Chapter 1
Summary:
Cruz deals with the fallout from her choice to sleep with Aaliyah.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
There’s loud pounding. Footsteps. Heavy. Someone running. Cruz jolts awake. Instantly alert and on guard. Because she knows those sounds. Knows that they mean something is happening on her aircraft carrier and she needs to be ready to help out. Except she’s not on an aircraft carrier. She’s in a big bed in a big room in a big, fancy house. And the sound was someone sprinting down the hall outside her door.
She groans. Flops back down on the mattress. Presses her face into her pillow. Lets out a silent scream. Already worrying about the cameras. What it must have looked like to see her sleeping and then leaping onto her knees like she was ready for a fight. She stops her scream. Twists her head. Pulls in a breath. Lets her eyes close. It’s ok. She’s ok. Zara isn’t though. She has night terrors and is consequently very sensitive to sounds. Sounds like an asshole running through the hall. A sound that she’s now hearing again. Someone racing past her door. There’s a second set of footsteps following. Shouts. Sami yelling, “Give it back!” Kamal shouting, “No way!”
She lets out another groan. Twists her face until it’s pressed completely into her pillow. She doesn’t scream this time. But she does sigh. Her head throbbing. Her muscles aching. Lingering soreness from her torture session. She’s exhausted too. Her eyes heavy. Burning. Her mind begging her to go back to sleep. Catch up on all of those hours she missed while getting beaten and waterboarded and bombarded with loud, heinous sounds.
She put a dent in her sleep deficit last night. Passing out as soon as her head hit the pillow. Waking up once to use the bathroom. Then falling right back to sleep. But she needs more sleep. A lot more sleep. Needs it to be on top of her game. Mentally and physically. Though it’s doubtful she’ll get more now. The assholes still racing around the hall. Making too much noise. And their presence indicating that it’s late in the day and thus time to get up and face the music.
She groans again. Presses her face harder into the pillow. Anxiety forming about the upcoming day. It’s going to be a big one. Stressful. Terrifying. A day in which she’ll possibly pay for her mistake with Aaliyah yesterday. And it was a mistake. A wonderful mistake. Aaliyah so beautiful and sweet and so fucking gentle. Giving her the best and most meaningful sex of her life. But it was all a lie. Aaliyah sharing those moments with Zara. Sweet and sheltered, Zara. Not Cruz. The seasoned and deadly Marine sent here to kill Aaliyah’s father.
She pulls in a breath. Blows it out slowly. Wondering briefly if she should press down even further. Smother herself before she has to face that inevitable music. Whatever that music might be. Aaliyah’s fiancé and friends discovering them. Sending her home while they send Aaliyah somewhere to be punished or killed. Her team intercepting her. Yanking her from the mission. Sending her back to her unit to be court–martialed. And those are just the best case scenarios. There’s a third possibility. And it’s the worst possibility. They don’t get caught, Joe doesn’t mind that she literally fucked the mark, and she sees this mission through until the end. Killing Aaliyah’s father. Devastating the woman who showed her more care and compassion and kindness than she’s ever known in her life. Kissing her sweetly. Touching her so softly. Not acting disgusted about the scars on her back.
That’s a rare occurrence. Usually women recoil when they first encounter her scars. Then they ask to look and then they ask about how she got them and then they go out of their way to avoid touching the damaged skin. But Aaliyah didn’t ask to look and she didn’t ask about their origin and she only avoided the scars for a little while. Her hands returning to the area once they were on the floor. Her fingers tracing over the marks as they shared one of the best kisses of Cruz’s life.
She rolls over. Sits up. Reaches out to grab the water bottle off the nightstand. Uncaps it. Chugs the remaining half. Eyes closed. Remembering last night. Aaliyah in her pajamas. Walking Cruz to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Then leading Cruz to her room. They paused by the door. Stared at each other. A heavy stare. Agonizing. Cruz wanting nothing more than to pull Aaliyah close and kiss her goodnight. But she couldn’t. Because there were cameras everywhere and a shadowy figure looming at the end of the hall. Watching them closely.
Aaliyah had taken a step back. Held out the water. ‘Here. In case you get thirsty tonight. It’s a big house. I don’t want you wandering the halls and ending up lost.’
Cruz had accepted the bottle. Her hand brushing Aaliyah’s. Lingering there for a moment before she pulled it away. Aaliyah’s breath had hitched. She’d blushed. Backed away. Whispered, ‘Goodnight.’ Then she turned and disappeared down the hall.
Cruz drops the bottle. Opens her eyes. Places that cap back in place. Mulling over Aaliyah’s words. Ones that didn’t stand out last night. Her mind too busy reeling from the brief touch. But now those words are registering and they are worrying. Making her wonder what could be lurking in this house. Whether it would be possible to stumble onto something that they don’t want her to see.
She chuckles. Shakes her head. Gets to her feet. Admonishing herself for her thoughts. She’s being paranoid. It is a big house with a strange layout and lots of similar looking doors and it’s filled with Aaliyah’s entourage. A group of insufferable people who were out getting drunk and snorting coke and doing questionable things in bar bathrooms. The likeliest explanation is that Aaliyah didn’t want her to get lost and open the wrong door and end up with an eyeful of Kamal humping whoever found their way into his bed last night.
She sticks out her tongue. Makes a gagging noise. Starts chuckling again. Her feet taking her across the room to where she’s stashed her bag. Her mind changing gears. Focusing on the mission. Her need to become Zara. She digs inside her bag. Pulls out a simple tank top and a pair of khaki shorts. Then she heads into the bathroom to shower and dress and put on makeup in a way that’s guaranteed to offend Aaliyah’s sensibilities. She smiles at that thought. Giddy with the prospect of Aaliyah looking her over. Teasing her. Offering to help her fix it. An offer that would then require them to be in close proximity to each other. Faces inches apart. Aaliyah touching her cheeks and her hips.
She shivers. Aroused. Finds the knob on the shower. Turns it on. Keeping the arrow close to the side that’s marked with a big ‘C’.
She exits her bedroom. Hair dry. Makeup perfectly terrible. Her stomach rumbling. Her eyes heavy. Her nose active. Following the scent of coffee until she arrives in the kitchen. There’s a massive spread laid out on the bar. Platters filled with fresh cut fruits and scrambled eggs and pancakes and… bacon? She lifts an eyebrow. Hears a squeal. Then there are arms wrapping around her body, pulling her back and to the left, and Aaliyah’s voice is screeching into her ear, “You made it! I was about to send Asif to find you. Now we can eat!”
Cruz chuckles. Twists her head. Gives Aaliyah a smile. Shy. Nervous. Because just beyond Aaliyah is a table of onlookers. Curious onlookers. Their expressions ranging from annoyed to intrigued to what even passes as knowing.
Shit.
She takes a half step forward. Extracting herself from Aaliyah’s embrace as delicately as she can. Mindful of their audience and her need to not hurt Aaliyah’s feelings. Because that’s yet another possible outcome. She fucks up. Makes Aaliyah hate her. Gets sent away before she can complete her mission. Has to deal with the fallout of failing Joe and the CIA. It wouldn’t be as bad as a court–martial, but it would hurt. Getting shipped back to the Marines. Never chosen for this kind of work again. Having to answer questions about why she was back. Questions that would require her to lie to save face unless she was willing to tolerate the shame she’d feel from telling the truth.
She takes another step. Spins around. Flashes Aaliyah a wide smile. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”
“Of course we did,” Aaliyah replies. Stepping closer. Her hand reaching out. Coming very close to Cruz’s hip before dropping away.
Cruz manages to keep her expression even. Still mindful of their audience. But internally she’s freaking out. Wondering where the cautious woman from last night went. The one who kept a safe distance as they ate dinner and watched TV on the couch. The one who left her at the door without giving her the goodnight kiss that they both wanted.
Aaliyah seems to be having a similar panic now. She’s blushing. Then turning toward the food. Rushing out, “Grab a plate. Eat as much as you want. There’s yogurt in the fridge and cereal in the cupboard if none of this is to your liking and that’s turkey in case you were wondering.”
“I was,” Cruz replies. Chuckling lightly.
Aaliyah glances back over at her. She shrugs. Offers, “We don’t follow all of the rules when we are here, but some are hard to shake.”
Cruz hums. Flashes Aaliyah another smile. Awkward. Shy. Because there are still eyes on them. Interested. Observant. Judgmental. Eyes belonging to bodies that aren’t moving even though Aaliyah clearly announced that it was time to eat. Which means they are probably waiting for Cruz to start.
She grabs a plate. Begins piling it high with fruit and eggs and pancakes and turkey bacon. She hears movement as she fills her plate. More bodies come into view. She glances to her left. Sami is there. Smiling at her. No. Leering is more like it. His gaze sending her right back to her early days. The men in the club. How they’d look at her as she danced and walked around between sets.
She glances away. Takes a step to her right. Then spins around. Heads toward the table. Empty now. Everyone by the bar for food. Meaning she has no idea which seat is available for the taking.
“Back right! Next to me!” Aaliyah shouts.
Cruz whips her head toward Aaliyah’s voice. Spots her standing by the fridge. She throws her a nod and a smile. Then she follows Aaliyah’s instructions. Finding her place. Dropping her plate down. Taking a seat. There’s silverware set to either side of her plate. A coffee mug in front of her. A coffee carafe in the center of the table. A small creamer next to it. She stands. Reaches for the carafe. Fills her mug. Grabs the creamer. Adds a splash. Frowns. The cream darker than it should be. She sets the creamer down. Lifts her mug to her nose. Sniffs. Winces.
Hazelnut.
She puts her mug back onto the table. Looks past the bar. Wondering whether it would be rude to dump her coffee in the sink and try again. Maybe. Maybe not. But walking to the sink would require her to walk past a bunch of unpleasant people and possibly field their inquiries about why she didn’t like her coffee, so staying put and drinking what she fixed is the better option.
She sighs. Spots a bottle of maple syrup near the creamer. She grabs it. Pours some over her pancakes. Then she takes her seat. Leans back. Picks up her mug. Takes a big sip. Distracts herself from the disgusting taste by focusing on the circus ahead of her: Kamal sandwiched between Malika and Nashwa. His plate overflowing. The women teasing him about something. Nala next to Aaliyah. Whispering something into her ear. Her eyes on Cruz. Aaliyah looking back and forth between them. An unreadable expression on her face.
The attention is too much for Cruz to handle. So she looks away. Twisting her head until she’s able to see out of the window behind her. Ehsan is outside by the pool. His laptop open on a lounge chair. His phone held to his ear. He’s pacing back and forth. Waving his arm. Speaking like he’s agitated about something.
Huh.
There’s a bang. Clanking. An unpleasant skidding noise. A chair sliding across the floor. She spins back around. Spots Sami in the seat in front of her. Leering.
She looks away. Eyes going to her plate. Her hands going to her silverware. She grabs her fork and knife. Begins slicing her pancakes.
“So you’re fro–” Sami starts. Cutting off to shout, “Ow! What was that for?”
Cruz looks back up. Sami is rubbing his head. Aaliyah is standing there. Glaring at him. She sets her plate down at her spot. Addresses Sami. Tone sharp. “Don’t be rude. Let her drink her coffee before you start interrogating her and making a move.”
There’s a thud. A chair sliding to Cruz’s right. Nashwa’s voice jumping into the mix, “Why does she need her coffee? Did you two have a late night? Together? Hmm?”
Cruz glances toward Nashwa. Keeping her own expression even as she tries to get a read on Nashwa’s body language. She’s smirking. Looking at Aaliyah. Clearly trying to antagonize her.
“It couldn’t have been too late,” Malika calls out. Walking toward the table. Stopping once she’s behind Kamal, “They were asleep when we got home.”
“That’s right,” Nashwa replies. Focus still on Aaliyah. “And so like Aaliyah. Putting her beauty rest before fun.”
She says the last words with a teasing tone, but it’s obvious to Cruz and likely everyone else that Nashwa isn’t teasing Aaliyah. She’s insulting her.
“Stop that!” Aaliyah shouts. Tone sharp. Irritated. She drops down into her seat. Continues, “I told you, we were tired and Zara had a stressful day. It wasn’t easy for her to get in a car for such a long time after being in an accident. So we went for a walk and a swim and shared a simple dinner and dozed on the couch while Real Housewives played.”
Nashwa stares Aaliyah down for a moment. Then she’s looking away. Toward Cruz. Scooting her seat closer to the table. Her voice just as grating the noise of the chair scuffling over the ground, “I’m sorry, Zara. I didn’t mean to downplay your injuries. They must be really bad if Aaliyah had to call a doctor.”
“It’s ok,” Cruz replies. Smiling at Nashwa. A sweet smile. The kind she’d use when taking shit from men who she couldn’t afford to piss off. Literally. Their dollars necessary to keep her from taking shit from the man waiting for her at home. But she’s a different person than she was back then. She’s a Marine. Trained to serve and protect and kill. And she has no time for anyone’s shit. Which is why her right hand has dropped off the table. She’s gripping her thigh. Holding on tightly so she doesn’t leap across the table to strangle Nashwa.
It’s a struggle. Holding herself back. Kamal bails her out. Slurring around his mouthful of breakfast, “Howdihdit happen?”
Cruz looks his way. Spots him swallowing. Then he’s bringing his fingers to his mouth. Licking them. Speaking as he cleans, “Were you driving? Was it your fault? I know that women a–”
“Kamal!” Aaliyah shouts. Tone once again sharp. Angry. Her fist pounding on the table. Leaving no doubt about her ire.
Kamal drops his hand from his mouth. His focus going to Aaliyah for a moment. He shrugs. Then he looks back at Cruz, “Well?”
Fuck.
Cruz clears her throat. Brings her right hand back to the table. She grabs her fork. Stabs it through a slice of pancake. Allowing the action to momentarily placate her need for violence. At least enough for her to keep up the act. Answering pleasantly and fakely, “I was a passenger. My friend was driving. Someone ran a red light and clipped the back of his car. We spun out and off the road and into a ditch. So no. Not my fault or his.”
“Damn!” Sami shouts. There’s thudding. Sami’s fists meeting the table. Hard enough to shake the surface and rattle everyone’s silverware.
Cruz doesn’t let the noise distract her. She keeps her eyes on Kamal. Taking in his reaction. Wanting to see if he looks the slightest bit ashamed for being a dick. But he doesn’t. He hums. Mumbles something that sounds like, ‘that sucks.’ Then he’s grabbing an entire pancake. Rolling it up. Lifting it to his mouth. Syrup dripping out and onto his fingers and hand.
Cruz winces. Hears rumbles of disgust from around the table. Nala’s the loudest. “Your mother must be so proud.” Her words generating laughter. Then a loud burp.
She glares at Kamal for a moment. Then she glances away. Focusing on her own plate. Pancakes. Fruit. Turkey bacon. She’s hungry, but she’s lost her appetite. The conversation stressful. Aaliyah’s friends more intolerable than they were during her brief interactions last night. They’re also suspicious. Of Cruz and Aaliyah. Meaning Aaliyah probably hasn’t been very careful about her past female affairs. And there’s the matter of her team. Stationed somewhere nearby. Listening to this disaster of a conversation. Likely trying to decide whether or not to extract her. Assuming they haven’t already made that call and are simply waiting for the best time to make their move.
She feels a brush against her ankle. Brief. Light. She knows immediately what it is. Aaliyah attempting to play footsie. She squeezes her fork. Pulls in a breath. Trying to stay calm. Because all she wants to do right now is scream or maybe laugh hysterically at the situation. It's a mess. A clusterfuck. A debacle. And she has no choice but to endure. So that’s what she does. Bringing her fork to her mouth. Eating her pancakes. Sipping her ruined coffee. Her eyes down. Ignoring the chatter. Ignoring Aaliyah’s touches. Praying that she can escape this table without stabbing someone.
Her prayer gets answered. Ehsan appearing through the back door. His laptop closed. Clutched tightly to his side. His phone in his right hand. He looks sweaty. Tired. Like he was up late last night. Cruz doesn’t want to think about the cause of that. What might have happened in that massive bed. The one that she and Aaliyah couldn’t use. Having to make due with a small couch and a hard floor. It wasn’t so bad. It was great, actually. The sex and the closeness and the awkward fumbling. But she also can’t be thinking about that sex or that closeness or that awkward fumbling right now because she’s Cruz, a Marine, on a mission for the CIA and she needs to get her head in the game and act normally so she can see this mission through.
“Yo bro!” Sami shouts. Turning toward Ehsan. “Go get a plate before Kamal eats it all.”
There’s laughter. Everyone at the table apparently amused by the joke. Even Aaliyah is chuckling lightly. Cruz plays along. Forcing out a few quiet laughs. Her eyes still on Ehsan. Trying to figure him out. He’s laughing too. His face relaxing. Some of the exhaustion fading away. Making him look younger. Though he can’t be very old. There are no wrinkles on his face and no grey in his beard. But he’s old enough to have a job in finance. One that keeps him working nonstop. Even at bars if Aaliyah is to be believed.
Cruz sighs. Reaches for her coffee. Wishing she knew more about him and everyone at this table. Aaliyah included. It would make her job easier. Allow her to understand their personalities and weak points which would better equip her to prod for any information that could help the mission. But she understands why she’s in the dark. The risk of fucking up too great. Speaking a fact that she shouldn’t know. So she’s flying blind and without a safety net and she’s–
There’s more laughter. She sets her mug down. Focuses back on the conversation. Everyone looking at Kamal. Sami is leaning behind Nashwa. His chair tipping as he stretches out. His palm covering Kamal’s head as he teases, “That’s why we love you.”
There’s more laughter. Sami leans away. There’s a thud. His chair landing back on the floor. He glances across the table. His eyes locking with Cruz’s. He grins. Throws her a wink.
Shit.
She freezes for a moment. Then she smiles. Tight. Fake. But hopefully convincing. Her eyes dropping down to her plate moments later. She’s uncomfortable now. Uncomfortable and increasingly worried about the attention that Sami is paying her. It’s bad enough that she let her body control her actions last night. Giving into her arousal. Fucking Aaliyah. The last thing she needs is a second suitor. One who can openly pursue her. And one she might be expected to sleep with if she has any hope of sticking around.
She doesn’t know the rules here. Doesn’t know how this group operates. She has pieces of information. Aaliyah apparently prone to finding new friends. ‘Projects’ as Malika termed them. Her bitchy words loud enough for Cruz to hear as Aaliyah pulled her toward the changing area yesterday. But she doesn’t know how long these friendships last or why they end. Though Aaliyah’s statement that her friends are chosen for her does signal that someone else sets the expiration date. Which means there might be an expectation to go along in order to get along. And if that’s the case, then she won’t. She’s not a whore. Not when she was dancing at the club and men offered her money if she would meet them after hours. And not now when she’s working for the American government. She will kill for them and she will lie for them, but she will not fuck for them. Even if part of her has already done that. Choosing to assent to Aaliyah’s advances partially because it would bring her closer to Aaliyah and allow her to continue the mission.
It was a risk, of course. But she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She could give in and possibly blow the mission by angering Joe, or give in and blow the mission because Aaliyah lied about being experienced with women and freaked out afterward and sent her away, or reject Aaliyah’s advances and get sent away because she hurt Aaliyah’s feelings. There was no good choice and that made it easier for her body to rule the day. To give into the attraction that she felt since their first meeting. To–
A hand pats her forearm. The touch light. Soft. Aaliyah’s voice sounding out moments later. Hushed. Close. “Hurry and eat. We have big plans for the day.”
Cruz turns. Smiles at Aaliyah. A genuine smile. Aaliyah’s beauty too powerful to resist. Cutting through her stress about her mission and Sami’s intentions.
“Is that right?” she asks. Heart pounding with excitement.
“Mmhmm,” Aaliyah hums. Her thumb brushing over Cruz’s skin. Eyes widening. “Biiiigggg plans.”
The lingering touch snaps Cruz back into reality. She pulls her arm away. Praying that she’s subtle about the movement and that there aren’t eyes on them. But this time her prayers go unanswered. Malika jumping into their conversation, “Yes. We’re going to th–”
“Shh!” Aaliyah shouts. Her head whipping toward Malika. “It’s a surprise!”
“Of course it is,” Malika fires back. Snidely. Rolling her eyes. She looks toward Cruz. Adds, “Aaliyah loooooves surprising her friends.”
Cruz laughs. Awkwardly. Shyly. Reacting as Zara. Not Cruz. Because Cruz would be asking Malika to step outside so they could work this out like adults. Adult Marines. With their fists. It would be over fast. A single blow. Unless Cruz lightened her touch. Giving Malika a shot to the gut for the way she dragged out the word ‘love.’ Then a jab to head for the way she emphasized the word ‘friend.’ Then she could deliver the ‘death blow.’ A haymaker that would send Malika down for the count. Then to a dental surgeon.
She sighs. Drops her gaze to her plate. Her body rigid. Bracing for further barbs. They don’t come. Allowing her to focus entirely on her food. And a conundrum. One that began last night and has continued into the morning. The food here is terrible. Last night’s chicken overcooked and flavorless. The greens in the salad slimy like they were past their ‘use by’ date. And this breakfast is even worse. The pancakes hard. Just as flavorless as the chicken. The bacon too crispy. The eggs lacking the fluff and lightness that makes scrambled eggs delicious. The fruit hard. Sour. Harvested too soon. Which leads to the necessary question, how can the staff hired by a millionaire serve food that is demonstrably worse than the slop she’s eaten in chow halls?
She grabs her fork. Finishes shoveling down the last few bites. Because she's hungry and not in a position to complain. She’s had worse. A childhood where she went through stretches without knowing if she would have food. Those years she spent dancing. Living off fast food because it was cheap and quick and Edgar controlled her money and time. Prohibiting her from cooking. Keeping her on a strict budget at the grocery store. A strict and low budget. One that required her to make hard choices about what to buy. Eggs or milk? Peanut butter or store brand Honey Nut Cheerios? She could never leave out Edgar’s favorite foods. There was always enough money for those. Fruit Roll–Ups and Gushers and Cool Ranch Doritos. But never enough for hers. Despite the fact that she was doing the shopping and using the money that she had earned. Edgar counting out cash from her tips before sending her to the store.
She has no idea where the rest of that money would go. Whether she was subsidizing his drug business or whether that drug business was profitable and he was just taking her money and squirreling it away for the future. It doesn’t matter. She didn’t have it and that’s why she could never leave.
Her stomach twists. She drops her fork. Grabs her coffee mug. Leans back in her seat. Lifts it to her mouth. Fakes taping a sip. Giving herself cover to calm down. Thoughts of Edgar also not productive at the moment. Not when she needs to be Zara. A low or maybe middle–class woman with a rich Kuwaiti uncle who is working diligently to find her a suitable husband.
She takes another sip. A real one this time. The taste almost bad enough for her to gag. But she doesn’t. Once again distracting herself by running her eyes over the room. She’s the only person left at the table. Sami is digging in the fridge. Nala is next to him. Saying something that Cruz can’t make out. Kamal is back at the bar. Loading his plate with more food. Malika and Nashwa are nowhere to be seen. Aaliyah is partially visible. A white puff from her sleeve all that Cruz can make out. Ehsan blocking the rest of her as they speak in the other room.
There’s terrible screeching noise. A thud. She glances across the table. Kamal is back. His overflowing plate in front of him. He catches her eye. Gestures to the food, “Good, right?”
“Mmm…” Cruz hums. Nodding. She taps on her coffee mug. Gets to her feet. Needing to escape before he pulls her into conversation. She takes a step to the left. Stops. Her eyes drifting to the table. The plates that are sitting there. Waiting for someone else to clear them. Which means she should leave her own as well. But that’s not an easy task for her. Her mind yelling at her to grab her plate and clear it. To come back and clear the rest of the table. Then to go get a rag to wipe up all of the coffee and food spills.
It’s an ingrained response. Her years of domestic labor starting as soon as she was strong enough to work. Sweeping. Carrying dishes into the kitchen. Using the stool to wash them. Her older brother never helping. Her mother either asleep or at work or with a boyfriend. None of those boyfriends ever helping if they were around. Always sitting on their asses. Expecting to be waited on hand and foot. Yelling at her if she didn’t meet their demands quickly or perfectly enough. Beating her i–
Stop. Get your head together.
She forces herself to move. Walking away from the table. Toward the hall that leads to her room. She makes it past the door to the pool. Then there’s a flash of movement. A hand grabbing her arm. Tugging. The white fabric that accompanied the flash is the only thing that spares Aaliyah from ending up in a chokehold. Cruz able to restrain herself at the last moment. Quiet her Marine instincts. Ones that are particularly primed since Joe had her abducted on the street and tortured for hours. She can’t restrain her other reactions. Her heart rate climbing. Her breaths heavy. Adrenaline flowing. Body ready for fight or flight.
Aaliyah seems to notice this. Grimacing. Whispering, “Sorry.” Though her hand doesn’t completely retreat from Cruz’s body. Instead she slides it down to Cruz’s hand. Slots their fingers together. Tugs Cruz close. Like she’s once again forgotten where they are and the danger they face.
Cruz hasn’t. So she extracts her hand. Takes a step back. Throws Aaliyah a sharp look.
Aaliyah gives her another grimace. Another apology, “Sorry.”
“It’s ok, but…” Cruz replies. Trailing off. Darting her head around.
“I know… I know…” Aaliyah starts. Voice low. Cautious. She takes a step closer. Continues, “But it’s not as bad as you think. I’m like this with other women. Ones who I don’t…” she cuts off. Widens her eyes.
Cruz nods. Understanding what Aaliyah means. That she’s touchy feely with all women and not just the ones she fucks. But that doesn’t do much to settle Cruz’s nerves. Not after breakfast and the barbs and the knowing looks. They’ll need to have a talk about this. Soon. Set ground rules. Ones that probably include the rule of no more sex. But for now she needs to see why Aaliyah stopped her and then escape again. Back to her room. So she can plan that conversation and work through all possible scenarios for how this day might go and her responses to each and every one of those scenarios. Her safety dependent on being completely prepared.
She plasters a smile on her face. Fake. But reassuring. Not wanting Aaliyah to think she’s being rude or blowing her off despite the fact that she’s trying to do just that. She shuffles backwards toward her room. Asks, “You stopped me for a reason?”
“Yes, umm…” Aaliyah cuts off. Frowning. Like she can sense that something is off with Cruz’s attitude. But she seems to push through whatever is bothering her. Smile returning as she gestures toward the hallway. “We leave in thirty minutes. Go pack your bags. We’ll be gone for at least the night, though it will probably be longer.”
“Oh… Uhh… Ok…” Cruz replies. Shuffling back another step. Her hand going to her necklace. Mind going to her team. The one she hopes is still listening and prepared to follow her into the unknown.
Aaliyah’s frown returns. Cruz knows why. Her pathetic response. Aaliyah excited about this surprise while Cruz is acting weird about it. She forces another smile onto her face. Still fake, but hopefully more believable. “Sounds good. I’ll go do that and see you out front.”
“Ok,” Aaliyah whispers. Face relaxing. But she’s not smiling. She’s just staring at Cruz. An intense stare. Wistful. Longing. Similar to the look that she was giving Cruz last night when they said goodnight at her door.
Cruz takes another step back. Her fake smile fading. Her heart racing. Aching. Because she hates that look. Hates that she can’t kiss Aaliyah. Hates that she can’t grab her hand and lead her away from this house and Ehsan. Hates that she can’t give this a try. To see if there are feelings. Real ones. Feelings that could lead to something lasting and genuine and good. But there will be no good. Only death and pain. So she spins around. Storms down the hall. The clock ticking. Thirty minutes of prep time before she’s back in the grinder without a clue about what she’s going to face.
The Range Rover comes to a stop. There’s a small jet ahead. The stairs down. A man in a pilot’s uniform standing at the bottom. His hat pressed against his abdomen with his left hand. His attention on the Range Rover that’s parked just ahead of them.
She blows out a big breath. Relieved that they’ve arrived. That she no longer has to sit so closely to Aaliyah. Smelling her wonderful scent. Sweet. Floral. Enduring her subtle touches. Ones that probably weren’t all that subtle. Nala throwing her funny looks multiple times as they drove. Which made the touches agonizing. Unbearable. Her body saying yes. Her mind saying no.
She unbuckles her seatbelt. Opens her door. Almost leaps out in her haste to escape. Worried that if she waited for Nala to leave first that Aaliyah might do something risky. Like kiss her. A kiss she’d return. Deepen.
Get it together.
She shakes her head. Focuses back on the plane. Ehsan is now speaking with the pilot. Kamal is halfway up the stairs. Malika ahead of him. Nashwa behind. Both touching him. She frowns. Grossed out. Curious about whether Aaliyah didn’t tell her the whole truth. That this is actually a throuple situation. A gross one. Three hideous people coming together to be hideous in a naked way. Though maybe that’s not a fair assessment. She doesn’t really know them. Maybe they aren’t that bad. Maybe…
She laughs. No. They are that bad. Their vileness apparent from the moment she walked out to the pool. The girls silently and then not so silently judging her. Kamal giving off immature, greasy fuckboy vibes. And Aaliyah has told her as much. Told her to keep an eye out for Malika and Nashwa. She was silent on Kamal. But her behavior toward him this morning spoke volumes. Annoyance. Impatience. Fury when he started to denigrate female drivers. So she’ll trust Aaliyah and her gut. Not give them the benefit of the doubt. They are terrible and now she’s going to be trapped on a plane with them.
Ugh.
“Zara!” Aaliyah shouts.
Cruz glances to her right. Spots Aaliyah a few steps ahead. Her arm extended. Waving her over. “Come on! Your surprise awaits!”
“My surprise?” Cruz replies. Smiling. A real smile. Her heart fluttering. Aaliyah’s use of the possessive indicating that she’s planned something for Cruz as opposed to just wanting to keep Cruz in the dark about their destination. And if that’s true, then it will be one of the few surprises of that type that she’s experienced in her life. Her tenth birthday the only one that she can remember. Her mother waking her up with migas and refried beans. Sending her to school with five dollars to spend at the cafeteria. Surprising her late that night with a chocolate cake from WinCo. ‘Happy Birthday, Cruise!’ written on the front. Cruz didn’t care about the error. She appreciated the gesture. The fact that her mother planned the celebration. So she laughed at the mistake. Cut the cake. And never had a birthday that good again.
She makes it to the bottom of the stairs. Snaps back to reality. Her circumstances. The fact that she’s about to board a plane that’s going to ferry her away to an unknown destination. Her team in the dark. Unable to provide close cover unless she can find a way to get them tracking info.
She looks toward the front of the plane. Spots the solution to her problem. Reading off the letter and numbers printed on the side, “N9109.” She turns toward Ehsan once she’s done. Asks, “Is that a type of plane or something?”
“It’s the tail number. Like a license plate for planes,” Ehsan replies. Tone even. Friendly. Like he’s not bothered by the question or the fact that she spoke to him.
She smiles at him. Hears a squeal. “Yay!” Then arms are wrapping around her waist. Pulling her close. Aaliyah starts jumping. Her hands sliding up and down Cruz’s body as she shrieks, “You’re going to be so much fun to spoil!”
It’s a dangerous position. A dangerous touch. Aaliyah’s hands coming close to her breasts. Aaliyah’s front dragging over her back. She freezes. Uncertain about what to do. She was probably supposed to jump along with Aaliyah. Squeal back about how excited she is for the surprise. But that ship has sailed. The moment over. Aaliyah back on the ground. Cruz panicking and checking Ehsan’s reaction. He’s looking at them. His expression curious, but amused.
Huh.
Cruz laughs. A forced laugh. Trying to play the situation cool. But it’s difficult. Caught between Aaliyah and Ehsan. Aaliyah’s body still pressed against her own. Her hands lower now. On Cruz’s hips. Then they’re retreating. Aaliyah stepping away. Giving Cruz some much needed space.
She stops laughing. Pulls in a big breath. Eyes still on Ehsan. He’s looking behind her. His expression still curious and slightly amused. He tilts his head. Gesturing toward the stairs. “Let’s go. You can’t spoil her if we stay here.”
She hears a chuckle from behind her. One that Ehsan matches. Though his chuckle comes out more like a huff. Then he’s turning. Climbing the stairs. Cruz follows. Aaliyah behind her. Aaliyah’s hands on her hips. The touch still dangerous. Stupid. Making her wonder if there will be a chance to pull Aaliyah aside on the plane so they can have a full talk about boundaries and risks and how she isn’t quite comfortable with these touches despite Aaliyah claiming she acts this way with all women, not just the women she fucks on occasion.
There’s a pang in her chest. A pit in her stomach. The thought of Aaliyah fucking other women not sitting well with her. Though it’s preferable to the thought of her fucking Ehsan. A disgusting thought. Horrific. Aaliyah just lying there, dead inside, as Ehsan does what he needs to do. Though Aaliyah did say that she had to play the part. Instigate. Which means she probably doesn’t just lie there. She participates. And that’s an even worse thought.
She shudders. Comes to a stop at the top of the stairs. Ehsan pulling up right as he reached the door. She looks ahead. Spots a second pilot standing in the entryway. Fiddling with some sort of hatch near the cockpit. Blocking their entrance. Hands start sliding over Cruz’s sides. Aaliyah taking advantage of the delay. Using it as an excuse to feel her up.
She stifles a whimper. Her hands shooting out. Grasping the railing. Holding on for dear life. The pilot closes the hatch. Disappears into the cockpit. Ehsan moves. Cruz follows. Aaliyah directly behind her. Aaliyah’s hands still on her body. The touch still driving her wild. But she manages to keep her composure as she enters the plane. Maintaining the shy and nervous and fish out of water demeanor that she’s displayed since arriving at Ehsan’s mansion. A demeanor that was initially easy to affect since it’s what she was actually feeling. But now it’s harder. Because she’s not just a fish out of water. A poor girl thrust into a life of luxury. She’s also a fish who fucked the big fish’s fiancé and wants to fuck her again despite knowing that she absolutely cannot fuck her again.
She sighs. Shifts her focus to the scene ahead. It’s a small plane. Simple. Not quite as fancy as she expected. There’s an aisle. Big leather seats to either side. The ones in the second row facing the rear of the plane. Ehsan drops down into the first seat on the right. She keeps going. Past the first two rows of seats. Then Aaliyah tugs her to a stop. “Sit to the left and I’ll–”
“Aaliyah!” Ehsan's voice interrupts.
Cruz twists her head. Ehsan is leaning into the aisle. Staring at them. Expression still curious and amused. Though his tone is firm as he orders, “Here. With me. We have things to discuss.”
“Of course,” Aaliyah replies. “I'll be there in a moment.”
Cruz twists her body around as Aaliyah speaks. Her focus shifting to Aaliyah. Trying to get a read on her mood. Her face is light. Her tone pleasant. Betraying no hint of disappointment. But then Cruz gets a full look. Aaliyah twisting back around to face her. And she can see it now. The hurt. The disgust. Aaliyah’s eyes glassy. Dim. The usual fire and spark behind them gone. Like she’s dead inside. It’s an expression Cruz is familiar with by now. Seeing it each time they spoke about Ehsan while in the bathroom. Seeing it again over dinner whenever their conversation took a turn toward husbands and children and their futures.
Cruz’s heart aches. She wants to reach out. Pull Aaliyah close. Comfort her. Tell her to leave Ehsan. But she can’t do that. She has a mission to complete. One that requires the marriage to occur. So she just gives Aaliyah a tight smile. Whispers, “It’s ok. I’ll be fine alone. I’ll probably just catch up on sleep if it’s a long flight…” she trails off. Tight smile changing into a grin, “Unless it’s not?”
Aaliyah laughs. The spark in her eyes returning as she flashes Cruz a bright smile. “I see what you’re doing and it won’t work. I won’t give you anything. You’ll find out where we’re going when we get there.”
Cruz holds up her hands. “Hey, I had to try.”
Aaliyah hums. Holds Cruz’s gaze for a moment. Then she’s looking away. Her eyes running up and down Cruz’s body. Her bottom lip now caught between her teeth. Cruz also recognizes this look. Aaliyah conducting a similar inspection multiple times last night. She swallows. Heart racing. Body starting to burn from the appraisal. One that needs to end. Now. Before she pulls Aaliyah close and kisses her in front of the entire plane.
She clears her throat. Takes a step to the side. Drops down into her seat. Waves toward the front row, “Go sit with Ehsan. I’ll see you when we land.”
Aaliyah sighs. A heavy sigh. Her chest noticeably caving as she exhales the breath. She takes a step forward. Her hand extending. Moving toward Cruz’s arm. But then she yanks it away. Shakes her head. Spins around and storms to the front row without looking back.
Cruz blows out a big breath. Starts searching for her seatbelt. It takes a moment. The right part of the buckle stuck under the seat. Making her wonder if anyone actually uses them on this plane or if they think their wealth will protect them from the hazards of air travel. Turbulence. A bumpy landing. A crash.
She chuckles. Thinking once again about how she’s a fish out of water. A fish who’s fucked the big fish’s girl. Only… No. That metaphor doesn’t work. If she’s out of water, then there are no fishes around. She’s a fish who’s fucked the rich man’s girl. And…
She closes her eyes. Tips back. Banging her head against the seat. Wondering now whether she sustained a concussion during her torture session. One that the doctor yesterday didn’t catch. Because that would explain a lot. Her idiotic thoughts. Her idiotic behavior. Fucking Aaliyah with minimal resistance. She could have resisted. Found a way to reject Aaliyah’s overt advances without pissing her off to the point that Aaliyah would send her away. Simply saying something like, ‘I’m attracted to you, but not ready to do anything yet,’ would have worked. Or leaning into the security team and the associated risks. Telling Aaliyah that she would like to act on her attraction, but only if they could escape the guards. And maybe that would have led to Aaliyah doing something stupid like engineering an escape, but she could have shut that down too. Clarified that running away would be just as risky as fucking without running away, so they’d have to wait until they could find privacy naturally. And sure, Aaliyah could have still been determined to pull it off. Maybe engineering a day out together that led to someplace without surveillance. But at least that would have given Cruz more time to think and plan and mine information about the wedding.
But she didn’t do any of that. She froze and fumbled and stumbled her way through their conversations. Aaliyah’s touch frying her brain. Making her slip multiple times. Revealing her fake major despite Joe’s insistence that she keep it vague. Then inventing a story about wanting to own a burger place. Saying, ‘Roger that.’
Ugh.
That was the worst slip. One she played off well enough. Lying through her teeth about her boss’s military experience. And then she kept slipping. Kept freezing. Torn between running away and fucking Aaliyah like she’d fuck a woman she met at a bar and fucking Aaliyah like she’d think Zara should fuck her. It was a mess. Instead of having Aaliyah naked and coming within moments of entering the bathroom, she got stuck in head and slowed things down and that was the critical mistake. Because all of that kissing and slow touching was nice. Really fucking nice. And that confused her more which caused her to slow things down more which led to more of the nice and confusing kissing and touching and by the end of it, she didn’t know who she was. Whether she was Cruz, the Marine or Cruz, the civilian, or Zara, the shy, innocent girl flirting with luxury while waiting for her uncle to procure her a husband.
The engines start rumbling outside. There’s a beep. A voice sounding out through the intercom, “Good afternoon, folks. We’re cleared to leave, so we’ll have you up in the air and to your destination shortly. Please buckle your seatbelts and prepare for take off. Thank you.”
There’s another beep. Cruz looks ahead. Ehsan is still in the seat diagonal to her. A thick belt visible across his lap. She tips to the side. Leaning out into the aisle so she can see whether Aaliyah is taking the necessary precautions. Aaliyah is. Her left hand grasping one side of the belt.
Cruz smiles. Twists around. Surveying the rows behind her. Nashwa is sitting on Cruz’s side in the seat that faces the front of the plane. Kamal is on the other side. Malika in his lap. Making no move to find her own seat. None of them making any move to buckle their seatbelts.
She winces. Glances behind them. Nala and Sami are visible. Sami looking her way. Grinning.
