Chapter 64

**Calum POV**

"How did Torin even get out of the country?"

Hadassah comes into the bedroom with a tray in her hands. "Covert aircraft. Connections. Bribes. The usual."

I type furiously, my eyes trained on the screen of the laptop with high-grade software and applications, the type they don't sell in ordinary stores. The dull ache wakes with a roar. I use both hands but frequently one strays to hold my injured side, grimacing but fully attentive to my task. Hadassah moves to the beside table to lay down the tray with my breakfast on top.

"What are you doing? I thought you lost everything after that goon shot up the computer?"

I shake my head regrettably. "Torin is a meticulous bastard. He made me make hourly uploads of my progress to an uplink, a cloud-based storage solution like google drive but highly secured. I sealed it with my own code. My own insurance policy if he starts getting idea once everything in the book is completely decoded."

She sighs, tossing a hand to my food. "Eat, please."

My gaze takes a detour to my breakfast. "Aw, wifey. You know I love my sunny side eggs."

I bob my brows. "You'll love the pancetta even more."

"I could marry you."

I take up the laptop off lap, then I pause. An alarming notifcation pops up. I put it back.

A grim look dims her eyes. "What, what's wrong?"

"No..." A dread-filled whisper.

"What?"

She comes closer, angling her head to view the screen but all she can see is a mounting litany of texts and numerals.

"An incoming transmission."

A jolt of panic. "Who? How?"

"Encoded message...**just so you know. I let you win the fight**." My eyes snap to her with unexplainable excitement emerging inside me. "It's that hot spy, beach-blondie."

She shoots a bewildered look at me. "Seriously? Block it. She can use it to track us."

"End‑to‑end encryption. The call will be untraceable."

"No," she says furiously. "It's not worth the risk."

"Isn't it? Yeah, the agency got leaks but at least with them there's an actual chance of survival. We're talking about the CIA here. If we explain that I broke in under duress, they'll put us under witness protection. Better the devil you know than one you don't. And I'm telling you, Torin can't be trusted."

"Neither can they. Cut it."

"No."

"Calum?"

I swivel the laptop around so it can face her. "You do it then."

"Calum, I swear to God, switch it off or I'll use your head to break that laptop."

My jaw clenches, looking away momentarily as I fix it back around to hide the request before I slam the lid of the laptop close. I rest back against the plush headboard, glaring up at her.

"You're acting like I'm your mom telling you no more Fortnite."

"I don't even play Fortnite?"

"No, you're just being unreasonable." She point at my food. "Eat."

I take the tray grudgingly, picking up the fork with a frown. "I need to wash."

She shrugs. "So?"

I makes a pointed gesture to my injured side. "I need a bath. A sponge bath."

Her brows spring to her hairline. "You are all shades of bold today."

"I'm serious," I say, fighting with a smile. "It's your obligation."

She snorts humouredly. "According to what?"

"The... best friend bible."

She nods with mock interest. "Really?" Mischief sparkling in her eyes.

"Please." I clutch my side, feigning a pained look, a smile sneaking onto my face. "It hurts so bad. The agony, I can't bear it. It's so painful—"

"Okay," she yields. She turns on her heel, sauntering to the open ensuite. "I'll run the bath."

"Make it—"

"Bubbly, I know," she says, throwing a thumbs up to the ceiling.

"Before you do that."

She stops to face me again.

"Could you also get me another slice of toast? Getting shot really took a lot of me."

She sends me a cynical look but complies and leaves the room. I grab the laptop, placing it back on my laptop. I flick it back open and I accept the pending request. Shortly, a gorgeous face fills the screen.

"Calum Taylor," she greets with that royal accent.

"Make it quick."

"My name is Commander Emilia Acheson. I'm not an American operative, I belong to British intelligence. I don't have to tell you that you are in grave danger. And I also don't think I have to tell you what your government will label you if you reject my offer of aid now."

She is impossibly beautiful. Paradise-green eyes with imperial features, a symmetrical face with high cheekbones, only accentuated by her hair like melted sun tied tight in a high ponytail.

She frowns, crinkles forming. "Mr Taylor?"

I blink fast. "Sorry, the sight of you quite literally took my breath away."

A perfectly shaped brow lifts curiously. "Not the time."

"If only we had more." I cast unending glances at the doorway. "But we don't. I can't help you; help us. Torin has gone rogue. He went off on some solo mission, something about acquiring funds. However, even though he has left. We have a squadron of babysitters consisting of deadly mercenaries. You can't help us."

