The Assassin's Bride Ch. 11

"At least a minute," Ralph answered, stepping back so they could lift Carina. "Surveillance will confirm."

The pair wheeled Carina out at a run, and Gavin followed, his face twisted with anxiety and wet with tears.

***

Michael beamed at the new delivery waiting on his doormat. "An early Christmas present?" he wondered aloud, his cock twitched with anticipation.

This time he didn't bother undressing. Still in a black leather jacket, white t-shirt and navy jeans, he immediately took a seat and tipped the USB out of the packet, reading the attached post-it.

'All caught on cam. Sorry, E.'

"Great," he muttered. That idiot probably missed Carina and Gavin's departure by a whole week. And he couldn't wind up his current gig for another two days.

Michael suddenly noticed the delivery pack was file-shaped, unlike the small box from last time. A nervous shiver passed through him as he sighted the forms inside. Ignoring his fears, he held his breath and resolutely pulled out the paperwork. They were document copies.

Certificate of Death

The air left Michael's lungs and his stomach clenched with horror.

Name of Deceased: Carina Maria Flores

Scanning the form, his sight blurred and sharpened at the same time, picking out details in random order as his gaze darted agitatedly up and down the page.

Height: 5'5"

Gender: Female

Cause of Death: Accidental Drowning

Occupation: Unknown

Method of Disposition: Cremation

Blinking frantically, there was one place Michael's attention kept returning, as though drawn by a magnetic force.

Accidental Drowning

"N-No!" Michael choked, casting the page aside and squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his hands shot out to grip the table's edge as his world crumbled around him. The next page was a photograph.

It was Carina; unnaturally pallid, blue lips, a confronting stitch sewn in a V-shape across her collarbone connecting to an uglier one running down her chest. Her long hair was dull and matted, limp against the steel table. An unsightly purple bruise covered her left shoulder, like someone had taken a bat to her. It was his girl; frail, vulnerably naked and still beautiful. But unmistakably dead.

Michael whimpered; the strange, unfamiliar sound echoed around his ears, carried above the blood thumping about his temples. He'd sell his soul to cradle her in his arms, even as she was; to whisper how he loved her, not to be afraid of the next. He would hold her until he couldn't feel anything. He would die holding her. She would be so cold...

"No, no, no, no... Fuck..." Michael heaved, numbly shedding his jacket that suddenly felt full of hot lead, struggling to breathe. "Fuck...Fuck..."

He staggered from the table, then his legs gave out and he collapsed, curling into a tight ball on the ground. A sudden roar of despair burst past his lips, his body fighting for some way to release the pain inside him.

Michael pictured Carina clawing underwater, her lungs burning, her mind frantic, knowing it was the end. And he wasn't there to save her.

"FUUUUUUUCK!" he screamed, straining against the floor. "FUUUUUUCK!"

Minutes later Michael hugged the toilet after being violently sick, sobbing, feeling shattered inside and out.

"Oh, my God," he retched, raking a hand through his hair and wiping his face on his shirt. It couldn't be true.

Still breathing raggedly, he fell onto his back in the bathroom, blankly watching the ceiling, a thousand memories and images of Carina flooded his mind with the stinging reminder there was nothing left. He swallowed convulsively through tears, feeling the loss as he remembered her.

There was no other girl like Carina in the world, and there never would be. The mischievous glint in her striking eyes, her adorable petulance, her dazzling smile and the intoxicating warmth of her body; she was irretrievably gone, and he would never see her again.

"Oh, God," he moaned, covering his face with his hands.

Michael's mind swirled with bitter wonderings, just like Carina's tortured 'if only' thoughts about Carlos. Could she have loved him if he was more patient with his desires? Did she think of him in her last moments? Did she still hate him, or could she concede by the end that he just loved her too much?

With an anguished groan, Michael finally rolled onto his front and picked himself up, feeling light-headed, empty, like a shell without a soul. Numbly sitting down, he stared at the USB, the note. He couldn't play the footage. It would hurt too much. He desperately wanted to see her again, but he couldn't bear to witness the inevitable transition from her lively self to a still corpse. Maybe one day he might be strong enough, or drunk enough, but certainly not now. There was only so much pain he could take.