Shit!
She spins back around before she can complete her seatbelt survey. Her hands flying to the armrests. Gripping them tightly as she begins praying that Sami will stay seated and not bother her. The plane starts moving. Slowly. She relaxes some. Figuring that Sami won’t be stupid enough to walk during takeoff. But that doesn’t solve the problem of the idiots behind her. The possibility that they could get bounced around. Suffer cuts or scrapes or serious head injuries.
She’s seen it before. Seatbelts not always possible or practical when you’re on a mission. The plane hitting a patch of rough air. Sending someone flying. Then to the infirmary with a concussion. Though not always right away. Some idiots choosing to complete a training mission despite their injury. Others not having a choice. The mission real. The stakes high. And nobody else catching the problem until it’s too late and they’re on the ground and the guy becomes dead weight who they have to keep alive while kicking down doors and taking fire. They’ve lost people because of that. Hernandez taking a bullet to the face while trying to get Murphy out of the line of fire. Thornton being too messed up from the bump he took. Her team unable to keep tabs on him because every step was perilous. He took a bad step. Triggered a mine. Took Hammy with him.
She grits her teeth. Feels tears starting to well in her eyes. Her body reacting to the memories. The sounds. The smells. The images. Sounds and smells and images that she’ll remember for the rest of her life. Sounds and smells and images that she can’t think about now. There will be time for that later. Time to sit with the memories and then cry or drink or beat the hell out of a punching bag to get herself to stop thinking about them. But right now she needs to focus on her current mission. Aaliyah. Ehsan. Zara.
The plane picks up speed. The engines roaring as they shoot down the runway. And then they’re off. Flying high up into the sky. The Chesapeake Bay below them. The sight calming. Helping her focus. Joe and the team are down there somewhere. Hopefully boarding their own plane so they can follow her to this surprise destination. One she might be able to guess if she pays close attention to the sights outside the window. But there’s no benefit to guessing. No ability to tell her team where she’s going. Unless she wants to start talking to herself and that’s a risky proposition. So she won’t pay attention to what she can see outside the window. She’ll focus on her primary task. Ingratiating herself into this group so that she can get close enough to kill Aaliyah’s father. And if she wants to ingratiate herself, she’s going to need knowledge of everyone in this group. Knowledge she can obtain by closely observing them. So that is what she'll do during the flight. Watch and take notes. Starting with Ehsan.
She glances ahead and to her left. Ehsan appearing just how he was when she last looked his way. His seatbelt buckled across his lap. His back straight. Head high. Face staring directly ahead. Only there is a difference this time. His cell phone is clutched in his right hand and he’s tapping it rapidly against his thigh. Fidgeting like he’s nervous or agitated or maybe a mix of both.
Huh.
She moves her gaze forward and down. Spots the side of a bag in front of his feet. Small. Black. Big enough to fit his laptop. Which means he probably intends to work as they travel. Work and discuss something with Aaliyah. Something that better be wedding related and not about Cruz’s presence on this plane. Though if Ehsan didn’t want her here, then she wouldn’t be here. They’d have sent her packing before they left. So it probably is wedding related which means she’s fucked up by sitting in this seat because now she’ll be too far away to overhear.
There’s a pop. Cheering. She glances behind her. Kamal is holding a champagne bottle. Liquid is rushing out of the top. Spilling down the sides and onto the table that’s in front of him. There are two glasses on the table. Malika is still in his lap. Holding a third glass. Cruz winces. Spins back around. Closes her eyes. Regretting her desire to do undercover work. Because this is not what she expected. Endless spring break. Rich assholes. She thought she’d be in a village somewhere. Putting her Arabic training to use. But no. She’s–
“Is this seat taken?” Sami asks. Voice coming from slightly behind her.
She squeezes her already shut eyes. Pulls in a breath. Steeling herself for what is guaranteed to be an unpleasant conversation. Then she blows the breath out. Opens her eyes. Spots Sami in the aisle. Ahead of her now. A bottle of champagne in one hand. Two glasses at the other.
She throws him a sweet smile, but doesn’t reply. The only words coming to mind some variation of, ‘What does it look like, asshole?’
He frowns at her. Then he laughs. The sound loud. Grating. Probably on purpose. He steps into the row. Drops down into the empty seat. Muttering, “I’ll take that as a no.”
Cruz doesn’t react. She just keeps staring at him. Expression pleasant. Waiting to see where he takes this.
He points toward the window with the champagne bottle. “Do you mind?”
Cruz follows his gesture. Spots the table pressed against the wall. She reaches out. Pushes the button that’s visible on her side of the table. Nothing happens. She laughs. Leans forward. Reaches out with her left hand. Finds the similar button on the opposite side. She pushes them both. The table shoots up and out. Surprising her. Making her jump and then laugh. A genuine laugh. One that gets immediately ruined when she hears Sami chuckling along with her.
Ugh.
She leans back in her seat. Eyes going to the table. The surface uneven. She huffs. Reaches out. Pushes the table up until she hears a click. Then she leans back again. Eyes going to Sami. An amused Sami, “First time on a private plane?”
“Yes,” she lies. Or maybe it isn’t a lie. The plane she took to Kuwait with Joe technically owned by the U.S. government which would make it a public plane. Though it was a similar kind of jet. Small. Big, comfortable seats. Tables. Ones that didn’t go up and down. Meaning that plane was probably nicer than this one.
Sami hums. Sets the champagne glasses on the table. Then he goes to work on the champagne bottle. Fingers prying at the foil that covers the top.
She takes the opportunity to look away. Focus drifting toward Ehsan. He’s turned in his seat. His lips moving. Saying something to Aaliyah that she can’t hear over the roar of the plane and the crinkling of the foil that Sami is pulling away from the bottle.
She glances back toward Sami. Then toward the glasses. Debating how to play this. She won’t drink. Can’t. Not yet at least. It’s way too early in the day and she needs to keep her head clear so she can do her job. Because this is work for her. Not spring break. And it’s dangerous work. Deadly. The kind of work where one slip of her tipsy tongue could have a guard shooting her in the head. So no. She won’t drink. And now she has to relate that to Sami without pissing him off.
He finally gets the foil off the top of the bottle. Then he’s holding it out. Angling it toward the seat across the aisle from Cruz. He pops the top. Doing a much better job than Kamal. The champagne staying inside instead of spilling everywhere. He grabs one of the glasses. Fills it. Holds it out.
Cruz lifts her hand. Palm out. She waves it. Shakes her head. Adds, sweetly, “None for me, thanks.”
Sami pulls the glass back. He tilts his head. Gives her a look. Frustrated. “You don’t drink much, do you?”
“No,” she responds. Flashing him a bright smile.
He stares at her for a moment. Curiously. Then he’s leaning forward. Asking. Voice low. “Why is that?”
“I like being in control,” Cruz replies. Hand reaching up. Fingers grasping the chain around her neck. Fiddling with it nervously. Fake nerves. Unlike last night when she was playing with it whenever she was on the verge of having a panic attack because she wasn’t trained for that specific situation of her mark wanting to fuck and thus had no idea of what to do. She has more of an idea right now. Training too. All of those years pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Dating shitty men. Dancing for shitty men. Flirting with them for their money. She can rely on those experiences now. And she is. Smiling. Sweetly. Pretending to be shy and nervous as she holds Sami’s gaze. Silently signaling that she’s open to conversation despite her refusal of his offered drink.
Her response appears to go over well. Sami nodding. Leaning away. He sets the champagne bottle on the table. Then he leans back further until he’s pressed completely against the seat. His eyes on her the entire time. Like he’s studying her. Looking for a weakness or an opening. Something that will allow him to crack the ‘mystery’ of Zara so she’ll spread her legs for him.
He finally speaks. What passes as a friendly smile on his face. “That’s smart. Especially when you’re around new people and strange men. But you can trust us.” He lifts his left hand. Points around the plane. Then he brings it to his chest. Pats himself a few times. Adding, “And me. We won't let anything bad happen to you.”
Cruz drops her hand from her necklace. Uncrosses her legs. Recrosses them in the other direction. The movements saving her from what she really wants to do: laugh in Sami’s face. She can’t trust these people and she certainly won’t trust him. He’s slimy. His gaze pervy again. Like he’s trying to imagine what she’ll look like without clothes. Men like this don’t have boundaries. They see women as objects for the taking. Objects who don’t have a say in the matter. So if they want a woman, they will take her regardless of whether she’s saying no or screaming no or passed out and unable to say no.
She finishes adjusting herself. Finally replies, “I appreciate that. But I’m just not one to drink much. Even when I’m around people that I can trust.” It’s a lie. Or a partial lie. She doesn’t actually enjoy drinking all that much. But she will do it when she’s around people she trusts. People who won’t take advantage of her. People who understand why she’s drinking because they’re drinking for the same reason. Trying to dull the pain. Forget about the things they’ve done and seen.
Sami doesn’t respond. At least not right away. He keeps staring at her. Eyes narrowed like he’s still trying to figure her out. She returns the stare. Not backing down or shrinking away. Though she keeps her expression light. Open. As friendly as she can possibly make it. Still needing to diffuse the situation. Placate him. So that she doesn’t piss him off and ruin the mission while she’s thousands of miles above land with her team unable to save her.
Sami finally moves. Lifting his glass. Chugging the contents. Then he drops the glass down. Reaches for the champagne bottle. Fills his glass all of the way to the brim. He sets the bottle back down on the table. Leans back against his seat. Eyes her for another moment before speaking, “Aaliyah says you're in school. Where?”
“Charlotte,” Cruz answers. Gaze drifting momentarily to the bottle on the table. Then back to Sami’s completely full glass. Worries forming about his intentions for the bottle and how the alcohol will impact him. She looks back at the bottle. It’s normal sized. A brand she doesn’t recognize: Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque. Not that she would recognize many brands other than the one that gets prominent grocery store placement around the holidays—Korbel, Luna—and the top-shelf brands she occasionally had to pop at the club—Dom Perignon, Veuve Clicquot. But it probably has a normal alcohol volume and Sami seems like a seasoned drinker. So even if he were to chug the entire contents, he probably wouldn’t get too belligerent. Wh–
She hears a burp. Then a question, “That’s a university?”
Cruz glances back toward Sami. His glass is half empty. She doesn’t react to that fact. Keeping her expression pleasant and sweet as she clarifies, “No. It’s UNC–Charlotte.”
“Ah,” Sami replies. Chin lifting. Eyes narrowing. “So you’re going to a state school?”
Cruz’s composure cracks. She uncrosses her legs. Grabs the armrests. Squeezes them. Not liking Sami’s tone. Judgmental. Condescending. Like she’s beneath him because she’s pursuing a degree at a state school. She should just laugh and shrug it off, but she can’t. Offended on behalf of Zara, a woman who doesn’t actually exist.
“Yeah,” she fires back. Staring him down. Her tone defiant. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“No… No…” Sami replies. Lifting his hands in a defensive posture. “Not at all. I bet it’s nice.”
“It is,” she replies. Lying through her teeth. Knowing nothing about the school or much about the city. She’s been to Charlotte dozens of times. But most of those times were layovers on her way to Fort Liberty. She’d deplane. Walk across the terminal. Get on a smaller plane headed for Fayetteville. The only time she got out into the city was a day she spent with a recruiting officer. Visiting high schools. Speaking with young women. Trying to convince them to sign up and join the fight. That’s the only reason she knows about UNC–Charlotte. Seeing signs for the school as they drove around town. So if Sami asks for further details, she’s fucked.
“Are you in school?” she blurts. Heading off a potential follow-up.
“I am,” Sami answers. Nodding. A grin on his face. Devilish. And not in the good kind of way. He brings his glass to his mouth. Takes a sip. Drops the glass down. Continues, “Kamal and I are at Princeton.”
She bites back another urge to laugh. Squeezing the armrests tight. Clearing her throat to avoid an eye roll. Because of course they go to a school like Princeton. She gets her initial reaction under control. Pushes the miserable conversation forward. Asking. Sweetly. “Is that where you met?”
Sami laughs. Shakes his head. “No. We met years ago. Boarding school. Some stuffy place a few hours south of London. It was love at first sight.” He pauses. Leans forward. Whispers, “No homo.”
She tilts her head back. Hums. Eyeing him cautiously. But avoiding a reaction in case he made the offensive remark for the purpose of getting one. It’s possible. Just like it’s possible that he gave no thought to the remark because that’s just the kind of person he is. A homophobic, rich asshole who possibly has a drinking problem.
She forces a smile back onto her face. Asks pleasantly, “And that’s why you chose to go to college together?”
Sami leans away. Glances down at his champagne glass. He swirls the remaining liquid. Frowns. Then looks up at her. “I mean we were in college together already, but yes, we applied to the same American colleges together and chose the same one so we could keep hanging out.”
She frowns. Not following the first part of his response and not understanding his weird emphasis on ‘American.’ She could ask for clarification, but she doesn’t care. The information unlikely to help her understand Sami and Kamal better. So she just flashes him another smile. Sweet. Pleasant. Fake. Thinking now about what Aaliyah told her. About how they’ve been traveling together for a while. Miami followed by Atlanta and then Chesapeake. Which doesn’t leave much time for going to class.
Huh.
She relaxes her grip on the armrests. Crosses her right leg over her left. Sets her hands down in her lap. Asks, “Why aren’t you in class? The semester just started. Don’t you need to be studying?”
Sami snorts. Brings his champagne glass to his mouth. Finishes what’s left. He drops the glass down. Grabs the bottle. Refills his glass while asking, “Why aren’t you?”
Cruz shrugs. Glances out the window. Spots water. The shoreline. They’re hugging the coast. Flying north. That’s helpful information, but not information she can process quite yet. Not until she’s found a suitable lie for Sami’s inquiry. She looks back over at him. Answers. Sweetly. “Aaliyah invited me to visit and I needed a break, but I won’t be able to stay long. I do need to pass my classes.”
He laughs. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Giving her a look she’d expect from a rich asshole. Condescending. Rude.
“What’s funny?” she asks. Maintaining her sweet and shy expression even as she’s ready to reach across the table and smack the hell out of him.
“I don’t need to go to class,” he offers. Grinning. A smug grin.
She frowns. Fires back, “Ever?!” Her right hand going to her necklace. Fingers sliding over the chain. Reminding her of her team and her mission and how throwing Sami off a moving plane would ruin everything.
He shrugs. Taps his index finger on the side of his champagne glass. “I’ll go a few times. Once the weather gets cold, we’ll go back to the city and show our faces on occasion.”
She drops her hand away from her necklace. Fury and disgust over his attitude and behavior morphing in a morbid fascination about how he can pull this off.
“What about assignments and exams? Papers?” she asks. Genuinely curious.
“Eh…” he waves her off. “I have someone who handles all of that for me.”
She stares at him. Blankly. Her fury and disgust returning in full force as she thinks about the life she’s lived. Barely getting by. Enduring pain. Losing her baby brother and older brother and her mother and the only man in her mother’s life that was worth a damn. Dancing for men. Surviving Edgar. Then getting shipped overseas. Seeing horror after horror on the ground. Beheadings. The aftermath of IEDs. And now she’s sitting across from a spoiled dipshit who is proudly boasting about how he doesn’t have to try or work or learn. He can just bounce around the world. Lapping from a silver spoon.
She can’t hold her anger back. Snapping, “What’s the point of that? Why pay for an education if you don’t want it and aren’t going to get it? You’re just taking a spot from a student who would probably kill to be there.”
Sami doesn’t seem bothered by her attitude. In fact he seems thrilled by it. Giving her another one of those obnoxious looks as he replies, “I need a degree. Everyone in my family has one. It’s expected that I get one too.”
She rolls her eyes. Lets out a heavy sigh. “Do your parents know you don’t go to class?”
“Probably,” Sami shrugs. He lifts his glass to his mouth. Pausing when it’s even with his chin. He smirks. Adds, “But if they do, then they don’t care.” He finishes bringing the glass to his mouth. Tips it back. Chugs it down. His eyes on Cruz the entire time.
She brings her hand to her neck. Plucks at her chain. Thinking once again about her team. And whether they’ll be willing to bail her out once she’s booked for homicide. Justified homicide in her opinion.
She closes her eyes. Pulls in a deep breath. Calming herself down. Refocusing on the mission. The one she’s close to ruining again. Her emotions out of control just like they’ve been since Aaliyah touched her hand on the beach.
She opens her eyes. Finds her cool. Offering pleasantly, “That must be nice.”
“You don’t mean that,” Sami scoffs. Grabbing the bottle of champagne. Holding it close to his chest.
She huffs a laugh. Shakes her head. Conceding, “No. I don’t. We come from very different worlds and…” she trails off. Sighs. Not knowing how to end that statement in a way that won’t piss Sami off.
But it’s too late. He’s glaring at her. Eyes narrowed. Tone angry as he grits out, “Oh yeah? What’s your world?”
She snaps. Again. Unable to keep her cool and maintain her cover. Answering as Cruz, “The one where I have to bust my ass because nothing is handed to me. The one where my parents would beat the shit out of me if they knew I wasn’t going to class or doing my own work. The one where I can’t get drunk all day every day because every day is not a fucking party for me.”
Her words seem to stun Sami. His eyes going wide. His head tipping back. Resting against the seat. “Wow…” he exhales after a moment. Then he’s laughing. A humorless laugh. He leans forward. Stares her down. “Relax, babe. There’s no need for that attitude here.”
She snorts. Rolls her eyes.
He lets out another few laughs. Leans away. Then he’s holding out the champagne bottle, “Are you sure you don’t want some champagne? It would help with the relaxing?”
“No,” she replies. Tone firm. Too firm. She clears her throat. Forces a smile onto her face. Shifts into damage control mode. Her tone softer as she continues, “I’m fine. I should probably just take a quick nap. I’m exhausted.”
Sami pulls the bottle back. Gives her another one of those obnoxious and condescending looks. “Didn’t you crash early last night?”
She nods. Barely manages to suppress an eye roll. She can’t suppress her annoyed tone. Her feelings toward Sami and this conversation once again leaking out into her answer. Sarcastic. Blunt. “Yes. But if you remember, I had a very real car accident two days ago. Which made sleeping that night difficult because it felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to every bone in my body. So I'm exhausted. Still.”
Sami gets the message. Blowing out a sharp breath. Getting to his feet. He steps into the aisle. Glares down at her. “I’ll catch you later. Hopefully your nap will help you chill the fuck out. We’re all about fun here. If you can’t get with the vibe, then you should get gone. Think about that.”
She doesn’t reply. Glaring at him instead. Then looking away. Her focus drawn to the first row. Ehsan. Aaliyah in his lap. Straddling him. Aaliyah’s eyes on her.
Cruz’s stomach gurgles. Disgusting breakfast making its presence known. She should look away, but she can’t. Eyes frozen on the sight. Aaliyah’s arms around Ehsan’s neck. His left arm around her waist. Hand visible on the small of her back. His right arm is between them. His phone in his hand. Open. His focus there as he types something.
Cruz wants to laugh. Wants to cry. Wants to pick up the empty champagne glass and hurl it across the plane to get Ehsan’s attention so she could yell at him for being an idiot because he has a wonderful, beautiful, angel of a woman in his lap and yet all he cares about is whatever is happening on his phone. She’d never behave that way. If Aaliyah was in her lap, she’d be entirely focused on Aaliyah. Smiling at her. Making her laugh. Asking her questions. Kissing her. Touching her.
She clenches her jaw. Wiggles her fingers. Thinking about how good it would feel to have Aaliyah in her lap. Riding her fingers. Aaliyah’s tits bouncing. Close enough that Cruz could lean forward and kiss them. It’s a feeling she won’t ever experience. Because they can’t have sex again. She’s here to kill Aaliyah’s father. Which means she can’t care about what she’s seeing. Aaliyah on top of Ehsan. Aaliyah’s plaintive look. Like she’s hating every second of her existence and begging for Cruz to come rescue her.
That also won’t happen. So Cruz gives her a smile. Tight. Heartbroken. Then she looks away. Out of the window. Her eyes taking in the scenery. Water. Beaches. Roads. Buildings. She closes her eyes. Tips her head to the side. Tries to clear her mind. But she can’t. Images of last night haunting her until she drifts to sleep.
Cruz steps onto the tarmac. Her head throbbing. Her mouth dry. In desperate need of water. It’s sunny. Hot. Her sunglasses barely protecting her from the light that’s bouncing off the nearby planes and the pavement. She lifts her hand. Brings it above her eyes. Trying to shield herself from some of the glare. It helps. Her eyes able to focus. There’s a hanger in the distance. Big letters on the front. She reads them out loud, “East Hampton Airport.” Letting out a sigh when she’s done. Disappointed that this is their destination. She was hoping for something less ritzy and beachy. A hopeless hope. Ritzy all this crowd knows, so it is all she will know while she’s with them. A fish out of wa–
There’s a squeal. Hands wrapping around her waist. She jumps. Starts to react. Her hands dropping down to cover the ones on her body. But she knows the squeal. Knows the voice that’s excitedly shrieking into her ear, “We made it! Are you surprised?”
This knowledge the only reason that she doesn’t forcibly remove the hands and deposit the person on the ground. Though she does pry Aaliyah’s hands loose. Mindful of their location and all of the eyes that might be on them. She spins around once she extracts herself from Aaliyah’s grip. Smiles at her. A bright smile. Genuine. Because Aaliyah’s excitement is contagious. “The Hamptons? I am. Yeah. Though I probably shouldn’t be since you mentioned it last night.”
“Mmm… No. Probably not,” Aaliyah laughs. Reaching out. Taking Cruz’s hand. Slotting their fingers together. “You’re going to love it! The beaches here are so nice and the food is wonderful and the bars are fun. I can’t wait to show you around! Come!”
Aaliyah apparently means her words literally. Tugging Cruz before she’s even done speaking. Cruz stumbles, but catches her balance. Following Aaliyah to the waiting Range Rovers. They separate into the SUVs just how they did earlier. Ehsan getting into the first car alone. Sami, Kamal, Nashwa, and Malika climbing into the second. Her, Aaliyah, and Nala bringing up the rear.
She takes her seat. Buckles her seatbelt. Pulls in a deep breath. Mentally preparing herself for another lengthy trip with Aaliyah pressed close to her side. The engine starts. The first SUV peels away. Making a u-turn. Giving Cruz a look into the back seat. The windows are bullet proof. Tinted. But the glass isn’t as dark as it could be. Meaning she can still make out the bodies inside. Two in the front. Two in the back. Ehsan and someone else.
She frowns. Curious about the arrangement. Whether he’s important enough to warrant extra protection. Whether traveling separately from Aaliyah is a safety precaution. Or whether it’s a choice. Because that man in the backseat isn’t a guard, but someone from work. Someone he needs to speak with privately.
Their SUV starts moving. Creeping ahead. Then hooking sharply to the left. Following the other SUVs down the tarmac. She feels a hand on her thigh. Closes her eyes. Holds her breath. Waiting to see what Aaliyah does.
She doesn't have to wait long. Aaliyah pushing her hand down until it’s caught between their thighs. It stays there. Unmoving. Most of Aaliyah’s hand pressing against her shorts. But her fingers are extended. The tips low enough to rest on Cruz’s skin.
She swallows. Pulls in a deep breath. Her heart racing. Arousal starting to form. The simple touch sending her right back to last night. Aaliyah’s hands on her skin. So soft and so gentle. Touching her like she’s never been touched before. It felt good then. But now it’s painful and unfair. Nala an arm's length away. A driver right in front of them. A guard in the passenger seat.
She opens her eyes. Worried now about what the other occupants of the car are doing. The guard is looking straight ahead. She assumes the driver is as well. Though she can’t see him from her seat. And she can’t see Nala either. Not without looking to her right. And that would mean catching a glimpse of Aaliyah’s face. And that can’t happen. Because then she might crack and let out a whimper or a whine or do something worse like return the touch or lean close to whisper into Aaliyah’s ear. Whisper what, she’s not sure. But something bad and wrong and dirty and bound to complicate this situation. A situation that she can’t escape. Because it’s her job to get close to Aaliyah and it might even be her job to fuck Aaliyah again. But she’s not going to do that again. No. Her heart and her conscience can’t handle another round. So she will stay strong. Deflect all advances without angering Aaliyah. And somehow see this through to the end. A terrible end. Life ruining. The end where she’ll kill Aaliyah’s father and in the process destroy the only person who has ever treated her well.
She sighs. Fidgets in her seat. Unsettled by her thoughts about where this is heading. Furious that there’s no way out. That she signed up for this. A job that will also ruin her own life if she sees it to completion. Because there’s no way she can live with herself after she’s done. She’ll carry around the guilt for the rest of her life. Probably never be abl–
“Are you ok?” Aaliyah asks. Tone worried. Her hand pressing down on Cruz’s thigh.
“Mmm…” Cruz hums. Wiggling her head. Chancing a look over at Aaliyah, “Uh-uh. Headache. I get motion sick sometimes.”
It’s a lie. Another one. But one she won’t feel bad about it. Because she’s Zara and Zara absolutely can get motion sick.
Her words are met with a pitying look. Aaliyah’s face falling. Her hand moving over Cruz’s thigh. Her mouth opening like she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t. Nala joining in on their conversation, “Are you sure it was the plane ride that’s making you hurt and not the blows you took to your head while flipping over?”
The hand on Cruz’s thigh goes still. Then fingers are pressing down hard. Aaliyah’s face is rigid. Her jaw clenched tight. Like she’s fuming at Nala for interrupting their conversation. Or maybe it’s the substance of that interruption. Either way, Cruz needs to diffuse the situation.
She leans forward. Meets Nala’s gaze. Chuckles her way through an answer, “Probably both, to be honest.”
“Ah,” Nala nods. Smiling at her. A friendly smile. “Sami said you were in pain. He also said that–”
Aaliyah’s hand abruptly pulls away from Cruz’s thigh. Surprising Cruz. Making her jolt back. Which gives her a good vantage point to watch Aaliyah spinning all of the way around so she can swat Nala’s shoulder. Gritting out, “No. Don’t.”
Cruz frowns. Her eyes darting back and forth between Aaliyah and Nala. Trying to figure out what’s happening between them now. A silent conversation of sorts. Sami clearly saying something offensive. Something that Aaliyah knows about. Something that Aaliyah must have been told before they exited the plane. Because Aaliyah got off first and didn’t speak with anyone else. And that means that Aaliyah either left Ehsan’s lap to hang out in the back with the friends she doesn’t even like or someone else walked to the front to talk to her and Ehsan and Cruz missed it all because she fell asleep.
She sighs. Considers her options. She could turn away. Look out of the window. Take in her surroundings. Let Aaliyah and Nala work out this little dispute and let herself remain blissfully ignorant of whatever garbage Sami spewed. Or she could ask Nala to tell her. Prolong the drama. Possibly make it worse. But not asking could also make the entire situation worse. Her ignorance of Sami’s mental state liable to bite her in the ass the next time he hassles her and that could further endanger the mission that is already in danger because of her choice to fuck Aaliyah last night and her attitude on the plane.
Ugh.
She needs to know what he said. So she clears her throat. Interrupts the stare down, “What did Sami say?”
Nala whips her gaze away from Aaliyah. She grins at Cruz. Answers. Bluntly. “That you were being a bitch with a stick up your ass and that he hopes you’ll be more fun after your injuries heal.”
Cruz huffs a laugh. Amused by Sami’s statement. Amused by the way Nala related the message. She’s grinning. Still. And staring down Cruz like she’s getting a sick sense of delight from stirring the pot.
Aaliyah is the only person in the backseat who isn’t finding the situation funny or amusing. She groans as Nala speaks. Then she starts slapping Nala’s thigh. The action visible out of the corner of Cruz’s eye. Audible too. The slaps hard. They eventually do their job. Nala looking back toward Aaliyah who starts ranting something in Arabic. Her words too rushed and spoken too low for Cruz to adequately follow. Her Arabic excellent, but rusty. And not quite automatic enough that she can fill in the blanks when all she’s given are portions of words. But that's fine. She doesn’t need to hear Aaliyah’s rebuke. The body language between the two speaks volumes. Aaliyah furious. Nala unrepentant. Answering Aaliyah’s statement with a shrug and a half smile. Her head high. Chin out. Defiant. A reaction that only agitates Aaliyah further. She growls. Throws her hands up. Spins away. Eyes ahead like she’s looking out the front of the car. She crosses her arms. Grits out, “You are impossible.”
Nala laughs. She reaches out. Pats Aaliyah’s thigh. Then she’s turning away. Looking out of the window. Which means their dispute is probably over for now. Though they might pick it up later. And that’s something that Cruz can’t allow. Fighting between the two of them over her and Sami another complication that could jeopardize her status with the group and blow the mission. So she jumps into the fray again. Offering quietly, “Sami is wrong about the stick up my ass, but he’s right about my injuries. I don’t feel well and that is making it hard for me to relax and enjoy myself. I probably could have been nicer to him.”
“No!” Aaliyah shouts. Turning her head. Uncrossing her arms. Her left hand dropping down to rest gently on Cruz’s thigh. “You didn’t say or do anything wrong.”
Cruz squints. Confused. She twists her body. Leans back against the window. Giving herself some space and a better vantage point of Aaliyah’s face before she asks her now burning question, “How do you know?”
Aaliyah laughs. Pats Cruz’s thigh. She leans close. Too close. He lips just inches away from Cruz’s face as she whispers, “I was listening.”
“Oh…” Cruz exhales. Trying to lean back further. But she’s as far back as she can go. Her head pressed against the window. Her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Aaliyah’s touch and proximity frying her system.
Aaliyah’s eyes dart down. Then they move back to Cruz’s face. She chuckles. Raises her eyebrows. Smirks. A mischievous smirk. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing to Cruz. But then she’s leaning away. Removing her hand. Giving Cruz some much needed breathing room.
Cruz takes advantage of the space. Sucking in a big breath. Blowing it out slowly. Trying to calm her racing heart. She fails. Aaliyah’s hand returning to her thigh. She strokes over Cruz’s skin. Leans close. Whispers, “He’s an ass. A spoiled ass. What were you telling me last night? That you work hard and value hard work? He’s the opposite. Of course you were going to clash.”
“You work?” Nala shouts. Reminding Cruz that they aren’t alone. That they’re in a car with three other people. It’s not that she actually forgot about Nala or the driver and guard. It’s more that they faded away. Their presence drowned out by the feeling of Aaliyah’s hand on her skin.
But now she’s aware and panicking. Because Aaliyah was just close enough to kiss her and because she’s going to have to lie through her teeth again. Possibly elaborate on her cover story. A story that she’ll have to remember perfectly so she doesn’t get caught in a lie.
She looks toward Nala. Opens her mouth. Prepares to answer in the affirmative. But Aaliyah beats her to it. Spinning around. Rushing out, “Yes. She flipped burgers. It’s not a big deal. So– Wait…”
There’s a pause. Then Aaliyah is twisting her head. Meeting Cruz’s gaze. Asking, “Do you still flip burgers?”
“No,” Cruz replies. Hand moving to her chain. Mind going to Joe and her team and Joe’s insistence that she keep stuff vague. “I stopped so I can go to school.”
“School?” Nala shouts. A louder shout. Like she’s even more surprised that Cruz is going to school than about the fact that she’s worked.
“Uh-huh,” Cruz mumbles. Forcing herself to keep an even and pleasant expression so she doesn’t tip Nala off to the fact that she’s starting to get annoyed by Nala’s reaction. And the look that Nala is giving her. Incredulous. Judgmental.
Nala waves her hand. Scoffs, “It’s the middle of the week. Why are you here?”
Oh.
Cruz smiles. Lets out a quiet laugh. Her agitation fading now that she has the necessary context for Nala’s reaction.
But Aaliyah isn’t happy about the third degree. She spins back toward Nala. Slaps Nala on the thigh. Shouts, “You’re acting just like Sami. Stop!”
“What?” Nala shouts back. Lifting her hands in a defensive posture. “It’s a valid question. Look at her. She’s not like us. Her clothes and her makeup an–”
“Nala!” Aaliyah shouts. Voice louder now. Her words accompanied by another blow to Nala’s leg. The sound echoing through the Range Rover.
Cruz smiles. Her heart fluttering. Touched by the way that Aaliyah is standing up for her. She’s never had someone in her corner like this. Willing to protect her and defend her even in situations that don’t require a defense. But she’s wanted it. So much. And now she’s getting it only it’s not actually her that’s getting it. It’s Zara. And it won’t last.
A pang shoots through her chest. A pit forms in her stomach. She ignores the discomfort. Jumps back into the conversation. Once again attempting to diffuse the tension between Aaliyah and Nala before it blows up in her face. “No. It’s ok,” she starts. Hand moving to Aaliyah’s thigh. She holds it there. Continues once Aaliyah looks at her, “It’s fair. She’s right. I’m not rich. I don’t dress well and I’m terrible at makeup and I do need my degree.” She pauses. Looks past Aaliyah. Meeting Nala’s gaze as she finishes, “But I also had a very bad Tuesday and needed a break from life and I’ll be fine. We’re allowed a few absences a semester and it’s early enough that all I’m missing are lectures rather than projects or exams.”
“I see,” Nala replies. Brows knitting. Gaze moving back and forth between Cruz and Aaliyah. Then she’s shaking her head. Glancing away. Out of the window. Apparently done with the conversation.
Cruz blows out a big breath. Relieved. That the interrogation is over. That she survived without messing up her cover or completely destroying a tenuous friendship. Though there might be some damage. Aaliyah still apparently agitated. Her gaze ahead. Breaths heavy. Jaw clenched like she’s silently fuming about something.
Shit.
Cruz bites her lip. Debates jumping in again. Saying something to Aaliyah about how she’s really not upset by anything that Nala said. But it’s unlikely that she can say anything without drawing attention from Nala and that attention could kick off another round of questioning that might leave the two women further at odds. So Cruz stays silent. Glancing away. Out of the window. Moving her hand off Aaliyah’s thigh. Bringing it up to play with her necklace. Mind back on her team. Their location. Their mood. The likelihood that Joe will ship her back for another overnight stay at torture island.
She hears another sigh. Lower. Less agitated. Feels the seat bouncing. Aaliyah squirming next to her. But she doesn’t look to her right. She just keeps her eyes focused out of the window. Taking in the trees and the houses and the high fences that shield those houses from the road. Winding. Narrow. A single lane in either direction. Bu–
A hand lands on her thigh. She shuts her eyes. Grits her teeth. Silencing a surprised grunt. She hears a light chuckle. Then the hand is moving higher. Slipping below her shorts. Aaliyah’s palm warm. Damp. Moving slowly over Cruz’s skin. She swallows. Fidgets in her seat. Glances ahead. Trying to figure out how long this road lasts and get a sense about possible exits toward areas that would house mansions fit for a man of Ehsan’s wealth.
There are exits. Lots of them. Roads branching away. But the land is flat. Her view limited to what is along the road. Meaning she’ll remain in the dark about their next turn until they’re making it. In the dark and suffering. Aaliyah’s touch scalding hot. Causing her heart to race and her cunt to clench.
She blows out another breath. Feels another stroke of Aaliyah’s hand over her skin. She should stop it. Grab Aaliyah’s hand. Move it away. Or turn. Whisper a reminder about their location. The three other bodies in the car. Any of whom could see what Aaliyah is doing right now. But she can’t move. Enjoying the touch too much. Enjoying the pain and the agony. Pain and agony that she deserves for her choice to be here. Lying to a wonderful woman all so she can kill that woman’s father.
Aaliyah’s hand stills. Cruz bites back a whimper. Feels a puff of air against her face. She braces herself for a kiss to her cheek. It doesn’t come. Aaliyah’s voice whispering into her ear instead, “Sorry about Sami and Nala. I wish I could send them away. We’d have a lot more fun here if it was just you and me.”
Cruz snorts a laugh. Knowing very well the kind of fun they’d be having if it was just them. She twists her head. Chancing another look at Aaliyah’s face. She’s smirking. Biting her lip. Meaning she’s thinking along the same lines. Fun meaning naked bodies and kissing and orgasms so good that they leave Cruz crying and struggling to figure out where Zara ends and Cruz starts.
She licks her lips. Gaze on Aaliyah’s mouth. Her cunt throbbing. Her control quickly slipping away. Aaliyah’s lips so close and so kissable. But she can’t act on these desires. Now or again. So she lifts her gaze back to Aaliyah’s eyes. Smiles at her. Soft. Genuine. Then she looks away. Out of the window. Eyes taking in the mundane sights. Trees and fences and the tops of houses. Mind spinning. Seeking a solution to what appears to be an unsolvable problem. Cunt throbbing. Begging her to cave and slide Aaliyah’s hand higher. She doesn’t. She endures. Down the big road. Then to the left. Then to the right. Until they are making one last left onto a driveway. One that leads to another massive mansion. Three stories. White stone. A four car garage ahead on the right.
She huffs. Unable to stop the noise from escaping. Too disgusted by the wealth on display. The fact that there are people in this world who own multiple lavish properties that could house dozens of people and yet they remain empty for a good portion of the year. Used for only days at a time when the owner or his guests are in town. While someone like Cruz grew up in a one bedroom apartment. Sleeping on the living room floor. Her older brother getting the couch. Her younger brother getting a shitty mattress that one of her mom’s boyfriends found on the street. It was stained and smelled terrible, but Josecito didn’t care. And then there was after she left home. Edgar’s house. Three bedrooms. All of them full. More people crashing in the living room on a regular basis. Living like shit cause they were broke and had no purpose in life aside from fighting and drinking and peddling drugs.
And now here she is. Zara. Sitting in the back of a Range Rover. Waiting for the security guard to open the door for her so she can enter the mansion and claim a room and live like royalty until she blows the mission or her team pulls her away.
There’s a click. Air rushes into the backseat. She turns. Spots Nala climbing out of the now open door. She hears a similar noise on her side. Feels another gust of air. Warm. Fresh. She unbuckles her seatbelt. Turns to her left. Exits the SUV. Feels a presence behind her. Aaliyah choosing to exit on her side. She takes advantage of that fact. Taking only a half step forward so that Aaliyah has no choice but to touch her as she vacates the SUV.
It’s a sadistic move. Cruel. Her toying with Aaliyah like this despite her resolve to put an end to the physical part of their fucked up relationship. A resolve that’s already on life support. Because she wants Aaliyah’s touch. And she gets it. Aaliyah’s hands landing on her hips. Squeezing. Aaliyah’s voice husking against her ear moments later, “What do you think?”
“Think?” Cruz repeats. Aaliyah’s touch and proximity rendering her unable to do anything other than parrot the word.
She hears a laugh. Lips pressing against her cheek. Then Aaliyah is clarifying, “About the house.”
“Uhh…” Cruz starts. Blinking. Wiggling out of Aaliyah’s embrace so Aaliyah doesn’t try to kiss her again. She takes a few steps forward. Stares at the house. Trying to come up with a polite response. But she’s panicking too much to think on her feet. The kiss Aaliyah gave her too much for such an open place. And it’s a kiss that wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t cracked and sought out Aaliyah’s touch.
Pull it together. You’re a Marine.
She pulls it together. Twists her head. Offers the best answer she can come up with on short notice, “It’s… big…”
Aaliyah laughs. Loud. Genuine. Her head tipping back. She closes the distance between them. Loops her arm through Cruz’s. Offers reassuringly, “It’s ok if you don’t like it.”
“No!” Cruz shouts. She shakes her head. Starts fumbling, “It’s… It’s…” she cuts off. Still unable to come up with anything other than her initial impression of the property as wasteful and infuriating.
Aaliyah tugs her closer. Her voice a whisper now, “You can tell me what you really think. I won’t judge you.”
Cruz nods. Sighs. “Ok. Then I think it’s wasteful for someone to have multiple houses that sit unused for long stretches of time when there are people sleeping on the streets or entire families cramming into an apartment that’s smaller than most of the rooms in this house.”
