Page 17 of Fallen Hero

That’s what I wanted—nothing. I wanted to sink into my nothingness and be left alone.

But I had to finish this first. Then I’d have everything, which would mean I could have my nothing.

One more kill.

Okay, not one more, there’d likely be a few more, but only one of those mattered.

Everything I’d sacrificed had led me here. All the black marks on my soul would be worth it. I knew there’d come a time when I’d have to pay for my transgressions. When I stood in judgment to a higher power, I’d accept my damnation. I wouldn’t plead or beg for salvation.

I was irredeemable.

Apparently, I was whiny and self-indulgent as well. Instead of worrying about what I was going to do after and plotting Tom’s murder, I needed to strategize.

Getting rid of Mason wouldn’t be easy. Ditching him and his friends would take too much time. Maybe I could use him to my advantage.

I had a rock-solid cover—rich and powerful madam who was on the hunt for fresh talent to add to her stable.

It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility I’d have bodyguards with me.

Actually, it would be weird if I didn’t.

I’d already followed Amir Bakir to two expensive dinners with potential buyers. You would think it would be the buyers trying to—for lack of a better word—woo Amir. But that wasn’t the case. Amir liked to show off his wealth; it was him treating the buyers to an evening of excess. The extravagance was nauseating, but the bottom-line truth was, they each had a security detail with them.

Then last night, when Amir met with Ahmad Sindi, he, too, had an entourage. I still didn’t understand the dynamic between those two—were they equals, or did one of them hold more power than the other? Ahmad the kidnapper, and Amir the man who provided vetting and a lavish venue to sell Ahmad’s merchandise.

Of course, Ahmad wouldn’t be the only seller at the auction.

The ever-present gnawing in my stomach clawed its way to the surface. I had a bad feeling Tom was going to pull his normal underhanded bullshit. This wasn’t the usual kind of assignment he sent me on. My role was twofold: secure an invite to Amir’s sick-fuck party and relay the details to Tom, and verify Ahmad was back in Abu Dhabi.

Tom had assured me he had a team on standby for the takedown, that the women would be taken care of. But something about that didn’t sit right. If he had a team close, and he was worried about me, why not send one or a few of the Ground Branch commandos to back me up? Why Pete and his team?

Unless Tom was lying, and he had no plans to actually shut down the auction.

Another reason I was ready to walk away—the lies, the double-crossing, the subterfuge. Tom would spin the deception; he’d cite some bullshit about the mission being fluid and targets changing.

But one problem at a time.

Bodyguards, that would work.

Then after Amir and Ahmad were taken out and the women were freed, Mason and his friends would leave.

And I’d be free to finish my mission.

Perfect.

Problem solved.

I rose in the bathtub, stepped out, and went for the door. I gave myself enough time to take a deep breath before facing the big, stupid, nosy, sexy jerk.

God, how was it possible to be attracted to a gigantic pain in the ass? Was this what normal people felt—temptation and desire and pissed-off-ness all swirled together? If so, I was glad I wasn’t normal, happy to be the outcast, ecstatic to be the only forty-year-old virgin on the planet who wasn’t a nun or saving herself for marriage.

Maybe it was time I took up masturbation. Dust the ol’ cobwebs off and banish all thoughts of Mason Hughes and his stupid face. It had been years since I’d tried the frustrating, never-coming-to-fruition self-pleasure route. But that was before I’d met Mason and had something to fantasize about.

I clenched my thighs and rested my forehead on the door. What would it be like to kiss Mason, to feel his lips on mine, and other places besides? And those big rough hands, what would those feel like on my skin, on my breast, down there?

I closed my eyes and willed away the images I had no business conjuring up.

“You okay in there?” Mason’s question had me jumping back from the door.