Page 44 of Savage Assassin

“And you’ve been–”

“Trying to keep you alive.” He takes another bite of the food, wincing, and sets it down.

“You ran a hell of a fever. I have some medical things–” he nods towards a bag sitting in the sand a few paces off, “but nothing for that. It was touch and go for a little bit. Not to scare you,” he adds apologetically.

“No, I’d rather you be honest.” I force down another bite of food, but I’m not sure how much more I’ll be able to manage before it starts coming back up. “What else is in the bag?”

“Some survival things. It’s all I was able to grab off of the plane before I had to get you and get us out of the wreckage. I had a hard enough time getting to you.” Levin pauses momentarily, as if he’s considering how much to tell me.

“I want to know,” I tell him, but even as the words come out, I’m not entirely sure they’re true. The expression on his face looks as if he’s trying to keep from telling me just how bad things are, and failing.

“There’s not much in there,” he tells me finally. “There were a couple of blankets, which you’ve got right now, some of these MRE-type rations, bottled water, a first-aid kit. I used a lot of that to patch up your injuries and mine.” He turns, showing me a roughly-stitched gash on his arm. “Luckily, you seemed to have more bumps and bruises than wounds. There was just one deep cut on your side and some superficial scratches.”

I wince. “Did you have to stitch–”

Levin nods, his mouth twisting down in a regretful expression. “I’d avoid looking at it for now,” he says gently. “It’s not the prettiest job. It will probably scar.”

I feel a pulse of hurt in my chest, a lump rising in my throat, but I shove it down as hard as I can.Don’t be foolish,I tell myself firmly, forcing a small, wan smile onto my face. “It’s just a scar,” I tell him as bravely as I can manage. “Better that than dead.”

“That’s true.” Levin gives me an appreciative look. “You’ve been tough through all of this, Elena Santiago. I’m impressed.”

Hearing him say that sends an unexpected flush of heat through me, and I feel my cheeks turn pink, making me hope that the firelight isn’t bright enough for him to see it. “Where did you learn to do all of this?” I ask, reaching for the MRE to try and force a little more down.

Levin hesitates again, and I can see his expression turn guarded. “Now,” he says carefully, as if he’s thinking about each word before he chooses it, “I work for a man named Viktor Andreyev, based out of New York. He’s thepakhanof the Bratva there. But before that–”

It’s clear that he’s unsure how much he should say. “Just tell me,” I say quietly, looking at him from across the fire. “I can handle it. I’m a cartel boss’s daughter. And I think we’re past keeping secrets at this point.”

He smiles grimly. “Alright. That’s fair, I suppose. But I don’t know that you’re going to enjoy being on this island with me, once you know.”

Levin

“Only one way to find out.”

The way she says it is with a kind of bold-faced optimism that makes me wonder how a girl who seems so much scrappier than she looks ever managed to reconcile the type of life that her parents had planned out for her. She doesn’t have the same defiant fire that her sister has, but she’s brave in a way that continuously surprises me. I’ve only ever known one other woman with that kind of sweet stalwartness.

I just can’t quite believe that she’ll look at me with that same sort of trust once she knows the truth.

“I used to work out of Moscow,” I tell her, hands balanced on my knees as I turn towards her. Her face is half-illuminated in the firelight, her black hair tossed over one shoulder, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone so beautiful. Even as exhausted as she clearly is after the crash, her face a little more hollowed and ashen from the fever and two days without much to eat or drink, she’s still stunningly lovely.

“And this was for someone other than Viktor?” Elena asks, poking at the food with her fork. I want to tell her again to eat, but it’s hard to push when I know just how bad it tastes. Even I’m having a hard time stomaching it, and it’s far from the first time I’ve had to live off rations like this for a little while.

I nod. “I worked for an underground organization called the Syndicate.”

“That sounds dangerous.” She tilts her head sideways, looking at me.

“It was.” I sit back in the sand, watching her expression. “As an assassin-for-hire, mostly. A spy, sometimes. Sometimes a little of both.”

I wait for her face to change, for there to be fear or horror or anger, for her to put distance between us, literally or figuratively. But she doesn’t move; if anything, there’s only curiosity in her gaze.

“How long?” she asks, and I blink at her.

“Since I was sixteen, essentially. I was a grunt until my father died, and then they started training me to take his place. The training was–punishing. But it was all I knew.”

“And you left? It doesn’t sound like it’s the kind of thing you can leave easily.”

I can’t help the small snort that escapes. She’s more right than she knows, but I’m not about to tell her the worst parts of it. “It wasn’t easy,” I tell her honestly. “But it was what I needed to do at the time. I couldn’t stay after–”

Elena looks at me curiously as I break off, but I’m not sure how much to say. I want to tell her enough that she’ll feel that I’m not hiding things from her unnecessarily, but there are things that I can’t talk about. Things that I don’twantto talk about.

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