She pulls in a breath when she’s finished speaking. Her eyes on Aaliyah’s face. Carefully watching her reaction. Bracing for anger or annoyance or for Aaliyah to reveal that she’s not better than these spoiled brats. But Aaliyah only smiles. Tugs on her hand. Leading them toward the house.
They make it halfway to the front door. Then Aaliyah is leaning close. Offering. Shyly. “This is why I like you. You’re honest and grounded and you’ve lived a real life.”
The words cut right through Cruz’s heart. She swallows. Tries to stay in character. Smiling. Looking away. Like she’s shy and Aaliyah’s words have embarrassed her. But she’s not embarrassed. She’s rattled and feeling guilty and she needs to escape. Put some distance between them so she can get her head on st–
The front door opens. Sami steps out on the porch. Letting the door slam shut behind him.
“Shit,” Cruz sighs.
She hears a light chuckle. Then Aaliyah’s voice, “My thoughts exactly.”
Cruz laughs. Plasters a pleasant smile on her face. Sinking into her role as Zara. A nice girl. A sheltered girl. A girl who can’t lash out with her fists despite promising herself that she would never let a man treat her badly again after Edgar. But that was Cruz who made that promise. Not Zara. And she’s Zara.
Zara…
Zara…
Zara…
They reach the path that leads to the entrance. Sami grabs the doorknob. Opens the door. Holds it open for them with his right hand. “Ladies…” he calls out. Waving his left hand. Gesturing them up the small set of stairs and into the house.
Cruz lets Aaliyah take the lead. Following two steps behind. She enters the house. Sami’s voice right behind her, “Did your nap help?”
“It did, yes,” Cruz replies. Twisting her head so she’s speaking to Sami’s face. Recalling Edgar. How he’d get offended if she didn’t look at him while speaking. Sami hasn’t shown himself to be on Edgar’s level. Yet. But she won’t take that risk. She needs to be proactive now. Head off any further issues before they can arise.
“Good,” Sami answers. Stepping inside. Letting the door slam shut behind him. “Then how about I show you to your room?”
There’s a snort. Loud. Indignant. Cruz glances toward Aaliyah. A fuming Aaliyah. Her arms crossed. Eyes glaring daggers at Sami.
“I have that covered,” Aaliyah grits out. Her apparent annoyance leaking into her tone. “You can speak with Zara later. For now leave us be.”
Sami huffs. Walks closer to Aaliyah. Stopping once he’s right in front of her. He leans down. Replies angrily, “Chill. I’m trying to be a good host. And sh–”
“Hah!” Aaliyah interrupts. Laughing in Sami’s face. She uncrosses her arms. Pushes him away. “You aren’t a host. This is Ehsan’s house, not Kamal’s and not yours. Remember that.”
Sami lets out another huff. His eyes looking toward Cruz. He smirks at her. Wiggles his eyebrows. Like he thinks that Zara will take his side. Zara won’t. And Cruz sure as hell won’t. So she just stares at him. Blankly.
His smirk disappears. He scowls. Glances back at Aaliyah. Lifts his hand. Waves his finger at her. “It’s not your house either. And it won’t ever be. You remember that.”
He drops his hand. Steps to the side. Storms off down the hallway that leads to the back part of the house. He spins around after a few steps. Looks at Cruz. His scowl gone. Replaced by a douchey smile. “I’ll knock on your door later. We can talk then.”
Cruz clenches her fists. Keeps her expression even. She hears a growl. Glances towards Aaliyah. Doesn’t see her face. Because Aaliyah is already moving. Grabbing Cruz’s hand. Leading her down the hall to the left.
It’s a long hall. Surprisingly narrow. And dark. The small light fixtures emitting an orange glow. Making the trip eerie. Claustrophobic. They get to the end of the hall. Aaliyah turns to her left. Opens the door. Steps inside. Cruz follows. Comes to an immediate stop. Eyes surveying the space. Open. Light. Large. But it’s nothing special. There’s a bed and a dresser and a chair and a TV. Though it is nicer than what she’s accustomed to. And it’s also wired. An air vent directly above the bed. A small hole on the top of the dresser. Giving security a different angle of the bed. Which has her thoughts drifting to dark places. Sex tapes. Snuff films.
“Is this not ok?” Aaliyah asks. Tone worried.
Cruz whips her head to her right. Throws Aaliyah a reassuring smile. “No… No… It’s great. Big.”
Aaliyah’s eyes narrow. She takes a step closer. Her hand going to Cruz’s elbow. Her voice soft, “Don’t lie. I want your honest answer. Something is the matter.”
“I–” Cruz starts. Cutting off immediately. Wondering whether there are microphones in addition to cameras. She wiggles her head. Lowers her voice, “I’m fine. I promise.”
“Ok,” Aaliyah replies. Nodding. Her face not relaxing. Meaning she’s still concerned and not buying Cruz’s most recent lie.
Cruz blows out a breath. Frustrated. Because she already has too many problems to worry about. Sami’s creepiness. Aaliyah’s lack of subtlety about their mutual attraction. The fact that they already acted on that mutual attraction. She didn’t need this new worry. One that might only be new in the sense that she’s just discovered it. The Chesapeake house could have been similarly wired for multiple angles and possibly for sound and she just didn’t notice because she was too caught up in Aaliyah and her beauty and the moments they shared in the bathroom.
She laughs. An uneasy laugh. Horrified by the possibility that there were cameras in her bathroom. Ones that caught her doing her business and showering and scrubbing makeup off her face multiple times this morning because she wasn’t quite satisfied with her look. But she can’t dwell on that now. What happened happened. It’s in the past. It needs to stay there. All she can focus on now is the future and the mission.
She looks past Aaliyah. Staring out into the hall. Eerie. Orange. A pathway to luxuries and assholes. Luxuries and assholes that she will have to endure in order to do her job. She sighs. Glances back toward Aaliyah. “What’s the plan for today? We’re here, so now what?”
“Now…” Aaliyah starts. Smile spreading across her face. Excited. Genuine. “We change and go to the beach.”
“Great,” Cruz replies. Not matching Aaliyah’s excitement. Because the beach means more Sami and more of Aaliyah’s incredible body on display. Tempting her. Haunting her. And it means her own body on display. Her scars and her bruises. Visible to anyone who looks her way and spots her wearing an Aaliyah approved bikini. An Aaliyah approved bikini that is in her bag which is…
She frowns. Starts running her eyes over the room. Muttering, “Where’s my–”
There’s a knock. She whips her gaze toward the door. Spots one of the guards. “Your bag, ma’am.”
She laughs. Walks toward the door. Accepts the bag. Smiling at the guard, “Perfect timing. I was just looking for this. Thank you.”
The guard nods. Leaves. She spins back around. Walks her bag to the bed. Tosses it on top. Eyes scanning the room for a safe place to change.
“You’re looking for the bathroom?” Aaliyah asks.
“Yes,” Cruz replies. Keeping her head straight. Her eyes searching the far wall for more cameras.
She hears footsteps. Then Aaliyah’s voice. Closer. Softer. “The door by the window. The other door is the closet.”
“Cool,” Cruz mutters. Not turning around. And maybe it is rude to not look at someone’s face when you speak to them, but she can’t chance the look right now. She’s stuck in her mind. Thinking about whether the bathroom is wired and how suspicious it will look if she goes searching for cameras and how it will look even more suspicious if she covers the cameras which she really wants to do because she hates the idea of pervy guards staring at her naked body. She’s gotten her fill of men leering at her. Never wants to go back to that. And yet now she has no choice. The guards able to see everything. Sami waiting for her outside.
Hands land on her hips. She jumps. Hears a laugh. Then Aaliyah’s voice. “Are you sure you’re ok? Because you don’t seem ok.”
Cruz sighs. Glances toward the dresser. She takes a half step to her side. Turns. Putting her back to the camera. Comes clean about one source of her agitation, “How concerned should I be about Sami?”
Aaliyah grimaces. Lets out a quiet, “Oh,” that’s barely audible over the air conditioner. She closes the distance. Her hands returning to Cruz’s hips. It’s another bold touch. Risky. The overhead camera capturing their position. The camera on the dresser likely to see it too. The door to the hall open. Meaning they’re visible to anyone who might walk this way.
Yet Cruz can’t move. She’s frozen. Overwhelmed by Aaliyah’s touch. Nervous about Aaliyah’s demeanor. The way she herself looks nervous. Her lips still stretched into a grimace. Her eyes looking away. Toward the corner of the room.
“So he will be a problem,” Cruz supplies. Speaking the words that Aaliyah seems afraid to say.
Aaliyah glances back toward Cruz. She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. The problem is that I’ve never seen him like this. Women usually fall all over him, but you’re not… So…” Aaliyah trails off. Her brows lifting. Her hands sliding over Cruz’s hips.
“So…” Cruz picks up the thought, “He’s wounded and lashing out and will probably keep pursuing me because it’s a matter of pride.”
“Mmhmm,” Aaliyah hums. Nodding her head a few times. Then she stills. Continues, “Let me know if he tries something? Or says something way over the line? Ok?” She pauses. Eyes widening like she wants a response. So Cruz gives it to her. Nodding. Slowly.
Aaliyah smiles. Her hands moving around to Cruz’s back. Stroking softly even as her next words are agitated, “He thinks he’s the boss here because he’s known Ehsan and Kamal longer than me, but he’s not. Ehsan will believe me if I tell him that Sami is causing problems and he won’t hesitate to act. He tolerates Kamal’s antics because they are blood, but he doesn’t like them. So he might actually leap at the chance to get rid of Sami and his similar antics.”
Aaliyah lets out a wry laugh once she’s finished. Her hands still moving. Her eyes locked with Cruz’s. The stare intense. Penetrating. Unnerving. Cruz blows out a shaky breath. Searches for a reply. She’s not actually thrilled by the notion of Aaliyah speaking to Ehsan to get Sami sent away. Kamal likes him. Nashwa and Malika like Kamal and like to cause trouble. Which means they might seize the opportunity to make her life hell in a way that puts the mission at risk. So she will endure. Wait for Sami to cross the line. And pray that his line crossing doesn't require her to put him in the hospital.
A frown appears on Aaliyah’s face. She tilts her head. Narrows her eyes. A sign that she’s trying to figure out what’s happening in Cruz’s mind. Probably because Cruz hasn’t said a damn thing since Aaliyah finished speaking. She needs to fix that. But she can’t find words. Mind stuck on what would happen if Aaliyah could know what she’s thinking. She’d probably faint or slap the hell out of Cruz or shout for security and have Cruz hauled away before Joe and the team could save her. Which is why it’s good that Aaliyah can’t know. That she thinks she’s talking to Zara. A middle–class woman who is unnerved by the attention from a disgusting man wh–
“That’s not all that’s wrong, is it?” Aaliyah asks.
Shit.
Cruz grimaces. Her silence rendering her first confession useless. Aaliyah smelling blood again and not afraid to pounce. She brings her hand to her necklace. Runs her fingers along the chain. Whispers a partial admission, “No. But not here. Later. Somewhere where we aren’t…” She bobs her head. Wiggles her eyebrows, “... you know?”
“Being watched?” Aaliyah finishes. Grinning.
“Yeah,” Cruz confirms. Laughing despite the fact that nothing about this situation is funny.
Aaliyah hums. Her hands sliding over Cruz’s sides. Then down around to her back. Coming dangerously close to her ass. Aaliyah’s eyes darting down at the same time. Focusing on Cruz’s lips like she’s thinking about a kiss.
Cruz freezes. Waits for Aaliyah to make a move. But Aaliyah doesn’t. Her grin grows. Her eyes lift away from Cruz’s mouth. “Alright,” she murmurs. Taking a step back. Pointing toward the bed. “Then hurry up and get ready. I have a sandbar to show you.”
“A sandbar?” Cruz echoes. Squinting. Confused. Wondering whether Aaliyah is referring to a real sandbar or some sort of beachside venue that serves alcohol.
Aaliyah laughs. Takes another step towards the door. “You don’t know what a sandbar is?”
“No!” Cruz half–shouts. Flushing. “I do. It’s a little strip of sand that waves have deposited offshore. But…” she trails off. Embarrassment growing.
“But…” Aaliyah prods. Reversing course. Stepping closer to Cruz.
Cruz sighs. Comes clean, “But your friends like to party so I thought maybe you wanted to take me to some sort of rich person bar.”
Aaliyah’s jaw drops. She claps her hands. Lets out a laugh so loud and raucous that Cruz looks toward the door to see if security will emerge. Which is why she’s not prepared for what happens next. Aaliyah appearing in her space. Pulling her down. Kissing her.
She whimpers, but otherwise freezes. Unable to kiss Aaliyah back. A fact that doesn’t seem to bother Aaliyah. She just keeps pressing gentle pecks against Cruz’s lips. Pecks that have Cruz’s heart racing and her body tingling. Pecks that finally get her moving again. Her hands coming to rest on Aaliyah’s hips. Her mouth opening. The kiss deepens. Their tongues brush. Lightly at first. Then Aaliyah’s tongue is taking control. Twisting around Cruz’s tongue. Her hands moving to Cruz’s ass. Squeezing.
Cruz rips her mouth away. The squeeze making her come to her senses. She takes a big step back. Lifts her right hand to her mouth. Presses her fingers against her lips as she stares at Aaliyah. Shocked. Aroused. But mostly panicking about a guard bursting through the open door.
Aaliyah doesn’t seem bothered. She just grins. Wipes her mouth. Then starts moving toward the door. Pausing once she’s in the doorway. “Don’t worry about anything. Just put your suit on and make your way to the kitchen.”
Cruz nods. Forgoing verbal confirmation because she doesn’t trust herself to speak right now.
Aaliyah lets out a light chuckle. Her eyes doing a lap of Cruz’s body. Then she’s spinning around. Leaving Cruz standing there. Still shocked. Still aroused. Still panicking. And thoroughly confused about Aaliyah's reversal. So paranoid last night about Ehsan discovering them that she ruined the fancy couch in the bathroom and yet today she’s feeling Cruz up at every opportunity and kissing her in full view of the security cameras. It doesn’t make sense. And it won’t. Not until Cruz gets a chance to speak privately with her. And who knows when that will happen. Ehsan and Aaliyah’s asshole friends and the guards likely to be around for the remainder of the day and night and another private swim and dinner are off the table. Aaliyah promising good food and bars. Suggesting they’ll be going out later.
She sighs. Drops her hand from her face. Stomps toward the door. Slams it shut. Taking out some of her agitation on the house. She finds the lock. Turns it. Just in case Sami is lurking. Then she returns to her bed. Grabs her bag. Extracts her bikini. A new one. The couch not the only thing that had Aaliyah paranoid last night.
She laughs. Humorlessly. Throws herself onto the bed. Presses her face into the mattress. Thinking about those moments after their shower. How Aaliyah had started freaking out the moment she switched the water off. She’d wrapped a towel around her body. Then raced across the room. Grabbed their bathing suits. Dumped them into the sink. Then she ran back to the shower. Grabbed the bottle of body wash. It was an unfamiliar brand. A French sounding name. L’ something. L’O. L’Ohh it doesn’t matter. It was pink and smelled like flowers and was probably much more expensive than the cheap CVS brand that Cruz uses.
Aaliyah had held the bottle over their bikinis. Poured what must have been half of the contents on top. Then she turned on the tap. Raced over to the couch. Ripped the lid off the bottle. Tossed it down. Shouting, ‘Oops!’ as she covered her mouth and watched the soap spill all over the cushion.
Cruz was the one to pick the bottle up. Throwing Aaliyah a confused look. Verbalizing her confusion moments later, ‘What the fuck?’
Aaliyah had shrugged. Gotten a fresh towel from the closet. Walked back toward the sinks. She shut off the tap on the first sink. The water overflowing. Spilling onto the counter and dripping down onto the floor. She mopped up the mess. Then turned on the tap in the empty sink. Held the towel below it. Finally answering, ‘Ehsan is very perceptive. He’ll notice if the lounge or my suit smells like sex. Which I’m guessing it does because nobody ever made me as wet as you.’
Cruz had smiled at that. Stepped behind Aaliyah. Started pressing kisses to her neck. Her heart was racing and her cunt was throbbing and her brain was screaming at her. Reminding her of what she’d done and what she was still doing. Lying to Aaliyah. Fucking her under false pretenses. She ignored her brain. Helped Aaliyah clean the couch. Cleaning that amounted to ruining. The body wash permanently staining the fabric. Possibly because Aaliyah had the bright idea to dry it with a blow dryer.
Ugh.
She rolls over. Stares at the ceiling. The vent. The little red dot. Mind on the eyes behind that dot. Wondering where in this house they’re located. Whether Ehsan has access to that room. He could have been there as they kissed. Watching. And any second now someone will come to break down the bedroom door and toss her into the streets.
She closes her eyes. Waits. Listening to the sounds of the house. The air conditioner humming. Creaking. Someone walking on the floor above. But no footsteps. No pounding. So she’s safe. For now.
She opens her eyes. Rolls out of bed. Takes her bikini into the bathroom. Strips down without looking for cameras. No longer caring about the guards. They can watch. They can lust. She deserves the violation because she’s no better than them.
Notes:
Kudos/comments appreciated. Nice comments motivate me to write more regardless of when you leave them. So if you're reading this weeks/months/years after the posting date, please comment if you liked it. Even something as simple as a keyboard smash or a few emojis or an ‘extra kudos’ will make my day 🙏🏼
Chapter 2
Summary:
Cruz gets some much needed clarity about Aaliyah's behavior.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
There’s screeching to Cruz’s right. Loud. Annoying. Screeching that’s followed by even more annoying giggling. She groans. Turns her head. Spots Kamal holding Nashwa up over his head while Malika swats at his side. She grimaces. Hears a disgusted, “Ugh.”
She turns her head the other way. Laughs when she gets a look at Aaliyah’s face. Twisted. Her tongue out. Her disgust visible for the world to see.
Cruz’s laughter seems to get Aaliyah’s attention. She relaxes her face. Glances toward Cruz. Smiles. Softly. Then she’s lifting her chin. Gesturing behind Cruz, “Gross, aren’t they?”
“Yeah…” Cruz confirms. “Though that might not be a strong enough word for it. They’re… They’re….” she pauses. Wiggles her head. Searching for the correct adjective for the sight. She finds it. Finishes, “Nauseating. Just looking at them has my lunch threatening to return.”
A lie. Another one. Cruz’s lunch threatening to return only because the roast beef sandwich she ate tasted like it had been made last week. But she doesn’t feel guilty about this lie. Aaliyah’s reaction worth it. Laughter. Loud. Genuine. Her focus on Cruz.
She turns away after a moment. Gazing back toward the terrible trio. Her laughter fading. Disgust returning. “Ugh,” she scoffs. Shudders. A full body shudder. Her tongue poking out. Making Cruz laugh. The sight adorable.
Her laughter once again draws Aaliyah’s attention. Her gaze moving back toward Cruz. She pushes her sunglasses up until they are resting on top of her head. Then she leans closer. Whispers, “I shouldn’t be looking, but I also can’t look away. I think something happened last night because normally all three of them aren’t carrying on like this. He’ll usually just bounce back and forth between them while the other pretends that it isn’t happening.”
Cruz frowns. Twists her head back the other way. Looking once more at the terrible trio. Nashwa still in Kamal’s arms. Though she’s lower now. Her arms around his neck. Legs around his back. Malika right there with them. One hand on Kamal’s back. The other on Nashwa’s thigh.
Eww.
She looks back toward Aaliyah. Asks, “So you were telling the truth about them yesterday?”
“You think I’d lie to you?” Aaliyah snaps. Rearing back like she’s hurt by Cruz’s words.
Cruz wants to reach out. Touch Aaliyah’s shoulder. Smooth over the unintentional offense with her hand. But she maintains control. Unwilling to drop her guard despite Aaliyah’s recent lack of subtlety. She leans closer. Whispers, “No. I just thought that maybe you weren’t giving me the entire truth because you didn’t want to offend me with talk about a kind of relationship that I might find offensive or because you found it offensive and didn’t want to speak about it openly.”
Aaliyah snorts. Throws her a look. Amused. Playful. “Hmm… You’re right. The thought of two women together is offensive.”
Cruz laughs. Resisting another urge to reach out and touch Aaliyah. Wanting to give her a flirty touch this time. Lingering. Instead she teases, “It’s not just two women together. It’s two women and a man.”
Aaliyah cracks up. Her laughter loud. Genuine. Music to Cruz’s ears. She settles down after a moment. Her arm reaching out. Hand coming to rest on Cruz’s bicep. “You’re right again. That is offensive. Especially when the man involved is Kamal.”
Cruz is the one to laugh this time. Loud. Genuine. Aaliyah’s playfulness making her feel light and carefree. But her laughter doesn’t last too long. The action causing sweat to drip off her forehead. A few droplets running over her eyebrows and into her eyes. Stinging them. She curses, “Fuck…” Pushes up onto both arms. Uses her right hand to lift her glasses up. Then she drops down. Wipes her face on the towel that’s covering the lounge chair.
She stays there for a moment. Feeling the continued sting in her eyes. The sun on her skin. Warm. Roasting. They’ve been outside for hours now. Lounging around after a very quick dip in the water. Nibbling on the food that Ehsan’s staff brought out. Working their way through the drinks in the cooler. Cruz hasn’t done much eating or drinking. Preferring to doze. The sun and the breeze and the sounds of the water putting her right to sleep. But now she’s starting to get uncomfortable. Her skin over–baked. Her mind active. Reminding her of a sandbar that they’ve yet to explore.
There’s more squealing to her right. She cringes. Pushes up a few inches so she can slot her sunglasses back into place. Then she twists her head to her right. Spots Malika in Kamal’s arms.
Gross.
She huffs a laugh. Glances past the terrible trio. Sami is roughly ten yards behind them. Talking to a woman. Young. Probably attractive. Cruz can’t make out her face. But she has a nice body. Nice tits. Ones that would get Cruz’s attention on a normal day. But today isn’t a normal day. It’s a weird day. A fucked up day. A day when she has a very attractive woman with perfect tits lying next to her. Tits that she saw last night. Touched. Kissed. Tits that she wants to see and touch and kiss again except that she can’t. Because she’s resolved to not go there again.
She sighs. Rolls onto her back. Lifts up and twists around so that she can elevate the lounge chair. She gets the chair where she wants it. Leans back. Her head and torso slightly elevated. Her gaze aimed at the water. The waves rolling to shore. Kids splashing around. Making sandcastles. Nala helping one group.
Cruz squints. Starts carefully studying the group. Nala on her hands and knees. Filling a bucket. A little girl chattering away next to her. Another little girl spreading shells out on the sand. A little boy carefully smoothing over a freshly dumped bucket. Sculpting the sand into the shape of a spire.
It’s a cute sight. Kids having fun. Being creative. Though Nala’s presence is curious. She doesn’t seem like the type to engage in such activities and she definitely doesn’t seem like the type to get roped into helping a random group of elementary school kids on the beach. Unless they aren’t random. She could come here often enough to know the locals.
Huh.
Cruz sighs. Her gaze going back to Nala. Smiling as she tips the bucket over and lifts it up to reveal another solid block of wet sand. Aaliyah was light on details about her. She didn’t date Sami or Kamal and she doesn’t seem too thrilled by Nashwa or Malika. Choosing to stick close to Aaliyah whenever they’ve all been together. Yet Aaliyah regards ‘Nala’ as a nuisance. Which leads to the question of ‘why is Nala here?’
She knows the superficial answer to that question. Nala is here because she was chosen for Aaliyah. But there are so many other related questions that Cruz doesn’t have an answer for. Questions like, who chose Nala? Ehsan? Aaliyah’s father? Someone else with decision–making authority? And why did they choose her? Is she from a rich family? Is she here as some sort of spy? Someone meant to get close to Aaliyah and then report back about her thoughts and moods to make sure she’s acting appropriately?
Cruz closes her eyes. Blows out a sharp breath. She’s projecting. Assigning Nala a nefarious role to make herself feel better about her own nefarious role. But she doesn’t feel better. And she’s right to have such suspicions. Because she is playing a role. Zara. A role designed to put her in a position to kill Aaliyah’s father and if she’s going to complete that mission then she needs to suspect anyone and everyone of bad intent.
Her stomach rumbles. Roast beef sandwich threatening to return. She swallows. Opens her eyes. Looks back toward the water. Spots Ehsan pacing back and forth. Waves crashing around his ankles. He’s clothed. His swim trunks dry. His white undershirt covered by an unbuttoned flannel. His phone glued to his ear. He’s speaking. Possibly conducting the same conversation that he started when they arrived on the beach hours ago.
She snorts. Disgusted by his behavior. How he has all of the money in the world and yet all she’s seen him do is work. Though the alternative isn’t better. Him acting like Kamal and Sami. Spoiled. Allergic to work. So no. This is better. Him always on the phone. Away from Aaliyah.
She hears squeaking. Groaning. She glances to her right. Aaliyah is sitting up now. Raising the back of her lounge chair. Her chest visible. Sweat dripping over her breasts. Running into the fabric of her bikini. Disappearing from Cruz’s view.
Cruz licks her lips. Starts fantasizing about what she’d do if it was just them on the beach. How she’d lunge to her right. Press her face between Aaliyah’s tits. Start licking away the sweat befo–
“What are you thinking about?” Aaliyah asks.
Cruz blinks. Wiggles her head. Lifts her gaze higher. Aaliyah has gotten herself situated. Her lounge chair now even with Cruz’s. She’s resting against it. Looking at Cruz. A grin on her face. One that signals that Aaliyah knows exactly what Cruz was thinking about. But she won’t admit it. Can’t. Confirming that she was fantasizing about Aaliyah’s tits will only make her need to shut down Aaliyah’s advances harder. So she goes with a different answer. Relating the thoughts she was having before she got caught looking at Aaliyah’s chest, “Ehsan. Shouldn’t his battery be dead by now?”
Aaliyah huffs a laugh. She leans to the side. Swats Cruz’s shoulder. Muttering, “Liar,” before moving back to her prior position. She lets out a heavy sigh. Her eyes gazing ahead as she speaks, “But I’ll allow it so long as you tell me the truth later.”
Cruz’s stomach twists. Her guilt over so much lying eating away at her. She pushes through the discomfort. Lets out a quiet laugh. Agrees just as quietly, “Ok.”
“Good,” Aaliyah replies. Glancing over at her. Smiling widely. “As for Ehsan’s battery. Yes, it will die soon. But he has another phone. He’ll switch them out once this one dies and keep doing that all day.”
Cruz grimaces. Mutters a quiet, "Eww." Unable to hide her disgust at the thought of so much time on the phone.
“That upsets you?” Aaliyah asks. Chuckling and tilting her head toward Ehsan.
Cruz hums. Leans closer. Whispers an explanation for her disgust, “I can’t imagine that much time on a phone. What’s he doing? Who’s he talking to? Why is it more important than enjoying this beautiful beach?”
Aaliyah shrugs. Waves her hand, “I don’t know and I don’t care. I prefer him like this as opposed to…”
She tilts her head in the opposite direction. Her gaze moving beyond Cruz.
Cruz doesn’t follow the look. Not needing to. Understanding the reference enough to fill in the blank, “Your friends who seem to do nothing but party?”
“Mmm…” Aaliyah hums. Looking back toward Cruz. Then away again. Her sunglasses are blocking her eyes, but Cruz can tell she’s looking at Ehsan. The clench of her jaw a dead giveaway.
Cruz frowns. Moves her gaze to Ehsan. Taking the opportunity to study him. He’s not a bad looking guy. He carries himself well. Keeps his beard neat. His eyes are nice. His clothes hiding what appears to be a muscular body given the way the fabric is pulling on his back. And he’s rich. Obscenely rich. Most women would probably jump at the chance to be with him. Some might eventually tire of his work ethic, but Cruz knows plenty that would be happy to tolerate the long hours and sleeping around in order to live this kind of life. And yet Aaliyah hates it. Claiming that she prefers women and that she’s playing along because she has no choice.
And that’s the sticking point for Cruz now. ‘Prefer.’ The word signaling that Aaliyah is fine with men, she’d just rather be with women. So that would seem to put her in the camp of women who would get tired of Ehsan because of who he is rather than his appearance and the luxuries that he provides to them. And yet that doesn’t make sense. Not with the way Aaliyah seems so disgusted by him and his presence and his touch.
Cruz glances back toward Aaliyah. She’s still looking at Ehsan. Jaw still clenched.
Huh.
Cruz leans closer. Whispers, “Are you attracted to men at all?”
Her question seems to startle Aaliyah. Her head rearing back. Then twisting to the side. She flips her glasses up. Giving Cruz a glimpse of her beautiful eyes. Her voice loud and direct as she answers, “No.” Then she laughs. Leans closer. Hand landing on Cruz’s thigh as she adds, “I thought we went over this last night?”
“I–” Cruz starts. Blinking. Her brain struggling to process Aaliyah’s words given Aaliyah’s proximity and touch. Which–
She leans away. Giving herself some distance from Aaliyah’s face. Then she starts laughing. Better remembering their bathroom conversation. How she asked a nearly identical question. How Aaliyah answered it with something about playing along and acting boy crazy. She’d been present then. Filling in Aaliyah’s unfinished words. Asking Aaliyah what she wanted. Aaliyah had answered. Freedom. Choice. Softness. Curves. But Cruz lost the thread of their conversation there. Aaliyah touching her as she spoke. Rendering her unable to properly interpret Aaliyah’s responses. She’s able to do that now. Aaliyah’s message from last night coming through loud and clear. She wants women and only women. And that makes Aaliyah’s circumstances that much worse. Because it’s not just Ehsan that’s the problem. It’s all men. Meaning that there was never a chance for Aaliyah to be happy. Any match made would inevitably require her to live an inauthentic life.
She sobers at that thought. Meets Aaliyah’s gaze. Speaks the truth, “We did. But you were distracting me at the time, so I had a little trouble remembering.”
Aaliyah smirks. Slides her hand over Cruz’s thigh. Her eyes dropping down. Running over Cruz’s body. Then she’s looking back up. Smirk growing as she teases, “I’ll forgive you. It is hard to function when a beautiful woman is touching your ass.”
Cruz’s jaw drops. She starts laughing. Stunned by Aaliyah’s words. Playful rather than narcissistic. Though Aaliyah is right in both respects. She is beautiful and that beauty is part of the reason Cruz didn’t properly process her words.
She settles down again. Stares at Aaliyah. Beautiful. Glowing in the sun. She wants to reach across the small space between their chairs. Pull Aaliyah into her lap. Kiss her. But that’s not an option. Now or ever.
There’s a pang in her chest. Hurt. Anxiety. She looks away. Toward the water. Ehsan pacing back and forth.
There’s movement to her right. Then Aaliyah’s voice sounds out close to her ear, “What about you? Are you attracted to men at all?”
Cruz winces. Thinking about the men in her past. The boyfriends who came before Edgar. Ones she had because she didn’t know that women were an option and because she thought she needed them to survive. She sighs. Twists her head. Answers as Cruz rather than Zara, “I thought I was. When I was younger. But now…”
Aaliyah’s hand stops moving on Cruz’s thigh. “Now?” she urges. Eyes wide. Expectant. Like she’s invested in the way Cruz answers the question.
“No. I don’t think so. I like women. I just wish…” Cruz trails off. Staring deep into Aaliyah’s eyes. Dying inside because she’s unable to say the rest of her statement, ‘that you met me as Cruz so I could steal you away and make you mine.’
“You could be with one?” Aaliyah guesses. Smiling at Cruz. A sad smile. Beautiful and kissable.
“Yeah…” Cruz sighs. Confirming the statement. Because it’s true. And just a simpler way of stating what she was thinking.
They stare at each other. Cruz’s heart racing. Her palms sweating. Brain yelling at her to get her act together. Remember that she’s a Marine who is here on a mission that is going to end with pain and death and that she needs to do her best to mitigate that pain. Spare Aaliyah the heartbreak. Which means she needs to stop lusting after Aaliyah and start putting some distance between them by building up her walls and pretending that she’s too worried about getting caught to do anything with Aaliyah again.
She gets her act together. Looking away. Toward the water. She hears a curse, “Shit!” Aaliyah’s hand leaves her thigh. There’s squeaking. The plastic on Aaliyah’s lounge chair moving. Cruz glances to her right. Aaliyah is on her feet now. Panicked expression on her face. Her left hand drops down. Extends.
Cruz grabs it on instinct. Mumbling, “What?” as Aaliyah hauls her to her feet.
“That girl is tiring of Sami,” Aaliyah explains. “It probably won’t be long until he’s pestering you again. So I think it’s time we see the sandbar.”
Cruz twists her head. Spots Sami down the beach. The girl he was speaking to is slowly backing away from him. She winces. Whips her head back toward Aaliyah. “Great idea! Let’s go!”
She takes off. Tugging Aaliyah along. But she doesn’t get far. Aaliyah shouting, “Wait!” Pulling her back. She doesn’t resist the motion. Turning around. Stepping back toward their chairs.
Aaliyah takes off her sunglasses. Waves them at Cruz. “I don’t want to swim with these.”
Cruz chuckles. Reaches up to remove her own. Mumbling, “Smart,” as she tosses them onto her lounge chair.
She looks back toward Aaliyah. Squinting now. The sun bright. Hurting her eyes. Impeding her ability to get a clear look at Aaliyah’s face. But that’s fine. It’s better than going into the water with her sunglasses. Having them fall off and drift away.
She tugs on Aaliyah’s hand. Asks, “Ready?”
“Yes!” Aaliyah shouts. Then she’s taking off. Sprinting toward the water. Tugging Cruz along. Right hand over her chest like she’s trying to prevent another bikini slip.
Cruz laughs. Her heart racing. A big smile on her face. Aaliyah once again making her feel light and carefree. And this time there is no sweat to ruin the moment. Her good mood lasts all of the way to the water and through the beginning of the surf. Then it gets ruined. A man’s voice shouting, “Don’t go too far!”
Ehsan.
She hears a groan to her right. She doesn’t react. Not wanting to speak about Aaliyah’s fiancé again. Instead she focuses on their journey. The water. Getting deeper with every step. They separate one they’re in chest deep water. Start swimming. Cruz opting for a modified breaststroke. Her arms and legs doing the proper movements, but her head never going below the water because she wants to keep an eye out for their destination. A destination that she’s yet to see. There’s lots of water and a big white boat with two figures lounging outside. But no visible sand.
Huh.
She slows down. Slightly out of breath. Her swimming skills rusty. Afghanistan not providing her with many opportunities to put them to use. She twists her head. Spots Aaliyah a few feet away. Paddling slowly.
“Where’s the sandbar?” Cruz calls out.
Aaliyah looks her way. Smiles. Then she’s picking up the pace. Changing her trajectory. Closing the distance between them within seconds. She comes to a stop in front of Cruz. Answers, “There is no sandbar. I lied because I wanted to get us away from the beach and all of the unfriendly ears.”
Cruz huffs a laugh. Her eyes dropping to Aaliyah’s lips. The ones she wants to taste again. But she can’t do that. Because she’s resolved to end this affair and because they might not be truly alone. A fact she needs to confirm, “What about unfriendly eyes?”
Aaliyah sighs. Her smile fading. Her eyes darting to the beach for a moment before she looks back toward Cruz. Answering, “Those are still present.”
“You’re sure?” Cruz asks. Her own eyes making a similar journey. Stealing a glimpse of the shore. The people appearing as tiny dots from this distance.
“Mmm…” Aaliyah hums. She pauses. Lets out a wry chuckle. Then she’s swimming even closer. Continuing, “I am. Because if I ever go out of sight they will act. Someone will come running after me. And since I don’t see a big burly man in a nice suit swimming toward us, I’m going to assume we’re ok.”
Cruz laughs. Picturing Asif chasing after them. His suit weighing him down. Shoes still on his feet.
“Is that what’s bothering you? The cameras?” Aaliyah asks. Her hand coming to rest on Cruz’s hip.
Cruz swallows. Nods. But holds off on answering. Needing a moment to figure out how to approach this conversation. Because the cameras aren’t her primary concern. The physicality is the main problem. Physicality that she needs to delicately end now even as Aaliyah is touching her so wonderfully.
She opens her mouth. Intent on initiating that complicated conversation. But she can’t get it started. Chickening out. Muttering, “There’s a camera on the dresser. It’s aimed at the bed.”
“Ahh…” Aaliyah replies. Head tipping back. She laughs quietly for a moment. Her hand sliding up and down Cruz’s side. Then she’s shaking her head. Grinning. “I’m impressed that you saw that.”
“Why?” Cruz asks. Tone sharp. Too sharp. Defensive. Which would make sense if she was Cruz right now. But she’s Zara and she has no reason to be defensive. Which is probably why Aaliyah is frowning at her.
She pulls in a breath. Waits for Aaliyah to reply. Praying that whatever Aaliyah says gives her an opportunity to remove her foot from her mouth.
Aaliyah finally speaks. Her tone cautious. Expression friendly. “You don’t strike me as someone who grew up with guards and cameras, so I just assumed that you wouldn’t know how to look for the ones that are hidden.”
“Oh…” Cruz exhales. Chuckling lightly. Her right hand moving to the chain around her neck. Her fingers sliding over it as she looks away. Playing the role of Zara. Shy and embarrassed. Buying herself time to think about how Zara could be familiar with surveillance. She can’t go with either of Cruz’s responses. Her initial knowledge derived from her time at the club. The surveillance cameras one of the ways she could keep herself safe. She knew every camera location in the building. Knew how to stand so that any bad behavior on a customer’s part would get caught. Then she joined the Marines. Started running missions based on intel gathered in part from surveillance cameras. Learned all about the types of cameras and their abilities. What they could capture. Where they could get hidden. Some of those missions would take her into areas surveilled by the enemy, so she picked up more knowledge that way. Learning how to spot cameras and how to hide from them and how to disable them. But Zara…
Shit…
She’s waited too long to answer. She needs to say something now. Fast. Before Aaliyah gets suspicious. She drops her hand. Blurts, “I’ve spent enough time with my uncle to know the deal. He’s rich and has a lot of nice stuff, so he likes to be careful. And that means cameras in every room.”
“Careful?” Aaliyah echoes. Snorting. Her hand lifting away from Cruz’s hip only to return in the form of a slap to Cruz’s ass. “You mean paranoid.”
Cruz frowns. Taken back by the response. She might not have put a lot of thought into those words, but they sounded good coming out of her mouth. And yet they have Aaliyah laughing at her while giving her a playful swat.
She pulls in a breath. Gets herself together. Asks. Tone even. “You don’t think all of this security is necessary?”
Aaliyah settles down. Her laughter ending. Her hand moving back to Cruz’s hip. Her left hand landing on Cruz’s right side. “All of it?” she asks. Giving Cruz’s hips a squeeze. She shakes her head. Answers her own question, “No. But most of it, yes. But I’m me and Ehsan is Ehsan and my father is…” she trails off. Her eyes widening. Her hands giving Cruz’s hips another squeeze. Firmer. Longer.
Cruz squints. Trying to fill in the blank. She can’t. So she prods, “Your father is what?”
Aaliyah laughs. Loud. Humorless. A single, disgusted, “Hah!”
The response does nothing to end Cruz’s confusion. But she doesn’t prod again. Knowing that asking a million questions about Aaliyah’s father is a good way to invite suspicion. So she stays silent. Hopes that Aaliyah will provide clarification on her own.
Aaliyah does. Sighing. Speaking. Tone disgusted. “He’s rich. Very rich. And there are many people who are jealous of him and his success and who might want to do something about that. So it’s necessary.”
“And it’s not for my uncle?” Cruz fires back. Sharply. “I told you, he’s rich!”
Aaliyah grins. Shakes her head. “Mmm… No. And please don’t take offense to this,” she pauses. Gives Cruz a pleading look. A look that makes Cruz laugh because it’s too late. She’s offended on behalf of Zara and Zara’s uncle. Two people who only exist in her mind and on whatever papers the CIA has cooked up for them.