Forcing himself to stand straight, he slowly walked to the kettle, flicked the switch then turned to lean on the counter's edge, the heels of his palms pressing down as the water began to boil like the grief bubbling up inside him. Staring at a spot on the ground, Michael's good looks were drawn and pale, his eyes blank as though dead inside. He felt dead inside.

Life had been so different when he woke up that morning, and he'd gone about his day in blissful ignorance right up until ten minutes ago. He could blame himself, but he wouldn't do that. If he'd gotten his way Carina would still be alive and kicking in his bed. Her eyes would flash beautifully at him with those unique colours he found addictive, even if it was passionate anger. Her lips would be rosy and soft for his hungry mouth. Her lovely, svelte body, her perfect breasts, the warmth of their naked bodies tangled together and...

Michael angrily slapped a palm to his forehead to stop his thoughts wandering a direction that would only cause more agony. He rubbed his eyes, wiped the wet from his cheeks as his thoughts shifted to the future.

Gavin was out of his mind, training a civilian girl like a soldier. It didn't matter that Michael would have done the same in his position. It was Gavin who held the reins, and he fucked up badly.

The post-mortem picture surfaced, and Michael shuddered, knowing it would haunt his thoughts forever. Emotional pain stabbed through his body, as though invisible shards of glass pierced him at unpredictable intervals. There was no shaking that horrible image from his mind, he couldn't unsee it. With an awareness it would permanently torment him, he considered putting an end to it all. Carina was his life purpose. Without her...

"No," he muttered. If he killed himself, all memories of Carina would cease to exist, and she would be truly gone. With Eduardo and Carlos dead, he was the only one left who could reminisce about the good times. He was part of her history.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips; his dark eyes frighteningly cold. Admittedly by his own blunder, Tate was dead. But now Carina had died on Gavin's watch. They were officially even. Except...

"I'm coming for those ashes, Gav," he whispered; the kettle clicked as it reached boiling point. "She was always mine."

***

The memorial service was on a suitably bleak day, the sky painted grey with faint flickers of lightening threatening heavy rain.

"Nice day for a funeral," Ralph murmured, uneasily glancing up from under the umbrella.

Clearly unreceptive to chatter, Gavin miserably stared ahead, looking very dashing in an expensive black suit. His blonde hair was untidily ruffled from constantly clawing a hand through it, dark shadows under his piecing blue eyes.

The priest cleared his throat, gesturing to the gleaming black urn on a small altar and commenced his speech about the meaning of life. Neither Ralph nor Gavin paid attention to it.

"Do you think he's here?" Ralph tentatively asked.

"If there's a rat at the facility as I suspect, then yes, he will be."

"Your gut instincts are usually on par," Ralph muttered uncomfortably. "Like the time you knew that waiter jerked off in my burger-"

"I warned you about this," Gavin said through his teeth. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Fine, fine."

The lone men directed glum stares at the priest droning on. Five minutes later, Ralph shifted restlessly. "It's just the two of us. Do you think we look gay?"

Gavin's eyes flared, but he didn't answer.

Casting a sidelong glance at his brooding companion, Ralph's lips curved roguishly. "Come on, let's hold hands. Give him something to think about, if he's watching."

"I swear to fucking God, Ralph," Gavin snarled under his breath. "If you make me smile, I will knock your teeth out."

"Wouldn't be the first time. I'll just buy more veneers."

The priest cleared his throat with annoyance.

"I mean, we're sharing one umbrella," Ralph continued in a whisper. "That says 'commitment'."

"I'll stab you to death with it, if you don't shut up," Gavin threatened from the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, guys," the priest sighed. "Are we doing this or not?"

Gavin checked his watch.

"Don't check the fucking time at your dead girlfriend's celebration of life," Ralph said impatiently. "But since you've gone ahead and done it, how long have we been here?"

"Too long," Gavin scowled.

"How'd you manage to look like a mess?" Ralph pried, nodding as though offering words of comfort.

"I pulled a few all-nighters."

"With her?"

Gavin nodded.

"How's the shoulder?"

Gavin slightly shook his head. "She complains constantly, then suddenly it's non-existent in bed."

"Horny little devil."

"That's it. I'm done," the priest declared, making a dramatic sign of the cross. "I hereby declare you free spirits of the dead-"

"Who is this guy?" Gavin muttered, handing the umbrella handle to Ralph and sinking to his knees.

"Trustworthy is more important than convincing, in this case," Ralph replied, bending to pat Gavin's back. "You just ruined a nice suit."

