Page 46 of Scorpion

At least my instincts were functioning enough to fully assemble the gun and have it safely tucked away in my handbag before we exited the room. Sergei and the rest of the team are out front waiting for us to come out.

Mathijs’s hand rests at the base of my spine, while my own clutches my purse. The weight of the gun keeps me somewhere between feeling invincible and like death is around the corner. It’s a toxic combination that keeps me grounded enough to not gawk at Mathijs over his promise.

His wife.

I thought about it all the time when we were younger—including the two kids we’d have, the low-key wedding, and the summer home in a cottage on the mountains that we’d escape to when the city got too loud. I once told him my life plans: the age I expected us to marry, and that we’d only consider children when we neared our thirties so we’d both have established careers first.

Thinking about putting a ring on my finger seems like such a foreign concept that could never happen to someone like me. When I left home, I debated whether I wanted to swear off marriage, but decided against it because I didn’t want my mother to control my life. Although, being on board about it feels like I’m letting her shove her values in my face while saying I told you so.

But the woman is dead.

They all are.

Everything from here on out is up to me. People come and go, either alive or dead.

I just need to get my shit together.

Taking in a deep breath, I draw my shoulders back. If I need time, Mathijs will give it. If I ask for space, he’ll put me at arm’s length. Nothing is going to go wrong.

“How was your meal?” the hostess asks as she hands us our coats.

Mathijs grins and casts me a sideways glance. “Delicious.”

I scoff quietly and approach the valet to wait for his Bugatti. The cold air shocks me out of the postcoital bliss and near existential crisis, enough for me to scan our surroundings for threats. Sergei and the rest of the men are across the street—except for the one guy who has stationed himself a couple meters away in case I need assistance.

The neon green car pulls up in front of me just as Mathijs reaches my side.

“Shall we?” His lips are split into a dazzling smile that shifts my equilibrium. Transporting me back to the private dining room when we were both finding God.

He winks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I shake my head to knock some composure into me. But I don’t react soon enough.

A shot rings out. Glass shatters behind me. Screams ensue above the roar of an engine. Metal groans. And for the briefest moment, I freeze.

I’m back there. Watching TJ die. Watching them all die.

A second fire hits the wall near me, and I spring into action. I grab Mathijs by the scruff of his neck and shove him to the ground behind the car. My muscles seize and my lungs contract, blurring the environment around me so I’m caught between a scorching desert and reality.

I can’t hear anything beyond the ringing in my ears. I’m only slightly aware of the carnage from the debris flying through the air.

I grab my gun and fire back at the three cars and motorbikes driving by. I can’t count how many guns are pointed our way because of the film over my vision. I can’t even make out faces. They could be masked for all I know.

My mind flips from the Middle East to the humid wetlands in Asia and South America. To the burning armored car in Senegal.

Over and over.

Jungle. Forest. Sand.

Movement beside me pulls me from the mirage, but it isn’t enough for me to recognize who it is or what they’re doing. I keep pulling the trigger. Again. And again. And again. Jungle. Forest. Sand.

I run onto the street to chase them down. When I’m out of ammo, I reach beneath my skirt to draw the spare gun, but someone stops me. I throw my arm out and manage to stop just before landing a blow.

He’s familiar. I know him. Where do I know him from? His lips move, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I’m sure I’ve seen his face a thousand times before. But I don’t recognize him. I don’t know why he’s touching me. Pulling me. Where’s TJ? Where’s the rest of my team—

Someone yanks me backward, and I raise my gun to fire. The weapon is jerked out of my hand before I can pull the trigger, and I’m yanked toward a different bald man.

“Soldier, pull yourself together,” he growls.

I blink.

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