Aaliyah seems to take Cruz’s laugh as a sign to continue. She smiles. Her hands stroking over Cruz’s hips. “Your uncle is not rich, rich. He might be wealthy enough to help with finding your husband, but does he have a private jet?”
“No,” Cruz lies.
Aaliyah’s smile turns into a grin. Playful. Mischievous. Her hands start sliding higher. She leans close. Whispers, “A yacht?”
“No,” Cruz lies again. Shivering from the touch.
Aaliyah hums. Keeps moving her hands. Bringing them around Cruz’s front. She brushes them over Cruz’s tits. Whispers, “A house in Lugano?”
“Uhh…” Cruz starts. Struggling to think now that Aaliyah’s palms are pressing down on her nipples. It’s a good touch. But a touch that can’t be happening now or ever again. Only she’s helpless to stop it. Her body craving Aaliyah. Needing her. So she swallows. Lies for a third time, “No.” Though it isn’t actually a lie. Zara’s uncle does not exist therefore he does not own any of these things. Though maybe he should for the sake of her cover and it’s going to bite her in the ass later because she keeps violating Joe’s rule about offering specifics when she should deflect and make the conversation about anyone other than Zara.
Or maybe this is fine. Aaliyah seems delighted by her answers. She’s laughing. Lightly. Her eyes gleaming in the sunlight. Her hands pressing down harder on Cruz’s tits. Cruz shudders. Barely avoids letting out a loud moan.
Aaliyah’s laughter grows louder. Then she’s moving her hands to safer territory. One dropping back to Cruz’s hip. The other sliding higher. Her fingers playing with the pendant around Cruz’s neck. Causing Cruz to fight off another reaction. A grimace. Because that contact can’t sound good to her team. Assuming they’re listening and haven’t decided to leave her to fend for herself after her choice to fuck Aaliyah last night.
She does grimace now. Worries forming about the reception she’ll receive whenever she does leave Aaliyah’s side.
Aaliyah’s laughter immediately ends. She drops her hand away from Cruz’s necklace. Whispers, “Sorry.”
“For what?” Cruz asks. Frowning. Confused by the apology.
“For…” Aaliyah starts. Pausing immediately. She chuckles. Wiggles her head. “It doesn’t matter. Umm…” she flushes. Looks away. Her right hand lifting out of the water to ruffle her hair.
Cruz continues frowning. Confusion growing. She’s missing something. Something that has to do with Aaliyah touching her or her necklace or maybe it’s something entirely different. Something related to the conversation they were having before Aaliyah started laughing. Or maybe it’s the laughter that’s the problem. Aaliyah laughing at Cruz’s uncle for not having a jet or a yacht or a vacation house in Lugano.
“Hey…” she whispers. Drawing Aaliyah’s attention back toward her. Then she smiles. Continues, “You don’t need to be sorry for laughing.”
Aaliyah’s face brightens. She starts laughing again. Her hand moving to Cruz’s chest. “That’s not… No… I’m not sorry for that. Making you shiver was fun.”
Cruz rolls her eyes. Then glares at Aaliyah. Pretending to be unamused.
Aaliyah laughs harder. Then she’s tipping forward. Her lips inches from Cruz’s when she abruptly pulls away. Her hand pushing Cruz back at the same time.
Cruz freezes. Stunned that Aaliyah almost kissed her again. Aaliyah seems just as shocked. Staring at Cruz. Her eyes wide. Alarmed. She recovers first. Swimming closer. “Anyway, my point in asking you all of those questions is that your uncle would need those items to be rich. My father… Ehsan…” She tilts her head toward the beach. “They have multiple jets and multiple yachts and houses all over the world. This house…” Aaliyah points toward the shore, “is only one that Ehsan owns here. He has another property down the beach. It’s smaller and more intimate and I prefer it.”
“Oh…” Cruz exhales. Jaw dropping. Mind slightly blown by this fact.
Her reaction appears to delight Aaliyah. More laughter bubbling forth. She calms down after a moment. Leans closer. Whispers, “That’s what makes us a target and that’s why we have security. So your uncle…” she trails off. Gives Cruz a pointed look.
“Is paranoid,” Cruz fills in the blank. Mentally patting herself on the back for recovering enough to remember the start of their conversation.
Aaliyah nods. Her hands moving to Cruz’s shoulders. She stares at them for a moment. Then she’s looking at Cruz’s face. Grinning as she slides her hand back down under the water. They reach Cruz’s tits again. But this time she doesn’t squeeze. She slips her fingers beneath Cruz’s bikini. Pinches Cruz’s nipples.
Cruz gasps. Flings herself backwards. Out of Aaliyah’s grip.
“Aaliyah!” she shouts. “Are you out of your mind? What if… What if…” she cuts off. Stumbling over how to end that question. Aaliyah’s touch no more dangerous than her initial breast grabs. The water too dark for anyone to see even with a telescope and the water deep enough that Cruz isn’t at risk of her chest suddenly surfacing. So the only real danger of the touch is to her chance of convincing Aaliyah that they shouldn’t touch each other like that again.
She brings her hands to her bikini top. Pulls the fabric back into place. Eyes on Aaliyah. She’s smirking at Cruz like she’s not the slightest bit sorry for her recent actions. But she is giving Cruz space. Staying a few feet away. Keeping her mouth shut.
The space and silence only last for another few moments. Aaliyah swimming closer. Her hands going right back to Cruz’s body. Taking their now familiar place on Cruz’s hips. She leans close. Whispers, “I told you not to worry. I–”
“And yet last night all you were doing was worrying,” Cruz interrupts. Aaliyah’s words so ridiculous that she can’t hold herself back.
Aaliyah sighs. An exasperated sigh. One that makes Cruz grimace and mutter a less than genuine, “Sorry.”
Aaliyah brushes the apology off. Wiggling her head. Humming, “Mmm… No…” She looks away. Lips pursing. Brows knitting. Her hands gripping Cruz’s hips hard enough that Cruz worries she might bruise again. But she stays silent. Waiting. Aaliyah clearly working through something in her head.
Aaliyah’s grip relaxes. She looks back at Cruz. Lightens her expression. Her tone firm as she speaks, “I was worried last night. And I had reason to be. But today is different because Ehsan knows.”
What?
Cruz’s jaw drops. She starts blinking. Rapidly. Trying to figure out if she heard Aaliyah correctly. She must be mistaken. Except that she’s not. Because Aaliyah is smiling at her and rubbing her hands up and down Cruz’s sides and whispering, “It’s ok… It’s ok… he knows… and it’s ok…”
Cruz snaps her jaw shut. She blinks a few more times. Processing the information. How it changes almost every interaction they’ve had today. Breakfast and the car rides and the bedroom. She laughs. Nervously. Her hand moving to the chain around her neck. “So that’s why you were so obvious at breakfast.”
She expects confirmation. Maybe an embarrassed laugh and a flush. But she gets a grimace. A squeeze of Aaliyah’s hands around her ribs. The touch painful. Aaliyah pressing down on spots that sustained multiple kicks and jabs. But Cruz holds it together. Listening to Aaliyah’s response without reacting. “No. Uhh… That was me being unable to control myself. I thought about you all last night and then I was so happy to see you and I couldn’t keep up the facade.”
Cruz hums. Replaying the morning again. Everyone throwing them knowing looks. Ehsan wasn’t around for too long, but maybe… “Is that why he knows? Someone told him about breakfast?”
“No,” Aaliyah replies. Wiggling her head. Her hands sliding back down to Cruz’s hips. Her eyes dropping to the water. Her face flushing. She sighs. Lets out a wry laugh. Looks back up at Cruz. Explains, “He figured it out last night. The guards told him that we’d been in the bathroom for a very long time and then he saw what we did to the lounge and…” she trails off. Blows out a breath. Her eyes looking away again. This time toward the beach.
“And?” Cruz urges. Gently. Fingers still playing with her chain. Heart ready to explode out of her chest as alarms blare in her head.
“And…” Aaliyah starts. Looking back at her. Their eyes meeting, “I haven’t been as careful as I’ve thought. He’s known for a while that I like women and he’s tolerated it for the same reason that I tolerate his whoring around. We aren’t in love and nothing lasts for more than a night and it’s done discreetly.”
“Oh…” Cruz exhales. Frowning. Because she was correct about Aaliyah not being careful with past partners. And because ‘discrete’ is not a word she’d use to describe them today or even yesterday given the longing looks they were throwing at each other last night over dinner and while watching TV and when saying goodbye at Cruz’s door. They certainly aren’t being discrete now. Aaliyah practically embracing her in full view of Ehsan’s security detail.
She considers reaching down. Prying Aaliyah’s hands off her body so she can put some space between them. But that’s pointless. Because Ehsan knows and the guards know which means she can return the touch. And she does. Moving her right hand to Aaliyah’s hip. Laughing, “You call this discrete and short–lived?”
“No,” Aaliyah replies. Echoing Cruz’s laugh. Though hers is more playful and genuine.
It’s a beautiful laugh. One that Cruz can’t enjoy. Because the mission isn’t just sideways now. It’s at a 135° angle. And she’s just one more fuck–up away from it going completely belly up. So she needs answers. Fast. Answers about Ehsan’s precise mood and what this means for them. Because if Ehsan is only pretending to be ok with it, then she probably needs to swim to that boat in the distance. Climb aboard. And hope the captain will ferry her to safety.
She takes a deep breath. Calming herself down enough so she can slip into character. Asking as Zara, “Then why am I still here instead of at the bottom of the ocean somewhere between Virginia and New York?”
The breath helps. Her question coming out light and playful as opposed to blunt and direct and desperate.
But maybe she was too playful. Because Aaliyah cracks up. Swats her ass. Teases, “Don’t be so dramatic. They would have shoved you in a trunk and driven you to the water, not tossed you out of the plane.”
Cruz chuckles. Nervously. Unable to tell if Aaliyah is actually teasing. Because her expression shifted as she spoke. Going from light and pleasant to serious. Which means…
She feels another swat to her ass. Then Aaliyah is laughing again. Loud. Boisterous. Her head tipping back. She settles down after a moment. Leans close. Whispers, “You’re too easy. I love it.”
Cruz rolls her eyes. Flushes. Genuinely embarrassed to have fallen for Aaliyah’s ruse. A ruse that might not have been a ruse because Aaliyah’s expression is changing yet again. Her laughter stopping completely. Both hands back on Cruz’s hips. Squeezing. Her eyes dipping down to the water. Her voice low as she speaks, “I shouldn’t play about this or lie.” She glances back up. Meets Cruz’s gaze. “I don’t think they’d hurt you. But you know how it is? They’re capable of it. And if we were in Kuwait City or Riyadh or Dubai, then I’d be more worried. But we’re in America and you are American and I don’t think your country would be happy with one of their citizens disappearing and that would cause problems for Ehsan and my father. And those are the kinds of problems that they’d rather avoid.”
Cruz frowns. Latching onto the latter portion of Aaliyah’s statement. She understands why Aaliyah’s father would like to avoid entanglements with the U.S. government, but Ehsan shouldn’t have a need to worry. Unless he’s also–
No.
She stops that thought before it can fully manifest. He works in Manhattan which means he’s here on a work visa. A work visa that could get rescinded if he got into trouble. That’s reason enough for him to play by the rules.
“You’re still worrying,” Aaliyah whispers.
Cruz shrugs. Not inclined to hide the fact that she is worried. And she is. For so many reasons. Her safety no longer assured. Her standing with her team at risk. Her planned escape route from further physicality with Aaliyah likely shut down. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe there’s still a way to salvage this mission and shield Aaliyah from a worse betrayal.
She slides her fingers over the chain around her neck. Her mind on her team and her mission and the question that Aaliyah has yet to answer. She repeats it now. Voice firm. Imploring. “You haven’t answered my question. Why am I still here?”
Aaliyah sighs. Her eyes darting away. Toward shore. Her brows narrowing. She stares in that direction for a while. Mind clearly spinning. Which means that Aaliyah either doesn’t know how to answer or that she does and she’s scared of giving Cruz the truth.
Cruz waits another moment. Then she drops her right hand down. Rests it on Aaliyah’s hip. Whispers, “Just tell me. Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
Aaliyah glances back over at her. Nods. “You are here…” she starts. Pausing. Swallowing. Visibly. Her eyes wide. Glassy. Putting Cruz on notice that she’s about to hear something terrible.
“It’s ok,” she whispers. Repeating Aaliyah’s earlier reassurance though she’s not entirely sure that it is ok.
Aaliyah gives her another nod. Then she’s rushing out, “You are his gift to me.”
What?
Cruz rears back. Stunned yet again. Offended too and unable to contain that offense. Firing back, “A gift? Because I’m an object?”
It’s the wrong response. And the wrong tone. Zara nowhere to be seen at the moment. She’s all Cruz. A woman traumatized from her years of being objectified by terrible men.
But Aaliyah doesn’t pick up on her error. She just smiles at Cruz. Her hand lifting. Coming to rest on Cruz’s cheek. “I don’t see you that way, no. But that’s what we are to them. Objects for them to possess. Toys for them to play with.”
“Right…” Cruz sighs. Turning her head so she can rub against Aaliyah’s hand. Her body and heart once again calling the shots. Allowing her to receive Aaliyah’s touch despite her need to put an end to it.
Shit.
She regains control of herself. Twists her head away from Aaliyah’s touch. Covering her discomfort with a question, “So I’m a gift. What exactly does that mean?”
Aaliyah drops her hand to Cruz’s sternum. Her smile fades. She blows out a sharp breath. The air puffing in Cruz’s face. Her fingers start tracing along the edge of Cruz’s chain. Eyes locked on the motion as she answers, “It means that he’ll allow you to stay through the wedding. We can do whatever we want with each other and be whatever we want to each other.” She looks back up. Meets Cruz’s gaze. Her eyes still glassy. Tears visible in the corners. “But once the marriage contract is signed, it will be over. I will be his wife and raise his children.”
Cruz feels a stab of pain to her gut. She clenches her jaw. Pulls in a big breath through her nose. Heart racing. Mind spinning. Trying to figure out what to do. Because she’s just been handed an invitation to the wedding. A wedding that Aaliyah’s father will attend. So the likelihood of completing her mission has gone up. But in order to do that, she’ll have to keep sleeping with Aaliyah and that will require more lying to Aaliyah and depending on how long this goes on for, there could be real feelings involved. Aaliyah could fall in love with her. She could fall in love with Aaliyah. And then she’d have to turn around and rip both of their hearts out.
She doesn’t know what to say. The choice too difficult. But she has to say something, so she focuses on an earlier part of Aaliyah’s reply. Asking, “Whatever we want?”
Aaliyah laughs. Slaps Cruz’s chest. “Not whatever. We can’t mount each other in public and I’ll be expected to act like Ehsan’s fiancé when we’re around him. But we don’t have to worry about the guards causing us trouble if they see us acting affectionately on camera.”
Cruz blows out a breath. Nods. Her eyes moving toward the beach. The house in the distance. The guards watching them have this conversation. Ehsan a tiny dot on the beach. Aaliyah’s asshole friends there too. Friends who are suspicious.
She looks back at Aaliyah. Asks, “And your friends? Can they know?”
“No!” Aaliyah shouts. Alarmed. She chuckles. Slides her hand down to the edge of Cruz’s bikini top. “We need to be subtle around them. Ehsan is not one to air his business. The guards know everything of course, but his friends should stay in the dark.”
Cruz snorts a laugh. Throws Aaliyah an incredulous look.
Aaliyah flushes. Pouts. Clearly getting Cruz’s message about her lack of subtlety. It’s an adorable pout. One that Cruz wants to kiss. But she won’t because then she would be the one who lacked subtlety. So she just smiles at Aaliyah. Wiggles her eyebrows. Trying to lighten the mood with some playfulness.
It doesn’t work. Aaliyah’s expression turning serious. Her hand sliding up to Cruz’s shoulder. Resting there. Lightly. “I know. I need to be better and I will. I have to.”
Cruz frowns. Aaliyah’s emphasis signaling that she’s missing something. Context. Another source of danger.
She rubs her hands over Aaliyah’s hips. Asks, “What do you mean?”
“Nashwa and Malika are as terrible as they seem,” Aaliyah replies. Tone even. Expression serious. “If they get a sense of what you are to me, they will get worse and probably try to turn Ehsan against you. And if Sami knows, then he might get worse too.”
“Oh…” Cruz exhales. Roast beef sandwich rumbling in her stomach. Aaliyah confirming her fears about Aaliyah’s ‘friends’ having the ability to get her sent away.
Aaliyah chuckles. Tips forward. Her lips brush over Cruz’s cheek. Then her voice is sounding out near Cruz’s ear, “So we will have to be very careful. You should try to act normal when we go out. Flirt with men. Act interested in them.”
Normal?
Cruz grits her teeth. Angry. Offended. Hating Aaliyah’s phrasing. But she understands what Aaliyah is saying and why she used that word. Straight is normal to Aaliyah’s crowd. And Cruz needs to play the part if she wants to stick around. Unless she doesn’t. She could give it all up now. Walk away. Refuse to carry on an affair for the United States government.
She sighs. Looks away. Conflicted about how to proceed. Conflict that Aaliyah can apparently sense. Her hand on Cruz’s face again. Thumb stroking softly over Cruz’s cheek. Her voice soft as she asks, “Are you ok with this? What you have to do to be with me?”
Cruz lets out another sigh. She’s not ok with it. Just like she’s not ok with any of it. But her body takes control again. Her head nodding. Even as her eyes are trained on the boat in the distance.
She feels another brush of Aaliyah’s thumb over her cheek. Then Aaliyah is tugging on her face. Turning her back to center. Their eyes meet. “You’re sure?” Aaliyah asks. Lifting her eyebrows. “Because Ehsan’s word is law. If we do this, we will say goodbye to each other. And that will be a permanent goodbye.”
Cruz swallows. Her heart pounding in her chest. Roast beef sandwich threatening an imminent return. Because this is the moment of truth. The moment where she has to choose between failing her country or shattering Aaliyah’s world and breaking Aaliyah’s heart and destroying herself in the process.
She feels another swipe of Aaliyah’s thumb. The touch gentle. Affectionate. The kind of touch she’s been desperate for her entire life. She makes her choice. Smiling at Aaliyah. Whispering, “I’m sure.”
“Yay!” Aaliyah shrieks. Her hand dropping away from Cruz’s face.
Cruz barely has time to process the reaction before Aaliyah is surging forward. Her arms draping around Cruz’s neck. Her legs bracketing Cruz’s hips. Crossing behind Cruz’s back. Cruz lifts her arms. Wraps them around Aaliyah’s back. Tugs her close. So close that she can feel Aaliyah’s cunt against her stomach.
It’s a mistake. A big one. The touch driving her wild. Aaliyah’s lips making the situation worse. Aaliyah pressing soft kisses to her neck. She shivers. Stomach rocking. The touches not enough to quell her lingering unease and guilt. She’s really stepped in it now. And she has to pray that Joe and the CIA are ok with this and that she can find a way to live with herself once it’s all over.
Aaliyah’s touches grow bolder. One of Aaliyah’s hands sliding down to Cruz’s ass. Slipping beneath her bikini. Cruz lets out her own shriek. Surprised by the boldness. Stupidly. Because it’s not like Aaliyah wasn’t already grabbing her tits earlier. But it’s still too much for the moment. Cruz feeling emotionally fragile and exposed and not in the mood to grab ass. So she reaches down. Grasps Aaliyah’s arm. Tugs on it.
Aaliyah gets the message. Removing her hand from Cruz’s bikini. She leans away at the same time. Grins at Cruz. Offering a less than sincere, “Sorry.”
Cruz huffs. Rolls her eyes. Forces herself back into the moment. Flirting back as Zara, “No you aren’t.”
“No,” Aaliyah confirms. Grin growing. “I’m not. I enjoyed every moment of that. Especially the noise you made.”
Cruz flushes. Embarrassed. Genuinely. Because shrieking is not something she does. But she’s not Cruz. She’s Zara. And Zara can shriek.
She shrieks. Again. Letting out another very un–Cruz like noise because something just brushed against her leg. Something that can’t be Aaliyah given how close the touch was to her ankle and how Aaliyah is still in her arms. She hears laughter. Aaliyah apparently enjoying the sound for a second time around. But Cruz doesn’t care. She’s too busy looking around the water. Searching for a fin.
The laughter ends. She feels a hand on her face. Hears Aaliyah’s voice. Worried. “What’s wrong?”
Cruz glances at Aaliyah. Whispers, “Didn’t you say something about sharks in these waters?”
Aaliyah’s eyes go wide. She lets out her own shriek. Then she’s diving her to her left. Out of Cruz’s arms. Starting a frantic paddle back toward shore.
Cruz follows. Choosing freestyle this time. Her face in the water. Legs and arms making a big splash. Which probably isn’t the right move if there is a shark around. Her splashing only making her more attractive as prey. But she’s panicking. Terrified. Fully capable of holding her own on land with only her fists as weapons. But the water is a different matter. It’s not her territory. Not her domain. She’s food or chum or maybe just a toy. Something for large ocean creatures to bat around. Whales. Giant squid. Leviathan. Kraken. Mermaids. Sea serpents.
Her knowledge and fear of these creatures derived from a game she played with a few of her buddies on her last deployment. What was supposed to be a quick stint in Somalia turning into three long weeks of waiting on an aircraft carrier in the Arabian Sea. The administration unable to make up their mind about whether to greenlight the op. Refusing to send Cruz and her team back to where they were needed. It was hell. Stuck in cramped quarters. No land in sight. No way to make herself useful. The ship’s chain of command unwilling to give them tasks in the event that they got the greenlight and had to go.
They spent their days playing poker—sober, their on-call status preventing them from drinking any of the smuggled beer or sailor brewed hooch—and staring out at nothing. Making up stories about mythical beasts and epic battles. Debating whether their standard M27 could take down a Kraken or whether it would require something with more explosive capabilities like a rocket or a nuke. That was always the argument ender. Lonny piping up that they could just nuke the thing and everyone grumbling because ‘duh,’ but that wouldn’t solve the problem of fallout and turning a big portion of the ocean radioactive an–
Her hand hits the ground. Hard. She lifts her head out of the water. Curses, “Motherfucker!” as she leans back onto her knees. Wind blasts her body. She gets her bearings. Laughs. Because she’s nearly to shore. The water only covering her legs. Meaning she could have probably stopped swimming sooner. A shark not likely to follow her quite this far. But it doesn’t matter. She made it back to safety with only minimal sustained damage.
She lifts her hand. Inspects the area that continues to hurt. Spots a small scratch. Likely from a shell. Nothing serious. B–
She hears laughter. Aaliyah’s. Then her voice. Calling out, “Wow! You really don’t like sharks?!”
“No!” Cruz shouts. Twisting her head. Flushing. Embarrassed now by her behavior. How she took off and left Aaliyah in her dust. A cowardly action. One not fit for a Marine. Her duty to serve and protect. Though now it’s something else. To serve and kill in cold blood.
She swallows. Pushes past her guilt and anxiety to offer an explanation for her haste, “They scare me. Getting eaten might be one of the worst ways to go.”
Aaliyah continues laughing. She’s standing about three yards away. The water just below her waist. Her hand are in her hair. Wringing it out. Water splashing back into the ocean. Some landing on her shoulders. Dripping down her skin. The droplets pulling Cruz’s gaze away from Aaliyah’s beautiful face. Her eyes following them as they roll down Aaliyah’s chest and stomach and thighs. Thighs that Cruz can see now because Aaliyah is moving. Each step revealing more skin.
She arrives at Cruz’s side. Drops down onto her knees. Her right hand landing on Cruz’s shoulder. She leans close. Whispers into Cruz’s ear, “I don’t know about that. With the way you do it, I think it might be one of the best.”
Cruz’s jaw drops. She rears back. Stares at Aaliyah. Stunned. Aroused. Mind returning to the bathroom. How incredible it felt to have Aaliyah’s legs over her shoulders and Aaliyah’s taste in her mouth. “I–” she starts. Immediately cutting off. Having nothing to say.
Aaliyah smirks. Bites her bottom lip. Her gaze dropping to Cruz’s mouth for a moment. Then she’s looking back at Cruz's eyes. Laughing, “You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
Cruz’s flushes. Embarrassed. And yes, flustered. Aaliyah leaving her speechless and horny and feeling completely out of control. And not just because she’s on a mission from hell. She’s also lost control of whatever is happening between them. Aaliyah constantly taking her by surprise. Acting bold and assertive which is the role that Cruz is used to playing. But that’s ok. Because she’s Zara. Not Cruz.
Zara…
Zara…
Zara…
Aaliyah’s laughter comes to an end. She leans close. Too close. Her breasts brushing against Cruz’s arm. Then she’s pressing down on Cruz’s shoulder. Using the pressure to help get herself onto her feet. Her breasts sliding over Cruz’s skin as she goes. She takes a step to the side. Stares down at Cruz. Her breathing elevated. Chest rising and falling. She licks her lips. Takes another step toward shore. Offering breathlessly, “I better go before I kiss you for real.”
“Uhh.. Ye–” Cruz starts. Her voice cracking. She clears her throat. Tries again, “Yeah. That’s a good… Yeah… You… Uh-huh…” She gives up. Embarrassment reaching an all-time high. Aaliyah’s delight at her inability to function making this moment that much worse. And she is delighted. A huge grin on her face. A devilish look in her eye. Like she’s having dirty thoughts or maybe just teasing thoughts. Barbs about the effect that she’s having on Cruz. But she doesn’t say anything else. She just wiggles her eyebrows. Turns. Continues to shore without looking back.
Cruz doesn’t move right away. Watching Aaliyah walk. Savoring the view. Aaliyah’s ass and her strong back and her smooth skin. Skin that Cruz is going to touch again as soon as they get a chance. And she’ll reassert herself then. Take control. Act confidently and swiftly to give Aaliyah the pleasure she deserves. First with her fingers. Then with her mouth. Over and over again until Aaliyah either taps out or passes out.
She shivers. Cunt aching. Her arousal so bad now that she’s tempted to head back out into deeper water for a lengthy swim. But there are sharks around. And she can’t get eaten by one before she gets eaten by Aaliyah again. So she climbs to her feet. Heads back to their area. Slowly. Muscles aching from the frantic swim. There’s a flash of light in the distance. Brief. Bright. Almost blinding. She lifts her hand above her eyes. Blocking off the sun as she searches for the source of the flash. Her gaze lands on Ehsan’s mansion. The top floor. There’s a window. Open. A shadow looming. A–
There’s another flash. Bright. Blinding. For real this time. Her eyes directly on the source as it happened. She looks away for a moment. Mind scrambling to identify the source. Sunlight bouncing off the guard’s watch or a chain would be the most logical explanation, but the sun is above the house, so it can’t be that. Which leaves some sort of strobe or flash. Maybe someone is taking pictures of them? But it’s light out. The end of summer. There’s no need for a camera flash.
Huh.
She sighs. Looks back toward the roof. Subtly. Eyes moving to the right of the open window. There’s a dark spot on the roof. A man. Crouched behind a dormer. She instantly looks away. Her hand dropping down. Her heart racing. The guard in the window a spotter. The guard on the roof a sniper. Or maybe it’s reversed. The man crouching on the roof looking for threats while the man in the window prepares to shoot them. Either way it’s bad and overkill. Ehsan might have more money than she can ever dream of, but that doesn’t justify such security measures. Though maybe the men are there as a deterrent. Their orders to act like they’ll deliver lethal force rather than to actually deliver that lethal force. Th–
“Zara! Hurry!” Aaliyah shouts.
Cruz startles. Searches out Aaliyah’s voice. Spots her by their lounge chairs. Waving and smiling. She smiles back. Unable to help herself. Aaliyah so beautiful and wonderful and so excited by Cruz’s presence. No. Zara’s presence.
Zara…
Zara…
Zara…
She picks up her pace. Makes it back to their area. Grabs her towel off her chair and starts drying herself off. Watching as Aaliyah does the same. Arousal returning. Her hands itching to touch the skin on display. And she will touch that skin. Just not now. Because they are on a very public beach and Ehsan is nearby. Pacing with his phone. And she’s not about to test the bounds of his permission.
She twists her head to her right. Starts searching for Aaliyah’s other friends. Doesn’t see any of them on the beach or in the water.
Huh.
She looks to her left. Doesn’t spot any of Aaliyah’s friends there either. Though she does see a familiar sight. A navy blue bikini. Full coverage. The top looking more like a sports bra than a bathing suit. It was Bobby’s choice during their shopping trip. Procured in case Joe wanted her close.
She looks away. Down the beach. Staring at nothing as she works through the possibilities. This could be a coincidence. A random woman in the Hampton’s also choosing to wear that exact bathing suit. But that’s unlikely. The woman on the beach wearing sunglasses and a big straw hat and posted up in a perfect position to spy on Cruz. It has to be Bobby. Which means she’s either providing cover or Cruz is about to get yanked.
She’s tempted to walk closer. Verify Bobby’s identity and see if that’s what triggers her extraction. Because if it’s going to happen, she’d rather it happen now. Instead of waiting anxiously for it to happen. But she knows the rules. She shouldn’t engage if she sees anyone from her team around, so she stays where she is. Focuses back on the mission. The one she’s going to continue conducting until the moment Joe pulls the plug.
She spins back around. Spreads her towel onto her lounge chair. Drops down onto it. Glances over at Aaliyah where she’s already settled back on her chair. Asks, “What now?”
“Now…” Aaliyah starts. Dragging the word out. “We lie here and get some more sun until we’re fully dry. Then we will go inside to shower and get ready for tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” Cruz asks. Cautiously. Not liking the smirk on Aaliyah’s face.
“Tonight we go out. Dinner. Then a bar…” Aaliyah leans closer. Puts her hand on Cruz’s arm. “The Surf Club where we will dance on tables. Do you like doing that?”
“Uhh… Yeah… Sure…” Cruz replies. Stumbling through her answer. Because she doesn’t like dancing on tables. Hates it. Being up there in front of a bunch of men. Half naked. While they leer at you and toss money and shout crude words about your body and what they want to do to you. Those crude words often followed with promises of more money if you make their fantasy a reality.
But she’s not Cruz. She’s Zara. And Zara never danced. So there’s no reason for Zara to be uncomfortable with the concept. But it’s too late. Her answer has already attracted notice. Aaliyah’s smirk gone. Replaced by a look of concern.
“We don’t have to do that if you don’t like it,” Aaliyah offers. Her hand stroking lightly up Cruz’s arm.
“No!” Cruz shouts. She laughs. Darts her gaze down. Starts fiddling with her necklace. Pretending to be embarrassed as she figures out how to recover from her latest misstep. She drops her necklace after a moment. Looks back up. Admits. Shyly. “I’ve honestly never done it before, so I don’t know.”
“Oh!” Aaliyah shouts. Perking up. Her smile back. Brighter now. “It’s so much fun. You’ll love it! I promise.”
“Ok,” Cruz answers. Smiling. A real smile. Heart racing. From excitement now. Excitement and something else. A feeling she can’t put a label on. But it’s a good feeling. Warm. Happy. And it’s a feeling that can’t last because of what she’s here to do. She turns away. Abruptly. Needing some space as her happiness fades. Her eyes land on her sunglasses where they’re buried in the sand. Likely knocked there when she grabbed her towel.
She reaches down. Grabs them. Growls as she shakes off the sand. Annoyed with herself for the carelessness. She gets them cleaned. Places them over her eyes. Leans back against the chair. She hears grumbling. Thudding. She glances toward Aaliyah. Spots her turned the other way. Digging through the cooler. Probably in search of a drink that isn’t Michelob Ultra or Smirnoff or White Claw.
She chuckles. Looks away. Recalling her own search earlier. How long it took her to find a bottle of water amid the alcohol. Though the cooler should be less full now. Aaliyah’s friends steadily pounding drinks all day like they have no regard for their livers. Their drinking skills would be impressive if they weren’t so alarming. Their tolerance rivaling that of Cruz’s fellow Marines. But she knows why soldiers drink. She doesn’t get why these assholes drink. They lack for nothing. Have endless opportunities in life and this is their choice. Cirrhosis. Hangovers. V–
There’s a tap on her arm. The touch cold. Accompanied by Aaliyah’s voice, “Here.”
Cruz turns. Grabs the offered item without looking at it. Too drawn to Aaliyah’s face. Eyes shielded by sunglasses. Cheeks flushed. Lips dry. Cracking. Sweat dripping down her forehead. Her hair a mess. The wind blowing it around. Drying it. Making it stick up in all directions.
She’s beautiful. The most beautiful woman that Cruz has ever seen. And now she’s tilting her head. Chuckling.
Cruz blinks. Flushes. Knowing that Aaliyah is laughing at her. She mumbles a long overdue, “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome,” Aaliyah replies. She leans closer. Opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else. But then she seems to change her mind. Leaning away. Looking away. Toward the ocean. She grabs the water that’s in her own lap. Twists off the cap. Lifts it to her mouth. Takes a healthy swig. Then she looks back over at Cruz. “Drink. You won’t last long tonight if you’re dehydrated.”
“Ok,” Cruz replies. Curious about what Aaliyah didn’t say. But she doesn’t press. Choosing instead to follow Aaliyah’s instructions. Finally looking at the bottle in her hand. Another water.
She smiles. Uncaps the water. Pounds half of it. Aaliyah’s words correct, but also unsettling. Making her wonder just what else is in store for her beyond table dancing. She caps the water. Drops it down onto the sand to her left. Leans back all of the way so that her head is against the chair. Then she closes her eyes. Empties her mind of all of her worries. Allowing herself to enjoy the sun and the breeze and the luxury before it all comes crashing down.
“Zara… Zara…”
Cruz hums. Turns her head toward the sound. She blinks her eyes open. Spots Aaliyah on her lounge chair. Stomach down. Sunglasses gone. Head turned. A big, beautiful smile on her face.
Cruz’s heart flutters. She smiles. Happy. Warm. Whispers back a sleepy, “Hi…”
“Hi,” Aaliyah echoes. Her hand reaching across the small gap between their chairs. Coming to rest on Cruz’s back. “Should I be worried about how much you’re sleeping?”
“Mmm…” Cruz hums. Wiggling her face against the towel. Trying to wake herself up. It works. But only she manages to push sweat and sunscreen into her eyes.
She sighs. Finishes her answer with her face still pressed into the towel, “No. I’m fine. The doctor said so, remember?”
She hears a snort. Looks back over at Aaliyah. Her smile is gone. Replaced by a raised eyebrow and an incredulous look. Aaliyah clearly smelling bullshit. And that’s a problem. Because Cruz can’t come clean. Can’t admit that she was beaten and tortured on behalf of the United States government for god knows how many hours. She could change the lie. Admit that she was beaten. By a boyfriend. But then Aaliyah would have questions about that man and why she’s with him when she’s already stated that she’s only into women and that relationship doesn’t have a chance given that her uncle is choosing a husband for her.
Shit.
She twists her head back to center. Presses her face down into her towel. Closes her eyes. Hears laughter. Feels a hand stroking over her back. Gently. Soothingly. Hears Aaliyah’s voice, “I’m not trying to push, Zara. But I am worried about you and how tired you are. Your accident might not be the only cause. There could be other reasons, and if there are, I want you to feel comfortable sharing them with me.”
Cruz squeezes already shut eyes. Aaliyah’s gentle touch and her concern too much to handle. She feels sick. Guilty. Unworthy of this kind of attention. But she’s not Cruz. She’s Zara. And Zara is worthy of it. So she relaxes. Twists her head. Lies like it’s second nature, “All of this marriage business is stressing me out. I haven’t slept well since my uncle started looking.”
“That’s understandable,” Aaliyah replies. Tone soft. “I was the same way when my father told me he’d started searching.” Her hand moves higher as she speaks. Landing in Cruz’s hair. Her fingers combing through the ends. Damp. Tangled. Each movement sending a stab of pain through Cruz’s scalp.
Cruz doesn’t complain. The pain feeling good. Possibly too good. Her cunt starting to tingle and ache. Making her think for a moment about suggesting that they take advantage of Ehsan’s gift. Find somewhere private. Scratch the itch that they’ve both been feeling since they left the bathroom last night. But the look on Aaliyah’s face is serious. Her touches not feeling particularly sexual. So she shelves that thought in favor of taking the opportunity to dig for more information.
She licks her lips. Moistening them so she can speak. But she doesn’t miss the way that Aaliyah follows the action. Her eyes dropping. Her own tongue coming out to swipe over her lips. The sight is almost enough for Cruz to change her mind. But she doesn’t. Pushing forward with her opening question, “How long did it take your father to find Ehsan?”
Aaliyah’s hand retreats from Cruz’s hair. She blows out a heavy breath. Rolls over. Onto her back. Answers to the sky, “Two years. He wasn’t in a rush.”
That’s a long time. Or at least it feels like a long time. Cruz not actually having a clue about how the arranged marriage process works. But Aaliyah is beautiful and her father is well–connected and obscenely rich, so it probably shouldn't have taken that long to find a match. Unless of course he was auctioning her off. Looking for a deal that would suit his business interests. Possibly even using her as a carrot to get what he wanted from someone else.
Cruz stews over that thought for a moment. Eyes on Aaliyah. Her eyes still on the sky. Her brows knit. Her hands crossed on her stomach. She’s unhappy. Clearly. But she’s also lost in thought which means she’s not unhappy with Cruz, but with something else. Cruz can hazard a guess. Her predicament. Because it’s the same thing that Cruz is upset about. Aaliyah’s marriage the key to this entire mess. Which means she needs to keep digging and learning.
She sighs. Rolls onto her side. Reaches out to touch Aaliyah’s arm. A dangerous touch. Stupid. But one she’s allowed to give now. So she does. Gently stroking over Aaliyah’s arm as she prods for more information, “Did he ask for your input at all?”
Aaliyah snorts. Whips her head to the side. Gives Cruz a look. One that says Aaliyah is doing her best to not laugh at the idiocy of Cruz’s question.
Cruz pulls her hand away from Aaliyah’s arm. She blushes. Embarrassed. But she’s still curious. Still in need of information about Aaliyah and Ehsan and their marriage. So she leans into her Zara identity. Eyes darting down as she mumbles, “That was a dumb question, huh?”
“A bit,” Aaliyah confirms. Her accompanying laugh drawing Cruz’s focus back to her face. “...but it’s ok. You’re new to this and I shouldn’t expect you to know how it works.”
Cruz smiles. Aaliyah responding just as she’d hoped. She takes advantage of the situation. Asking, “How does it work?”
Aaliyah sighs. Long. Heavy. Her amusement fading. She twists back around. Starts addressing the sky again. Tone flat. Resigned. “It’s a business deal. He took his time to evaluate all of the offers and he made his choice based on what he thought was best for our family.”
Cruz grimaces. Mutters a near silent, “Yuck.”
Aaliyah snorts. Apparently hearing the word. She twists her head back toward Cruz. “It’s unfortunate. But it’s my culture and my life and I made peace with it a long time ago. Besides, it’s not like I could have given him any input on what I wanted because telling him to marry me to a woman would have made him laugh hysterically and applaud me for telling a funny joke and if I doubled down and said I was serious, then…” she trails off. Huffs a laugh. Finishes quietly, “I don’t want to think about what would have happened then.”
Cruz swallows. Not wanting to think about that either. Aaliyah getting punished or sent somewhere to be ‘cured’ or possibly even killed. She reaches out again. Starts stroking gently over Aaliyah’s arm. Greasy and sweaty from sunscreen and their hours of lying on the beach. She should drop the topic now. Aaliyah clearly agitated. But she’s Cruz, not Zara. A Marine. Here on a mission to kill Aaliyah’s father and now that Aaliyah has opened the door to speaking about him, she needs to keep pushing the discussion until Aaliyah brings it to a stop.
“But what about age and personality? Someone who treats you well?” she asks. Tone soft. Curious.