"Have to grieve something, don't I?"

"What if he just snipers you and takes the urn?" Ralph asked.

"I already told you, he won't," Gavin slowly let Ralph pull him to his feet. "He'll want to talk to me, first."

"Well, this has been fun," Ralph said, watching Gavin accept the urn. "But I'm not doing another song and dance like this again. I may be unusually talented, but I don't include Oscar performances in my services."

"I paid you a fuckload, and I've saved your life twice!"

"You're always going to bring that up, aren't you?"

"Yes," Gavin answered as they began their mournful walk back to the foyer.

Ten minutes later they sat in large armchairs before a glass-shielded fireplace, watching sheets of rain lash the vast picturesque fields of the cemetery.

"So, I have a rat to flush out," Ralph stated, looking unusually grim.

"Someone with surveillance access. Probably admin, but there will be some connection to Ethan."

"That's about fifteen people. Where do I start?"

Gavin thoughtfully sucked on his bottom lip. "Don't investigate it yourself - they'll close ranks. Bring in an outsider."

"Those are expensive," Ralph complained.

"You can afford it," Gavin shrugged. "Keep me in the loop. I can't have whoever it is passing details to Ethan. If he tracks down the dummy medics..."

"Would he bother? I'd be more concerned about the makeup team, and they were completely off camera. Speaking of faking, I've never seen you cry," Ralph said, sipping his whiskey. "I'll be playing that on repeat. You were unrecognisable."

"I used an old memory, and my imagination," Gavin sighed. "The performance hurt more than my dignity, trust me."

"Ah, well, the sight broke my heart, too. That special someone always comes along at some point, eh?" Ralph smiled.

"Right," Gavin smiled back and sipped his own drink. "Ralph, get your hand off my leg."

"Right," Ralph smoothly complied, shooting Gavin a sneaky glance. "So, when am I relieved of duty?"

"I would say imminently," Gavin replied, watching a waiter approach them.

"Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen," the waiter said in a discreetly hushed voice, holding out a black envelope, parts dampened by rain. "This arrived for you."

Gavin nodded his acceptance and casually dropped the envelope beside the black urn as the waiter retreated. "What were we talking about?"

"You're not going to open it?" Ralph said indignantly, agog with curiosity.

"I don't like being watched when I unwrap presents," Gavin said sweetly.

Ralph stiffened in his armchair. "I don't want to meet this psycho. Knowledgeable as I am, I'm a little rusty on the action front," he said nervously.

"No change there," Gavin smirked. "I'll protect you, as usual. You were a fucking nightmare on the field."

"Oh, go on," Ralph begged, ignoring the jibe and moving restlessly in his chair. "Open it."

Gavin casually glanced around. "I already know what it is."

"What? What? What?" Ralph hissed.

Relenting, Gavin tore the envelope and extracted the card from inside, his pale blue eyes hardening as they scrolled down.

Without comment, he passed it to Ralph, who almost dropped his glass to get a hold of it. Hurriedly scanning the contents, his face scrunched with incredulous confusion.

'Cinders stolen

By the Eastside Meadow

Wildflowers grew

And take their rest

Winter has frozen

Those coveted buds

Not ten yards from where

They challenged for best

Bring grievance to fray

Time as was back then

A matter of honour

A contest between men'

"A fucking poem?" Ralph distanced himself from the note with disgust. "No wonder Carina couldn't stand the guy."

Gavin tipped the remainder of his whiskey into Ralph's glass. "It's a time, and a place. He wants to meet."

"How the fuck-" Ralph began, before Gavin cut him off with a sharp sigh and picked up the card.

"I caught him stealing Tate's ashes from the cemetery," he elaborated, reading through the lines. "'Wildflower' was our code for aborting a mission, so he accepts my new ownership of them. How very kind of him."

His eyes travelled to the next verse. "He wants to meet where we argued about Tate. Where I told him..." he looked tired and bored. "I accused him of killing Tate on purpose. I was stupidly angry, and that's how he outsmarted me and took off with Tate's ashes."

"Ah," Ralph said awkwardly.

"Time as was back then," Gavin quoted. "If we had to covertly meet, it was always at four o' clock on a Monday. He expects me to bring the grievance, Carina's urn, and settle the matter honourably."

Ralph looked sceptical. "Will he play nice?"

