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“It isn’t like that.”
“Right,” she said again, sitting up and resting on her elbows. “Do you intend to torture me?”
“Depends on how you define it.”
“Anything that involves pain.”
“Physical or mental?”
“Both.”
“Then, yeah, probably.”
6
When Raketa opened her eyes, the sun was shining, which meant she’d gone back to sleep after her brief conversation with Gunner, and slept through the night.
She looked around the sparsely furnished room and thought about the things he’d said. Their conversation had ended far too quickly, with him telling her to get some rest and that they’d talk more in the morning.
She stood, stretched the stiffness out of her limbs, and peered out the window. She could see Gunner outside, doing a workout, no doubt positioned so he could see if she tried to leave the house.
She watched him for several minutes, marveling at how brutal his training regiment was.
She’d never pushed her body physically as much as she had when she was with him on the one and only op where they were on the same side, and she’d loved the way he’d challenged her.
Gunner could outdistance her in everything, but he’d never made her feel inferior, or as though he considered her weaker because she was a woman. It was more that he looked at them proportionately. He knew what he was able to do based on his weight, size, and strength. From that perspective, he’d pushed her to what he believed she should be capable of doing.
It was during that op that she’d offered her help in exchange for K19 securing her freedom from United Russia. It was also the op when Petrov’s henchman, Topov, had caught her in the split second she’d been distracted by the woman Petrov held at gunpoint.
Raketa closed her eyes at the memory. If none of that had happened, she’d never have heard the voice of the woman whose words she’d never forget. Somehow she had to get back to Baku and rescue her.
—:—
Gunner had no real plan for today, other than exorcising the last few weeks of inactivity out of his extremities. His body was used to being pushed, and when it wasn’t, his age seemed to manifest itself in his joints and muscles.
Very few considered thirty-two old, except those younger than thirty-one. However, the life he’d led, the missions he’d undertaken, the days, weeks, and months he’d spent in hell holes like Afghanistan had aged him prematurely. Only pushing like he was this morning would eventually make him feel more like himself.
He caught a glimpse of Raketa’s form in the window, but looked away without acknowledging seeing her there. She was watching him, likely wondering where they were and what would come next for her.
No doubt she was crafting what she thought would be a compelling story, intending somehow to convince him that she truly did want to return to Moscow.
They both knew she’d never set foot there again. If she did, even if Doc managed to strike a deal with UR, they’d kill her. They might still kill her anyway.
He picked up one of the tractor tires he’d had delivered to the island, hoisting it over his head before hurling it in the direction of the mark he’d set earlier. It fell short, but he’d soon meet it and move it farther away.
“Rocket Girl,” he said, nodding when he saw Raketa standing outside the front door.
She smirked and gave him a half-hearted wave before taking several steps forward and looking first in front of her and then to the left and to the right, noticing water on all three sides.
“I’m guessing the view from the back of the house is similar.”
Gunner nodded. “You’d have to walk quite a distance, but eventually it would be.”
“Will you tell me where we are?”
“There isn’t any reason for you not to know.”
Raketa folded her arms.