Aaliyah huffs. Lifts her right arm. Waves Cruz off, “Eh.” She drops her hand. Rolls onto her side. Answers, “I trusted my father to consider those things. He loves me. He wouldn’t marry me off to someone his age or older or someone inclined to…” She stops speaking. Abruptly. Her eyes widening. A hint of a grimace appearing on her face.
“To what?” Cruz asks. Heart stopping for a moment. Because she can tell where this is going.
There’s a pause. Long. Awkward. Cruz’s hand now on the edge of the Aaliyah’s lounge chair. Having fallen there when Aaliyah changed position. She should pull it away. But she can’t get herself to move. Frozen as she waits for Aaliyah to say the words she knows are coming.
They arrive. Aaliyah replying, “Beat me.” Her voice firm. Gaze intense. Like she’s staring straight into Cruz’s mind.
Cruz inhales. Aaliyah’s hesitation and the way her brows lifted when she said the words confirming not only that she knows the car accident story is bullshit, but that she also has a theory for Cruz’s injuries in mind. A boyfriend. Meaning Cruz could shift to that lie. But she won’t. Because it would lead to those pesky questions that she’s trying to avoid. Questions that would inevitably cause her to think about Edgar and maybe even use her relationship with him as a foundation for her lies. And she can’t do that. Can’t think about him more than she already is. He’s gone and needs to stay gone. So she doesn’t engage. Doesn’t take the bait. Pulling her arm away. Rolling onto her back. Then twisting her head. Asking, “So how long has it been since your father picked Ehsan?”
Aaliyah’s eyes narrow. She huffs. Pulls her bottom lip into her mouth. Wiggles it. Her body language screaming that she’s frustrated by Cruz’s decision to change the topic. But Cruz won’t relent. She’s here to learn about Aaliyah and her father and her impending marriage, and that’s what she’s going to do. So she softens her expression. Smiling at Aaliyah. Sweetly. Trying to charm Aaliyah into letting it go.
Her smile works. Aaliyah relaxing. Letting out a quiet chuckle. A smile spreading over her face. Fond. Amused. She stares into Cruz’s eyes for a long moment. Then her smile fades. She blows out a breath. Looks back toward the sky. Answers, “Almost two years.”
“Wow…” Cruz exhales. Thrown by the entire length of the process. The fact that Aaliyah has been in a state of limbo for nearly four years.
Her reaction earns her a laugh and a touch. Aaliyah’s hand crossing the small distance to rest her hand on Cruz’s arm. “Is that surprising to you?”
“Yeah,” Cruz admits. “Why wait?”
Aaliyah gives her another one of those looks. Only this time she doesn’t hold back her laughter. Cackling loudly. Her fingers digging into Cruz’s skin. Nails sharp enough that Cruz will probably have marks. But she doesn’t say anything. She just lets Aaliyah laugh. Enjoying the sight and the sound. Trusting that Aaliyah will answer the question once she calms down.
Aaliyah’s laughter finally ceases. She relaxes her grip on Cruz’s skin. Brushes her fingertips over the area. Softly. Speaking at the same time, “You’re completely out of the loop on wedding culture, aren’t you?”
Cruz shrugs. Nods. It’s true. Weddings not a priority for anyone in her life before the Marines. They were dangerous. Financially. People in her neighborhood barely scraping by. Not having the money for a big celebration or rings. And relationships never lasted very long. Splits common within a year or two of getting hitched. So people learned by example. Choosing to avoid a lengthy and acrimonious divorce process by shacking up and then splitting up when it was time. And the Marines haven’t been much better. Relationships difficult to start and maintain when you’re constantly getting shipped around the country and sent overseas for months at a time. Some guys she’s served with have pulled it off. Marrying in quick, small ceremonies. Usually because a baby was on the way. But mostly she’s familiar with divorce. Wives getting sick of their husbands being gone. Sick of the cheating. Sick of the worrying. Sick of the solo child care. Sick of–
Fingers snap in front of her face. She blinks. Looks over at Aaliyah. Winces. Mutters an embarrassed, “Sorry.”
Aaliyah laughs. Loud. Wonderful. “You’re still tired?”
“Yeah,” Cruz replies. “But that’s not why I spaced. I just…” she sighs. Rolls back onto her side. Tells a partial truth, “You are right about me not having much wedding knowledge. My parents are married. My uncle is married. But I don’t have a big family here and I don’t have many friends.”
Aaliyah’s face falls. Her hand moves to Cruz’s cheek. She cups it. Gently. Whispers, “Have you ever been to a wedding?”
Cruz wiggles her head. Pushing her face further into Aaliyah’s hand. It's the truth. She hasn’t.
Aaliyah’s hand moves away. She stares at Cruz. Eyes wide. Then she jabs at Cruz’s shoulder. “You’re lying.”
“No,” Cruz replies. Giving her head another wiggle. Missing Aaliyah’s hand on her face. “I’ve seen them on TV and flipped through a few wedding magazines at the doctor’s office, but I’ve never gone to one.”
“Not even as a small child?” Aaliyah asks. Her finger still jabbing at Cruz’s shoulder. The touch light. Playful. Which is why Cruz doesn’t put a stop to it.
She shakes her head. Grins. Answering Aaliyah’s statement with a silent ‘no.’
Aaliyah pulls her hand away. She brings it to her own mouth. Stares at Cruz like she has six heads for a long moment. Then she drops her hand. Smiles. “Well, then it’s settled. You will come to my wedding. And then you will see why we’ve had a lengthy engagement.”
“Ok…” Cruz exhales. Trying and probably failing to sound upbeat. Because she doesn’t want her first wedding experience to be the one where she witnesses a woman she has feelings for marrying a man and she really doesn’t want her first wedding experience to also be the one where she kills that woman’s father.
Aaliyah’s smile fades. She blinks a few times. Her eyes appearing glassy. Like there are tears forming. But then she’s smiling again. Her voice upbeat as she speaks, “It will be fun. And lavish. Big parties and beautiful dresses and more delicious food than you’ve ever seen in your life.”
Cruz laughs. Thinking about the food she’s eaten so far. How it’s been anything but delicious. She wants to make a joke. Ask if Ehsan’s staff will be in charge of the catering. But she doesn’t want to cause offense so she keeps it simple. Muttering, “Ok.”
She feels a hand on her leg. Rough. Sandy. Aaliyah apparently touching the ground at some recent point. It’s kinda gross, but it feels good. The scratch. The pressure.
Aaliyah leans closer. Whispers, “Let’s stop talking about Ehsan, ok? He’s given me a gift. The only one that’s ever mattered to me. And that’s time with you. We shouldn’t waste it.” She pulls away. Bites her bottom lip. Her eyes running over Cruz’s body. Then she’s tilting her head toward the house. Suggesting. Breathlessly. “Let’s go inside?”
Cruz nods her agreement. Her heart racing. Worries beginning to swirl in her head about the mission and her morals and the risks of continuing this affair. She looks away. Unable to keep her gaze on Aaliyah as she fights through her unease. Her eyes land on the water. There’s a couple splashing around in the waves. The man grabbing the woman. Making her shriek.
It’s gross. The display. The couple’s laughter. The woman’s squeals. The light kiss they’re now sharing. She clenches her jaw. Fumes. Because it isn’t actually that gross. She’s just jealous of them and their ability to be so openly affectionate while she and Aaliyah have to hide in the shadows.
A figure moves into her line of sight. She blinks. Refocuses on the figure. It’s Ehsan. Pacing the same path. Phone pressed against his ear. Mouth moving like he’s barking orders at someone.
She looks back at Aaliyah. A bent over Aaliyah. Her ass nearly in Cruz’s face. But Cruz can’t enjoy the sight. New worries forming. About Ehsan’s intentions. Whether this gift of his is really a trap of some sorts. A test. To see how far Aaliyah will push the bounds of her apparent freedom, or worse, a test of her desires. A way to ascertain if she’s ‘salvageable’ as wife and mother material or someone he should discard because she’s too far gone. Too tainted. Too full of sin.
She frowns. Eyes going once more to Ehsan. He’s farther down the beach now. His back towards her. His flannel gone. But his undershirt is still present. White. Sweaty. His muscles stretching the fabric over his back. His focus still on the call. Just like it’s been for nearly every moment they’ve spent on the beach. So maybe this isn’t a test or a trap. Maybe he really is genuine in his offer. There’s only one way to find out. And that’s to follow Aaliyah’s lead. Make use of their gifted time. And then wait, nervously, for disaster to strike.
She climbs to her feet. Squints. Sunlight blasting her in the eyes. Making it difficult to see. She blinks. Drops her gaze to the ground. Spots her sunglasses in the sand. She grabs them. Groaning. Annoyed with herself for letting them fall into the sand again. She gives them a shake. Gets only a small bit of the sand off. Enough sweat and sunscreen now on the plastic to act as an adhesive. She doesn’t try to get the rest off. Sliding the glasses on top of her head. Preferring to squint her way inside rather than risk getting sand in her eyes.
“Ready?” Aaliyah asks.
Cruz follows the sound of Aaliyah’s voice. She’s behind the chairs now. Towel folded and draped over her arm. Sunglasses covering her eyes.
Cruz glances at the towel still covering her own chair. Then she looks back at Aaliyah. Asks, “Do I need to bring my towel inside?”
Aaliyah shrugs. “If you want. I do it out of habit, but someone will get it if you leave it behind.”
“Habit?” Cruz echoes. Snagging her towel off the chair. She shakes it out. Folds it as she walks over to Aaliyah.
Aaliyah hums. Gets moving toward the house. Her steps slow. Her gaze ahead. She looks over at Cruz after a moment. Speaks, “I’m not always surrounded by everyone. I do get stretches where I’m alone with just a guard or two and I like taking care of myself then because letting people do everything for me… cook… and clean…” she bobs her head from side to side,“...it all feels like it’s too much and too extravagant. I want to be…” she trails off. Glances toward the mansion. Frowns. Then wiggles her head like she doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.
“Self-sufficient?” Cruz guesses.
“Yes,” Aaliyah confirms. Turning back toward Cruz. Giving her a sad smile. “Just because I can have everything done for me doesn’t mean that I should. Though when it comes to cooking, it probably is better that I leave that to the professionals.”
Aaliyah’s smile grows genuine as she speaks. She’s laughing by the time she finishes. The sound wonderful. Infectious. Cruz joining in on Aaliyah’s laughter. She’s tempted to make a joke about the quality of the food they’ve had, but she doesn’t want to kill the mood. So she opts for playful reassurance. “Come on, you can't be that bad.”
“Mmm…” Aaliyah shakes her head. Her arm shooting out. Looping through Cruz’s. Tugging her close. “I made Ehsan dinner once. We were in Manhattan shortly after our engagement. I was bored and spent the day watching cooking shows. There was this woman. Barefoot something. She made this wonderful looking meal with roast chicken and grilled eggplant and mashed potatoes. And she made preparing it look easy. So I sent one of the staff out to get me what I needed. I thought it would be nice for him, you know? To come home to a beautiful meal cooked by his soon to be wife?”
Cruz hums. Looks away. Her lips curling into her mouth. Stifling the laughter that’s threatening to escape. Laughter that would be accompanied by a barb about Aaliyah’s desire to play housewife. A mean barb. Underhanded. One that’s only coming to mind because she hates that Aaliyah has to play that part. Though she wouldn’t mind it so much if Aaliyah was playing it for her. She sighs. Shakes off her thoughts. Realizes that Aaliyah has gone silent.
She looks over. Spots Aaliyah gazing ahead. Brows furrowed. Expression dark. Like she’s lost in her thoughts or distracted by something else. Cruz pulls on Aaliyah’s arm. Asks once she has Aaliyah’s attention, “So what happened next?”
“Oh…” Aaliyah exhales. Smile returning. She gives her head a little shake. Then she looks away. Continues, “It was more complicated than I thought. I burned the eggplant because I was trying to make the potatoes at the same time. Then I didn’t have a meat thermometer, so I could only guess on the roast chicken. I didn't cook it long enough and I didn’t realize that until we’d sat down and Ehsan cut into the roast to discover that it was raw inside.”
Cruz laughs. Loudly. Genuinely. Imagining the scene. Aaliyah’s horror. Ehsan’s disgust. She sobers. Suddenly. Thinking about Edgar. How he’d react to that kind of dinner.
Shit.
She pulls in a breath. Trying to calm her now racing heart. She won’t have a panic attack. Those days are over. The days where she’d react whenever she caught sight of a man with his build or got a whiff of someone with his scent. Old Spice deodorant mixed with cigarettes and weed. She had other triggers too. Lots of them. Colors. Sounds. Certain TV shows. Foods. Any and all items present during one of her beatings. But she’s worked hard on getting over him and her trauma. Going to war helped. And now she can go days without thinking about him. Can catch sight of someone with his build or get a whiff of someone with his scent and not care. Her heart might beat a little faster and her body temperature might increase, but she can function. Because he’s gone. Dead. And her only regret is that she wasn’t the one to put him in the ground. A mercy he didn’t deserve. Because if sh–
A hand touches her back. She looks over at Aaliyah. A concerned Aaliyah.
“Is something the matter?” Aaliyah asks.
“No…” Cruz replies. Chuckling quietly. Buying herself time to come up with her latest lie. “I was trying to remember if I have any kitchen disasters to rival yours.”
Aaliyah’s brows furrow. Her head tilts. A sign she’s smelling more bullshit. But then she relaxes. Smiles. Her hand sliding around to Cruz’s right hip. Holding her there as she asks, “Do you?”
“Ehhh…” Cruz starts. Bopping her head. Deciding whether to make up a lie or tell the truth. She opts for the truth, “No. Unless you count forgetting to take the plastic off a frozen pizza before putting it in the oven.”
Aaliyah gasps. Shouts, “You didn’t! Did you?!” Her hand squeezing Cruz tight. Pulling. Hard enough that they bump into each other.”
Cruz laughs. Nods. “I did. Yeah. I was 14 and my–” she catches herself. Stopping before she finishes the story with references to her mom and her mom’s latest asshole boyfriend.
But it’s too late. Her slip too noticeable. Aaliyah prodding, “Your what?”
Cruz sighs. Looks away. Feigning embarrassment. Then lying through her teeth, “My parents were out at dinner, so they left me to fix my own food. That’s normally not a problem. But we had midterms that week and I was up all night studying. Literally. I was too stressed to sleep, so I spent all night solving geometry problems and running through flash cards about the Civil War. I got through the day on Red Bull and was still riding high until dinner time. But that’s when I started to crash, so I got the pizza out of the box and into the oven, but with the plastic on. A–”
“Please tell me you didn’t burn your house down?!” Aaliyah interrupts. Her voice urgent. Worried.
Cruz laughs. Glances over at Aaliyah. Wiggles her head. “No. I smelled the plastic as soon as it started to melt and got it out of the oven before it could catch fire or melt over the side of the cookie sheet.”
“Phew…” Aaliyah exhales. She lets out a few laughs. Tugs lightly on Cruz’s hip, “So what did you do then? Order takeout?”
“Yeah,” Cruz confirms. Grinning. “Pizza.”
Aaliyah cracks up. Cruz does too. Laughing. Even as she feels sick inside for telling yet another lie. In her real story, she was worn down from an extra long track practice and lack of sleep from a big non–midterm geometry exam that she needed to ace because she was dreaming of straight As and a scholarship that would get her out of her home and Oklahoma City. And she didn’t catch the pizza in time. Her mother’s asshole boyfriend of the month did. Pulling it out of the oven. Then shouting at her from where she was slumped over the kitchen table. Accusing her of trying to poison him with plastic pizza.
She let him rant. Knowing it would be useless to ask if he would really be stupid enough to eat pizza that was clearly covered in melted plastic. But–
Aaliyah’s laughter ceases. Probably because they are in reach of the stairs to the screened deck. So Cruz stifles her own. Her heart rate starting to pick up again. Mind shifting gears. Thinking about what might happen when they get inside. More kissing and more touching and more taking advantage of an innocent woman.
She swallows back the bile that’s forming in her throat. Follows Aaliyah up the stairs and onto the porch and then into the kitchen. It’s dark inside. The sun on the other side of the house. No lights turned on. It’s silent too. No sounds of the guards or staff or Aaliyah’s spoiled friends moving about.
“Where is everyone?” she asks. Tossing her towel and her sunglasses onto the kitchen table after watching Aaliyah do the same.
Aaliyah glances at her. Shrugs. “I don’t know. The beach? Their rooms?” She holds out her hand. Grabs Cruz’s wrist. Tugs, “But they will appear soon because the boys will want to eat dinner, so we shouldn’t waste more time.”
Cruz doesn’t fight the tug. Allowing Aaliyah to pull her along.
They hurry down the hall. Hook a right. Cruz’s room their apparent destination. The room with at least two cameras pointed at the bed. Cameras that will see and possibly record whatever Aaliyah has in mind for them.
A chill runs down Cruz’s spine. Alarm bells start going off in her head. Warning her that this could be a setup. Part of Ehsan’s possible test. A way for him to capture Aaliyah acting out on camera so he can use it against her.
Shit.
They make it to her bedroom door. Aaliyah grabs the knob. Starts to open the door. But Cruz tugs her back, “Wait.”
Aaliyah turns. Frowns. Wiggles her head.
Cruz understands the silent question. Stepping closer. Whispering, “The cameras. If we do this, there will be an audience and maybe a tape.”
She holds back her other thoughts. The ones about Ehsan’s intentions for that tape. Blackmail. A way for him to get out of a marriage he might no longer want. Knowing they border on paranoid. Knowing that Aaliyah would have questions about that paranoia. Questions that might not be easily waved away by reference to a fake uncle.
Aaliyah stares at her. Blankly for a moment. Then she’s laughing. Rolling her eyes. Turning around and opening the door. Muttering, “Trust me,” as she tugs Cruz into the room.
Cruz has no choice. Stumbling after Aaliyah. Heart racing. Nerves. Anticipation. Fear.
She pulls her hand free once she’s inside. Spins around. Shuts the door and locks it. Then she turns back around. Spots Aaliyah standing next to the closet. The open closet.
“You’re shitting me,” Cruz blurts.
“Nope,” Aaliyah replies. Grinning.
Cruz chuckles. Wryly. But she doesn’t put up a fight. Walking over to the closet. Stepping inside. Stopping so she can get a good look at the space. It’s massive. Big enough to hold a bed and a dresser and a nightstand. The back wall free of shelving or a rod. Meaning someone could hang a TV there, plug it into the outlet near the floor, and live comfortably in this room. A room that passes as a closet because it’s in a mansion owned by an obscenely rich man.
Hands land on her hips. She jumps. Squeals. Letting out yet another very un–Cruz-like noise.
She hears a laugh. Then Aaliyah’s voice close to her ear, “Looking for more cameras?”
“Yeah…” Cruz exhales. Lying. Though that was initially her intent before she got distracted by the size of the space. She resumes her inspection now. Noting the contents of the room. A vacuum cleaner. A big box with an artificial Christmas tree on the side.
Huh.
There’s shelving on the right and left sides. Two rods spanning the length of the wall beneath. A few hangers dangling down. Empty. The hangers wire. Simple. Lacking any clear protrusions or indentations that would indicate the presence of surveillance equipment. The ceiling is empty. No lights. No vents. But it is damaged. The paint scratched in a few areas. A big portion in the center raised like it was spackled over and then hastily painted. She drops her gaze back down. Running it quickly over the floor and the baseboards. Carpet. Beige. The baseboards simple. Smooth. No trim with crevices that could hide a camera or a mic.
She exhales. Relieved. But only partially. Because they are in the clear and that means she has to cave. Take what her heart and body want. She swallows. Steeling herself. Her eyes drifting back toward the Christmas tree. She laughs. Reaches down to cover Aaliyah’s hands. Asking, “What’s up with that?”
“What’s up with…” Aaliyah echoes. Pausing for a moment. Then chuckling. Letting out an amused, “Oh!”
Her lips land on Cruz’s back moments later. The touch soft. Thrilling. Cruz’s eyes shutting. Her heart pounding even faster now. She feels another press of Aaliyah’s lips. Then another. Higher this time. The touch right behind her ear. Aaliyah’s voice sounds out moments later, “Ehsan has a friend in the city who stays here a lot. Some of their stuff is spread around. This must be from when they were here last December.”
Cruz hums. Processing the information. Wondering how a man who has a phone glued to his ear has the time to make friends. She wants to ask. Something about him not sitting right with her. But she doesn’t get a chance. Aaliyah’s tongue landing on her neck. Swiping over it. The touch taking her by surprise. She whimpers. Her knees shaking. Her cunt throbbing.
She hears laughter. Then Aaliyah is pulling away. Entirely. Cruz pouts. Spins around. Wanting Aaliyah to see her displeased expression.
Aaliyah apparently does. Chuckling lightly as she takes a few more steps away. Stopping when she’s just outside the closet. She lifts her right arm. Points at the ceiling. “I don’t want any secrets between us, so you should know that there were cameras.”
Cruz swallows. Aaliyah’s initial words causing her stomach to rumble unpleasantly. But she maintains her composure. Keeping her expression even and open and interested so she doesn’t tip Aaliyah off to the turmoil she’s feeling.
She appears to succeed. Aaliyah not batting an eye as she continues, “But Ehsan’s sister likes this room. She also likes her privacy and didn’t like that there wasn’t a space for her to change. So they took out the light and camera and that’s why I chose this room for you.”
“Oh…” Cruz exhales. Eyes lifting up to the ceiling. Running over the damaged portion. She chuckles. The quality of the work making sense now. Someone probably rushing to get it done so that Ehsan’s sister could get ready for the beach and then forgetting to come back later to do a better job.
She lowers her gaze. Smiles at Aaliyah. Whispers, “Thank you.”
Aaliyah returns the smile. Her right arm reaching back. She grabs the knob on the closet door. Starts to pull it shut. Stops once it’s even with her body. “We don’t have to do this. If you’re not comfortable, we can wait. I just don’t know i–”
“No!” Cruz interrupts. Lunging forward. Grabbing Aaliyah by the waist. Pulling her back inside the closet. There’s a slam. The door shutting. A chuckle. Aaliyah laughing.
Cruz doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy blinking. Kicking herself for the impulsive move. Because it’s pitch black inside the closet. And now that the door is closed, it does feel small. And that’s a problem. Not because she’s claustrophobic. Her time in the Marines has cured her that phobia. But she is cautious and always thinking about exits and how to avoid getting trapped and she has no idea how the door works. Whether there’s a lock on the outside. One that could have accidentally gotten pressed which means they are now trapped inside this room with no phones and no food and no water and nobody nearby to hear their screams for help.
She takes a deep breath. Blows it out slowly. Listening to Aaliyah’s continued laughter. Enjoying the feel of Aaliyah’s hands that are now on her back. Stroking over her skin. Softly. Calming her down enough for her brain to work rationally. She’s fine. They are fine. Because they were on video entering the room and the closet. Which means there is at least one person aware of their location and the fact that they are fucking. Because what else would two women be doing in an empty, dark closet?
She huffs a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Feels lips pressing against her chest. She shivers. Pulls in another deep breath. Blows it out slowly. Feels another press of Aaliyah’s lips. Then hears her voice. Low. Husky. “Are you still comfortable?”
“Uh-huh,” Cruz confirms. Lying yet again. Though her discomfort now has more to do with Aaliyah’s touch and the wetness gathering in her bikini bottoms than their location and circumstances.
“Good,” Aaliyah replies. Voice still low. Husky. Then she’s laughing. Her hands sliding down to Cruz’s ass. “I could make a joke right now about us being in the closet.”
Cruz groans. Gets her hands moving. Sliding them down to Aaliyah’s ass so she can mimic the touch. She hears a gasp. A whimper. Then a light chuckle. Feels one of Aaliyah’s hands moving. Slipping below her bikini. Squeezing her bare skin. The touch almost draws a whimper from Cruz. But she holds it back. Not wanting Aaliyah to know how affected she is from the simple touch.
She pulls in another big breath. Licks her lips. Then she leans down. Whispers, “Thank you for sparing me,” as she starts searching for Aaliyah’s lips. She finds them. Kisses Aaliyah. Softly. Sweetly. Her heart racing. Cunt throbbing. But her mind isn’t completely in the moment. She’s stuck on their location and the joke that Aaliyah didn’t make.
She isn’t closeted. Hasn’t been since she joined the Marines and had the time and space and security of a roof over her head and a steady paycheck to think through what she really wants and who she really is. But Zara is closeted. And that is who she still is at the moment. Zara. Closeted Zara. Shy Zara. Zara who isn’t acting so shy now. Deepening the kiss. Her tongue sliding into Aaliyah’s mouth. Her hands starting to travel over Aaliyah’s back. Stroking lightly up and down before moving up to find the tie on Aaliyah's bikini. And it’s Zara who is fumbling with the tie. Zara who is saying ‘fuck it’. Giving up. Sliding her hands around to Aaliyah’s front so she can get her palms on Aaliyah’s perfect tits. Zara who is pulling away from the kiss to suck in a big breath. Then dropping down. Finding Aaliyah’s neck. Tasting the salt and sunscreen on her skin.
Zara.
Zara.
Zara.
“Zara…” Aaliyah whimpers. The name slapping Cruz in the face.
She pulls away from Aaliyah’s neck. Pulls in another big breath. Swallows. Trying to get her emotions in check. A fruitless effort. The task impossible. Her lie weighing heavily on her. The harm that she’s causing right now. Harm disguised as pleasure. Like a hidden explosive. Set below the desert sand. Waiting for someone to trip the wire. Set it off. Blow everything in the vicinity to smithereens.
But she made her choice. And there’s no going back. So she needs to shut down this part of her brain. The rational part. The one that’s thinking about the mission and the wedding and the destruction that awaits. And let herself sink into the fantasy. The one where she is Zara. Closeted. Shy. Destined to marry a man chosen by her uncle. But who has been given a reprieve by Aaliyah’s fiancé. A chance to live truthfully for an indeterminate time.
She gets her hands moving again. Squeezing Aaliyah’s tits. Soft yet firm. Nipples hard. Ca–
“You’re sure you’re fine with this?” Aaliyah whispers.
“Yeah…” Cruz replies. Wincing. Because Aaliyah’s question means she must been frozen for a concerning amount of time. “I’m just…”
She cuts off. Not having a lie ready. Praying that Aaliyah will spare her. But Aaliyah doesn’t. Squeezing her ass. Whispering, “You’re just…?”
Cruz laughs. Tips forward. She finds Aaliyah’s neck. Rubs her face against it. Then she pulls away slightly so she can press gentle kisses against Aaliyah’s skin. Her hands still moving over Aaliyah’s tits. Squeezing them. Her palms rubbing over Aaliyah’s nipples. The ones she can’t fully feel because she hasn’t taken Aaliyah’s bikini off.
She figures out her lie. Moves her lips closer to Aaliyah’s ear. Whispers the truth to start, “I love your breasts. I couldn’t stop thinking about them on the beach.”
She hears a whine. Feels Aaliyah shuddering against her. She grins. Plucks at Aaliyah’s nipples as she twists her initial truth into a lie, “So when I touched them, I just…” she trails off. Preferring to let Aaliyah fill in the blank about what didn’t happen.
“Needed a moment?” Aaliyah guesses. Laughing.
“Yeah,” Cruz confirms. Her fingers sliding up. Gripping the edge of Aaliyah’s bikini. She tugs it down. Freeing Aaliyah’s tits. Then she leans away. Glances down in the direction of Aaliyah’s chest. All she can make out is a dark outline of Aaliyah’s body. She whines. Unhappy to be deprived of the sight.
She hears laughter. Then Aaliyah’s voice, “We will find other safe places. Ones with light. I promise.”
That placates Cruz. Somewhat. She’s still disappointed that she can’t see. But she can taste. So she tips down. Her head promptly smacking into Aaliyah’s chest. She cringes. Hears a laugh. Then Aaliyah’s voice. Teasing, “Maybe they should have kept the light.”
Cruz hums. Doesn’t reply. Too busy sliding to her right. Her lips trailing over Aaliyah’s skin. Smooth. Salty. Smelling like the ocean and sunscreen. She stops when she reaches Aaliyah’s nipple. Sucks the hard nub into her mouth. Hears a gasp. Feels a hard squeeze to her ass. She grins. Gets to work. Licking and sucking Aaliyah’s nipple. Turning Aaliyah into a panting and whimpering mess. Her breaths ragged. Her knees buckling. Her nails digging so hard into Cruz’s skin that she’s certain there will be marks left behind. But that’s ok. Nobody has to see her ass. She can keep it hidden beneath her bathing suit. Except… the cameras.
She pulls away. Sucks in a breath. Clears her mind. It’s ok. Ehsan knows. And it’s doubtful that the cameras will be NSA grade. Capable of zooming in to provide Ehsan’s security team with vivid details. Except… the two cameras aimed at the bed. The second signaling nefarious intentions. Though this is Ehsan’s sister’s favorite room. So maybe she’s overthinking this. Maybe that second camera isn’t meant to capture sexual activity. It’s just there to–
“Zara… Please…” Aaliyah whines. One of her hands leaving Cruz’s ass. Sliding up her back. Tugging once it’s near Cruz’s shoulder.
Cruz obeys. Tipping forward. Sucking Aaliyah’s other nipple into her mouth. Her eyes closing. Her focus back on Aaliyah. The hard nub that she’s lashing with her tongue. The hand that’s now in her hair. Holding her tight. The whimpers and moans escaping from Aaliyah’s lips. Lips that she needs to kiss again.
She lets Aaliyah’s nipple fall from her mouth. Stands up straight. Her hands sliding down and around to Aaliyah’s ass as she tips down. Blindly searching for Aaliyah’s mouth. She finds it. Aaliyah meeting her halfway like she anticipated Cruz’s intentions. She moans against Aaliyah’s tongue. Takes a half step forward. Pushing Aaliyah firmly against the door. There’s a thud. Aaliyah’s head likely meeting the closet door just like it met the bathroom door so frequently last night.
Aaliyah doesn’t seem bothered by the impact, but Cruz is. Knowing that so many repetitive blows to the head aren’t wise. She pulls away from the kiss. Tips forward. Whispers against Aaliyah’s ear, “We really need to do this in a bed sometime so we don’t scramble your brains.”
Her words result in a laugh. Loud. Genuine. Then Aaliyah’s hand is moving to her cheek. Stroking over it softly, “My brains are fine. I don’t mind the pain. But we do need to find a bed. And we will. Soon. A bed with fresh sheets in a room with no cameras and plentiful light that’s in a house with nobody but the guards.”
Cruz shivers. From the gentle touch. From Aaliyah’s words. Her tone. Confident. Determined. Like she’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen. Cruz wants to believe her. But she can’t. There’s still so much that could go wrong. Like Ehsan not being sincere about letting them spend time together. Like her team pulling the plug. Extracting her the moment she leaves the property. Like one of Aaliyah’s entourage digging into her cover story. Discovering one of her many lies. She closes her eyes. Tips forward again. Presses another kiss to Aaliyah’s cheek. Speaks the truth, “I’d love that.”
She feels a puff of air against the side of her face. Feels Aaliyah’s hand sliding down to her chest. There’s a push. Gentle. She obeys. Moving away as Aaliyah whispers, “You know what I’d love?”
“What?” Cruz asks. Her breaths heavy. Aaliyah’s hand now on her left breast. The touch light. Agonizing. Because there’s fabric in the way.
But not for long. Aaliyah tugging the fabric down. Her fingers finding Cruz’s nipple. Squeezing it as she speaks, “Your fingers inside me.”
Cruz shudders. Cunt aching. Heart racing. She tips forward again. Finds Aaliyah’s neck. Presses her face against Aaliyah’s skin. Starts rubbing her nose back and forth. Inhaling Aaliyah’s scent. Salt. Sunscreen. Calming herself down before she snaps and starts fucking Aaliyah like she’s Cruz. Though she is tempted to let loose. Bite down hard into Aaliyah’s skin. Shove her fingers down Aaliyah’s bikini. Push them inside. Hard. Fast. Fuck Aaliyah roughly until Aaliyah is coming on her fingers multiple times.
Aaliyah might actually enjoy that kind of treatment. But she doesn’t want Zara to leave marks and that stance probably hasn’t changed today since her friends can’t know about them and more importantly, from Cruz’s perspective, Aaliyah deserves better than what she’s capable of. She deserves what Cruz gave her last night. Firm yet gentle. Affectionate. So Cruz keeps herself in check. Starts pressing gentle kisses against Aaliyah’s neck. Pulling away after a moment to whisper, “I’d love that too.”
She sticks her tongue out. Swipes it over Aaliyah’s pulse point. Resisting the impulse to suck the skin into her mouth. Focusing instead on her hands. Moving them up to the edge of Aaliyah’s bikini bottoms. She grasps the fabric. Yanks it down. Dropping it once she gets the sense that it will fall on its own.
There’s a shuffling noise. A light thud. Fabric hitting the wall or the vacuum or the box with the Christmas tree. Which means there’s nothing standing in the way of what both of them want. Cruz’s fingers deep inside Aaliyah’s cunt. No. Not Cruz’s fingers. Zara’s fingers. Because she’s Zara.
Zara…
Zara…
Zara…
She moves her right hand to Aaliyah’s stomach. Slides her left hand around to Aaliyah’s ass. Gets a firm grip. Anticipating her need to keep Aaliyah upright as she fucks her. It’s a thought that makes her grin. Her ego inflating from the knowledge that she was able to make Aaliyah feel so incredible that her knees stopped working. She’s never had that reaction before. Granted she’s never had the need to spend so much time standing up during sex with a woman. Bathroom quickies at dive bars usually serving as foreplay. A prelude to a drive or walk back to a room with a bed that she and the woman she’d just met would make use of until they passed out.
“Zara…” Aaliyah whimpers. Pulling Cruz out of head. Reminding her once more of who she is. Zara. Not Cruz. And who knows what adventures Zara has had in her past. Maybe Zara is the type to routinely fuck women until their knees give out. She keeps swirling her tongue over Aaliyah’s sensitive skin. Decides that Zara is that type. That Zara does routinely blow women’s minds. Seducing them with her shy persona. Then becoming someone else once they’re alone. Someone confident and in charge and capable of giving them the best fuck of their lives.
She pulls her tongue away from Aaliyah’s skin. Squeezes her eyes shut. Takes a big breath. Unnerved by these latest thoughts. Wishing she’d taken acting classes earlier in her life. There was a theater at her high school. Two drama classes available. Intro and advanced. But she chose shop classes for her electives. Learned how to change tires and diagnose engine problems and use a table saw and repair broken lamps. Skills that served her well during those years with Edgar and in the Marines. But now she could really use those acting skills. Knowledge about how to sink into a role without letting it consume you. Knowledge about how to stay in character regardless of what’s happening around you. Knowledge about how to build a backstory. What’s necessary and what isn’t. Like Zara’s sexual history. Probably not necessary. B–
“Zara, stop teasing me…” Aaliyah whines. Fingers pinching Cruz’s nipple. Hard.
She winces. Pain shooting through her body. Pain that she’s grateful for. The sensation pulling her out of her head. Allowing her to focus on what she’s doing. Not much at the moment. Her right hand still on Aaliyah’s stomach. Fingers stroking back and forth over Aaliyah’s skin. Smooth. Trembling. She swallows. Opens her eyes. Slides her hand down. Fingers ghosting over Aaliyah’s swollen clit before moving lower. Finding wet heat.
God…
She shivers. Her eyes shutting again. Her heart pounding. Brain spiraling. Emotions all over the place as she starts to explore. Aaliyah feeling just as incredible as she did last night. So hot and so wet and so receptive to Cruz’s touch. Every stroke and pattern seeming to result in a new and wonderful noise or expression. Quiet hisses. Breathy gasps. Needy whimpers. Her face scrunching in concentration and then twisting like she was in agony before relaxing like she was blissed out.
Cruz had never touched anyone like that before and never had the need or desire to touch anyone like that before. What she’d been doing had worked and worked well. Hard and fast and emotionless. And now she’s not sure if she can ever go back to that. Because what she’s feeling now is too incredible. Aaliyah making those same wonderful noises. Aaliyah probably making those same wonderful expressions. The lack of light impeding Cruz’s ability to confirm her suspicions. But that’s probably for the best. She doesn’t need more memories of Aaliyah’s reactions. Memories that will haunt her for the rest of her miserable days after she shatters Aaliyah’s world.
She huffs. Frustrated by her thoughts. Ones that shouldn’t be on her mind as she touches Aaliyah. But she probably won’t be able to stop this kind of thinking. Not unless they end up like they did last night. With her on top of Aaliyah and Aaliyah’s fingers buried deep inside her cunt. Because that’s the only time last night when she was able to silence her thoughts. When she gave in. Fully. Let herself feel. Let herself pretend that this had a future because she was Zara. But then she came and came to her senses. Reality crashing down on her as her pleasure subsided. That’s when her tears really started to flow. The ones that had been slowly building in her eyes rushing down her cheeks as she hid against Aaliyah’s neck. Sobbing quietly. Unable to separate Zara from Cruz. But ending up like that probably won’t happen because the closet doesn’t look comfortable enough to replicate that position. The carpet reminding her of the kind in her elementary school. The fibers low. Easy to clean. But hard as a rock. She doesn’t want Aaliyah to endure that again after enduring actual rock last night. So she’ll just have to do the best she can to keep herself grounded as she fucks Aaliyah. An act she should probably do before Aaliyah grinds herself to an orgasm against her fingers.
She slides her fingers back down to Aaliyah’s entrance. Slips inside with two. Knowing that Aaliyah can take it. She pauses once she’s bottomed out. Giving Aaliyah a moment to adjust. Savoring the feeling of Aaliyah clenching around her and the new mix of sounds that are escaping Aaliyah’s lips. Soft whimpers interspersed with heavy exhales. Like she’s already on edge and trying to hold on for a bit longer.
Cruz pulls out. Pushes back inside. Drawing on her knowledge from last night. Choosing the angle and pace that will bring Aaliyah the most pleasure. Aaliyah’s reaction is instantaneous. Her fingers squeezing. Nails digging into the skin on Cruz’s back and left breast. A loud, “Oh!” falling from her lips.
Cruz smiles despite the pain. Repeats the action. Generating another loud, “Oh!” and a splash of arousal on her palm.
Her smile grows. She thrusts inside again. Then again. Turning that initial ‘oh’ into a chorus of ‘ohs’ as she fucks Aaliyah. Carefully. Expertly. Making sure to give Aaliyah enough to feel good, but not enough to come. Because she wants to drag this out. Enjoy it. In case Ehsan pulls the plug the moment they leave the closet.
She clenches her jaw. Furious with herself for thinking about him right now. But she can’t stop. Ehsan on her mind. How he’ll be the one doing this to Aaliyah for years to come. Assuming he engages in this act with her. He might not. She’s mentioned that he’s not faithful. That he fucks around. Maybe their sex life will be boring. Him doing what’s necessary to bring children into the world and–
Stop.
She pulls in a breath. Leans closer to Aaliyah’s neck. Starts placing kisses on her skin. Salty from sweat and the ocean. Bitter from sunscreen. Her mind still busy. Unable to shake off the thoughts about Ehsan and Aaliyah. What they do together. How she looks and acts when he’s inside of her. These are terrible thoughts. Unfair. Ridiculous. Thoughts born out of jealousy. Thoughts that are crossing a big line. Aaliyah’s sex life not her business because Aaliyah is not hers and also not Zara’s because Zara doesn’t exist and this relationship between them is doomed. There is no escape. Because even if Cruz could somehow call off the assassination and the wedding, she’d still have to contend with the fact that she isn’t who she says she is and the only reason that she’s in Aaliyah’s orbit is because she was at some point intending to assassinate Aaliyah’s father.
