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“So, they don’t care if I kill her?”
“I believe you know the definition ofby any means necessary, Justin.”
“So, I’m only supposed to deliver Kusma’s location, once confirmed?”
“Correct. And to be clear, his location is only confirmed by you actuallyseeinghim. We don’t need another mess like Uzbekistan.”
“Understood.” I frowned. “But why not just bring him in? If I’m going to be that close to him, I can easily capture him and deliver him directly to the DOD.”
“Because that’s not the job.”
“Ah, I see. Because once I supply the DOD his location, they’ll send in their own men, and they’ll get the credit for finding him.”
“Likely so.”
My eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe they haven’t been able to find this guy.”
“I agree. They’re lying. They’re being unusually guarded about this mission. I personally believe it’s because they don’t want the liability if something goes sideways while hunting him. With the US’s ongoing support of Ukraine, the tension between the US and Russia is at an all-time high. They don’t need any bad press.”
This would be my thirteenth mission with Astor Stone, and the first that almost instantly triggered a red flag in my gut. Something didn’t feel right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something seemed off from the jump.
Sensing my hesitation, Astor pushed the paperwork in front of me, urging this to move along. “Till death,” he said low, his gaze piercing.
Till deathwas an Astor Stone motto that meant loyal until death—loyal to the job. Die for each other, die for the cause, no questions asked.
“Till death,” I muttered, signing on the dotted line.
3
Aleks
My stomach seizing, I clenched the sides of the toilet, heaving bile. My sinuses felt like they were on fire, my body like I had ingested cyanide.
I jumped at the sound of a knock at the bathroom door. After gagging a few more times, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and pushed to my feet.
Knock, knock, knock.
Quickly, I checked my reflection in the mirror—not a good idea. My face was a mess with mascara-stained tear-streaked ghostly pale cheeks, mottled with little red hives. My eyes were bloodshot and puffy, pink lipstick smeared past the corners of my mouth like a mad clown. Most horrifying was the few strands of hair that had escaped the French twist my stylist had spent ninety minutes smoothing into place.
I gasped, finding tiny specks of vomit on the bodice of my one-of-a-kind Vera Wang wedding dress. The mustard-brown drips stood out like spotlights against the blinding-white lace.
Another knock came at the door—this one loud and impatient.
“Just a minute,” I said, my voice cracking. “Shitshitshitshitshit,” I whispered.
Turning on the faucet, I worked madly to remove the vomit but only succeeded at smearing it into larger, more noticeable spots. My pulse skyrocketed. It wasn’t lost on me that the stain on my insanely expensive dress was causing more anxiety than the fact that I was about to walk down the aisle. Because it wasn’t perfect. BecauseIwasn’tperfect.
Because there were consequences to such pathetic displays of weakness.
“Aleks.” My grandmother’s sharp voice penetrated through the roaring in my ears. “Open the door right this minute.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said into the mirror, scrutinizing the train wreck of a woman I was.
There was nothing I could do. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
There’s nothing you can do. Get it together, Aleks.
Gritting my teeth, I pulled my shoulders back, spun like a ballerina, and unlocked the door.
