Page 8 of Lethal Torture
That idea has never bothered me before. Or not for long enough to get me down.
I’m used to being alone, to being an army of one. It’s the life I chose, after the life I was born into. I’ve always been good with that.
But something about Mak’s words has gotten under my skin.
You need someone to have your back.
I push the annoying echo away impatiently.
If there’s one thing I learned from the day Oleg took me fromTetya Ana’s house, it’s that nobody can ever truly have my back.
Just like nobody had Sophie’s when she disappeared into the black hole of human slavery.
Not even me.
The guilt of that day has never left me. It’s a void in my heart, a constant reminder that nothing in this life can be relied upon, least of all those we love.
Sooner or later, people either betray me or become a weakness to be used against me.
It isn’t an exaggeration. It’s just fact. It’s the price I pay for being Zinaida Melikov.
But I’ve made that name work for me, too. Used it to instill fear into those who dwell in the darkest shadows of our world, twist them to my will. To circumvent the law and the glacial pace of authorities. Doing all I can to save the millions of women who go missing every year, cast into the hell of trafficking, where they are no more than a product to be bought and sold.
Sophie’s House is how I make amends for failing to protect Sophie, and the other girls like her my father sold, from whatever hell became their future.
And if I’m going to continue doing that, I need to get rid of anyone who stands in my way, including whoever this fucker is that keeps trying to kill me.
My phone buzzes with a message from Mak and a link to an encrypted file titledLuke Macarthur.
It contains a brief résumé and a photograph. I open the résumé first.
Luke Macarthur, apparently, is Australian. Thirty-nine years old, six and a half feet tall, 240 pounds.
That’s a lot of man.
Joined the British army at eighteen and was the youngest ever candidate to pass selection for the SAS, their most elite regiment. Specialized in reconnaissance and direct action.
Hunting and killing.
Served for over a decade, made captain, then moved into private contracting for Mak. Has since run large teams conducting recon, security, and lethal ops for corporate clientsand private mercenary forces in some of the toughest parts of the world.
So he can handle the big jobs, then.
Still. It’s a long way from private contracting to my world.
I scroll down, but Mak, no doubt in a deliberate attempt to rouse my curiosity, hasn’t included any further detail.
I click on the photograph.
Holy shit.
He’s not handsome. Not exactly.
There’s something about the rugged weariness in the lines etched around his eyes, and a particular strength to his jaw, that turns what once might have been boyish charm into a compelling mystery.
He’s a fucking savage.
I can read it in his scars and see it in his eyes, which are the color of the Indian Ocean, high and bright as turquoise.
