Of her last breaths. All the fight clawing to the surface until it was completely gone. I’m not like Christopher. I’m not diplomatic, and I won’t compartmentalise. If anything happens to my girls…this earth won’t have to worry about an antichrist. I will destroy heaven
and hell. Blaze this world and the next until there’s only debris.
Fleur and our daughter won’t be a sad shrug or a tearful sob, felt one minute and filed away the next.
“You can’t do this on your own.” Ryan looks up from the dwindling campfire. “Remember, a lion is nothing without its pride. You need us.”
“The mission is done.”
“Why aren’t you coming back with us?”
“Because it’s not over,” Cameron replies from where he’s buried inside his sleeping bag.
“It was over the minute we lost Williamson.” Lighting another cigarette, I inhale deeply. “They’ll want someone to scapegoat for this. The foreign secretary is dead, the mission is done. You’re going home.”
“Home?” Cameron rips his zip open as he sits up, eyes glowing with challenge even in the muted dark. “This is home. You are home. Until my feet touch English soil, home is us. And I’m not leaving until you have his body and we get out of arsefuck together.”
“You need us all,” Sterling hums while he checks on one of our men. “Besides, I’m not leaving him.” He nods at Ryan.
Sterling and Murphy are half-brothers. Lord Sterling liked to sow his wild oats far and wide. Luke and Ryan share a birthday, a father, and the same sense of loyalty and duty. One to his lineage and the other to his mother.
“We’re all staying,” Ryan sighs, falling back onto his makeshift bed on the rocky ground.
“Suicide mission or not”—Cameron zips himself back up, leaving a gap for his mouth only—“we’re going in together, getting the body, and getting the fuck out of this place.”
“No arguments, Your Highness.” Luke chuckles, grabbing his firearm as he tucks himself in.
The future Lord Sterling likes to point out my ties with the Spanish and Portuguese crowns whenever he gets a chance. It makes him feel better that he’s not the only one with a title looming over him.
“Let fire rain from the sky. The sea turn to blood. The earth blaze with justice and victory.” Cameron gives his usual twisted summary of Revelation.
As always, I hold tight to the crucifix my grandmother gave me.
Sangre. Piedad. Salvación. Esperanza. Paz.
Blood. Mercy. Salvation. Hope. Peace.
I finger through the jewel beads, knowing that this could be our last night on this earth. It still doesn’t stop me from vowing to keep each of these men—my men—alive. Even if it’s certain that I’ll fail.
I’ve lost count of how many lives I’ve lost and taken. Death doesn’t scare me. It never has, not until now. Because I’ve seen what it looks like when it comes for something so innocent and vulnerable. And I can’t fathom it touching what’s mine.
I keep a close eye on the rear-view mirror as we drive home. Home is where she is. Where they are. I’ve known it from the first time I let myself have Fleur. Maybe even before then. Perhaps it’s why I’ve resisted and fought to keep her at arm’s length. I can’t be home until she’s safe.
Fleur’s quiet, still clutching the bag of baby bits we got from the boutique next to the clinic. I thought she’d be happier, but she seems almost as withdrawn as I feel.
“I’m sorry,” she tells me, suddenly, tears glazing her eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve made everything harder for you.”
I have to laugh at her remark because her apology is so frank that it’s ridiculous.
“Why are you laughing at me?”
“Because usually you’re shit at apologies and yet, ridiculously, you’ve managed to deliver one so well when you have done absolutely nothing wrong.”
She looks at me with a glare. “I’m not ridiculous.”
“Your apology is.”
“Well, fuck you, then.”