Out of Plans (The Mercenaries #2) (22 page)

“God, you're stupid, De Sant. There's been nobody. A long time before you, after you, whenever.
Nobody else
.”

“That would explain why you're so tense, sweetheart. Like a guitar string, your body is begging me to pluck out a tune,” he whispered, and then his hand moved away. She moaned at the loss.

“And what about you, Mr. I Love Lavender? You said you fucked all the prostitutes in Brazil,” she reminded him. He chuckled.

“I never said I fucked
all
of them,” he reminded her.

“Gross. On second thought, I'm good for the rest of the night,” she grumbled, and again tried to get up.

“
Liliana
,” he whispered her name, and as she felt his erection pushing against her, both his hands pressed down on her back.

“Oh my …
god,
” she let out a deep breath as his dick made itself at home.

“Do you really think that after feeling
this,
” he continued, and punctuated the last word with a sharp thrust, “I could settle for anything else?”

She wasn't given a chance to answer. He began fucking her like her question had pissed him off. She cried out and gripped the case beneath her, knocking some of the bottles to the floor. Then his hand was in her hair, pulling her ponytail free. Red locks fell around her face and his fist knotted into the hair at the base of her head. He jerked on the strands, forcing her back to arch and lift her up.

“God, yes, like that, please,” she begged, moving her arms to hold herself up. Once her elbows were locked, his hands immediately went to her breasts, squeezing and pinching.

“
And this
. Nothing compares to this. Your body, your skin, holy shit, Lily, there's
nothing
like it,” he growled from behind her.

It was so easy to forget. Lily had spent so long hardening her heart and her mind – five years. And then six months, working on her body. Making it faster, stronger. Even with Kingsley's joking, she had a tendency to forget about her own femininity. Her sexuality. No one could really reach her, and certainly no one ever touched her. It just wasn't allowed.

Until Marc.

He pulled her away and practically threw her onto the mattress, just like she wanted. He pinned her down and reminded her how much she wanted him, just like she needed. Pure filth poured from his mouth and she dished it right back, all while digging her nails into his sides, biting her way down one shoulder.

When her orgasm jumped on her by surprise, she bit down hard enough to make him yell. Hard enough to leave a welt. And as she wound herself around him, her muscles contracting and spasming as he pounded himself to orgasm, as well, she couldn't help but wonder …

Maybe I'll still get to leave my mark on him, too.

After Marc fell asleep, Lily snuck out and headed back into the room at the front of the house. She pulled the table and chair right up to the window, then turned off the generator. She used a pen flashlight and looked over the blueprints.

Kingsley was right, the apartment was where they'd have to hit. Hopefully catch Stankovski unaware. If they went in early, they could maybe catch him still in bed. Of course, there would undoubtedly be guards. The boys would go in first, clear a path for her. She would move in directly for the kill.

She frowned as the beam of light landed on the bedroom. What to do about Mrs. Stankovski. After hearing Marc's horror story, Lily didn't feel too bad about murdering the woman's husband in front of her. The woman had also no doubt used her affair with Damiano to feed harmful information to the Russian mob boss, double crossing her lover. She was a bad person, probably on par with her husband. Shooting her would be doing the world a favor.

But ultimately, Roksana hadn't done anything directly to Lily. She hadn't even been in Moscow at the time of Lily's sister's death. Sure, she'd tortured Marc, but Lily wanted to torture Marc about half the time, too. She couldn't justify it in her mind, not the way she could with Stankovski himself. So Roksana would have to be subdued in another manner.

There was the sound of a bottle breaking, and Lily glanced out the window. Two men were arguing loudly about something, shoving and pushing each other. She sighed and looked back down at the plans.

If they weren't in the actual apartment, it would be necessary to lure them down to the ground level, or possibly the second floor. But the third floor, with all the offices and hiding places, would have to be avoided. She didn't want to get stuck in a shoot out in downtown New York. She hadn't gone through hell and back just to end up in some prison.

No. It would be in-out. They would get there. They would take out the guards. They would tie up Mrs. Stankovski.

And then Lily would put a pullet in Anatoly Stankovski's brain.

After everything I've been through, this will seem like a walk in the park.

Kingsley finally showed up a couple hours before dawn. He found a plastic fold out chair and brought it upstairs, then they chatted for a while. Talked about past jobs and funny memories. Didn't once mention Stankovski or the fact their time together was rapidly coming to an end.