"I can, if you allow me to track you. I can send an extraction team, easy. This is beyond you. If you value your life and the life of Haddassah Moor. You will turn yourselves into our custody and let us protect you. You won't need to run because soon we will have enough to dismantle the cartel's organisation. If the book holds everything—"

I perk up. "The book... how do you know about it?"

"That's classified. But if you must know, it's from informants, sleepers embedded in Gaza's organisation. Since his death, Santos has been cleaning house, getting rid of most of his former higher ups and installing his own echelon. Calum, you must comprehend what will happen if those secrets end up in the wrong hands. An international conflict that can easily lead to a military confontration."

"I kinda burnt this one." Hadassah's voice echoes into the room. "And I'm to lazy to make another one, so bon appetit."

When she enters again, the tray is on my lap, munching down on a mouthful of salt-cured pork belly. She walks over to deliver the side plate of extra toast on the bedside table. Her eyes dart to the closed laptop next to me before she disappears into the bathroom. Seconds later, I hear her running the water.

When I finish, I place the tray aside. I flip open the duvet, shifting myself to sit on the edge of the bed. I rise cautiously, pain stitching up my side. I hobble over to the bathroom, pain protesting against any further movement. I enter the brilliant white ensuite with crystalline surfaces. Hadassah leans against the ledge of the freestanding oval bath, brimming with steaming waters, coated with a layer of puffy bubbles. She moves away to retrieve a bottle of body wash and scrubbing brushes.

I start easy, peeling off the sweatpants. I hesitate when it comes to the top. Hadassah comes close, fingers gingerly holding onto the ends as she helps me out of it with delicacy. Her gaze slips below my waist and she smiles innocently.

"You're on your own for that one."

I smile back at her cheekily, stripping until I'm completely bare. I step into the bath and I melt inside, the temperature exactly how I like it. I rest my head, soaking in the luxury of tranquillity, a simple but soul-soothing experience. Hadassah settles down the floor, slanting to the side as she plants her folded arms on the ledge, gazing back at me with a look abounding with love, concern and family fondness. All we are and all we share forever blooms in her gaze.

My eyes fasten on her arm. "How many times you've been shot?"

"Alot," she says with a half-mad smile.

"You know." I draw an idle line in the water. "This bath is really nice and warm. And definitely has space for two."

She instructs me with her finger and moves onto her knees. I swoosh forward, curling over slightly. She takes the soapy scrub to my back, washing and cleansing with the care of someone with something invaluable in their grasp. She dips the washcloth in the water and rinses off the soap, warm water streaming down my back, carrying away every qualm I have, draining tension from my body.

"You can't trust Torin," I say lowly.

She ignores me.

"He's a classic narcissist who cares only for his own self-serving ambition," I rant on. "I know you're smart enough to know not to trust him."

"I don't know." Her scrubbing over my body becomes more aggressive. "I wasn't smart enough to stop looking into Zenith. I wasn't smart enough to realize how incredibly stupid it was to steal from Gaza, one choice that incited a chain of unstoppable events. It wasn't a mistake. It was a choice."

To say it's not her fault would be lie.

"You meant well," I reassure. "Yeah, it was your fault. Making a dumb mistake doesn't make you dumb, it makes you human. Your intentions were good and that's all that matters."

"Everyone starts out with good intentions." She pours a dribble of face wash into her palms, then puts it aside to rub her hands until it turns soapy. "But does that still make you a good person if you do bad things for the 'right' reasons?"

She brings her hands to my face and lathers the gel-like soap around my face, massaging it into my skin soothingly. She cups my jaw with both hands; her thumbs stroking my cheekbones.

"I should've listened to you, and what I did threw you in the path of danger," she whispers with glassy eyes. "I would never forgive myself if something happened to you, and it nearly did."

"Don't do that."

"Can you forgive me?"

I remove her hands from my face and I plant a lingering kiss on her wrist. "There is nothing to forgive."

I dunk myself into the water, then I re-emerge, plastering my wet hair to my head. She helps me finish washing, then it's drying up and moisturising, studiously avoiding my lower region. I get myself dressed in a fresh set of loungewear, a plain white top and grey joggers with socks.

"Why don't you give me the grand tour of this place?"

She nods and sidles my flank. I drape my arm around her shoulders and she escorts me out of the bedroom. We make our way down the spiral staircase but she points out the four other suites and the master bedroom on the other end. We descend, walking down in sync. And the interior is a mesh of glazed floors, natural stone cladding, wood and infinite glass windows heralding a wealth of sunlight. We're about to pass a lounge but I derail us off her course, stumbling into the living room.

