Page 57 of Assistant to the Assassin

Therapy Journal

Entry 202

Soul of Christ, sanctify me,

Body of Christ, save me,

Blood of Christ, inebriate me,

Water from the side of Christ, wash me,

Passion of Christ, strengthen me,

O good Jesus, hear me.

Hide me within your wounds,

keep me close to you,

defend me from the evil enemy,

call me at the hour of my death,

and bid me to come to you,

to praise you with your saints,

forever and ever. Amen.

I’ll Curse the Ground Where You Kneel

I wake up at six in the morning with Beth sprawled on my chest, a piece of hair stuck to her mouth, and her snores drowning out any other possible noise in the bunker. I pray to God that I get a lifetime’s worth of moments just like this, but this one will have to be cut short.

I need to get ready.

For the first time in years, I put on the T-shirt and pants, as well as my thick brown combat boots, my mother’s rosary, and my tactical thigh holster for my gun. After I’m done, I wake Beth with kisses over her face and neck, and she greets me with a groggy smile. I hate watching the happiness flood from her gaze and the smile slacken when she realizes what today is, and without another word, she gets out of bed and goes into her closet.

I leave her to go check on the others, and to my delight, Ian is picking out weapons while Ambrose keeps an eye on Harrison’s team using his computer, which is directly linked with the tracker he planted on their boats. He’s already set up shop in the office, the hub of our security system. It’s where he and Beth will be during this, giving directions and information through earpieces Ian and I both have.

Ian inspects the guns he’s picked out, making sure each has the right kind of bullets in their magazine and that he has extra ammo for the fight. He also polishes a couple knives and sticks them in random places on his outfit, which consists of a dark-green shirt and cargo pants.

As I do a gun inspection myself, I begin to talk, keeping my voice low. “I did leave service because I hated following all the rules and being blocked by red tape and bureaucracy, but not because I wanted to do whatever I wished. It was because my mother was taken when I was a child, and those obstacles kept me from finding her.”

Ian freezes, flicking his eyes up from the knife in his hand, his eyebrows furrowing. I give him the entire story beat for beat as I did with Beth, and by the time I’m done, Ian’s expression has become one of pain, and I see regret in his eyes before he voices it. “I’m sorry—for all of it.”

“I am too.” I set my gun down on the rack of weapons, taking a step towards him. “I should have come to you about this. I should have told you and the team everything and allowed you to help me.”

“Why didn’t you?” he whispers.

“Because I thought it was my mistake to fix, and I couldn’t bear if anyone else I cared about got hurt because of me and my failures.”

Ian shakes his head, closing the distance between us, grasping my shoulders tightly in his hands. “You didn’t fail your mother, and you certainly didn’t fail me. You’re not to blame for any part of this.”

“I know, which is why I wanted to tell you. If the worst happens today, I wanted you to know the truth. I wanted you to know how sorry I am.”

The next thing I know is I’m being hugged, and it’s just as stiff and awkward as I would have expected hugging Ian would be like. His long arms wrap around my shoulders, and he bends at the knees to equalize our heights. He then pats my back gently, like you would to a fussy baby. “You’re forgiven,” he tells me.

I return his embrace, resting my head against his shoulder, glad my expression is hidden from him. “Promise me that if I die up there, you’ll protect Beth. Promise me you will ensure she’s safe, comfortable, and happy till the day you die.”

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