Page 51 of Scorpion

Closing the distance, I peer over at him, watching him gape as he touches his bleeding shoulder. “I was… I—” Albert stutters.

I sigh and look in Zalak’s direction. “Second time lucky?”

Her groan crackles through my hidden earpiece.

After a couple seconds, another shot rings out. This time, the blood splatter makes it all the way up to my trench coat, and I shake my head. Well, this is going straight to the dry cleaners. The upside of the stain is that Albert has stopped being so irritating. He was a bad employee, and even worse company. This is my real charity.

I kick his side.

Nothing.

Splendid.

I lower myself onto my knees. Appraising the gaping hole in the center of his chest, I feel for his pulse then grin. “A confirmed kill at fifteen hundred meters.”

“One thousand four hundred and fifty-two,” she corrects.

“I’m rounding up.”

“Two shots. It doesn’t count.”

“Bureaucracy is boring.” Hence why I have been encouraging the use of live targets. Dummies are outdated.

“Get in the car, Mathijs.”

I sigh and begin walking to the car. I love it when she gets bossy. “I hope you’re in the mood for Thai tonight.”

She makes a noncommittal sound.

I’ll take that as a yes.

Zalak and I agreed that it’s time for her to get back to working full-time. It’s her second week back, and so far, there have been no incidents. I mean, it was all in good time really. Some of Goldchild’s men started shooting at me while I was walking back to my car, and she only froze for a moment, then shot a guy down and remained unfazed for the rest of the night. I gave her therapist a bonus for that alone.

Goldchild—the motherfucker—has become even more of a nuisance. He put a hit on my head—not that Zalak knows—and it’s become awfully inconvenient. Honestly, I’m quite offended that he’s only offering fifty grand for my death. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’d say that at an absolute minimum I’m worth two hundred grand.

Leaving Albert’s body behind for the police or Goldchild to find, I slide into my seat and wait until I hear her motorbike rumble to life before I give the driver the signal to head home.

There’s a certain peace that comes with knowing that Zalak is sharing the same roof as me. Obviously, she protested when I situated her a couple doors down from my room, but she hasn’t raised an issue with it since. It makes falling asleep easier. More specifically, it makes checking on her easier—not that she knows that either.

Once I arrive home, I head straight toward the kitchen to prepare dinner. The sound of an approaching motorbike reaches me ten minutes later. Ever the overzealous guard, she must have done the rounds, tailed us to make sure we weren’t being followed, then did the rounds again. I used to worry for Zalak when she was by herself. Now I worry for the people around her. Who would have guessed that killing people could be so therapeutic?

She enters the kitchen a couple minutes later and heads straight for the stereo to turn on the music. Then she picks up a knife and starts chopping the scallions. We direct each other on various tasks that require doing while she simultaneously rolls her eyes at me every time I flirt with her. It’s a symbiotic relationship of sorts.

I place a hand on her waist, feeling her rock-solid muscles, then look over her shoulder as she slices the vegetables. “The way you grip that knife does things to a man, Lieverd.”

“I will cut you with it,” she says with a deadly smile.

Romance.

I grin, singing along to the music while we serve up dinner. I crack open Mom’s specialty wine and pour us each a glass. We settle on the stools next to the bench and dig in. If I had to give the food a rating, I’d say six out of ten—work in progress on both our parts. The company makes up for it.

When we’re finished, I turn to face her. Our next discussion has no room for uncertainty or games. It’s a matter of life, death, and the future, and I need her to make her decision with her eyes wide open. Because I’ve already made mine.

“We need to talk.” Strong start, but there’s no point beating around the bush.

Zalak’s brows knit, and she pushes her plate away. “Okay…”

I clasp my hands together to stop myself from reaching for her. “I am going to ask you several questions, and I want you to answer truthfully without concern for our arrangement or my feelings.”

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