Page 61 of Lone Spy

I need a run, not this utter and complete bullshit. My nails dig into my palms.

"You better get with the program," Linda says like some twisted after-school special. "You're playing a dangerous game?—"

"It's not a game, you stupid cunt." The words pop out, and I can't quite believe it. Linda's face flushes and her lips part from a surprised breath. Ash makes a choking sound from the back seat. "This is my life." I'm seething, rage bubbling out of every pore.

"You want to kill me? Then fucking do it. But just know that if you pull that shit again, I'll be the one in your bedroom in the dark. You won't see me coming. You'll be fucking dead before your eyes even flutter open. And are you so sure which gates you'll end up at—God's or his fallen angel's dominion?"

I just threatened the life of a US intelligence agent and suggested she might be going to Hell. Thatmighthave been a bad idea. Shit. But I'm too far gone now.

"Did you just threaten me?" Linda asks, her voice filled with righteous outrage.

"All I did was level with you. Next time you want a meeting with me, don't be parked in front of my hotel, advertising our connection. Unless you are actually trying to expose me. But don't forget." I pause for dramatic effect. It works; she takes her eyes off the road to watch me. "I have enough shit on your man to ruin him. It will ruin me too, but I'm getting really close to giving no fucks." I also seriously doubt anything I say could diminish his power.

"Did you just threaten the President of the United States?" she asks.

"Watch out!" Ash yells. Linda and I both face forward where a truck's brake lights are blaring. Linda slams the brakes, but we ram the delivery truck hard enough to explode the air bags. My face hits it hard, blood exploding from my nose and stars dancing across my vision as white powder thickens the air. Fuck!

My door is ripped open and Ash is there. He punches the air bag away and leans over me, his chest pressed to mine as he unclips my seatbelt. Then he's yanking me out of the car. Blood wets my lips and when I suck in a breath, it coats my tongue.

I cough as Ash drags me to the sidewalk. Then we're in a narrow alleyway between two cafes. The rain mist is cold on my heated skin. I stumble next to Ash, his firm grip on my bicep doing a lot to hold me up. "We couldn't risk being seen," he says.

"Or me answering her question about threatening the President. That's illegal, right?"

Ash pulls us into a recessed doorway, pressing me against it, his big body blocking the street behind him.

He stares down at me, his brow furrowed the way brows are supposed to be when you're thinking, or feeling. Not that I have a problem with botox. I'm just upset. Tears are suddenly stinging my eyes and I sniffle blood. Fuck.

He whips off his shirt. The tattoos are all one image. He holds the shirt to my nose, staunching the blood. Between his pecs is a black rose; thorny vines twist away from it. More blossoms bloom along their treacherous lengths. The vines soften the farther they get from his heart, turning into the textured, abstract lines that I've seen before. I follow one tentacle down to the line of his shorts. Fuucckk.

"Angela." Ash's voice pulls my eyes back to his face. I blink up at him. "You okay?" he asks. Big hands cup my face, that gentle touch he uses with me sometimes. The one that makes every inch of me ache for him to be rough.

"Yeah," I say.

"Do you think your nose is broken?"

I prod at it gently through his T-shirt. It hurts, but is not excruciating. "I don't think so."

His hands drop away and he leans back to look toward the main street. "I don't think anyone saw us, or at least they won't be able to recognize us. But we need to do something about the CCTV footage."

He pulls his phone out and swipes it open, pressing a name to make a call. I watch him, watch the vines ripple with each movement. They don't reach up his neck or down onto his wrists—so they are all hidden under professional clothing.

When the person on the other line picks up, Ash starts speaking in German—it's a guttural, hard language with a lot of action in the front of the mouth. I've never played a character with a German accent, but I auditioned for one years ago and spent hours practicing the r's, similar to French…

Memories flash of repeating "zis area is very close to my vork" in my car stuck in LA traffic, watching my mouth in the rearview mirror to make sure my corner action was small enough.

That Angela...Stacy…would kill to be where I am now. On a world tour for her critically acclaimed film with offers lined up. She never could have guessed the cost. But she would have been willing to pay just about anything.

I've spent so much time fighting this situation, resenting it. Feeling helpless. Maybe I need to recognize I'm getting what I want. And be willing to take it.

ChapterTwenty-Six

A very similarmisty rain thickens the air in Scotland as we drive on a windy road. Alesana is at the wheel of the SUV, which seems too large for the narrow roads, with Ash and me in the back.

Chris has returned to LA since he was supposed to have the next two weeks off. His replacement—a woman named Sheila—didn’t join us since security was being provided by the Crown.The Crown. What a crazy way to put it.

My nose wasn't broken, and the swelling only lasted a day. The bruising is mild and Zade covered it easily. Well, they weren't easy about it. Zade was merciless about what the fuck happened. They didn't believe me at first, but Ash backing up my story about slipping in the bathroom and smashing into the door convinced them. Ash's word is gold for Zade, I guess.

Ash being more believable than me dings my ego. I'm the professional here. Though, as I glance over at him, the gold-green Scottish hills undulating beyond his stoic profile, I remember that the man is a professional too. But it doesn't feel like there are many lies left between us.

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