Page 21 of Scorpion

“Nothing?” I cock my brow. “Pity. I thought we were getting somewhere.” Sighing, I fix my coat and leather gloves, then do a quick once-over making sure that there’s no red on the gray material.

With a quick flick of my wrist, I grab my gun and fire a bullet into his shoulder. The resulting splatter—and ear-piercing cry—leaves a droplet of blood on the sleeve of my cashmere coat.

Even though he’s probably in a little too much pain to pay attention to me, I point to my sleeve so he can see the damage he’s done. “I just dry-cleaned this.” I frown. “And it’s a limited edition.” Shaking my head, I turn to Greg. “Keep him alive for a week, would you?”

Greg grins. “Aye, sir.”

I don’t need to look at Ofsoski to know that he’s paled ten shades. He’s got an exciting seven days planned for him.

“Good man.” I clap Greg on the shoulder.

A chorus of Ofsoski’s grunts and cries follows me out the door as the Butcher has his way with him. I wouldn’t normally prolong the inevitable, but I’m… irritated.

The word isn’t nearly strong enough to describe how I feel about all my men who have died over the past twelve months. However, I have my own piece of art waiting for me at home. She’s priceless and doesn’t need anything more to be perfect. And I can have one night where everything around me isn’t going to shit.

Bringing Zalak into this war isn’t exactly ideal, but I’d be a liar if I said I’m not excited about the fact that my girl will be giving me her undivided attention for eight hours a day.

There was no way I could bring her into my fold without incentive, and I’m done waiting for the right moment to claim her. She needs a job, and I had an opening. Although, Robert—may he rest in peace—had the skill set of a toddler when it came to operating a sniper. Zalak makes for a phenomenal step up.

I check my watch, and the tension in my shoulders bleeds away ever so slightly knowing that I have ample time to get ready.

The ride home seems to take longer than necessary, and responding to emails is more tedious than usual. With every second that passes, my pulse beats harder against my skin. Excitement thrums through my veins, setting every cell on fire as I keep shifting in my seat and looking up from my phone to see if we’re any closer. The last time I felt this way was when I was a kid waiting to see if Santa left me any presents.

I had moved out of our family home to go to college for a bit. I had every intention of forging my own way through the world and waiting until the mantel was passed to me. I thought I’d have at least another twenty years of freedom before the crown was placed on my head.

So I never had any intention of living in this house. I thought I’d live in my own house closer to the city and patiently waited until I made a name for myself.

Then Dad got badly injured and I moved back in to help Mom take care of him, and ease the workload off his back so he could rest. Then he died, and before I knew it, Mom’s broken heart gave out from the stress. Then I was alone. No family. No friends. No Zalak.

Thursday night family dinners were gone. Sunday brunch with Mom stopped. It was just me, Sergei, and a big empty house.

I’ve done everything I possibly could to make the stone walls feel like a home again; I’ve added animals, doubled the number of plants inside, hired more staff and even let some of their children move in.

It doesn’t matter what I do, or how much money I throw to give the ground life, nothing makes me want to go home. Halenbeek Manor is just an overpriced haunted house where I go to rest my head at night.

But that’s changed.

The familiar feeling in my chest is what I have been yearning for since I lost my parents. It’s been twelve days since I’ve been back, and I never thought I’d be so excited for my trip to end. So I can go home. To Zalak.

When the manor comes into view, a cold sweat works down my spine. The excitement turns to anxious anticipation. Everything has to be right.

I nod at the staff as I pass and ignore one of my advisors when he rings. The kitchen is empty when I reach it, and everything I might need is already laid out for me. I knew I shouldn’t have told the head chef that I was planning on cooking. Even though she thinks my skills are slightly above average, she lays out all the ingredients and utensils like always.

This particular dish, however, I’ve perfected. I could make it with my eyes closed. I’ve been practicing for years, and when it comes to this, failure isn’t in my dictionary.

An hour later, food is packed into plastic containers. Just like the last time I came to the pool house two weeks ago, I have to wipe my clammy hands on my pants as I make it up the first step.

My breathing feels harder than normal, and the cocktail of nerves and anticipation is making me heady. The lights from the TV flashes from behind the curtains. Ten years and she’s back. Finally.

Since I was a kid, I’ve been dreaming about the day we would live together. Albeit this is entirely different from what I had imagined, but I’ll take it. I’ll do whatever is necessary as long as I can sleep knowing that she’s within walking distance from me, safe, alive, and home.

I inhale deeply before knocking on the door, then step back, momentarily unsure about what to do or where to put my hands. Before I can decide whether to pull out my phone or nonchalantly stare into the distance, the door creaks open just enough to see half of Zalak’s body.

Every time I see her, she disarms me. The word breathtaking was made for her.

Her hair is disheveled in her French braids, poking up from different angles. The look pairs appropriately with her worn T-shirt and sweats. Slight bruising still circles her eye and climbs up her jaw and forehead, but like every time I see her, I keep thinking that she could never be more stunning than she is in that moment. Whether she’s in the middle of the ring, knocking some guy’s lights out, or hobbling away with her loss, she’s still otherworldly.

I just want to lean over and kiss her. I think that would fix every bad thing that’s happened these last ten years.

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