, one I haven’t felt in two years. It’s too easy to remember what he looks like under the clothes between us, to imagine the changes and wonder. Too easy to remember kissing down the hard planes of his stomach, my tongue gliding over his flesh…
I focus on the target instead, slipping into the skin I’m most comfortable in.
The Academy is located in a quiet part of Bloomsbury, several miles away from the posh Kensington neighborhood where Arnoff goes to school. It’s still early and the city is full of evening traffic, making the trip longer than it should be. The night is crisp, the city lights a mosaic of colors brightening the sky. For a moment if I pretend I’m somewhere else, doing something else, I feel free.
We stop at a traffic light.
Luke turns around, focusing on a point over my shoulder. “We have company.”
I can barely hear his voice over the loud roar of the bike’s engine, but his words send a chill through my body. “Where?”
“Sedan. Black. Five cars behind us. It pulled out from the street in front of the Academy right after we did. It’s been there ever since.”
I turn. He’s right; the sedan sits a few cars back from us. Maybe it’s a coincidence, a product of London’s heavy congestion. The tone of Luke’s voice tells me otherwise. He’s too good of an asset to make that mistake. A thin thread of panic settles inside me, slithering through the ice filling my veins. I’ve never been in this situation before. None of my missions have ever involved someone chasing me.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“Lose them.”
The light changes and we race through the intersection. Luke switches lanes in between a cab and a large SUV. The cab driver honks angrily at us. My heart pounds.
I tighten my arms around his body, no longer caring about anything other than not falling off. We’re taught evasive driving at the Academy although we’re usually never close enough to being caught to need these skills. Whatever Luke’s been doing in the two years since he left, he’s kept his driving skills in shape.
Luke weaves in and out of traffic, narrowly missing the front of a Mercedes. We’re no longer headed to Kensington. I peer over my shoulder, loosening my death grip on Luke’s waist. The sedan is still behind us in traffic, farther back than before.
The light in front of us turns red.
Shit.
Congestion is too heavy for Luke to risk it; even with the bike’s easy maneuverability, London traffic is insane.
I turn back around, just in time to watch the sedan’s doors open. Three men step out of the car, dressed in black. Our gazes meet.
Shit.
They know we’ve made them, and they’re definitely professionals.
I jab Luke in the stomach. “Three men. Armed. Headed this way. Go.”
“Fuck.” He maneuvers the bike around the rows of traffic, cutting in between lanes of cars. He floors the bike through the intersection, almost hitting a car turning in front of us. I look back—
They’re still there.
Something whizzes past me, hitting the car next to us. My mind goes blank, and then I realize—
“They’re shooting at us,” I yell, crouching low over the bike.
Gun violence in the U.K. is rare—nearly nonexistent—and though we receive firearm training at the Academy, I’ve never had to use one on an assignment.
Luke cuts down an alley, the bike tilting to the side, our bodies moving in tandem with the turn. We race down another street and I instantly recognize the bright lights of one of the busiest sections of London—Leicester Square. It’s the perfect place to escape and get lost in a crowd.
I turn back, the wind whipping against my face. I no longer see the black sedan in pursuit or the men on foot, but I can’t shake the memory of being shot at. In all my time as an asset, I’ve never been on the receiving end of a bullet.
Until tonight.
Luke pulls the bike to a stop, turning to face me.
“Go to the movie theater on the corner. Buy a ticket for whatever romantic comedy is playing. Sit in the back. Wait for me.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to figure out who they are.”
“Alone? Let me help. You’ll have better odds if there’s two of us.”
“Can you do what you’re supposed to for once? Get off the bike. Wait for me.”
I hesitate for a beat.
“Go.”