All this talk of what will happen with me and Marc, but what about Kingsley? Poor man deserves better than the two of us.

They talked until she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore, so she said goodnight and headed back to the room where Marc was still sleeping. It was freezing in the house, no heat, and she was still only wearing her work out gear, so she shimmied under the blanket Marc had wrapped around himself and she pressed herself against his back. Sleep wasn't far behind.

She woke up much later, to the sound of the tarp being rumpled around. Then there was the feeling of the mattress dipping, the feeling of someone moving around. She was laying on her stomach, facing a wall.

“What time is it?” she whispered through a yawn.

“Almost nine,” Marc's voice whispered back, and she felt him press against her side.

“Jesus, why did you let me sleep so late?”

“You need all the rest you can get.”

She kept staring at the wall and concentrated on listening to the sounds in the house. There was a creak from down the hall – the old chair, in the front bedroom. Then the sound of a lighter flicking on; Kingsley was still in there.

“Marc,” she breathed out his name. There was a pause, then she felt his fingers on her back, tracing down her spine.

“Hmmm?”

“This all ends tomorrow. Some how, some way. All those days in Africa, all those months afterwards. I just got you back, and we'll be done tomorrow,” she blurted out. His hand pressed down flat on her back, his palm warm.

“Lily,” he sighed her name, and she shifted around, moving onto her side so she could face him. “We weren't done six months ago. We won't be done tomorrow. Let's get through this, and then we'll ...”

His voice trailed off, and Lily finally smiled at him.

“We'll wing it,” she said softly. He smiled back.

“Yeah, sweetheart. We'll wing it.”

His eyes were so blue against his dark tan, and she kept staring into them as he leaned close, only closing her own eyes when his lips met hers. Whatever they were, friends, partners, lovers, they weren't prone to intimacy. Not in Africa, and especially not now – it felt wrong, in front of Kingsley. Unprofessional. They may not have been getting paid, but they were on a job, and they were a team. So the entire time between Miami and New York, they hadn't touched each other. Sex the night before had been a frantic act, trying to work out their tension and feelings for each other in a very short amount of time.

Even just a little kiss, a welcomed act of affection, made her forget where she was for just a moment. Just for a second, she wasn't vengeance and rage and cold anger. She was just Lily.

Whoever she is ...

“I'm scared,” she breathed against his mouth. He moved his hand to her chest and shoved gently, forcing her onto her back.

“That's good. Scared is good. It means you're aware that this is dangerous,” he replied, sliding over so he was laying on top of her.

“No, I'm not scared of that,” she shook her head while he grabbed the edges of the blanket they were under and pulled it up over their heads, covering them completely from view.

“Your plan?” he asked, situating himself on top of her, forcing her legs around his waist.

“No,” she shook her head. He relaxed, letting his full weight press down on her.

“Then what?” he sounded sleepy as he rested his head between her breasts.

“I'm afraid … that I won't pull the trigger,” she whispered. It was her constant fear. One she'd never even voiced to Kingsley.

“You pulled it in Africa,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, but it was me or him. I've been gearing up for this for so long, but the closer I get, the more I worry. What if I get there, and I point the gun at him, and I freeze?” she asked. She felt him take a deep breath, and then his hands were sliding up the sides of her body.

“You weren't afraid of anything. Remember that? You had to be right behind me, in that boarding house. Shot a flare gun into a car while driving in reverse. Had a knife to your neck and told him to '
do it
'. I'm not scared at all. You can do this, Lily,” he reminded her. She frowned.

“It just feels different,” she sighed, not sure how to articulate herself.

“Because for the first time, you're making yourself do something that's against your nature. Kingsley, me, this is part of who we are; it's something we've always done, without any thought. But you … well, sweetheart, it's like I always said. You weren't meant to be this person,” he said bluntly.

She wanted to be mad at him, for bringing up that phrase, and for telling her she wasn't meant to be that way. But as his hands slid back down her body and worked their way under under her hips, she had to admit it – he was right. Murder had never been on her agenda. She refused to take contract hits, though she'd been offered several, and even requested on occasion. Why couldn't she be like the guys? She'd done everything they'd done. Harder, in some situations – Kingsley had never been caught and tortured, never had a knife shoved through his arm. Even Marc had finally admitted that she was fully capable of keeping up with them, of holding her own. That she was an equal. Why was it so much easier for them!?