"What?"

"That couch."

I make my way to it and I collapse on it, captured by comfort. I extend myself on the white cushions, edging back, offering a silent invitation. She strolls to me and kicks off her shoes before she lays down in front of me, facing me with nothing but our breaths keeping us apart.

She pinches her nose. "Damn, you forgot to wash your teeth, kid."

I gape at her, then I blow hard into her face, punishing her with a swarm of tickles. She squeals and turns around, but I tangle my arm around her waist, keeping her form close to mine in a feeble grip. One she can easily break free from but she doesn't. Instead she becomes calm, still beside me. The unnatural sense of peace lulls me into wholly serenity. Succumbing to the peace amidst the storm. My eyes suddenly become heavy, drooping close. Moments later, I regain consciousness.

"Hadassah?"

She's fast asleep. The illusion of safety allows me to do the same.

***

I jerk awake—blood curdling screams and distant tiny explosions resounding all around the property. Bullets. Lots of them. I heave myself up to realise I'm alone. Hadassah is gone. I demand every ounce of willpower to get up and hurry out of the lounge. A splash of blood against the glass, a man suited in body armour slumps to the ground against the tall pane from the outside. Insurmountable dread electrifies my inside and I run back upstairs, hiking up the steps, dragging myself using the railing.

"Hadassah! Hadassah!"

Only silence responds to my desperate call. I check every room upstairs, but they are all empty. I go back downstairs, venturing deeper into the house, searching for any sign or inkling, but none are given. A voice alerts me to someone, followed by a percussion of marching boots like a battalion of soldiers have descended. I scamper into the kitchen, then I spot an alternate entrance. The door blasted off its hinges. I run through it, exiting the house to be greeted by the putrid stench of slaughter invading my senses. Terror thunders through me at the carnage all around me. Torin's men are split open with their insides spilling out, gutted like swine. My stomach lurches and I have to try to stop the upheaval, bile burning my throat. My hand over my mouth and the other holding onto my side.

A rough hand seizes my shoulder. Horror consuming me from the inside, too in-shock to even attempt to fight back. A boot strikes the back of my knee, sending me to my knees. A wave of armed men file out from the doorway behind me, scattering amongst the open backyard that leads into the dense forest. A blur of black, a multitude of guns levelled at my chest. Everything falls still, a chasmatic silence fraught with tension.

Suddenly, a single pair of footsteps takes precedence in sound and power, walking with sure-footed purpose.

"Calum Taylor."

I never knew my name could sound so terrifying.

A man appears in front of me, his face blood-splattered with a tsuka sword drawn at his side, blood dripping off his blade.

He lowers to his haunches, his eyes are pools of obsidian that go deep into unknowable depths.

He tilts closer. "Where is my Sakura?" He stands to his full height. "Where are you, Sakura?" he booms, his voice like a clap of thunder. "I know you wouldn't leave him."

He waits a moment, then he turns his attention back on me with a critical eye.

I follow his line of sight to my hand on my side. He uses the bloody tip of his blade to nudge of my hand away, lifting the ends of my top, investigating my side. He slants his head to the side with morbid intrigue. He thrusts the blade into my side, splintering my world and unleashing a torrent of pain, wringing out a cry from me, it only grows louder as he skewers it into me slowly. I blink and I'm lying on my side, my vision going hazy but I get a glimpse. Hadassah running towards the treeline and she throws herself against a tree to stop herself, flattening her front against it. She sees him, but he hasn't seen her yet. Hadassah gawks at the man with a fear I haven't seen since she was recovered from the hole Sidorov put her in.

The man exchanges terse words with another. A combatant hollers something foreign and the man whips around to look directly where Hadassah is.

"Run!" I scream.

A grisly smile splits his face. He issues his orders to his men and they stand at attention.

"Watch him," he says, glancing back at me with hollow eyes. He looks forward again. "It seems Sakura wants to play."

Darkness edges my vision as I watch Hadassah take off into a sprint. The man doesn't even run. He merely sheathes the sword and walks after her at a slow, daunting pace. I look down and I'm bathing in my own blood. I press my bloody palms into the wooden deck, trying to push myself upright, only to meet swift defeat, stuck on my stomach. My one arm extended, my fingers fluttering in her direction. My vision fails, my breaths shallow...and the last thing I see is the man thawing into the forest.