There’s no coming back from that. Aaliyah will hate her and never want to see her again and any of the feelings they’re sharing won’t matter. They will be over. So she shouldn’t think about Ehsan or the way her heart is fluttering even as she panics or how happy she’s felt in Aaliyah’s presence. How content and young and carefree. Because none of that matters. All that does matter is that she pulls herself together so she can stay in this moment. In this room. In this closet. Her fingers in Aaliyah’s cunt. Pulling a steady stream of ‘ohs!’ from Aaliyah’s lips.
She opens her eyes. Kisses her way to Aaliyah’s face. Neck. Jaw. Cheek. Nose. Then Aaliyah’s lips. Light kisses. Sweet. Ones that Aaliyah doesn’t try to return. Apparently too far gone from pleasure to react. That’s ok. They can kiss once Aaliyah comes. For now it’s just nice to touch her like this. Sweetly. Softly. Her fingers pushing deep inside Aaliyah’s cunt. Aaliyah’s wetness dripping all over them. Aaliyah’s breath puffing over face with every ‘oh!’ Aaliyah’s hand still squeezing her breast hard. The pain making her own cunt drip.
She stops her kisses after another moment. Leans away slightly. Blinks a few times. Trying to clear her eyesight so she can see Aaliyah’s face. But it’s still too dark to see more than a dark blur. She sighs. Tips down. Presses her face against Aaliyah’s neck. Thinking about her gear. Her NODs. How helpful they would be right now.
It’s a dumb thought. Absurd. Aaliyah would definitely have questions if she pulled night vision goggles out of her bag. And they would probably kill the mood. Make kissing difficult. Though Aaliyah did seem intrigued by her use of ‘Roger that,’ so maybe they wouldn’t kill the mood. Maybe Aaliyah has a thing for soldiers and roleplay and would get instantly wet if she saw Cruz decked out in all of her gear.
“Zara…” Aaliyah whimpers. “I–”
Zara.
Fuck.
Cruz squeezes her eyes shut. Missing the rest of Aaliyah’s statement because she’s too busy getting slapped in the face by a reminder of who she is. Zara. Not Cruz.
She leans away. Takes a breath. Her fingers not missing a beat. Working steadily inside Aaliyah’s cunt. Her walls are trembling now. Like she’s close. So her words were probably a plea for Cruz to push her over the edge. Sh–
“You asshole!!! Give it back or the next time I have yours it’s going in the ocean!”
Kamal.
Cruz freezes. Her fingertips stilling near Aaliyah’s entrance. Aaliyah stops moving too. Her hips not chasing Cruz’s fingers. Her left hand resting on the small of Cruz’s back. Her right hand dropping away from Cruz’s breast.
She feels a bit of relief. The pain from Aaliyah’s hard grip now gone. But that relief is short–lived. Her focus drawn to the loud pounding that’s happening outside her room. Steady. But two sets of beats. Like Kamal is chasing someone down the hall. The pounding ends. There’s grunting. More thudding. This time against the walls. Meaning a scuffle is probably happening just a few yards away.
She pulls in a steadying breath. Whispers, “Your friends are back.” Her words technically unnecessary, but spoken anyway. Because she needs confirmation that this is happening. That their moment is getting interrupted by Aaliyah’s asshole friends.
Aaliyah’s right hand lands on Cruz’s back. She starts rubbing it up and down. Keeping her left hand in place as she lets out a long and low sigh. Her voice exasperated when she finally speaks, “They’re back and playing their ridiculous phone game.”
“Their what?” Cruz asks. Confused because the sounds from the hall sound more like a wrestling match than a game.
She hears another sigh. Aaliyah’s hand stops moving. Her fingertips resting on Cruz’s scars. Lightly. Though her other fingers are squeezing now. Digging into Cruz’s lower back. The pain borderline uncomfortable, but Cruz doesn’t complain. Curious now about Aaliyah’s silence. No words forthcoming. Just a hard touch.
There’s a massive bang. A loud, ‘Ouch!’
Sami.
Cruz can’t help but chuckle at that. Thrilled with the idea of Kamal causing harm to such a grade–A douchebag.
She’s not alone in finding it funny. Aaliyah chuckling now too. Her hand relaxing some. Cruz takes the opportunity to prod again. Whispering, “Do you not want me to know?”
“No!” Aaliyah half–shouts. Fingers digging right back into Cruz’s skin. She lets out a few more chuckles. Then another sigh. “No. It’s not that. It’s just gross and offensive and I–”
“I can handle it,” Cruz interrupts.
“Ok,” Aaliyah replies. Fingers pressing down even harder. “They know each other’s passcodes, so they steal each other’s phones and then go through the pictures looking for the latest dick pics which they send to our group chat.”
Cruz recoils. Her face twisting in horror. Multiple questions popping into her mind about this behavior and everyone’s tolerance for it. Questions she doesn’t actually want answers to. But she can’t help herself. One of them slipping out, “And yet they still take them?”
Aaliyah snorts. Taps on Cruz’s scars. Explains. Her tone once again exasperated. “I think they enjoy it. Showing off. And this is how they can justify showing off to more than the women who make the mistake of sharing their numbers.”
Cruz shudders. Mutters a low, “Gross,” as she pulls her fingers free from Aaliyah’s cunt. Too disgusted by the behavior to keep touching Aaliyah.
Her movement is met with a whine. Aaliyah clearly unhappy by the loss. But she doesn’t otherwise protest. She leans closer. Whispers into Cruz’s ear, “Another reason for you to not give Sami your number.”
Cruz snorts. Leans away. Once again wishing for her NODs so she could see the expression on Aaliyah’s face right now. Teasing. Probably. Because Aaliyah’s tone was playful. So she plays along. Teasing back, “I don’t know. Maybe I should give him my number.”
Her words earn her laughter. Loud. Wonderful. She smiles. Listening to the sound. Imagining how beautiful Aaliyah looks right now. Her eyes bright. Her smile wide. Her cheeks flushed from lingering arousal. Her hair a mess from the ocean breeze.
The wonderful sound ends. Abruptly. It’s replaced by a throat clear. Then Aaliyah’s voice. Serious. “Do not give him your number though. If he hasn’t asked for it yet, then he will soon, and he will make full use of it.”
Cruz winces. Then she tips down. Groans a low, ‘ugh,’ into Aaliyah’s neck. She stays there for a moment. Inhaling Aaliyah’s scent. Salt. Sunscreen. Listening to the continuing scuffle happening near her door. Then she groans again. Pulls away. Whispers, “Can we just stay here? Hide from them all night?”
She hears an echoing groan. Then Aaliyah’s voice. Low. Regretful. “I wish, but we have dinner plans and Ehsan will want me on his arm. It will look bad if I’m not present for two nights in a row.”
“Ugh…” Cruz groans yet again.
She hears chuckling. Feels Aaliyah’s hands starting to move over her back. Slow strokes. Light. Comforting. Arousing. Though that arousal is dampened by the assholes continuing to carry on in the hall. More thuds and grunts audible. She swallows. Contemplating what to do. Whether they should try to finish. She is horny. Her cunt still wet. Her fingers still itching to push back inside Aaliyah and fuck her until she shatters in Cruz’s arms. And she can do that while the assholes fight nearby. But she probably can’t do that without part of her mind thinking about those assholes and Ehsan and killing Aaliyah’s father. Though it’s not like she wasn’t already thinking about those things. B–
“Did I ruin the mood?” Aaliyah whispers. Breath ghosting over Cruz’s cheek.
Cruz leans away. Looks down into Aaliyah’s face. Shouting a sharp, “No!” to the dark outline. She hears a sigh. Heavy. A sigh that she follows with one of her own. Frustrated. Annoyed. Because she can’t seem to get a break these days. She pushes through that frustration. Softens her voice. Whispers, “You did nothing wrong. They did.”
“Assholes,” Aaliyah growls. Fingers once again digging into Cruz’s skin. Hard. Aaliyah’s left hand in a bad spot. Her grip pressing down on a big bruise.
But Cruz doesn’t flinch. She’s too busy laughing at Aaliyah’s word choice. The one she’s used a million times since meeting Aaliyah’s friends.
“That’s funny?” Aaliyah asks. Sounding confused.
“No,” Cruz answers. Wiggling her hand. Bringing her left hand to Aaliyah’s hip. She strokes over Aaliyah’s skin. “Nothing is funny about this or them.”
Aaliyah’s grip relaxes. She begins moving her hands again slowly. Sweetly. Her fingertips finding Cruz’s scars. Tracing over them. Cruz closes her eyes. Sinks into the touch. Focusing on it instead of the hallway fight.
She feels a kiss to her chest. Hears Aaliyah’s voice moments later, “What can I do to get the mood back?”
Cruz blows out a breath. Thinking about the solution. Her mind going to a similar moment of unease last night. Aaliyah on her knees in front of Cruz. Clearly wanting to taste, but also panicking. Her eyes wide. Nervous. Her alarm so apparent that Cruz thought Aaliyah might get up and leave the room. She’d asked for a kiss then. Pointed to her lips. Told Aaliyah to start there. And she did. Kissing Cruz so softly and sweetly that Cruz’s toes were curling. The kiss didn’t stay that way. Aaliyah’s confidence returning. Her tongue pushing into Cruz’s mouth. Taking control of a kiss so deep and filthy and arousing that Cruz had to twist her head to gasp for air before she passed out. That’s what they need now. A kiss like that.
She moves her right hand to Aaliyah’s hip. Leans closer. Whispers, “Kiss me.”
There’s a puff of air against her face. A whimper. Then Aaliyah’s mouth is pressing against her own. Softly. Sweetly. They break away after a moment. Their noses rubbing together. Then they’re leaning back in. Their lips meeting once more. Mouths open this time. Tongues touching. Tangling. This kiss frantic. Dirty. Aaliyah taking complete control. Kissing Cruz like this is her last chance to kiss her. And maybe it is. Maybe Aaliyah was lying about all of this and they’ll leave the closet to an ambush. One that will result in her getting driven to the ocean to be dumped.
She cringes. Hating herself. What she’s doing. Lying to Aaliyah while constantly searching for signs of Aaliyah’s own deceit. But that would make this easier. A lot easier. Because Aaliyah’s bad actions would provide Cruz with justification for her own bad acts and that would help ease her mind and absolve her of some of the guilt that’s steadily eating away at her while she’s in Aaliyah’s presence. And that’s why part of her hopes that it’s true. That Aaliyah is just as bad of a person as she is.
It’s a terrible thought. Another one. Possibly the worst thought she’s had since entering the closet. The notion unfair and wrong. Aaliyah open and caring and thoughtful and the most wonderful woman that Cruz has ever met. A woman who is groaning loudly against Cruz’s mouth. Her body trembling. Her hips moving. Her cunt trying to rub against Cruz’s thigh.
Cruz lets out her own groan. Her arousal back on the forefront of her mind. She’s ready again. Ready to push her fingers deep inside Aaliyah’s cunt. Make Aaliyah come so hard her legs give out.
She moves her right hand to Aaliyah’s stomach. Presses down on Aaliyah’s skin. Sweaty. Her muscles hard. Skin soft. She waits a moment. Unable to resist her urge to tease. She gets her desired reaction. A growl. Fingers digging into her skin. She chuckles. Pulls away from the kiss. Opens her eyes. Stares down into the outline of Aaliyah’s face as she slides her fingers lower. Slowly. Teasingly. It’s a short trip. Her fingers finding Aaliyah’s clit within seconds. But she knows those seconds felt like hours to Aaliyah. Knows that’s probably why her initial touch is met with a jerk of Aaliyah’s hips and loud whimper.
She grins. Slides her fingers lower. Pushes inside with two.
“Yesss…” Aaliyah hisses. There’s a thud. Her head likely banging against the door again.
Cruz winces, but otherwise doesn’t react. Pulling her fingers out. Pushing them back inside. Slowly. Allowing Aaliyah to adjust to the penetration. Though that’s likely unnecessary. Aaliyah still wet. Arousal already leaking out onto Cruz’s palm. So Cruz gets moving. Fucking Aaliyah. Expertly. Carefully. Wanting to build Aaliyah back up before she makes her come. Though maybe that’s a bad idea. The assholes in the hall still doing whatever the hell they’re doing. Heavy footsteps and loud bangs and grunts audible. So she picks up her pace. Angling her fingers. Finding Aaliyah’s g-spot. Hitting it perfectly. Too perfectly. Aaliyah shouting out her next, “Oh!”
Cruz freezes. Aaliyah does too. Her hips stilling. Hands going slack where they’d been digging into Cruz’s lower back.
“Sor–” Aaliyah starts.
But Cruz doesn’t let her finish. Tipping down. Finding her lips. Kissing her. Deep and slow. Because they are going to finish this. She’s going to make Aaliyah come and maybe Aaliyah will make her come and then they can leave and face whatever consequences come their way.
Aaliyah doesn’t seem bothered by her choice. Moaning into the kiss. Matching the pace and pressure of Cruz’s tongue. Her hands sliding over Cruz’s back. Up and down. Then they stay down. One pushing beneath Cruz’s bikini to grab her ass. The other sliding around her front. She whimpers. Adjusts her stance. Knowing what’s about to happen and thankful that Aaliyah took the initiative without pausing to ask if it’s ok.
She appreciated Aaliyah’s need for verbal consent last night. Understood Aaliyah’s hesitancy. Knowing that her mixed signals didn’t help. But she wants Aaliyah’s touch. Needs it. And now she’s getting it. Aaliyah’s fingers circling over her clit.
She breaks the kiss. The pleasure she’s feeling from the light touch too much to keep it going. She hears a whine. Realizes her fingers have stopped. She chuckles. Whispers her own apology, “Sorry.”
“Mmm…” Aaliyah hums. Her nails digging into Cruz’s ass. Her own fingers still moving steadily over Cruz’s clit. “Don’t be. You’re so wet for me. I could touch you like this forever.”
Cruz shuts her eyes. Whimpers. Aaliyah’s words stabbing her in the chest. Because there is no forever. Just now. And that’s enough to get her moving again. Her fingers sliding out of Aaliyah’s cunt. Pushing right back inside. Repeating the motion. Maintaining her rhythm despite the overwhelming sensation of Aaliyah’s touch. It was easier last night. When she was on top. Because then she could just roll her hips in a pace that matched that of her hand. She didn’t have to worry about keeping Aaliyah upright or herself for that matter. Her knees currently shaking. Threatening to give out. Her left hand and arm starting to go numb from being caught between Aaliyah and the door.
But she’s a Marine. Built to withstand all types of indignities. Waterboarding. Brutal beatings. Heinous sounds. Interrogations about the worst moment of her life. Her biggest failure. Her biggest regret. So she can handle this. She will handle this. Though she’ll also ensure that it doesn’t go on for too long. “Inside…” she gasps. Breathless. “Fuck me. Hard.”
“Fuck…” Aaliyah gasps. Just as breathless. Her fingers sliding down. Pushing inside. Hard. Just like Cruz wanted.
Cruz grunts. Doubles her efforts. Panting against Aaliyah’s neck. Trying to ignore the scuffle that’s still taking place right outside the room.
She succeeds this time. The sounds present, but not drawing her focus. Her mind beyond that. Too caught up in what Aaliyah is making her feel. Full and happy and worth a damn. Aaliyah’s thrusts hard, but the other touches she’s giving Cruz aren’t. Her left hand now on Cruz’s upper back. Stroking gently over her scarred skin. Like she’s trying to rub the pain away. She can’t. The physical pain long gone. Only the emotional pain is left. And if circumstances were different and this was Cruz in this closet with Aaliyah, then maybe the touches could eventually help relieve that pain. But it’s Zara in this closet. Zara fucking Aaliyah. Zara on Aaliyah’s lips as she comes, “Zara…”
The feeling of Aaliyah’s cunt squeezing her fingers sets her own orgasm off. She drops her head down. Presses her face into Aaliyah’s neck. Embraces the pleasure she’s feeling. Mind empty. Heart full. Her spasms start to slow. Then they come to an end. She stills her hips. Blows out a heavy breath. Hears similarly heavy breathing next to her. Laughter in the hall. Women’s voices. The words in Arabic. Spoken too far away for her to understand as she fights through her post orgasm fog.
She didn’t used to be this bad. Her life before the Marines meant always being alert even during moments like now when she was supposed to be safe and able to relax. But those moments weren’t safe. They were full of danger. She had to be mindful of what she said and did so that she didn’t anger Edgar. It took her a while to let go of that trauma. But she did. Slowly allowing herself to fully sink into the pleasure. To trust that her partners wouldn’t hit her or curse at her or yell at her to go make food for them once they were done fucking. That she could just lie there. Feeling good. Sleepy.
And that’s what she’s feeling now. Good. Sleepy. Wanting nothing more than to open the door. Pull Aaliyah into bed. Cuddle up around her and continue to catch up on the sleep that she desperately needs after her surprise trip to Joe’s torture island.
She sighs. A happy sigh. Rubbing her face against Aaliyah’s neck. Savoring the closeness and Aaliyah’s scent.
Aaliyah lets out an echoing sigh. Her cunt clenching around Cruz’s fingers. Which makes Cruz’s cunt clench. Her hips roll. Wanting more. She leans back. Moves her head to the side. Darts down. Finds Aaliyah’s lips. Kisses her. Sweet and soft. Which wasn’t her intention. She was aiming for something dirtier, but it just didn’t happen and it’s still not happening. What they’re doing now feeling too good and too special and too right to interrupt in favor of something frantic and sloppy and wet.
But an interruption is inevitable. More laughter and pounding coming from the hallway. Aaliyah is the one to end the kiss. Her head turning. Causing Cruz’s lips to land on her cheek.
Cruz takes advantage of the situation. Pressing light kisses to Aaliyah’s skin as Aaliyah sighs. An exasperated sigh. Her voice following. Annoyed. “I should have put you in a different room.”
Cruz laughs. Presses another kiss to Aaliyah’s cheek. Then whispers in her ear, “Wasn’t this room the best option?”
She gets another sigh. Louder. More exasperated. “Yes. But unfortunately the room across the hall is the game room. There’s a big TV and a pool table and a bar, so that’s where Sami and Kamal like to hang out. They can play their video games and get drunk without having to walk to one of the other bars.”
Cruz snorts. Pulls away. Gazes down at Aaliyah’s dark, featureless face. Asks, “How many bars are in this house?”
“Four?” Aaliyah replies. “I think. The game room, the kitchen, Ehsan’s room, and the screened porch.”
Cruz has no response for that. All she can do is chuckle and shake her head and then dip down to steal another kiss. She keeps it short. Sweet. Then she leans away. Withdraws her fingers from Aaliyah’s cunt. Whispers the words that she doesn’t want to say, “You should go.”
“Yeah,” Aaliyah agrees. Her fingers withdrawing from Cruz’s cunt. But they don’t go far. Her hand staying close. Cupping Cruz. Making her whimper as Aaliyah continues to speak, “We will do more of this later. I promise. I’m not done with you.”
“Me either,” Cruz replies. Heart racing. Cunt throbbing. Mind praying that there will be a later.
She hears a loud exhale. Then Aaliyah’s hand moves. Sliding out of Cruz’s bikini bottoms. She hears a huff. A laugh. Then Aaliyah’s voice. Amused. “Want to help me find my bikini bottoms?”
Cruz chuckles. Mumbles, “Yeah, ok.”
She takes a step back. Drops down to the ground. Starts blindly running her hands over the floor. Feeling carpet. The edge of the vacuum. Something small and hard that she has no wish to identify.
There’s a gasp behind her. Then a squeal. “Found them!”
Cruz lets out another chuckle. Then she climbs to her feet. Slowly. Gingerly. Her trip to Joe’s torture island once again making its presence known. She turns around. Hears grunting. Laughing. A slam. Probably Aaliyah’s fist meeting the wall.
She steps toward the door. Finds the knob. Turns it and opens it just a crack. Allowing some of the remaining daylight to enter the room.
“Thanks,” Aaliyah whispers.
Cruz hums an acknowledgment. Glancing toward Aaliyah. Watching as she finishes getting her bikini bottoms on. Her tits are still out. Partially visible now. The sight has Cruz’s mouth watering and her hands itching to touch. She steps closer. Does just that. Cupping Aaliyah’s tits. Giving them a squeeze.
“Zara!” Aaliyah shrieks. Swatting her arm. “We don’t have time for that.”
“I know,” Cruz answers. Smirking. Her hands giving Aaliyah’s tits another squeeze. “I’m helping you get dressed.”
Aaliyah snorts. Gives her a look. Pointed.
Cruz wiggles her eyebrows. Then moves her hands down. She grasps the edge of Aaliyah’s bikini top. Lifts it up until it’s covering Aaliyah’s tits. Then she drops the fabric. Slides her fingers into the cups. Lifts Aaliyah’s breasts. Adjusting them so they are resting in what she hopes is a comfortable position.
She steps away then. Throws another smirk toward Aaliyah. She hears a growl. Then Aaliyah is stepping forward. Grabbing her. Kissing her hard and fast. Her tongue pushing its way into Cruz’s mouth. Swirling around. But it’s not a long kiss. Cruz barely able to process what’s happening before Aaliyah is already ripping herself away. Her hand going to her mouth. Covering it like she’s just as shocked by the kiss as Cruz.
And Cruz is shocked. Completely unable to do anything other than stand there. Gaping at Aaliyah. Heart racing. Cunt dripping. Desperate for more.
Aaliyah laughs. A nervous. Laugh. Her hand moving to her hair. Finger sliding through her tangled strands. “Ok,” she starts. Taking a step toward the door. “We really are done now. You’re all good? Nothing out of place?”
Cruz frowns. Not immediately following Aaliyah’s words. Understanding them only when she notices Aaliyah’s eyes dropping to look at her body.
“I am,” she confirms without actually knowing if she’s telling the truth.
Aaliyah snorts. Gives her an incredulous look.
Cruz glances down. Starts laughing. Because she isn’t ok. Her left breast exposed. She brings her hands to the area. Intending to pull her bikini back into place. But Aaliyah beats her to it. Slapping her hands away. Muttering, “No. Let me.”
Cruz grins. Drops her hands. Lets Aaliyah cop her own feel. Aaliyah makes the most of the opportunity. Pulling the other side of Cruz’s bikini down. Squeezing her breasts. She leans closer after a moment. Gives each nipple a quick lick and suck. Then she pulls away. Tugs Cruz’s bikini back into place. Takes a step back. Throws Cruz a wink.
All Cruz can do is laugh in response. Her cunt throbbing again. Relief nowhere near imminent. Not unless she wants to take the edge off in the shower. Give the guards a show. Or stay here and do it. Give her team a solo show. No. An encore because they've already had front row seats to the main event.
She sobers. Instantly. Dying inside at the thought of her team listening to her again. But she maintains her composure. Hiding her unease from Aaliyah by clearing her throat and then tilting her head toward the closet door.
Aaliyah understands. She hums. Spins around. Pushes the door open and exits without looking back.
Cruz doesn’t follow immediately. Hesitating. The cameras back on her mind. Cameras that saw her and Aaliyah entering the closet and staying there for an extended period of time which renders her hesitation unnecessary and idiotic.
She rolls her eyes at herself. Steps through the door. Blinks. Her eyes adjusting to brighter light. Aaliyah is standing close to the bedroom door. Smiling. Soft and beautiful and kissable. She gestures toward bed. “Did you pack a dress?”
Cruz follows Aaliyah’s gesture. Spots her bag sitting on top of the mattress. The bag that doesn’t have a dress because she hates wearing them which is why she didn’t have one to pack and why she didn’t think to get one during her rushed trip to the mall with Bobby. That trip mostly focused on finding beachwear which led to unfortunate realization that she’d fallen behind on her grooming habits which led t–
She winces. Glances back at Aaliyah. Wiggles her head.
Aaliyah’s smile grows. She bites her bottom lip. Her eyes darting down like she’s looking at Cruz’s mouth. Then she’s releasing her lip. Looking back at Cruz's eyes. “Don’t worry about it.” She lifts her chin. Gesturing behind Cruz, “Go shower and put on one of the robes that’s in the bathroom. Then come upstairs. The room at the end of the hall to your right. We will find you something to wear.”
“Ok,” Cruz whispers. Eyes back on Aaliyah’s lips. Swollen from their time in the closet. A faint indentation visible from Aaliyah’s teeth. She wants to step forward. Kiss Aaliyah again. But their time is over. So she blinks. Takes a step back. Points toward the door. “Go before I do something stupid.”
“Yeah,” Aaliyah nods, “Ok.” But she doesn’t move. She just stands there. Staring at Cruz. Her gaze heated. Intense. Like she really wants Cruz to do something stupid.
Cruz takes another step back. Waves at the door. “Seriously. Go.” She drops her hand. Pulls in a ragged breath. Cunt dripping. Heart pounding. Her voice cracking as she begs, “Please…”
Aaliyah clenches her jaw. Blows out a breath so forceful that her nostrils flare. But she listens this time. Nodding. Turning. Throwing open the door. Slamming it shut behind her once she’s gone.
Cruz winces. The sound taking her back to her years with Edgar. The doors that he would slam on those rare occasions when he would walk away instead of staying and releasing his anger on her with his fists.
But Aaliyah isn’t Edgar. She’s the exact opposite. Open and generous and caring. Playful and fun and full of life. Not someone who would slam a door in Cruz’s face. Not someone who would hurt Cruz. Except… She’s not Cruz. She’s Zara. And when the moment comes for her to drop the act. To become Cruz. The Marine. To kill Aaliyah’s father. Then everything will change. Aaliyah’s caring nature turning to pure hatred and rage. Hatred and rage that she will direct at Cruz if Cruz sticks around. Hatred and rage that Cruz will accept. Allowing Aaliyah whatever revenge she deems necessary. Even if that revenge is fatal.
Cruz wiggles her head. Shaking off those thoughts. Intrusive. Harmful. Weak. It would be the easy way out. Allowing Aaliyah to kill her. Because then she wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of what she’s done. Though she would go out with one last heinous act attached to her name. Turning Aaliyah into someone capable of murder.
She sighs. Spins around. Enters the bathroom. Furious with herself for being unable to clear her mind. But she knows that’s impossible. That these thoughts are inescapable. That they’ll probably linger until she’s next in Aaliyah’s presence. And they do. Guilt and anxiety eating her alive as she washes away every trace of the ocean and Aaliyah’s caring touch.
The Range Rover peels away from the curb. Following the Range Rover that’s full of assholes which is following the Ranger Rover at the front of the line. Ehsan in that SUV. Occupying the backseat along with an unidentified man who climbed in as Cruz was waiting to get inside her own car. She couldn’t get a good look at him. The area outside the restaurant dark. But she could see enough. A navy suit. Red hair. A neatly groomed beard. Glasses.
She feels a hand on her thigh. The touch heavy. Scalding. She pulls in a breath. Her jaw clenching. Heart racing. Arousal already beginning to pool between her legs despite her annoyance that this is happening again. Aaliyah choosing to touch her so openly in full view of Nala and the guards. Though she can relax a bit this time. Because the guards know. And Nala probably knows. Meaning that if anyone sees, they won’t make a fuss. But that doesn’t mean it will be easy for her to sit like this for their trip to the bar. Every second that Aaliyah’s hand rests on her thigh is one more second for her arousal to build. Which will be a problem if the trip is anywhere close to as long as the trip to the restaurant. Her arousal likely to leak through her dress at that point.
She closes her eyes. Leans back against the seat. Starts pulling in deep breaths. Nearly chokes on air. Because Aaliyah’s hand is moving now. Sliding higher until it’s beneath the fabric of her way too short dress. She stifles a moan. Clenches her fists. Unable to do what she should be doing. Dropping a hand down to cover Aaliyah’s and move it away. Instead she stays where she is. Eyes shut. Breaths heavy. Wishing that they’d kept their seating arrangements for the trip to the restaurant. A trip that was straight out of hell. Aaliyah in Ehsan’s car on Ehsan’s orders. Which left her and Nala in a car with Sami. He called the middle seat. Proudly. Smugly. The look he was giving Cruz almost enough for her to punch him in the face. But she kept her cool. Climbing in after him. Buckling her seatbelt. Rolling her eyes when he refused to buckle his. He raised an eyebrow at her. Leered. Then spread his legs. Taking up as much room as he possibly could.
Nala wasn’t happy with that. She shoved his leg to the side. He moved it right back. Patted her leg. Told her that he needed space because he was bigger than both of them. She flipped him off. Then looked away. Which freed him up to bother Cruz. And he did. All the way to the restaurant. Negging her like he’s ingested a steady diet of pick–up artist tactics. ‘You’d be more beautiful with your hair down.’ ‘That pattern looks great on you, but I wish you’d chosen a red dress.’ ‘You really are gorgeous. I can’t wait to see how much better you’ll look once your face heals.”
She came close to homicide on multiple occasions. Thankfully Nala was there to have her back. Slapping him after every gross thing he said. Cursing at him in Arabic. Calling him a son of bitch and a dumbass. Cruz did her best not to laugh. Having forgotten whether Zara was supposed to be fluent in Arabic or not. And figuring it would be more helpful for them to think that Zara was just as in the dark as Sami because then they might speak openly in front of her.
Sami wasn’t happy with Nala’s language choice. Ranting multiple times about using English. Which seemed to thrill Nala. Leading to more Arabic and a pile on from the guard in the passenger seat–Muath? Musa?–laughing about how Sami’s father is Palestinian so there’s no excuse for him to not know the language and Nala firing back that there is an excuse: laziness and stupidity.
She sighs. Thinking about how she doesn’t have a valid excuse for being unable to remember the guard’s name. She has an excellent memory. Should be able to recall every name and face she encounters. And yet she’s off her game. Distracted. Messing up left and right. Forgetting names and faces. Forgetting parts of conversations. Forgetting to maintain her cover. And it’s all because of the woman next to her. The woman who is now stroking her thigh. Up and down. Slowly. Gently. Making her wet and making her long once more for Sami’s presence.
She swallows. Spreads her legs. Her body betraying her.
She hears a sharp inhale. Then Aaliyah’s hand is sliding to the side. Her strokes now on Cruz’s inner thigh.
Cruz squeezes her already shut eyes. The pressure so tight now that tears start to form. She pulls in a big breath. Blows it out slowly. Knowing she’s moments away from blowing something else. Her control. Then the mission.
The strokes stop. Aaliyah’s hand pulls away. Cruz blows out another big breath. Relieved. But that feeling doesn’t last for long. Because Aaliyah’s voice sounds out in her ear, “I can tell you want me. I want you too. Later… When we get home, we’ll move some pillows and blankets into the closet and bring a flashlight and then you can sit on my face for an hour. I’ve never had that, but I think it will be nice for both of us.”
Cruz lets out a strangled noise. One she immediately tries to cover up with a cough. Bending over. Hacking up a lung. Not expecting those words from Aaliyah. At least not here. In a car with three other people. Words that as many as six people have now heard. A computer program too. Transcribing them for the record. A record that someone else will have to go back and verify. Listening to the tape as they read the transcript and correct any errors.
She hears laughter next to her. Feels a hand patting her back. Hears Nala’s voice, “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing,” Aaliyah replies. Tone even. Innocent. Which sets Cruz off again. Hacking exaggeratedly to prevent an indignant reaction. It’s a dumb move. The coughs irritating her throat to the point that she does start coughing for real.
She hears muffled chatter. Feels Aaliyah’s hand sliding over her back. Hears Nala’s voice again. Louder, “Are you ok? Do we need to stop?”
She shakes her head. Forces herself to sit up. Brings her right hand to her chest. Pounds on it a few times. Her left hand going to her face so she can wipe away the tears that are leaking from her eyes. She pulls in a few breaths through her nose. Finally calms down enough to attempt an answer. Turning toward Nala. Croaking, “No. I’m fine. Just got something stuck in my throat.”
Nala snorts. Gives her a look. Pointed. Amused. Then she’s rolling her eyes. Looking away. Muttering, “Sure.”
Cruz closes her eyes. Blows out a breath. Swallows. Her throat dry and irritated. She hears light laughter. Feels a press of lips against her shoulder.
She squeaks. Her eyes fly open. Right in time to see that Nala is looking at her again.
She blushes. Spins back toward the window. Heart racing. Sweat beginning to form on her brow. Aaliyah’s presence torture comparable to what she experienced a few nights ago while locked away in Joe’s hellhole. She chuckles. Absurd thoughts running through her mind about how this exact scenario could be used in SERE training. Absurd thoughts that might not be so absurd. Certain governments around the world fond of using prostitutes and blackmail. It could be an anti–honeytrap measure. A way to see if agents are capable of fending off advances by devastatingly attractive women who are hellbent on seducing them o–
A hand drops back onto her thigh. She jerks. Startled. But she doesn’t squeal this time. Which probably spares her from drawing the attention of Nala and the guards, but it doesn’t spare her a reaction from Aaliyah. Quiet laughter sounding out near her ear. Then Aaliyah’s voice, “We’re almost there.”
“Phew…” Cruz exhales. Not bothering to hide her relief.
Aaliyah’s laughter grows louder. Cruz turns her head. Wanting a quick glimpse of Aaliyah’s beauty. She’s met with a bright smile and kissable lips. Lips that are close and tempting which is why she immediately looks away. Starts staring out the window. Trees. Dense. But lights visible behind them. An exit ahead. An exit that Ehsan’s Range Rover is taking.
She blows out another breath. Watches the Asshole Mobile in front of them make the left turn. They have to wait. Cars coming their way down the tiny road. They turn once they’re able. Drive for about 20 yards until they reach the parking lot. There’s a building ahead. Single story. Though the roof is high. It’s long. Probably deep too. There’s a lengthy line. Men in polo shirts and khakis. Women in short dresses. Everyone over–dressed for what Aaliyah described as a dive. Though it’s not the dive that Aaliyah wanted to go to. Ehsan rejecting her proposal to go to the Surf Club. Claiming he had a better spot in mind. Gurney’s. And yet this isn’t Gurney’s either. Big neon letters on the side of the building reading, ‘THE BLUE LAGOON.’
Huh.
Their Range Rover comes to a stop near the front entrance. The other two SUVs are already gone. Ehsan is standing to the left of the front door. Speaking with the man who joined him on the ride. The group from the other Range Rover is nearby. Nashwa hanging onto Kamal’s side even as he appears to be leering at the women in line.
Gross.
Cruz’s door opens. She unbuckles her seatbelt. Climbs out. Takes a few steps and then turns around. Resisting the urge to extend her hand so she can help Aaliyah from the SUV.
Aaliyah makes it out. Her focus on Cruz the entire time. A mischievous grin on her face. She walks closer. Grabs Cruz’s arm. Pulls her toward the front of the Range Rover. Whispering, “Don’t drink too much. We’ll wait until everyone is drunk and then plan our escape. One of us can have a headache or something and wish to go home before the bar shuts down.”
Cruz blows out a shaky breath. Mutters, “Ok.” Distracted by the sight of Aaliyah’s friends. The entire group looking their way. Expressions ranging from disgust to amusement to annoyance to fury. Sami the one looking pissed. And also the one most inclined to give them problems tonight.
But she doesn’t back down. Doesn’t disengage. Keeping her arm looped through Aaliyah’s as they finish their journey to the bar entrance. Aaliyah speaking once they get close to the group, “What is everyone waiting for? Let’s go inside!”
Her words are met with groans and annoyed comments. Kamal’s voice breaking through the din, “Last time we did that, you yelled at us for not waiting.”
She hears a laugh to her right, but she doesn’t look over to see Aaliyah’s expression. Focused now on one of the guards who has pulled the bouncer aside for a conversation. But she does hear Aaliyah’s response, “Because last time it was rude. This time I don’t care.”
Cruz frowns. Not quite following the logic. Unless the logic is that Aaliyah doesn’t care because she has Zara on her arm and if that is the case, then Aaliyah is once again being too open about what’s happening between them despite telling Cruz earlier that they need to be subtle and act ‘normal’ so that Malika and Nashwa don’t cause trouble and Sami doesn’t become more insufferable.
Ugh.
She pulls her arm free from Aaliyah’s. Takes a step to the side to put some space between them. Ignoring the wounded look on Aaliyah’s face. She’ll explain her actions later. Apologize with her tongue. But she won’t feel bad now. Not when having that later requires playing the part. Another part. Straight Zara as opposed to lesbian Zara. And this might be the most difficult part to play. Because she has no interest in flirting with men. Hasn’t done it in years.
“What are we waiting for?”
Ehsan.
She turns toward the sound of his voice. He’s to her left. Walking toward their group. His course taking him behind Cruz. She turns to her right. Knowing his destination. Aaliyah’s side. She shouldn’t watch what happens next, but she can’t look away. Taking in the horror show of Ehsan putting his arm around Aaliyah and pulling her into his chest.
It gets worse. Aaliyah laughing. Curling into Ehsan. Slapping his cheek. Replying excitedly, “That’s what I said.”
“Well…” Ehsan starts. Smiling down at Aaliyah. An affectionate smile that makes Cruz want to vomit. “We’re all here now, so let’s go.”
He looks up. Extracts himself from the partial embrace. Takes Aaliyah’s hand. Then leads her forward. Sami and Nashwa moving out of the way so that he and Aaliyah have a direct path to the entrance.
Cruz stays where she is for a moment. Letting everyone else follow first before claiming the spot at the rear of their party. Anger starting to build inside of her. Anger about Ehsan holding Aaliyah’s hand. Leading her away. She blows out a breath. Finds her calm. Plastering a fake smile on her face. A smile she aims at the bouncer as she scoots past without showing an ID. Not that she was in danger of having to show one if she didn’t give him a smile. Nobody in their party getting carded or charged a cover. Nobody getting carded at the restaurant either. Another hidden perk of being wealthy. Businesses willing to risk their liquor license to curry favor with the high-rollers. It makes a certain amount of sense. Margins thin. One table dropping a few thousand dollars possibly the difference between closing and staying open for another month. But the indignities of serving rich assholes wouldn't make it worth it for Cruz. Having to field complaints about the quality of the food and the speed of service. Having to keep nearby tables empty so the guards could stay in position.
That was one of the worst parts of dinner. Looking up and catching sight of the guards standing there. Stone faced. Arms crossed over their fronts. Eyes ahead. Searching for threats. Ready to spring free at a moment’s notice to subdue any that arose. It put her on edge. Wondering about what threats could be lurking. Which meant her Marine side was more active. Scanning the restaurant constantly. Looking for suspicious people. Checking the exits. She’s doing that again now. Running her eyes over the room. Searching for doorways and exit signs and windows. There are plenty of escape routes. The left side of the bar opening onto a patio. Meaning the entire side is a way to flee. Two marked exits ahead. Another marked exit to her right. The front entrance behind her. And plenty of windows that she could smash with a chair or even her fist if she got desperate.
But…
She frowns. Because they’ve come to a stop at a roped off area. A roped off area that is in the middle of the club. Meaning threats can approach them from all sides. It’s a curious position. Especially since she can see a similar lounge area against the right wall. But she’s not a Marine right now. Not security. She’s Zara. Straight Zara. Here to drink and flirt with men and trust that the hired guards will keep her safe from whatever threats would require such a heavy detail.
The line in front of her gets moving again. She follows. Entering the VIP area. Passing the lead guard who has the rope in his hand. She gives him a smile. Gets one in return. Then looks back ahead. Taking in more details of the room. It’s dark. Smokey. Weed rather than cigarettes. The music loud. Bad. Techno. A DJ nowhere in sight. The floors dirty. These facts wouldn’t usually bother her. The places she frequents similarly dirty and smoke filled and haunted by bad music. But the crowd is not to her liking. It’s rich and preppy and spoiled as opposed to broke and scruffy and hard–working. The people in her local dives often coming straight from work. Wearing their fatigues or mech uniforms or scrubs. People that do choose to clean up, to put on a fresh shirt or shave, risk a night of heckling. Jabs about being fancy and polished a–
“Zara!” Aaliyah shouts. “Take a seat!”