As Marc's weight got heavier, and his breathing grew more even, she had another thought. Maybe he was wrong. She remembered finding Kingsley in that bathroom in Thailand, stoned out of his mind and unconscious in a shower. Thought of the way Marc ran away from her, the way he shunned relationships. Thought of Kingsley's drinking, and his carefully crafted cheerful facade. Thought of Marc's quickfire temper and bossiness.

Maybe it wasn't so easy for them. Maybe time had just hardened them enough to go through with killing, and then gifted them with the ability to mask their unease.

Not like you have a choice anyway. You came this far. This is everything you wanted. When you get there, just do what they said.
Pull the fucking trigger
.

*

After an hour or so, Lily couldn't take the ridiculous amount of heat Marc's body was giving off. It was like sleeping in a furnace. She slithered out from under him and decided it was as good a time as any to start their day.

Kingsley was sipping at a cold cup of coffee when she walked into the front room. She sat down across from him, and a moment later, Marc staggered into the room. He grabbed himself a cup, as well, and Lily went over her plan.

She'd opted for sneaking into the building early and striking Stankovski in his apartment. It would be difficult, of course, nothing she would've ever dared to try on her own, but maybe with the three of them, they could get through any guards that might stand in their way.

Kingsley was confident, as well. They would set up a watch on the apartment that night, to determine what kind of security was in place. They knew Stankovski wasn't planning on staying long – according to what Marc had learned, he was staying for the Gala, and not a moment longer. Stankovski would be leaving New York the day after cutting the opening ribbon, and Marc truly didn't know where he'd be going next.

They went over the blueprints again, making notes of which staircases to use and which doors to keep an eye out for. As they talked over everything, Lily could feel her adrenaline start to pump. She could picture it all in her mind's eye, like she was really in the corridor Kingsley was describing. She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet while they talked.

“Calm down, sweetheart, you're wound tighter than a jack-in-the-box,” Marc chuckled, stepping up behind her and rubbing her shoulders.

“It's been a long time, alright? Such a long time,” she was almost panting, and she brought her hands together, cracking her knuckles. Kingsley smiled and cupped her chin in his hand.

“Don't worry, darling. I have the utmost faith in you. It'll be over before you know it,” he assured her. She smiled back and felt warm. Such an amazing man standing in front of her, and such a strong man standing behind her.

And me, in the middle, keeping us all together.

After securing the doors to the house, they piled into the Escalade and headed into Manhattan. Kingsley drove – she was shocked to learn that he'd spent quite a bit of time in New York, and had actually been there at the same time as her, when she'd been laundering money for a Bratva in Brighton Beach.

Small world.

They parked just off Time Square, then made their way on foot to 47
th
Street. They stuck to alleyways, moving behind buildings, and finally came to a stop behind a shop that was across from Stankovski's. Marc got annoyed because the fire escape was pulled up out of reach. They'd have to move a dumpster to get to it. Kingsley and Lily glanced at each other.

“Amateur,” the Brit snorted, then linked his hands together and held them out.

Lily laughed and put her foot in his grip, then let him launch her straight up into the air. She was able to reach the fourth rung of the medal ladder, and she held on as it came loose under her weight and slid towards the ground. She smiled down at Marc, who just glared at everyone.

“
Show offs
.”

Through Kingsley's scope and Marc's field binoculars, they were able to track some movement in their target building, but it was hard. Blinds were down on all the windows. They did see a couple men in black suits come and go through the front door, and the blonde bombshell herself opened the curtains in the apartment at one point, but that was it.

“One of us can come back tonight, set up a watch on the back of his building,” Marc pointed out.

For hours, they combed over the streets surrounding the diamond district. Memorizing street names and escape routes. When the sun began to set, Lily went and stood on a rooftop that looked over the back of Stankovski's building and she counted all the windows. Wondered why the fire escape had been removed. Wondering how structurally sound the back door was; wondered if it could be broken down with a battering ram.

“
Let's go, sweetheart! We've got a shit ton more stuff to go over!
”

Lily was shocked when Kingsley suggested they all go out to dinner. She argued that they needed to go over their plans again. Marc
demanded
they go over the plans again. Kingsley held up both his hands at their arguing.

“Pardon me, but just for one night,
fuck the plans.
”

Lily was still in all her active wear, nothing really suitable for fine dining in downtown Manhattan. She grabbed some pants and a blouse from a nearby store and wound up changing in an alley. It was as cleaned up as she could get at a moment's notice. Marc only had some jeans he'd picked up in Miami and t-shirt.

Kingsley wore a Versace suit.