Page 15 of Scorpion

We’re all fish out of water here. All fighting for survival while having each other’s backs. It gives us a sick sense of belonging and companionship. Like we’re equals with the same goals.

“You gonna call the lover boy once you’re back?”

I whip my head toward TJ and hold back a sneer. I don’t like when people bring up Mathijs. I’ve thought of contacting him a million times. Check up on him beyond just looking on the internet. He isn’t the type of person who carries hatred in his heart, but I don’t think I could bring myself to look him in the eyes after practically vanishing off the face of the planet. But, God, do I miss him.

“Are you going to call Kendall back?”

TJ winces. “She told me she wanted to get married.”

I snort. “God forbid a girl wants that.”

“It was our third time seeing each other.”

“And the third year you’ve been messaging each other. Get a grip.” I roll my eyes and grin his way.

Since I enlisted, there hasn’t been a day where I regretted my decision to leave home. That’s a lie—there were a great many instances where I wished I was in the comfort of my own bed instead of practically killing myself during training drills.

If I stayed home, what would I be doing with my life? Catering to some man my parents chose? Pop out babies left, right, and center just to have something to fill my days? Maybe if I continued with my initial plan, I’d be a broke journalist getting shot at for entirely different reasons.

Out here, I can prove myself. Make a difference in a way I’d never have been able to back home. With every life that I couldn’t save, there’s one that I did. One person who can go home to wish their children goodnight one more time, or eat dinner with their family.

That type of reunion isn’t waiting for me once I get back to America. But out here, faced with the prospect of debt, nothing becomes more priceless than embracing life.

I’m not out here for a noble purpose, but something far more selfish. My mother might not be proud of the person I’ve become. It doesn’t matter what insults she throws my way, I know the impact I’ve made. I’m not here to defend my country, I’m here to protect people. What’s my mother ever done but traumatized them instead?

I made my own family without her, and I’ll do whatever I can to keep them safe.

Chapter 5

ZALAK

Ialways thought a trip down memory lane was an idiom that could never take physical form. But the Halenbeek manor hasn’t changed one bit since I last saw it.

I can only half-appreciate the sight of the place when the skin around my eye is a swollen patchwork of black and blue. The mahogany beams are still warm against the gray stones of the manor. The fountains are blinding white. The hedges surrounding the property are cut to precision. The gardens Mathijs’s mother used to spend her days in are bright with color—even the greenhouse is still bursting with life.

The only difference is the extra security and the number of animals. I almost ran over a chicken coming down the driveway, and a cat hissed at me when I parked inside the garage—another thing that’s changed. It seems Mathijs developed a love for fast cars.

Tucking my helmet beneath my arm, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans as I glance at the cameras stationed all over the property. The guard at the gate told me I’d been set up at the pool house, even though I know for a fact that there are designated rooms for security on the main property.

The second he told me where I’d be staying, my muscles uncoiled. I couldn’t think of anything worse than playing roommates with a bunch of random men again and intruding into Mathijs’s direct space.

I scrunch my nose and wince from the movement as I round the main building and walk the long way to get to the pool house. That’s a new smell. As I close in on the “security wing,” I spot the next proof of change. A new barn has been erected against the side of the main house, leaving a faint smell of hay and manure in the crisp late afternoon air.

Climbing the few steps onto the porch, I help myself inside the pool house—actually, to call it that is a stretch. It’s a sleep out within ten yards of the pool.

The few boxes of things I own are neatly tucked against one of the walls, next to the mini kitchen. This afternoon, some guy showed up at my doorstep and balked when he saw the state of my face. Apparently, Mathijs told me last night that he’d send a moving van over to get all my things. Honestly, that was news to me.

Numbness replaces the pain in my foot, lessening the amount of strength I have as I subtly limp. It doesn’t take long to peek into the bedroom and bathroom.

Returning to the main room, I hoist the first box up onto the dining table. It has all the food and drinks I own in it. Then I still when I open the fridge. The fully stocked fridge. I slam it shut and move to each and every cupboard. All filled to the brim with every food item I could possibly want.

I didn’t agree to any of this.

I walk into the bathroom stocked with shampoos, conditioners, and soaps in the vanity. I fist the packet of hair accessories, and rummage through the drawers, eyeing all the sanitary products.

Was this all planned? Has he been patiently biding his time, waiting for me to hit rock bottom so he can swoop in and save me?

Well, fuck him. I don’t need a goddamn hero. I’ve made it this far myself.

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