Cruz whips her head toward the sound of Aaliyah’s voice. She’s sitting on a couch, cuddling into Ehsan’s side, and patting the empty cushion next to her. It’s the last place that Cruz wants to sit. Her anger and jealousy likely to be unmanageable if she’s in close proximity to Aaliyah and Ehsan. But she has no choice. Her position at the end of the line means all of the other seats have been claimed.
She walks over to the couch. Drops down. Crosses her right leg over her left. Putting as much space between her and Aaliyah as possible. And persevering her dignity. The dress too short for her to sit how she’d prefer to sit. Legs spread and extended. Back slumped against the back of the couch. An unladylike posture. But a comfortable one.
A hand comes to rest on her knee. She barely manages to avoid jumping in surprise. Though she can’t avoid a little squeak. One she papers over by clearing her throat. She turns to her right. Smiles at Aaliyah. Signaling that Aaliyah has gotten her attention.
“What do you think?” Aaliyah asks. Grinning.
“I–” she starts. Cutting off immediately because she’s not certain her real thoughts about the composition of the crowd will go over well. But she has to say something. So she does. Finishing her answer as Zara, “It’s nice.”
Aaliyah snorts. Slaps Cruz’s knee. “I don’t believe you. The Surf Lodge is better. This one is filled with bankers.” She sticks out her tongue. Adds a, “Blech.” Then she’s lifting her hand off Cruz’s knee. Pointing to Cruz’s left. “You see that group over there? Goldman’s.” She moves her hand to her right. Pointing at another crowd. “Bank of America.” She keeps doing this. Pointing her way across the room, “Citigroup,” “Morgan Stanley,” “Rothschild,” “JPMorgan.”
Cruz follows the action. Carefully scrutinizing each group. Men. Young. Nobody appearing older than 35. Dressed nicely. Speaking with each other like they are the only ones in the room.
There’s another noticeable group present. One to the right of JPMorgan. They’re situated in a similar lounge area. One that’s also protected by security. The man who rode in the Range Rover with Ehsan is on one of the couches. Having what appears to be a serious conversation with the man next to him.
Huh.
She leans closer. Whispers in Aaliyah’s ear, “What about that group?”
“Which?” Aaliyah asks. Turning her head. Her nose almost brushing against Cruz’s. Her eyes dropping to Cruz’s lips.
Cruz slowly leans away. Outwardly acting like everything is fine. But inside she’s panicking because it would have been so easy to tip down. Kiss Aaliyah. She licks her lips. Clears her throat. Finds her focus. Tilts her head. Gesturing toward the group with the strange man as she whispers, “That one.”
Aaliyah follows her gesture. Then she looks back at Cruz. Purses her lips. Shrugs. “I’m not sure. Probably another Wall Street firm. I don’t recognize any of them.”
Huh.
That’s not the answer Cruz was expecting. She hums. Looks away. Her eyes on the bar as she tries to figure out if Aaliyah lied to her. It’s possible that she didn’t. That she wasn’t paying any attention to Ehsan’s companion for the ride to the bar. Or maybe she was and she’s giving Cruz a partial truth because she’s seen him, but she has no idea who he or any of his companions are. But maybe she is lying. Protecting Ehsan and his contacts. And if that’s the case, then there are two questions Cruz needs to answer. Protecting him from what? And why?
She feels another slap on her knee. Hears a squeal. Looks back ahead. A waitress has arrived with bottle service. The sight taking her back to the club. The champagne room. Pouring men champagne while clad only in a g–string. There was a certain technique she had to use. A certain posture. Bending so that her ass popped out and her tits were pressed forward so the customers could ogle as she filled their glasses. Sometimes they’d touch. And sometimes the bouncer would intervene. Remind them of the rules. But sometimes he wouldn’t. Because the money would be too much and she’d be expected to endure it until it clearly crossed a line with someone trying to get under her g–string.
And then one night she had to endure that too. Finding herself alone in a room with a man who knew what he wanted and took it despite the cameras on the ceiling and security outside the room. They looked the other way. Because he was an oil man. Someone rich like Ehsan is rich. And his continued patronage was more important than her sanctity and sanity and autonomy. So she walked away. Started flipping burgers for minimum wage. Coming home each night to Edgar’s rage and fists and sexual demands.
A glass appears in front of her face. She takes it. Smiles at the waitress. Mutters a quiet, “Thank you.” The words intended to get her focus back on her mission and her mind back into her role. Zara. Sheltered Zara. Shy Zara. Straight Zara.
Zara…
Zara…
Zara…
Aaliyah’s hand returns to her thigh. She doesn’t jump or squeal this time. Her body finally starting to adjust to the touch. Which is why she’s able to look over at Aaliyah and give her a smile.
She gets a grin in return. Big. Mischievous. Aaliyah looking at her like she’s planning something that could get them both into trouble. The expression doesn’t last for long. Aaliyah lifting her glass. Asking, “Is this a first for you? Bottle service?”
“Uhh…” Cruz starts. Needing a moment to come up with an answer. She chuckles. Lifts her glass. Clinks it with Aaliyah’s. “It is. Yeah.”
And that’s the truth. She’s never been on this side of the service and she has no reason to tell Aaliyah about her experience on the other side. That probably wouldn’t go over well. Zara’s history of flipping burgers seeming to intrigue Aaliyah, but knowing that Zara once took off her clothes for money might cause revulsion or an unwelcome amount of pity. Some pity is fine. She hasn’t minded the few pitying looks that Aaliyah has given her whenever they stumble onto her lack of wealth or her recent injuries. But she’s not a charity case. Doesn’t want Aaliyah to give her nice experiences or nice touches just because Aaliyah feels sorry for her. She wants Aaliyah to give her these nice experiences and nice touches because of who she is. A person that Aaliyah likes and wants to be around. A person named Zara who is actually Cruz and thus not worthy of the nice experiences or the nice touches or even the pity. All she deserves is scorn and hatred.
She’s not getting any of that though. No pity or scorn or hatred. Just a curious look. Aaliyah staring at her like she’s trying to read Cruz’s thoughts. And that would be bad. Very, very bad. So Cruz lifts her glass to her mouth. Takes a sip. Hoping to draw Aaliyah away from whatever she’s thinking about.
It works. Too well. Aaliyah grinning. Then reaching out. Pushing on the bottom of Cruz’s champagne glass. Urging, “Drink! Drink!”
Cruz drinks. But not quickly enough. Champagne splattering everywhere much to Aaliyah’s delight. Her laughter louder. Her hand not moving away. Keeping the glass pressed to Cruz’s mouth until all of the liquid is gone. Most of it ending up on Cruz’s face and borrowed dress. Her own laughter making it difficult to keep the liquid on the right track.
She brings her hand to her mouth once she’s able. Wipes her face with the back of her wrist. Laughing still. Loud laughter. Genuine. The playfulness exactly what she needed to get her head back in the game. Though maybe it was a mistake. Because Aaliyah is grabbing the champagne bottle from the table like she’s going to refill Cruz’s glass.
Shit.
She sobers for what might be the last time tonight. Holds her glass out. Lets Aaliyah refill it. A risky move. But a necessary one. Making Aaliyah happy and fitting in with the group more important than maintaining complete sobriety. And she’s ok with that for now. Only had a single glass of wine for dinner. So she won’t get blackout drunk anytime soon. At le–
There’s a huff from across the table. Loud enough that it interrupts Cruz’s thoughts. She follows the sound. Spots Sami glaring at her. Then he’s leaning forward. Shouting, “So now you’re ok to drink?!”
She should ignore him or at least appease him to avoid a scene. But she’s done with his shit. Firing back, “Yes. Because it’s not midday on an airplane. We’re in a bar during normal drinking hours and…” she tilts her head to her right, “I’m with someone I trust.”
She hears laughter from Aaliyah. But she keeps her gaze on Sami. Enjoying the metaphorical steam that’s coming out of his ears. He glares at her for a long while. Then he gets to his feet. Climbs over the rope. Storms off to the bar. Aggressively pushing his way through the crowd. His shoves pissing off at least three people that Cruz can see. She chuckles. Nervously. Wondering whether Sami has a habit of instigating bar fights.
The laughter next to her grows louder. Then Aaliyah is crowding into her space. Whispering, “He’s such a dick.”
Cruz hums. Eyes still on Sami where he’s leaning over the bar. Mind still partially stuck in her past. That room. That man. It won’t happen again. Not unless Sami takes her by surprise. Drugging her. Knocking her unconscious from behind. Otherwise she’ll be capable of defending herself. But that will be the problem. Any use of force that she uses in her defense will lead to questions about who she is and how she’s strong and skilled enough to defend herself against a grown man.
“You’re worrying about him again, aren’t you?” Aaliyah asks. Tone soft. Close. Her breath ghosting over Cruz’s ear. Making Cruz shiver.
Cruz twists her head. Stares into Aaliyah’s eyes. Answers with a nod. Her eyes dropping to Aaliyah’s lips. Once again close enough to kiss. She doesn’t lean away this time. Unable to get to her body moving. It doesn’t help that Aaliyah seems to be thinking the same thing. Her eyes stealing a look at Cruz’s lips.
Aaliyah is the one to put some distance between them. Leaning away. Coughing. A flush spreading over her cheeks. She brings her glass to her mouth. Takes a big sip of champagne. Then she’s looking back over at Cruz. Patting her knee. “I promise you that you are safe. Nobody here will allow him to do anything stupid. And tomorrow I will speak with Ehsan. This has gone on long enough and it needs to stop.”
“Ok,” Cruz replies. Champagne gurgling in her stomach. The idea of escalating this situation with Sami still not sitting well with her.
She gazes down at her glass. Swirls the liquid. Wishing that she could let loose. Get plastered. Dance with Aaliyah. Flirt with Aaliyah. Kiss Aaliyah on the dance floor before getting a ride back to the house so that they could fall into a big bed and fuck until the sun came up.
None of that will happen. Not tonight. Not ever. Any fucking that occurs in the near–term will be closet fucking. Aaliyah promising her the luxuries of pillows and a flashlight. She chuckles. Thinking about how fitting that is. For her to have finally accessed the ‘good life.’ Luxury. Wealth. And yet she’s resigned to a situation similar to what she grew up with. Sleeping on the floor in a cramped space. Using flashlights at night because her mom couldn’t pay the power bill on time. The money that should have gone toward p–
Cheering breaks out in their little group. She glances up. Focus drawn to Kamal where he’s fist pumping and shouting, “Sami! Sami! Sami!”
She looks toward the bar. Spots Sami heading their way. A tray in his hand. Shot glasses visible.
“Oh no…” Aaliyah sighs.
Cruz lets out a matching sigh. Shots a terrible idea because they tend to lead to more shots which leads to being shitfaced drunk and she can’t be shitfaced tonight and she has no desire to deal with a shitfaced Sami and–
Shit.
Her heart stops for a moment. Her blood running cold. She swallows. Twists her head. Leans down to whisper into Aaliyah’s ear, “Is there any chance that he’ll put something in mine?”
Aaliyah rears back. Throws Cruz a stunned look. Alarmed. Her eyes drift toward Sami. Then back to Cruz. She leans closer. Whispers back, “I don’t think so. But to be safe, we’ll switch glasses. Ehsan won’t take his right away, if at all. So you can have his.”
Cruz nods. Blows out a relieved breath. She forces a smile onto her face. Mumbles a low, “Thank you.”
Aaliyah widens her eyes. Pats Cruz’s knee. Then gives Cruz an exasperated look. One that says she’s just as over Sami’s antics as Cruz is.
Cruz smiles again. A real one now. Because she’s happy that Aaliyah has her back. That she’s not stuck in this terrible situation with someone who would tell her to suck it up and let Sami have his way.
There’s clattering. Laughter. Nala’s voice, “Idiot!”
Cruz looks back toward the table. Sami has arrived. The shots are on the table. Liquid dripping down the sides of the glasses. Giving Cruz a pretty good idea of what happened. Sami fumbled the tray as he tried to set it down.
Her lips start quivering. Laughter threatening to escape. Laughter that she has to hold back because Sami is looking at her. A smug, punchable grin on his face.
He reaches down. Grabs a shot glass. Sets it on the table and slides it close to her. “Since you’re having fun tonight.”
She smiles at him. A fake smile. Her, “Thank you,” coming out just as fake.
He winks at her. Starts handing out shots to the rest of their table. Serving Aaliyah and Ehsan last. He drops down into his seat when he’s done. Starts to speak, “Alr–”
He immediately stops. Frowning. His expression aimed at Aaliyah who has just finished shuffling the glasses.
“Why’d you do that?!” he shouts. Leaning forward. His fists clenched on the side of his chair.
Cruz glances over at Aaliyah. She doesn’t seem ruffled by the outburst. Her expression light. Her tone nonchalant as she explains, “They’re uneven. And you know how Ehsan feels about shots. He should get the one with less inside.”
Cruz immediately surveys the glasses. They are uneven after Sami’s spill. But her glass appears to have suffered the most damage. The pink liquid noticeably lower than the glass that’s in front of Ehsan.
She pulls her lips into her mouth. Stifling more laughter. The situation absurd to the point that it’s hysterical. Cruz sitting here lying to Aaliyah so she can destroy Aaliyah’s life only to have Aaliyah turn around and lie to Sami to possibly save her from sexual assault.
She gets her reaction under control. Lifts her gaze. Everyone is giving Aaliyah strange looks. Everyone except Ehsan who is pulling her closer. He presses a kiss to her forehead. Then he looks at Sami. “Isn’t it sweet how she’s already taking care of me?” He doesn’t wait for a response. Looking back at Aaliyah. Smiling at her. “You’re going to make an excellent wife.”
Cruz doesn’t see what happens next. She knows what’s coming. A real kiss. So she darts her eyes toward the VIP sections near the other wall. Hears laughter. A squeal. Aaliyah the one squealing. She does look then. Moving her eyes back to Ehsan and Aaliyah. He’s still holding her close. Smiling at her. His look almost affectionate. Aaliyah is flushed. Her face scrunched up. To uninformed onlookers, it might appear like she’s flustered by the attention. But to Cruz, and maybe even some of the other people in their group, it looks much different. Aaliyah’s clenched fist signaling her true feelings. Disgust and discomfort. But Aaliyah doesn’t fight the action. She seems to go limp. Allowing Ehsan to slide his arm around her and pull her even closer until she’s practically sitting in his lap.
Cruz wants to gag. Still not over the sight of Aaliyah straddling him on the plane. So she looks away. Toward the shot glass in front of her. She leans forward. Sets her champagne glass on the table. Grabs the shot glass. Glances over at Sami. Lifts an eyebrow. Hoping that he’ll finish saying whatever he wanted to say so that Aaliyah will have to move to grab her shot.
He gets the message. Grabbing his glass. Lifting it. “Wet pussy shots because I think everyone here would love a wet pussy tonight.”
His words are met with a variety of reactions. Kamal laughing and clapping and reaching around Nashwa to slap him on the shoulder. Nala rolling her eyes. Malika glaring at him. Nashwa saying something that sounds like, “As if you could make a woman wet.” But Cruz doesn’t hear anything to her right. She glances over. Aaliyah is smiling. An uncomfortable smile. Ehsan is staring Sami down. His jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed. Cruz throws a glance toward the security guards standing on the other side of the rope. They aren’t moving. Their backs straight. Legs shoulder width apart. Hands crossed in front of them. Eyes up. Searching the room for threats. One of them paying close attention to Sami. She looks back at Ehsan. Confirms the stare down is still in place. Glances around the rest of the group. Everyone else is picking up on the tension. Kamal grinning like he’s enjoying it. Malika, Nashwa, and Nala sharing worried looks.
Cruz decides to act. Lifting her glass. Shouting, “I’ll drink to that.” She brings her glass to her mouth. Throws the shot back. Wincing as she swallows. The taste horrific. Sweet and fruity and not the type of thing she’d ever order on her own. Preferring her alcohol to taste like alcohol and wet pussy to taste like wet pussy.
Her decision appears to work. The tension breaking. Everyone else throwing their drink back. But Ehsan doesn’t touch his right away. He just stares at Sami until all of the shot glasses are back on the table. Then he grabs his glass. Cruz hears a surprised gasp next to her. She ignores Aaliyah’s sound. Eyes on Sami. He’s returning Ehsan’s stare. Not making a move to stop Ehsan from taking the shot. Which means it probably isn’t drugged. Sami clearly stupid, but smart enough to know that drugging the man who pays all of the bills would be a very bad idea. So she relaxes. But only slightly because the tension between the two men is still unbearable and she’s terrified of what will happen once it breaks.
She doesn’t haven’t to wait much longer for the answer. Ehsan lifting his glass into the air. Shouting angrily, “To wet pussy!”
Then he slams the shot back. Drops the glass onto the table. Glares at Sami for another long moment before laughing and leaping to his feet. He turns. Holds out his hand to Aaliyah. “Let’s dance, hobi.”
Aaliyah takes his hand. Climbs to her feet. Presses up on her toes to give him a kiss. Then she follows him out of their area without looking back. Leaving Cruz to fume over the kiss and the pet name. ‘Hobi.’ ‘My love.’ It’s gross and ridiculous. Aaliyah claiming that there is no love in their relationship. But maybe that was a lie. Maybe Aaliyah has been playing her own role. That of a trapped woman. One disgusted by her fiancé. All so she could get what she wanted. Zara fucking her. And if that’s true, then maybe Aaliyah has told her more lies. Like the one she was panicking about in the closet. This apparent wedding gift from Ehsan. Maybe he doesn’t know that they had sex last night and Aaliyah is acting recklessly. Or he does know and he’s not happy and that’s what led to the heated stare down with Sami. Him viewing Sami’s shot selection and words as a slap to his face.
The rest of the group climbs to their feet. Cruz does the same. Not wanting to dance, but having no choice. Sitting here alone and fuming and talking herself in circles about Aaliyah’s motives would only add more fuel to the fire. So she follows the group out onto the dance floor. Sticking close to Nala so that Sami can’t easily get to her. Thankfully Nala seems inclined to help. Stepping closer to Cruz. Dancing with her. Suggestively. Nala’s hands sliding down her arms and over her back. There’s even a quick ass grab at one point.
It’s amusing. And fun. Cruz smiling. Laughing. Returning the touches. Stealing looks at Sami every so often. He’s found a woman to dance with, but he doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself. His movements stiff. His eyes usually trained on Cruz whenever she looks over.
She sighs. Glances back at Nala. A grinning Nala. One who is leaning closer and shouting, “He’s an ass. And now he’s pissed Ehsan off. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him for much longer.”
“That’s good!” Cruz shouts back.
Nala’s grin fades. She grabs Cruz’s hips. Tugs her to the side. Moving them farther away from the group. “But you should wor–”
There’s a tap on Cruz’s shoulder. She twists her head. There’s a man standing there. Tall. Conventionally attractive. Blond hair. A chiseled jaw. Decently dressed. His polo clean. Collar down. He smiles at her. Shouts, “Would you like to dance?”
She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Glances back toward Nala. Mind still on the warning that Nala was about to give her. But Nala is equally occupied now. Speaking with a man who Cruz assumes is friends with the guy who tapped on her shoulder. She’s smiling. Her hand on his arm. Meaning she’s interested.
Shit.
Cruz turns back around. Resigned to her fate. She plasters a fake smile on her face. Accepts the offer, “I’d love to.”
“Great!” the man shouts. Holding out his hand, “I’m Drew. Nice to meet you.”
“Zara!” she replies. Taking his hand. Letting him pull her closer.
They start dancing. Cruz setting the boundaries early. Only letting Drew touch her arms and hips. Refusing to let him push his crotch into her. He doesn’t seem to mind. Following her lead. Shouting questions at her. Questions that require her to lie through her teeth. The lies coming quickly and easily.
“I like cheesecake. All kinds are good, but strawberry is my favorite.”
“I’ve never been to the city. Just here and I flew through JFK once.”
“The Commanders, of course. I might live in Charlotte, but I’ll never turn my back on the local teams.”
“I’m a morning person. I like to run before the sun gets up.”
“I had two cats when I was little. Peaches and Cream. I bet you can guess what they looked like.”
It’s probably dangerous to be telling him so much. Joe told her to redirect personal questions back to Aaliyah. But Drew is not part of the mission and the mission has already gone sideways. Aaliyah resistant to Cruz’s attempts to redirect the conversation. Meaning Cruz is going to have to lie and keep lying and these lies are going to have to be realistic and believable. Which makes this interaction a practice of sorts. Training for when she and Aaliyah are next alone and Aaliyah starts the inquisition.
Though the next time they are alone, they probably won’t be talking too much. Aaliyah’s mouth busy doing other things. Cruz probably having to put her hand in her mouth to keep her volume down in what will probably be a hopeless attempt to spare herself future embarrassment. Because her team will be listening and while she doesn’t know them well yet, she knows their type, knows that they are going to tease the hell out of her when she’s next around them. Assuming her whole ‘fuck the mark’ idea goes over well. It might not. But that’s a worry for another time. Right now she just needs to get through this evening so they can go back to Ehsan’s ridiculous mansion, build a little fort in the closet, strip off their clothes, and then make each other come until Aaliyah says they’ve run out of time.
Her cunt clenches. Arousal starting to build. She chances a look toward Aaliyah. Her first purposeful look since she started dancing. She’s caught glimpses of her here or there, but she’s refused to let herself linger. Unable to stomach the sight of Aaliyah all over Ehsan. Acting ‘normal.’ Worried that such glimpses would make her more paranoid about Aaliyah’s motives. But that’s not what she’s seeing now. No. She’s seeing something much worse. Aaliyah staring at her like she’s hurt and furious that Cruz is complying with the ‘act normal’ directive.
She looks away. Back towards Drew’s face. She smiles at him. Then grabs his hips. Turns them both around so that her back is to Aaliyah. She doesn’t stay like that. Spinning around. Leaning back against Drew. Her eyes finding Aaliyah’s again as she grinds against his front.
It’s mean. Cruel. Using Drew like this. Making Aaliyah watch her use Drew like this. But it’s not as mean or as cruel as the lies she’s telling and the mission she plans to pull off. It’s also necessary. Aaliyah’s reaction likely to give Cruz more insight into her feelings. Insight that Cruz needs if she’s going to calm her mind and quell her worries about Aaliyah’s possible lies.
She gets that insight. Aaliyah’s eyes going wide. Her body going rigid. Her jaw clenching. Ehsan says something to her. She wiggles her head. Looks at him. Smiles. A fake smile. Her body starting to move again. Her hands sliding up and down his back. The strokes jerky. Awkward. Like she’s forcing herself to touch him despite her revulsion.
Cruz fumes at the touch. But she feels better about Aaliyah’s intentions now. It’s true that Aaliyah might be lying to her about a few things, but she probably isn’t lying about Ehsan’s gift or how she feels or what she wants. Cruz should have trusted her. They shared something special last night. Something that couldn’t have been faked.
She swallows. Furious at herself for having more doubts. Ridiculous doubts. Unfair doubts. Ones that led to running her own test on Aaliyah. She waits for Aaliyah to look back over at her. Mouths, ‘Sorry.’
Aaliyah nods. Her lips press into a tight smile. Then she’s moving her mouth. Possibly saying a silent, ‘Me too.’
Cruz returns the tight smile. Then she spins back around. Gives Drew a big, fake smile. She presses in close. Places a hand on his chest. Shouts against his ear, “Thanks for the dance! I need a breather! I’ll find you in a little while?”
She leans back so she can look at his face. He’s clearly disappointed, but he handles it well. Smiling. Shouting back, “Sure! I’ll see you around!”
She pats his chest. Then steps away. Heads toward the bar. Choosing a spot where she can keep an eye on their group. Nala is still dancing with Drew’s friend. Sami is sandwiched between two women. Looking happier than he has in a while. Aaliyah is now with Kamal. He’s bent down. Listening to whatever she’s shouting into his ear. Ehsan is gone.
She frowns. Starts searching for Ehsan.
“What can I get you?”
She glances to her left. Smiles at the bartender. Shouts, “Water!”
The bartender gives her a look. Points to his right. Cruz follows the motion. Sees a big water tank. Plastic cups. She laughs. Looks back at the bartender. Shouts, “You don’t sell bottles?!”
“We do!” the bartender shouts back. “But usually people don’t like to pay.”
“I’m ok with it,” she replies. And she is. Wanting something colder and cleaner than whatever comes out of that nasty looking tank.
The bartender walks away. She grabs her purse. Starts searching for money.
The bartender returns. Places a bottle of water on the bar. Slides it closer. Shouting, “Don’t worry about it. You’re with the Al Rashdi group?”
“I am!” she confirms. Smiling. Though part of her is concerned about how the bartender would know that.
The bartender doesn’t pick up on her unease. Shouting back, “Then you’re covered. Whatever you need.”
“Great!” she replies. Still smiling. Still concerned. And ready to start looking for security cameras once the bartender steps away.
He gives her a nod. Then steps to the side. His focus going to the group to her right. She grabs her water. Uncaps it. Lifts it to her mouth. Eyes doing a lap of the ceiling. Spotting a few cameras. At least one that’s on their VIP section. She drops the water down. Swallows. Wondering now whether someone is sitting in a back room with their eyes on the screens. Communicating constantly with the bouncers and the manager. Pointing out problem customers and ones who were flashing cash without getting attention.
Her manager at the club would remedy that latter problem quickly. Sending someone over with a ‘complimentary’ drink. It would work like a charm. The man quickly ridding himself of that cash and sometimes even getting persuaded to see one of the back rooms.
She lifts her water back to her mouth. Takes another big swig. Forcing herself away from those memories. Her eyes doing another lap of the room. This one lower. Her search focused on Ehsan. She finds him after a moment. Sitting in the VIP section on the far wall. Speaking once more to the man who was in the backseat.
Huh.
There’s movement to her left. She starts to look over. Hears a voice. Low. Serious. “Don’t look at me. Look ahead. Act natural.”
Joe.
She follows Joe’s instructions. Eyes staying ahead like she’s watching the crowd. But inside she’s losing her composure. Knowing that if Joe is speaking with her then something bad has happened. Something that necessitates her getting pulled. And if that’s the case, then there will be no more Aaliyah. She cracks. Completely. Blurting out, “Are you pulling me?”
She hears a laugh. Then Joe’s voice. Low. Amused, “Why would we do that?”
Cruz lifts her water to her mouth. Fakes taking a sip. Answering as she drops the bottle down, “Because I messed up.”
She hears another laugh. Then Joe’s voice. Incredulous. “Says who?”
Cruz darts her gaze to the side. Unable to comply with Joe’s directions. Too surprised by Joe’s response and needing to see her face.
Joe has a beer in her left hand. Her phone in her right. It’s open to what looks like a text message thread. One she’s aimlessly scrolling through.
Cruz looks away. Eyes on the crowd. Giving Joe the best answer she can muster at the moment, “Uhhh…”
She hears more laughter. A thud. Like Joe has set either her phone or her beer down on the bar. “Did you mean it?”
“What?” Cruz asks.
There’s a long pause. A sigh. Movement. Like Joe is changing her stance. Her voice finally arrives. Low. Annoyed. Like she’s irritated that she has to clarify her question. “The things you told Aaliyah last night. Did you mean them?”
Oh.
Cruz closes her eyes. Takes a breath. Letting herself process the fact that at least one person listened to them. She knows this and has known it from the start and was just thinking about it while on the dance floor. But that doesn’t make it easier to handle confirmation of that fact.
She opens her eyes. Answers as she lifts her bottle to her mouth, “No. I was giving her what she wanted.”
There’s another long pause. A pause in which Cruz’s heart completely stops. She’s being appraised now. She’s sure of it. Joe contemplating whether she’s lying or telling the truth or worse, contemplating whether it’s ok that she’s told a lie. And she has. Because she meant what she said last night. Those last words to Aaliyah. Nobody has ever touched her like that or made her feel how Aaliyah made her feel.
There’s another thud. Sliding. Likely Joe’s beer bottle. “Then you haven’t messed up. She trusts you now. Completely. She might even love you. That could cause problems, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Ok,” Cruz replies. Eyes narrowing. Drawn toward Ehsan again. There’s a third man present. Sitting on the other side of the man with the glasses. Ehsan’s hand is inside his jacket. He removes it. An envelope now in his grip. An envelope that he’s now handing to the third man.
Huh.
She looks away. Her gaze dropping to the bar. She brings both hands to her water bottle. Starts ripping off the label. Asking under her breath, “What do you know about her fiancé?”
“Not enough apparently,” Joe replies. A suspicious edge to her tone.
Cruz hums. Her eyes lifting again. Stealing another look at Ehsan. Still on the couch. Speaking with the two men. She lifts her bottle. Pretends to take another sip. “The man in the glasses rode in Ehsan’s car.”
“We’re aware,” Joe replies. Voice low. Amused.
Cruz laughs. Brings her hand up to her mouth. Fakes wiping it off as she mutters, “Right. Yeah. You’re watching.”
“You’re concerned though?” Joe asks.
“Yeah,” Cruz replies. Spinning around so she can lean her back against the bar. She lifts her left hand. Starts scratching the side of her head. Using the action to disguise her next words, “Something doesn’t sit right with me about him and this entire situation. He’s supposed to work in Manhattan, yet they travel all over the world. He’s always on the phone. And he’s heavily guarded. Aaliyah claims it’s because he’s rich, but it seems excessive. Multiple Range Rovers with bullet proof glass. Spotters on the roof.”
She hears chuckling. Joe’s voice, “You saw those.”
She hums an affirmative. Spins back around. There’s movement next to her. Something scuffing on the ground. She ignores the sound. Grabs her water bottle. Keeps her eyes ahead. Joe’s voice sounds out moments later, “It’s strange. I agree.”
There’s a long pause. A heavy sigh. Tapping on the bar top. Then Joe’s voice. Low. Commanding. “Go back. Keep a close eye on him. We’ll dig into his past and finances and debrief fully when they send you home.”
“Roger that,” Cruz replies under her breath. Stomach gurgling. Nervous about how this mission is changing. Queasy at the notion that she will be sent home. Separated from Aaliyah. Unable to touch her and kiss her and make her smile.
But it’s Zara doing all of that. Not Cruz. Zara. And it’s Zara that she needs to be now. Straight Zara. So she caps her water. Leaves the bar. Starts walking toward the crowd. Searching for Aaliyah. Praying that Ehsan is still away so they can get in a dance or two.
A scream pierces the air right as she gets to the edge of the dance floor. Shouting soon follows. More screams. She drops her water bottle. Keeps her eyes up. Scanning for the source of the sounds. There’s a scuffle on the far edge of the dance floor. A woman lying on the ground. Covering her head. Two men swinging at each other. The one practically standing on the woman’s back. A few people are trying to get close to help, so Cruz ignores her instincts to intervene. Looks to her right. Searching now for Aaliyah. She spots the security guards first. They’ve leaped into action. Asif has Aaliyah’s arm. Another one is grabbing Nala and Malika. Pulling them toward the nearest exit.
Cruz takes off. Running as quickly as she can in heels. Which isn’t quick. Her days of stilettos long behind her. The shoes feeling foreign and uncomfortable. She kicks them off. Picks up her pace. But it’s too late. Chaos has taken over the entire dance floor. The fight having grown well beyond the two men. Drunk assholes apparently seeing it as an opportunity to cut loose. Which means she’s stranded in the middle of it. No guards in sight to help her out.
She keeps pushing her way through. Dodging punches. Bouncing off bodies that are similarly trying to escape. A fist comes her way. She grabs it. Pushes it down. Then pulls hard enough to twist the guy around. She pins his fist to his back. Starts pushing him toward the right edge of the dance floor. Choosing now to get out of the mess rather than closer to her group. They clear the fracas. The man serving as an excellent battering ram through the bodies. She rewards him with a hard shove and a shout, “Get out of here unless you want to get arrested!”
He stumbles away toward the front entrance. She watches for a moment. Then she twists around. Looks for her group. Finds no trace of them.
Shit.
Something wizzes past her head. Another fist comes her way. She dodges. Hears a buzz. Feels pain. Then her world goes black.
Notes:
Kudos/comments appreciated. Nice comments motivate me to write more regardless of when you leave them. So if you're reading this weeks/months/years after the posting date, please comment if you liked it. Even something as simple as a keyboard smash or a few emojis or an ‘extra kudos’ will make my day 🙏🏼
And please remember that if you don't have anything nice to say, then you shouldn't say it at all. So if you hated this, click the back button, go find a fic that works for you, and then maybe write that author a nice comment instead of sending hate my way. The world needs more kindness. Let's start small by not being dicks in comment sections.
Chapter 3
Summary:
Cruz wakes up.
Notes:
I'm back! Earlier than expected! The 'final' chapter was pushing 60k, so I decided to split it. I will have the conclusion out hopefully within 7-14 days, but it might take longer because of real life stuff.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hey… Hey… Miss. Can you hear me? Miss?”
Cruz groans. Her head throbbing. The voice making the pain worse. Or maybe it’s the hands on her body. Someone touching her shoulder and side.
“Miss… Miss… Come on…” the voice urges. Closer. Louder. “Give me a sign you can hear me…”
“Hrmph,” Cruz grunts. She blinks. Trying to get her eyes open. She can’t. The pain too bad. Something wet all over her face.
“Roll her over,” someone orders. A woman. The voice familiar. But–
The hands move. Tugging and pulling. Her body moving with them. Pain shoots through her skull. Wetness drips down her face. She groans. Blinks. Sees flashes of light. Glimpses of the room. A face. A man. Someone she knows. Someone who–
“Miss… Miss…” A hand pats at her face. “I need you to keep your eyes open. Can you do that? Can you look at me?”
Cruz lets out another low, “Hrmph.” Keeps blinking. Her eyes eventually staying open and focused on the man above her. A man named, “Tuc–”
“Shhh… Don’t talk,” Tucker interrupts. “You were in a bar fight. There’s an ambulance outside. All of the stretchers are full, so I’m gonna pick you up and carry you, and then we’re gonna get you checked out and stitched up.”
“Stitched?” Cruz echoes. “Wha–?” she cuts off. Eyes shutting. The pain in her head too bad to keep them open.
She hears chuckling. Feels the hand back on her face. Patting her softly. “Keep those eyes open for me… Come on. You can do it.”
Cruz blinks her eyes open. Stares up into the face. Tucker. A guy she knows from… from…
“I know you…” she whispers.
“No,” he replies. Laughing lightly. “That’s the beer bottle that exploded against your head talking.”
“But…” Cruz squints. Trying to focus her eyesight so she can get a better look at the man. It’s a dumb move. Searing pain shooting through her skull. She relaxes her face. Gives up on identifying him. The pain not worth it. If he says he isn’t Tucker, then he isn’t Tucker. A man she knows from… from…
Ugh.
She still can’t place the name. She gives up for real this time. Gazes up at the man. Big. Strong. A bushy beard covering a good portion of his face.
“Ok, they’re ready for her. Let’s move.”
It’s the woman again. The voice familiar. Cruz twists her head. Spots who she assumes is the woman. She’s pretty. Dark hair. Her expression intense in a lethal way. Like she’d fuck you up if you looked at her funny.
“Alright miss…” the man who isn’t Tucker starts. Drawing Cruz’s attention back toward him. “You heard my friend. It’s time to move. I’m gonna pick you up now and we’re gonna get you outside.”
“Hmmm…” Cruz hums. Eyes shutting.
The man doesn’t reprimand her this time. He might not even notice that she’s let them close. Because his arms are sliding beneath her. Then he’s lifting her up. Pulling her close.
She whines as she moves. Her skull throbbing. The rest of body hurting like a beer bottle to the head isn’t the only injury she sustained. Something presses against the back of her skull. A hand, maybe. A hand that belongs to another person. She doesn’t try to look. The pain too bad. Pain that keeps getting worse. The man moving now. Three hands on her body. The person touching her head keeping pace as they walk out into the chilly night air. The music fades. But the crowd noise remains. A large group of people apparently on the scene. Law enforcement for sure. Witnesses. Nosy bystanders. EMTs providing care to the other victims.
They keep walking. Slowly. The crowd noise eventually fading away. Allowing her to focus on other sounds. The beat of the man’s heart as he carries her. The crunch of footsteps over gravel. Insects chirping.
They stop. Suddenly. There’s a clicking noise. A bang. An, “Oops.”
The man holding her huffs. His chest vibrating against Cruz’s ear. “Stealthy,” he mutters. His chest vibrating again. The sensation unpleasant. She tries to tilt her head so it’s not pressed against his chest, but she can’t move. The hand on the back of her skull keeping her in place.
“Are you ready?” the woman asks. Her voice coming from behind Cruz. Meaning it’s her hand on Cruz’s head.
“Yup,” someone answers. The voice also familiar.
They move again. Just a few steps. Then the man who claims he isn’t Tucker speaks, “Ok, miss. We’re at the ambulance. I’m going to hand you off to someone who will take care of you, ok?”
“Mmm…” she hums. Blinks. Gets her eyes open. Keeps them open long enough to see trees ahead. Lights visible through the trees. The side of ambulance. But that’s all. Her head hurting too much for her to attempt looking to her left or right.
“Alright,” Not–Tucker starts. Chest vibrating against Cruz’s ear. “I’m handing you off in three… two… one…”
The hand on the back of head drops away on three. Then she’s moving on one. Not–Tucker extending his arms. Lifting her higher into the air. Someone else touches her. Their arms sliding below her body.
“You got her?” Not–Tucker asks.
“Yup,” the second man replies. Grunting like he’s straining to support her weight.
Not–Tucker’s hands move away. She hears another grunt. Then she’s moving again. The second man pulling her close. One of his arms sliding uncomfortably along her back. The other digging unpleasantly into the bottom of her thighs.
There's another grunt. Then his voice. Strained. “Next time find one with a working ramp.”
Someone laughs. A fourth person. The laughter coming from behind them. She hears footsteps. Then that person’s voice. Loud. Abrasive. “Hope you packed another shirt 'cause that ain’t comin’ out.”
The man holding her chuckles. The force of his laughter causing her to shake in his arms. She groans. Hears a fifth voice joining the conversation, “You know he’ll just go shirtless.”
“True,” the man behind her calls out. “He loves showing off those impressive man boobies.”
Cruz cringes at the phrasing. She hears laughter. The man holding her now laughing so hard that she’s literally bouncing around in his arms. Each movement and sound making her pain exponentially worse.
“That’s enough!” the woman shouts. “Pull it together! We’re not in the clear yet. I should be able to step away for thirty seconds to send a text message without you dropping your guard.”
“Sorry boss,” one of the men answers.
She hears a sharp sigh. Then the woman’s voice, “Let’s move. We can’t stay here much longer.”
They all move then. Nobody speaking. But Cruz hears footsteps and a slam as she’s getting spun around and walked a few steps. They come to a stop. Then she’s getting lowered down. Set on what feels like a hospital cot. The surface padded, but hard. The crinkling as she wiggles around indicating that there’s a thin papery sheet covering the padding.
The engine starts. The ambulance moves. Slowly. Tires screeching like they’re unhappy to be driving over gravel.
She hears a sigh. Senses movement to her left. A hand touches her shoulder. A voice speaks at the same time, “You’re safe now. Do you remember your name?”
Cruz blinks. Keeps blinking. Struggling to get her eyes open. Wanting to identity the source of the voice before she responds. She eventually succeeds. Her eyes landing on the ambulance wall. She tries to roll over. But she can’t. The hand on her shoulder holding her in place.
She sighs. Hears a light laugh. Then the man is coming into view. His head upside down. His face familiar. Brown hair. A beard. Kind eyes. “Tex?” she guesses.
The man laughs. Retreats out of view. She hears clinking. A grunt. Then his voice. “That’s my name. What’s yours?”
Cruz doesn’t answer right away. Trying to figure out if she can trust him. But if she knows him, then he knows her and her name and he’s probably asking because he needs to figure out how fucked up she is. So she caves. Whispers, “Cruz.”
“Good. Very good,” Tex answers. His voice farther away. She starts to turn. Wanting to see where he went. Stops. Just the simple bit of movement causing another round of searing pain in her skull.