"Of course not," Gavin snorted. "But he knows that I won't refuse. Which is good, because this meeting is critical to convince him."

"Carina's morgue photo is the most convincing thing I've seen in this charade," Ralph shuddered, finishing the large glass of whiskey in one gulp. "She was surprisingly cooperative."

"Only the strongest hatred would make a girl like that endure hours of lying still," Gavin paused on an afterthought. "That, and the promise of hot sex."

"I bet you delivered," Ralph said politely.

"Of course!" Gavin frowned. "I'm a man of honour!"

***

Michael sat against the wall of his bedroom, staring at the open ring box on the floor in front of him, his mind reeling with pain.

Almost an hour passed before he forced himself to move, slowly rising to his feet to step over the box to open the top drawer of his cabinet, he took a deep breath and extracted a black rectangular box the size of a watch case. He unclipped the lid and carefully opened it, staring at the syringe inside.

He could use it to enjoy a short period of peaceful ignorance. But he would inevitably experience the excruciating discovery all over again, not to mention fuck up his current assignment.

Gingerly lifting the delicate needle, he raised it high, intending to smash it to pieces, then paused. Eyes narrowed with a calculating gleam, he gently placed it back into the case and closed the lid.

***

The afternoon sun edged toward the horizon as Gavin quietly waited in the chilled air, the yellow sunset reflecting in his eyes, so they appeared more green than light blue. His navy hiking-jacket was warm and flexible, creating a casual impression with black pants and brown boots. Despite looking like a harmless civilian, he'd specifically chosen clothes that carried well in a fight.

At two minutes past four, he heard a sound and turned to find Michael leaning against a concrete wall.

For a long moment they watched each other, each sizing up their opponent with a personal appraisal that came naturally between two men with history.

Gavin watched Michael's eyes roam his face and clothes, a gleam of satisfaction that he also appeared a little worse for wear.

Though Gavin left for the meeting quite pleased that he convincingly appeared the part of 'grieving boyfriend', Michael's appearance was nothing short of frightening. By comparison, Gavin felt rather inadequate.

Though he leaned against the wall, Michael's entire body was tensed. Dressed for battle in a black military outfit with matching combat boots, there was nothing relaxed about him. His skin was unhealthily pale and tight, as though he hadn't slept or eaten well for days. His hair was starkly dark by contrast, and wildly unkempt. There was no hint of his old charisma; his smouldering brown eyes seemed black and reptilian. He looked like an unfeeling killer.

"So, it came to this," Michael spoke first, his voice cold and bitter. "Three's always been a crowd for us, huh?"

Gavin didn't respond.

"The silent treatment isn't like you," Michael mocked. "Not your usual bantering self, Gav?"

"What do you want, Ethan?" Gavin said with sharp impatience.

"I'm entitled to her ashes. She died on your watch," Michael accused through his teeth, jumping to the crux of the matter on his mind.

"Better than dying in captivity," Gavin shot back, slowly shifting both hands from his jacket pockets to show he was unarmed.

Michael was silent, regaining his composure.

"She had to die, didn't she?" Gavin threw at him, getting into character. "You were more dangerous than any of the men who loved her. By refusing to let her go, it was always going to end this way."

"No," Michael said softly. Straightening from the wall, he raised a gloved hand to display the small syringe. "Not with this."

"And that would be?" Gavin inquired. Uncertainty flickered across his face, in a rare moment unable to conceal a sudden and unexpected dread snaking through his chest. "A truth serum?"

Michael laughed scornfully. "What the fuck for?"

"Who the fuck knows, when it comes to you?" Gavin quickly retorted, keen to draw Michael's attention from why he might want uncontrollable honesty. "Poison, then?"

"Of a type," Michael said lightly. "It was fucking expensive. I'd hate for it to go to waste."

"An aphrodisiac?" Gavin smirked. "You were never my type, Ethan. It'll take more than drugs to let you fuck me."

"Oh, you'll be fucked," Michael chuckled. "It'll wipe your recent memory."

Gavin straightened with alarm. It was far worse than a truth serum. If he forgot what lately transpired, he would be severely disadvantaged in every respect. Michael would inevitably discover that Carina was alive. Worse, he could lead Michael right to her. He might even forget that he loved her.

"There's no need for this, Ethan," Gavin said sharply, panicking inside. "It's over. We both lost."