There’s a pop. Crinkling. Then Tex’s voice. Closer. “Do you know where you are?”
“An ambulance?” she states. Phrasing her reply as a question because she knows it’s not the answer that Tex wants.
“Uh-huh,” Tex confirms. His upside down face popping back into her line of sight. “Do you know where that ambulance is?”
“Umm… Uhh…” she sputters. Searching her mind. Trying to remember where the ambulance is. But she comes up empty. Managing only another technically correct answer, “Driving away from a bar?”
Tex huffs a laugh. Leans away. “And where is that bar?”
She scowls. Tex honing in on the specific fact that eludes her. She wiggles her head. Mumbles, “I can’t remember.”
There’s a ripping noise. Crinkling. Then Tex’s voice again. “That’s ok. You don’t have to answer that one.”
She exhales. Shuts her eyes. Feels a hand on the side of her head. Hears a sharp inhale. A muttered, “Nasty…”
“That’s not good,” she blurts. Her eyes flying open.
Tex’s hand retreats. There’s more crinkling. Clattering. Then his voice again, “I’m not a doctor or a medical professional of any kind, so I won’t lie and say you’ll be fine. But my sense is that you will be. We’ll get you checked out by a real doctor once we’re back at the house. For now I need to cover this and keep some pressure on it so you don’t bleed out before we get there."
She hums. Otherwise doesn’t reply. Tex’s words not very reassuring.
There’s movement. More crinkling. A bandage wrapper flies into view. Landing on the cot by Cruz’s face.
“Hey Two Cups!” Tex shouts. “Grab some gloves and come help me.”
“Yes sir!” Two Cups shouts back. A sarcastic edge to his tone.
She hears footsteps. Snapping noises. Likely Two Cups getting the gloves situated on his hands. Then he’s speaking again. His voice close. No longer sarcastic. “What do you need?”
“Grab the side of her head and gently lift her up so I can slide this below,” Tex instructs.
There’s silence. Footsteps. Then a presence is looming behind Cruz’s head. She doesn’t try to look. Staying completely still. Her eyes locked on the ambulance wall.
“Ready?” Two Cups asks.
She hums. Shuts her eyes. Feels fingers slipping below the right side of her head. They come to a stop on her temple. Then they’re digging into her skin. She hears a laugh. Then Two Cups’s voice. “Help me out here, Cruz. Don’t fight it.”
She blows out a breath. Relaxes. Feels her head moving. Feels something sliding underneath. Covering her ear.
“Set her down,” Tex orders.
Cruz drops back down. Feels pressure on her skull. Tex’s hand gripping her like he’s palming a basketball. It hurts. A lot. The pain sharper. Stabby. Meaning Tex might be pushing glass further into her head.
Her eyes fly open again. “Are you sure you got all of the glass out?”’
“All of it?” Tex starts. His upside down head popping into view. He winces. Leans away. “No. Do you feel some?”
“Uhh….” she trails off. Closes her eyes. Concentrates on what she’s feeling. Stinging and stabbing and burning. But she’s not a doctor and she’s never had a beer bottle explode against her head, so she has no idea what glass shards are supposed to feel like when lodged in her skull. She opens her eyes. Answers meekly, “Maybe?”
“Shit…” Tex exhales. His hand moves. Withdrawing. But coming right back. The pressure in slightly different spots. Meaning he probably switched hands. There’s a scuffling sound. Then Tex’s voice again. “Should I keep putting on pressure if there’s glass in there?”
“Beats me,” Two Cups answers. His voice coming from near the front of the ambulance.
She hears a sigh. Then Tex’s voice. Closer. Lower. “Do you know?”
Cruz snorts. Wants to snap back about why he’d expect her to know. But there’s too much pain shooting through her head. So she stays silent. Closes her eyes.
“Uhh… Ok…” Tex mutters. “How about I just reduce the pressure some?”
She hums. Keeps her eyes closed. Feels Tex’s hand move. His fingers in different spots. His palm no longer flat against her skull. His other hand lands on her shoulder. His finger brushing slowly over her skin. She hears a huff. Then Tex’s voice, “How hard did that bottle get thrown? She’s got glass dust all over her shoulder.”
“Glass dust?” Two Cups asks.
Footsteps follow his question. She senses another presence hovering above her body. Hears a chuckle. Then Two Cups’s voice, “Are you sure that’s glass and not some sparkly beauty product crap that they put on to make themselves sparkle like pretty princesses?”
“Glass…” Cruz answers. Firmly. “I’m not a middle school girl.”
Her response earns her laughter. Two Cups’s the loudest. Tex’s doesn’t last very long. He settles down quickly. Throws another question at her, “What’s the last thing that you can remember?”
She swallows. Thinks. Images start flashing through her mind. A woman. Beautiful and radiant. Smiling at Cruz as she did Cruz’s hair and makeup. Leaning close to whisper words into Cruz’s ear. Words that Cruz can’t remember. But she can remember the woman’s smell. Sweet. Floral. The way her lips felt as they ghosted against Cruz’s cheek and the back of her neck. And she can remember the woman’s name. “Aaliyah…”
She hears a snort. Loud. Then Two Cups’s voice. Muttering, “Of course that’s what she remembers.”
“Knock it off!” Tex shouts. “She’s too out of it for that shit.”
Cruz winces. The shout too loud. She hears a heavy sigh. Then feels a pat against her shoulder. “You’ve done good. Keep those eyes shut and get some rest. We’ll be home soon.”
“Ok,” she whispers. Still uncertain about where she is or how she knows these men or why she’s in an ambulance staffed by people who aren’t medical professionals. But she trusts that this knowledge is there. Temporarily hidden by the blows she sustained to her head. It should all come back once she’s gotten proper medical treatment and rest. And that’s why she’ll comply with Tex’s instructions. Wanting those answers. Especially the ones about Aaliyah. Who she is and what she is to Cruz and whether she’s had the pleasure of feeling those lips on places other than her cheek and neck.
There’s a buzzing noise. A loud sigh. A quiet, “Hi.” Footsteps. A less than quiet, “She did what?!”
Cruz blinks. Keeps blinking. Her eyes refusing to stay open. And maybe that’s for the best. Her head throbbing and burning. The back of her skull feeling like it’s been ripped open. So she lets her eyes stay shut. Wiggles her face. Pressing it close against what feels like a couch cushion.
She hears pounding. Like a fist banging into a wall. Or maybe a forehead. Then Joe’s voice. Low. Angry. “I’m going to kill her.”
Cruz’s eyes fly open. Her heart starts pounding. The possibility that Joe is speaking about her enough to overcome the searing pain. She swallows. Waits. Eyes locked on the back of the couch. The fabric plaid. Brown. Hideous.
“No… No!” Joe shouts. There’s another thud. A huffed laugh. “I can’t… You don’t… This is our daughter. Our daughter. You don’t get to tell me to calm down and you don’t get to hide things from me. A boyfriend is news that I need to know about the moment the relationship starts. Not wh–”
Joe cuts off. Cruz relaxes. Slightly. Because this conversation isn’t about her, but it is personal and Joe doesn’t do personal which means she probably won’t be happy to know that Cruz is listening. But it’s not Cruz’s fault. Joe could have left the room to speak to who she assumes is Joe’s husband. But she chose to stay and now Cruz has a front row seat to Joe’s family drama.
She pulls in a breath. Slowly. Quietly. Doing her best to act like she’s asleep. Though she has no idea how to act asleep. Unable to observe herself sleeping to know what she looks like when she’s unconscious and it’s not like she’s had much experience with watching other people sleep. Lazy mornings in bed with Edgar not happening. She’d get out of bed the second her eyes opened. Steal a few quiet moments to herself. And lazy mornings with her other partners were out of the question once she joined the Marines. She always had somewhere to be. Training. Duty. Or just out of the stranger’s bed because it was a one night thing and she didn’t want to give the woman the wrong idea. So no, she–
She’s being an idiot. She does have memories of other people sleeping around her. Thousands of them. Her brothers sleeping when she was a child. Her mother’s boyfriends passed out on the couch. Her fellow Marines crashing in their bunks or on the floor or stealing some quick rest in the very early stages of transport for a mission when they didn’t yet need to be on alert.
She focuses on the clearest image. Mallory. Snoring away in the bunk next to her in basic. Dirty boots still on her feet. Grass and mud all over her face. Her chest rising and falling evenly with every breath. Cruz tries to match her breathing to that memory. She immediately fails. Another slam sounding out. A fist or forehead meeting the wall. The noise making her jump. Joe’s voice follows. Loud. Angry. “No! You don’t get it. There’s something called voicemail. So yeah, if I’m away in the desert, you can pick up the phone and dial my number and say something like, ‘Hey Joe, Kate has a boyfriend. Call me as soon as you’re able so we can discuss how to handle this.’ Because then maybe you wouldn’t be getting a call from the school to say that she’d gotten caught fucking her boyfriend in the chemistry supply closet after school.”
Oh shit.
Cruz gasps. Unable to hold back the reaction. She shuts her eyes. Cringes. Waits for Joe to start yelling at her for listening. But that doesn’t happen. There’s just heavy breathing and footsteps as Joe listens to her husband’s response.
It’s a lengthy response. Loud. Cruz able to hear the yelling from her spot on the couch. She can’t make out the words. Joe too far away and the call not on speaker. But she doesn’t need to hear the words to know what’s being said. She’s heard similar fights dozens of times. Wives chewing out their husbands for not being home. Blaming that absence for their children’s bad behavior. Though usually the kids are younger. Elementary school aged. And their bad behavior amounts to fights at school. Bullying. Refusing to do chores. This is a new one. And one that has her very glad that she will never have kids.
The yelling stops. There’s a heavy sigh. A thud. Then Joe’s voice, “Did that feel good?”
There’s silence for a brief moment. Then a laugh. Another thud. Joe’s voice again, “Me too. So…” she pauses. Lets out a heavy breath. There’s a tapping noise. Her fingers or head banging against something. Then her voice again, “Where do we go from here?”
There’s more silence. Longer. A sigh. Resigned. Then Joe is speaking again. Calmer now. “Ok. We’ll do that. Things are… happening… here. I don’t know when I’ll be back. Soon, hopefully. And then we can talk. Ok?”
There’s more tapping. A sigh. Joe’s voice again, “Ok. I will. Bye.”
Cruz exhales. Relieved that the call is over. But her relief doesn’t last. Because the exhale was long and audible and there’s no way Joe missed it.
She hears a laugh. Then Joe’s voice. “How long have you been awake?”
Shit.
Cruz cringes. Forces herself to move. Rolling over. Gazing out at Joe where she’s standing across the room. Her back pressed against a bookcase. Her arms crossed. An eyebrow raised. But her expression is more amused than angry. So Cruz feels safe to go with a semi-playful answer, “Longer than you’d like.”
Joe chuckles. Uncrosses her arms. Walks toward the couch. She stops behind the upholstered chair that’s near Cruz’s head. Grabs the sides. Lifts it and turns it so that it’s facing Cruz. She drops down into the seat. Bends forward. Clasps her hand together. Fixes Cruz with a serious look, “I can trust you to keep quiet about what you heard?”
“Yes,” Cruz answers. Honestly. Because she’s not a gossip. Not the type to meddle in people’s affairs. So there’s no chance she’d leave this room and blab about what she heard. Though she doesn’t blame Joe for asking. She probably would too if she had a sensitive conversation in front of someone she didn’t know. Which is probably why Joe is studying her now. Searching her face. Like she’s trying to figure out if Cruz is being truthful.
“I promise I won’t say anything,” Cruz adds. “You’ve made it clear that your personal life is private. I respect that.”
Joe nods. “Good.” She sits up straight. Frowns. Her eyes still on Cruz’s face. Her study still underway.
Cruz tries not to squirm. The attention unnerving. But she doesn’t want Joe to know she’s uncomfortable and she doesn’t want to move again. Simply breathing enough to generate pain in her head and ribs.
Joe relaxes after another long moment. She smiles at Cruz. Or what passes as a smile. “Do you know who I am?”
Cruz snorts. Rears back slightly. Surprised by the question given the words they just exchanged. But she answers anyway, “Yeah. Of course. Joe.”
She pushes up into a sitting position once she’s done speaking. A dumb choice. Pain shooting through her skull. She groans. Closes her eyes. Reaches up to the back of her head. Feels bandages rather than hair. She opens her eyes. Glances around the room. Wondering for the first time since she woke up where the fuck she is and–
“What the fuck happened?” she asks. Looking back toward Joe. Dropping her hand away from her head.
Joe’s eyes widen for the briefest of moments. She leans closer. “You don’t remember?”
“I–” Cruz starts. Stops. Searches her mind. The memories come rushing back. Chesapeake. Aaliyah. The Hamptons. Aaliyah. The bar fight. A projectile whizzing past her head. Then pain. Lots of pain. She closes her eyes. Exhales a loud, “Fuck…”
“So you do remember?” Joe asks. Cautiously.
Cruz opens her eyes. Nods. “I do. I think. Most of it. There was a fight and something went past my head and then it’s all…” she lifts her hand. Waves it around.
“Blurry?” Joe guesses. “Hazy?”
“Mmm…” Cruz hums. Nodding. More memories coming back. But only flashes. Images of Tucker and Tex and a man she’s never seen before shining a flashlight into her eyes.
“That’s to be expected,” Joe replies. Leaning back in her seat. “You didn’t miss much. We commandeered an ambulance and drove you here. Kaitlyn had a medic waiting who pulled glass out of your scalp and stitched you up. You’ve been asleep for a while now.”
Cruz doesn’t reply immediately. Needing a second to process the information. A woman named Kaitlyn. Glass in her skull. She lifts her hand up. Presses it against the bandaged area again. “Glass? From a beer bottle?”
“Yup,” Joe confirms. She lets out a wry laugh. Leans forward again. Lowers her voice. Hits Cruz with a serious look. “You’re lucky to be alive. If that thing was thrown any harder or shattered less neatly, it could have gone a lot deeper. And if it got your neck…”
“Christ…” Cruz mutters. She starts chuckling. Shaking her head. Groaning. At the pain and the close call. She looks back at Joe after a moment. “That would be a terrible way to go.”
“But not as bad as getting eaten by sharks, right?” Two Cups shouts.
She glances toward the door to the room. Spots him entering. Bobby trailing close behind. Grinning. A devilish grin. One that gives Cruz a half second notice that Bobby is about to say something terrible.
The comment arrives, “Wrong. I believe Cruz’s exact words were that getting eaten would be the worst way to go.”
“That’s right,” Two Cups nods. He comes to a stop in front of the bookcase across the room. Leans against it. Addresses Bobby where she’s taken up a position by the desk to Cruz’s left, “And then what did Aaliyah say? Something about how–”
“That’s enough!” Joe shouts. Putting an end to Cruz’s latest torture session.
But the damage is done. She’s flushing and sweating and dying inside. She closes her eyes. Tips back against the couch. Not giving a damn about the pain she feels from the impact. She’s thankful for it, actually. Thankful that it’s helping to drown out the loud laughter in the room. Laughter at her expense. Laughter that’s only getting started. Her team probably having thousands of jokes saved and she’s going to hear them all.
Ugh.
For now she hears mumbled apologies. Knows that if she opens her eyes she’ll see Bobby and Two Cups laughing and sharing looks that say they are anything but sorry. So she keeps her eyes shut. Embraces the pain in her skull. Searing and burning and miserable.
“Hey, Tuck!” Bobby shouts. “Get in here! Cruz is awake.”
The shouting makes her head throb worse. She groans. Forces her eyes open. Mumbles, “Do I have a concussion?”
“Possibly,” Joe answers. Drawing Cruz’s focus back toward her. “You seemed to have memory loss immediately after which is concerning, but your pupil response was fine and you otherwise passed the doctor’s concussion assessment.”
Cruz squints. Searching for memories of the concussion assessment. All she can find are the bits with the flashlight. That’s not good. Concussions tricky injuries. Some people bouncing back within a day or two. Others suffering for the rest of their life. Which means the mission could be in jeopardy. Aaliyah gone for good. B–
“Sleeping Beauty awakes!”
She glances toward the door. Spots Tucker entering. Tex and Randy trailing behind.
“How are you feelin’, Cruz?” he asks. Smiling at her.
She doesn’t return the smile. Deadpanning, “Like someone chucked a bottle at my head.”
There’s laughter. Tucker. The rest of the team. Not Joe. She’s silent. Gazing intently at Cruz like she’s assessing Cruz’s behavior.
Cruz looks away. Once again unnerved by the attention. Her eyes land on Tucker. He has a small wooden chair under his left arm. His right foot is extended. Kicking the coffee table out of the way. He sets the chair down in front of Cruz when he’s done. Takes a seat. Holds up a flashlight, “The doctor couldn’t stay, so I’ve been appointed team medic in his stead. I’m gonna run you through the concussion battery again, if that’s ok?”
“Battery?” she asks. Lifting an eyebrow.
Tucker chuckles. Switches on the flashlight. “Not a good term, I agree.”
“Mmm…” she shakes her head. “No. I’ve reached my battery limit for a while.”
It’s an honest statement. Pointed. Aimed at an audience of one. She doesn’t look at Joe as she speaks and she doesn’t look after she’s finished either. Not really caring to see the effect her words have on Joe. If any. She just wants to get them out. Let Joe know that she’s not over what happened to her last week. So instead she focuses on Tucker. Letting him shine the light into her eyes. It’s blinding. Painful. But it doesn’t last too long. A few seconds at most. Then Tucker is dropping the flashlight. Switching it off.
He smiles at her. “Your response is normal. That’s good.”
She hums. Waits for the next part of the test.
Tucker leans back in his seat. Crosses his arms. “Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?”
“No,” she answers. Honestly.
He nods. Stares at her for a moment. That same unnerving stare that Joe keeps giving her. Wh–
“Do you have a headache?” he asks.
She closes her eyes. Gives herself a moment to assess whether the pain she’s feeling is a headache in the commonly understood sense of the word or an ache in her head because of her wounds. It’s both. The wounds burning. But there’s also a dull ache and throb present.
“Yes,” she answers. Opening her eyes.
Tucker hums. Stares at her for another long, unnerving moment before he asks the next question, “What’s your name?”
She hesitates on this question too. Tempted to give her cover name. But being cheeky during this test could get her sidelined and separated from Aaliyah. So she resists the urge. Provides her real name, “Cruz Manuelos.”
Tucker doesn’t seem happy with her answer. He frowns at her. “You hesitated. Did you need time to remember?”
She winces. Comes clean, “No. I was thinking about saying Zara Adid.”
He huffs a laugh. Throws Joe a look. Cruz keeps her gaze ahead. She can see the rest of her team behind Tucker. Bobby sitting on the edge of the desk. Tex and Randy perched near Two Cups.
“Where are you?” Tucker asks.
Cruz focuses back on him. Answers without any sass, “Somewhere in the Hamptons unless you took me elsewhere.”
“No,” Tucker wiggles his head. “We’re still technically in the Hamptons. Farther south than your girl would ever venture.”
She frowns at his statement. His use of ‘your girl.’ The insinuation that Aaliyah wouldn’t come near here. The first part pissing her off. The second part making her curious. But she won’t prod about his assertion. Can’t. Tucker already throwing another question at her, “Can you recite the months of the year backwards?”
She glares. Not thrilled with the task. But she complies, “December, November, October, September, August, July, June, May, April, March, February, and January.”
“Good,” Tucker nods. “Thank you.”
He turns to Joe. “Has she been slurring her speech or struggling to speak coherently?”
Cruz glances toward Joe. She’s staring at Cruz. Her eyes narrowed. Fingers tightly gripping the side of her seat. “No,” she starts. Turning toward Tucker. “She seemed lucid during our brief conversation.”
“Alright then,” Tucker replies. Looking back at Cruz. “We’ll keep an eye on you and you keep an eye on you, ok? If you start feeling dizzy or your headache gets worse, let us know. But it looks like you got lucky and escaped without scrambling your brain.”
Snickering breaks out in the room. Tucker’s eyes widen briefly. Then he’s grinning. Laughing.
Cruz clenches her jaw. Narrows her eyes. Runs her gaze around the room. Taking in the sheer delight on everyone’s face. Well, everyone except Joe. She’s stone-faced and glaring at Cruz like she’s pissed off about something. The laughter. The fact that Cruz did something that could lead to the laughter. Though Joe assured her it was ok when they spoke at the bar. So maybe it’s something else. Anger and frustration over the fact that Cruz got hurt in a way that might delay or completely compromise the mission.
She swallows. Nervous. About Joe’s demeanor and the mission.
“So what now?” she blurts. Risking further ire because she needs answers, “Do I go back in? Or try to go back in? Or do I wait?”
“You wait,” Joe replies. Tone firm.
That’s not the answer that Cruz wanted to hear. She wants to go back now. Pick up where she left off. Playing the role of Ehsan’s wedding gift.
“For how long,” she asks. Keeping an even and professional tone so that she doesn’t tip anyone off to the turmoil that she’s feeling inside.
Joe sighs. Breaks their stare. Her eyes moving to Cruz’s left. Toward Bobby or maybe the windows that are behind Bobby’s back. She reaches up. Wipes her eyes. Yawns. Her open display of fatigue taking Cruz by surprise. She looks back toward Cruz after another moment. Shrugs, “I don’t know yet. We need to debrief and make sure you’re healthy enough to go back and then we’ll figure out how to get you back.”
“Ok…” Cruz nods. Still not liking the answer, but understanding it. Because as much as she wants to go back now, it can’t happen. Debriefing is necessary. She needs to share what she’s learned. Talk through her Ehsan concerns. Get feedback on her performance and advice on how to do better. Though waiting could cause problems. Aaliyah and her entourage likely to keep bouncing around the globe. They could be gone as early as tomorrow. Leaving Zara in the Hamptons without so much as a car.
“Shit…” she mutters under her breath. Turning her focus back towards Joe, “What are we going to do about my car?”
There’s a huff to her left. Then Randy’s voice from across the room. Sarcastic. “Your car.”
She looks toward him. Glares. Then looks back at Joe. “Zara’s car is in Chesapeake. Won’t the CIA want it back?”
Joe gives her a look. Sharp. Amused. “Do I need to answer that?”
Cruz chuckles, but doesn’t reply. Understanding that it’s not a real question.
Joe’s expression changes again. The hint of levity gone. “It can stay where it is for now. With any luck, Aaliyah will decide to use its location at Chesapeake as an excuse to get you back there. That would be ideal for us because we can cover you more easily there. Here poses problems.”
Cruz frowns. Curious about those problems given that Bobby was on the beach earlier. But she bites her tongue. Joe not finished yet. “If we’re not lucky and Ehsan wants her here or somewhere else, then you can ask her to have someone tow it to a safe location or your dad’s assistant can go get it for you.”
Cruz rears back. Surprised. She doesn’t bite her tongue this time. Asking the question that’s on the forefront of her mind, “My dad has an assistant?”
Joe gives her another sharp look. Only this one is exasperated. “This is the CIA. Did you really think we’d send you into a dangerous situation with just a story and an ID?”
Cruz winces. Leans back against the couch. Wishing she could sink into it to escape Joe’s attention. But she can’t. And Joe isn’t done. Huffing. Looking around the room like she’s silently asking everyone else present if they can believe Cruz’s idiocy. Then she’s turning her focus back on Cruz. Continuing, “You have parents and a house in Arlington.”
“And an address in Charlotte?” Cruz asks. Meekly. Knowing she’s about to get her ass handed to her for going off script.
Joe closes her eyes. Inhales. Visibly. Her body language screaming that she’s trying to calm herself down before delivering a verbal smackdown.
Bobby jumps into the conversation. Calling out, “You do now. We scrambled and got you covered. But that’s why we wanted you to be vague.”
“Yeah…. Yeah…” Cruz nods. Then she huffs. Feeling just as exasperated as Joe. She doesn’t hold back. Directing her frustration at Bobby, “You were listening. Tell me how I could have vagued my way through those conversations? These people are smart and malicious and playing these fucked up mind games. I had to get specific to keep my cover.”
She’s met with silence. Bobby giving her a slight shrug like she’s conceding the point. Then looking away.
Cruz quickly glances around the room. Searching to see if anyone else disagrees with what she just said. Nobody speaks. Though everyone else is fidgeting around awkwardly and avoiding her gaze. Two Cups playing with his beard. Tex and Randy sharing a look and possibly silent words. Tucker is leaned back in his seat. His arms crossed. His fingers tapping on his biceps. His gaze on the ceiling.
She looks at Joe last. Her eyes are still closed. Her hand raised now. Temples pinched between her index finger and thumb. She’s taking deep breaths. Blowing them out slowly. Still trying to calm herself down or maybe wake herself up. It’s late. It has to be. Everyone else looking worn down too.
Cruz crosses her arms. Grits her jaw. Waits for Joe to say something. She does after another moment. Her hand falling down. Her eyes opening. Her voice surprising calm, “You did the best you could and your cover is still intact, so let’s focus on that.”
There’s a laugh from across the room. Loud. Incredulous. Cruz glances toward the door. A woman is standing in the entrance. She’s older. Fifties, maybe. Gorgeous. Tall with curly red hair that’s swept into a messy bun. But her expression is hostile. Her body language imposing. Cruz immediately sits up straight. Sensing that this is someone important and someone she doesn’t want to piss off. Though it appears to be too late for that.
Shit.
Cruz looks toward Joe. She’s twisted around now. Staring at the woman. “You disagree, Kaitlyn?”
“I do,” Kaitlyn replies. Looking quickly toward Joe before her eyes land back on Cruz.
Cruz swallows. Does her best not to fidget in her seat. But it’s hard. Kaitlyn’s gaze boring right through her.
The attention only lasts for another few seconds. Then Kaitlyn looks away. Her eyes narrowing as she scans the area around Cruz. Her feet taking her fully into the room. She keeps to Cruz’s right. Walking along the bookcase lined wall until she’s standing between Cruz and Joe. Her gaze lands on Tucker. She tilts her head. Gesturing toward the wall by the entrance.
There’s a scraping noise. Cruz follows the sound. Spots Tucker fleeing the area. Two hundred plus pounds of muscle moving faster than she figured was possible. She’d laugh if it weren’t also terrifying. Tucker’s haste indicating that her initial perception was correct. Kaitlyn is not someone to take lightly.
Kaitlyn walks into view. She twists around. Takes a seat in the chair that Tucker vacated. Her movements slow. Elegant. She crosses her right leg over her left. Moves her left arm across her stomach. Rests her right elbow on her left hand. Her right hand ending up on her face. Chin tucked into the ‘V’ between her thumb and index finger.
She smiles at Cruz. A menacing smile. Then she glances toward Joe. “She’s green.”
“She’s in,” Joe replies. Tone cautious. Like she’s hesitant to defend Cruz. Though it wouldn’t be Cruz that she’s defending. It would be herself. Cruz’s performance her responsibility.
Kaitlyn huffs. Turns back toward Cruz. “Does this look ‘in’ to you?”
Cruz grits her teeth. Holds Kaitlyn’s stare. Refusing to crack under the attention.
She hears a sigh to her right. Joe’s voice following. Annoyed. “Come on, you know exactly what I mean.”
“I do,” Kaitlyn replies. Glancing quickly toward Joe before focusing back on Cruz. “You’re referring to the sexual relationship that has developed between our asset and the mark. A sexual relationship that I just had the pleasure of explaining to Mason.”
Kaitlyn leans closer. Lowers her voice into a near whisper, “Do you know who that is?”
Cruz shakes her head.
“She’s the president’s chief of staff,” Kaitlyn continues. Voice still in a near whisper. “And she was not happy about being awake in the wee hours of the morning so she could discuss a lesbian love affair.”
There’s a snort to Cruz’s right. She doesn’t look over to see Joe’s face. But there’s no need. Joe’s words and tone perfectly capturing her annoyance with Kaitlyn’s statement, “Don’t act like she wasn’t already awake.”
Kaitlyn whips her head toward Joe. Fires back, “I’m not suggesting that’s the case. Everyone is up because of the mess you created in Texas.”
A mess in Texas?
Cruz chances a quick look at Joe. Her face is blank. Emotionless. But it’s a purposeful emotionlessness. The slight tension in her jaw indicating that she’s trying not to tip her hand about what she’s really feeling.
Huh.
Cruz looks back toward Kaitlyn. She’s smirking now. Apparently pleased that she put Joe in her place about this mess in Texas. She twists back toward Cruz. Aims that smirk at her. “And now they have this mess to worry about too. A mess that might not have happened if you’d been entirely focused on your current mission.”
Cruz swallows. Clenches her fists. Unnerved by Kaitlyn’s gaze. Pissed off that Kaitlyn is looking at her while continuing to rebuke Joe.
And that’s probably the reaction that Kaitlyn wants. Her eyes dropping down for the briefest of moments. Her smirk widening. She leans closer. Lowers her voice again. “They’re in the war room right now. And do you know what they’re talking about?”
Cruz shakes her head. Unable to get out a real, ‘no.’
Kaitlyn leans away. Raises her voice, “Whether they should call this entire operation off.”
That gets Cruz’s attention. She inhales. Sharply. Unable to hold her reaction back. The possibility of never seeing Aaliyah again devastating.
“That’s bullshit!” Joe shouts. “They’re overreacting like they always do!”
Kaitlyn finally looks away from Cruz. Turning her focus back toward Joe. “I agree. But you know them. Meddling is their middle name. Pigs will fly before they sit back and let us do whatever is necessary to keep our country safe.”
Joe nods. Blows out a loud breath. Silence fills the room for a long moment. Kaitlyn and Joe looking at each other like they’re speaking without words.
Cruz takes the opportunity to study them. Trying to read between the lines. She’s confused. Because Joe wasn’t upset about the sex and Kaitlyn’s anger seems to be more about other people being angry about the sex.
She should stay silent. Wait for Kaitlyn to resume this weird mix of briefing and interrogation. But she can’t. Blurting, “So you’re not actually upset that I slept with Aaliyah?”
Kaitlyn whips her gaze back to Cruz. She grins. A terrifying grin. “It depends.”
“On what?” Cruz asks. Chin high. Putting on a brave face even as she’s shaking inside.
“On whether you meant all of those things you said when you two were alone.” Kaitlyn clarifies. She leans closer. Places a hand on Cruz’s knee. Her face now inches away from Cruz’s face. “Do you know what I did on the plane ride here?”
Cruz wiggles her head. Once again unable to get out a simple, ‘no.’
Kaitlyn’s grin grows more terrifying. She leans impossibly closer. Whispers into Cruz’s ear, “I listened to the tapes and read the transcripts.”
Cruz gulps. Hears a laugh. Then Kaitlyn is leaning all of the way back. Her hand moving off Cruz’s knee. “Either you are one of the most gifted liars that I’ve encountered during my many years at the agency, or you weren’t lying and you meant every word and now we have a big problem on our hands because you’re compromised and can’t be trusted to complete the mission.”
Cruz pulls in a big breath. Slow. Even. Keeping herself in check. Because if she panics and rushes to defend herself, then she will fuck all of this up. She has to play it cool. Show that she’s not rattled. So she waits another few moments. Then she grins. Shrugs. Answers nonchalantly, “I told her what she wanted to hear.”
Kaitlyn scoffs. Glances over at Joe. But she doesn’t say anything. Joe doesn’t speak either. Though they are speaking. Another conversation playing out silently. One that ends with Joe shrugging and Kaitlyn letting out a wry laugh before turning back toward Cruz. She leans closer. Speaks. Her tone low. Menacing. “I hope for your sake that you are telling me the truth because I am not someone that you lie to. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cruz replies. Confidently. Politely. Relying on her SERE training so she doesn’t crack and show the fear she’s feeling inside.
Kaitlyn holds her gaze for a long while. Then she leans back in her seat. Crosses her arms. Sighs. “You do realize that you’ve changed your cover story in a way that requires you to be in Charlotte five days a week?”
Cruz opens her mouth. Closes it. Winces.
“Your job is to be with Aaliyah at all times,” Kaitlyn states. Flatly. “That’s why we gave you the cover story of taking the semester off.”
Cruz nods. Holding Kaitlyn’s gaze. Taking the criticism with her head held high. It’s warranted criticism. Because she didn’t stop to think about how attending classes would impact the mission in the long-term sense. She just fell into the role of Zara. Answered questions like she thought this made up woman would answer them. Her focus entirely on coming off as authentic and likable to Aaliyah.
Kaitlyn leans closer after a moment. She puts her hand on Cruz’s knee. Fake whispers, “So what are we going to do with you for five days a week, huh?”
Cruz sighs. Her composure breaking. She starts looking around the room. Searching for a friendly face or a lifeline. The only person not staring at the floor or the ceiling or Kaitlyn is Bobby. Cruz throws her a pleading look.
Bobby rolls her eyes. Slumps her shoulders. Acting put out by the request. But she heeds Cruz’s call. Clearing her throat. “If I may, ma’am?”
Kaitlyn looks toward Bobby. Nods. “You may.”
“There’s no reason that Zara needs to have classes for five days a week,” Bobby starts. Lifting her right hand. Waving it around aimlessly. “We can figure out a two or three day schedule for her and have her with Aaliyah the rest of time.”
She stops speaking. Drops her hand. Widens her eyes like she’s waiting for Kaitlyn to respond. But she doesn’t get a response. Kaitlyn turning away. Looking toward Joe. Lifting an eyebrow.
Joe sighs. Throws Cruz a quick look before she answers Kaitlyn’s silent question, “Bobby’s right. Zara doesn’t need to be in class all week. And the time away might work to our advantage. We'd be able to debrief regularly and better prepare Cruz for whatever lies ahead.” She pauses. Twists in her seat so that she’s fully facing Kaitlyn. “It’s bigger than we thought. Her fiancé is knee deep in it. He has to be. That’s the only way that this match makes sense.”
Kaitlyn’s eyes narrow. She looks at Cruz for a moment. Her stare penetrating. Unnerving. Then she’s looking back at Joe. “You want to change the target?”
“No,” Joe replies. Waving Kaitlyn off. “At least not yet. But this guy’s a player. He has too much security for someone who fronts as a Wall Street finance bro and we caught him doing some sort of deal at the bar tonight before all hell broke loose.”
Kaitlyn frowns. Tilts her head. “A deal?”
Joe nods. Throws Cruz another quick look. “He passed off an envelope to someone that Aaliyah couldn’t identify. It looked thick. Like it was stuffed with cash. I’d really like to know what that was about. Don’t you?”
Kaitlyn sighs. Long. Heavy. Like the situation is causing her pain. She nods after a moment. Agrees, “I do.”
There’s silence. Cruz once again able to study the two women. Kaitlyn clearly pissed. Joe fired up. Intense. Like she has her sights on a target and is just waiting for permission to press the trigger. But she doesn’t get that permission. Kaitlyn staying silent. Which is probably why Joe softens her expression. Her tone practically pleading as she makes her case, “This isn’t how we expected the op to go, but we’re not in a bad spot. Aaliyah invited Cruz to the wedding, so we just need to maintain this relationship long enough for us to actually get there and in the meantime, if we discover the fiancé is running weapons or drugs or girls or all of the above, then that’s an extra win. Something we can take back to those stuffy assholes in the White House and maybe that will buy us some breathing room on our next mission.”
Kaitlyn snorts. Shoots back, “Someone’s in an optimistic mood tonight.” Her tone sharp, but teasing. Playful.
Joe shrugs. Smirks.
Interesting…
“And brave,” Kaitlyn adds. “I don’t think those assholes in the White House would be very happy if they knew you go around referring to them like that.”
“Who’s going to tell them?” Joe banters back. Openly grinning. The tension in the room finally starting to break.
“Not me,” Kaitlyn replies. Then she whips her head toward Cruz. Her gaze not on Cruz’s face. She snorts. Looks back at Joe. “You took her necklace off.”
“Yup,” Joe confirms. Still grinning. “No recording. No transcript. Which means none of what we discussed here ever happened.”
Kaitlyn hums. Then she’s looking back at Cruz. “How about you? Are you in an optimistic mood?”
Cruz frowns. Mumbles a low, “Huh?” Not following the question.
“About the mission!” Kaitlyn snaps. Exasperated. “Do you feel optimistic about your ability to maintain the relationship at a partial distance until the wedding while also keeping an eye on her fiancé?”
“Yes,” Cruz answers. Firmly. Directly.
Kaitlyn narrows her eyes. Leans forward. Whispers, “Even if the wedding is months from now?”
“Yes,” Cruz answers. Firmly. Directly. But she’s lying this time. Having zero clue about whether she can actually handle months of playing Zara.
Kaitlyn leans away. Glances back over at Joe, “And you think she’s up for it?”
“I do,” Joe nods. “And I think the change in Cruz’s cover will make it easier for her to pull it off.”
“How so?” Kaitlyn asks. Dragging the words out like she’s cautiously intrigued by Joe’s statement.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Joe answers. A hint of sarcasm in her tone.
Kaitlyn snorts. Lifts her eyebrows.
Joe shrugs. Keeps going, “The point is that Aaliyah is infatuated. If they’re apart for at least a few days each week, it will give her a chance to miss Zara as opposed to Zara constantly being around and possibly wearing out her welcome.”
Kaitlyn hums. Looks back toward Cruz. Her eyes narrowed. Gaze unfocused. Head nodding like she’s thinking through Joe’s words.
A throat clears to Cruz’s left. Then Bobby is jumping into the conversation, “It will be easier to cover her too. If they keep bouncin’ around, then we’ll have to follow, which means new headquarters and last minute travel and tryin’ to figure out how to get one of us close without tippin’ off the fiancé’s security. When Cruz is out, all of their relationship can occur over the phone and that means I can be sittin’ right next to her and helpin’ her respond.”
“How does texting help us with the fiancé?” Kaitlyn asks. Turning her head. Addressing Joe.
Cruz doesn’t give Joe a chance to answer. Blurting, “It doesn’t. But I don’t trust him or this gift and there’s a chance that if I’m around as much as Aaliyah wants me, then we’ll test his patience and that could ruin everything.”
“Which is probably why you shouldn’t have slept with her to begin with,” Kaitlyn snaps. Her gaze whipping back to Cruz.
“Probably,” Cruz concedes. Shrugging, “But what’s to say that she wouldn’t have gotten sick of me if I didn’t put out?”
Kaitlyn sighs. A heavy sigh. Defeated. Her reactions confusing Cruz. Because it seemed like she was coming around on the idea of Cruz fucking Aaliyah and now she’s back to being upset about it.
“She’s right, Kaitlyn,” Joe offers softly. “This is a woman who hates her situation and wants to have one last taste of fun and freedom before she’s locked away somewhere to make babies. If Cruz didn’t bite, she’d go looking for fun elsewhere. So the key right now is to keep Aaliyah hooked and happy without pissing Ehsan off.”
Kaitlyn lets out another heavy sigh. Her focus moving back to Joe. “And how will we do that?”
Joe glances across the room. She lifts her chin. Bobby’s voice follows a moment later, “Lots of texting and phone calls and short visits so we minimize the amount of time that Cruz is directly underfoot.”
Kaitlyn rolls her eyes. Whirls around. Glares at Bobby. “But again, how does that help us with the fiancé?”
“I thought you didn’t care about the fiancé?” Joe half-shouts. Grinning. Like she’s not afraid to poke the Kaitlyn shaped bear in the room.
A Kaitlyn shaped bear that’s now growling as she spins back to direct her glare at Joe. She calms down after a moment. Laughs. What might be a smile appearing briefly on her face. But only briefly. Her expression hardening again. Her tone agitated as she addresses Joe, “You’ve convinced me. Breathing room from those assholes, though unlikely, would be nice. So I repeat, how does that help us with the fiancé?”
Joe’s grin fades. She sits up straight. Finally answers Kaitlyn’s question, “She doesn’t need to be on him 24/7 to get actionable intel and she can keep pushing Aaliyah on the topic. We might get everything we need through text if Aaliyah lets her guard down.”
“What’s her response been so far?” Kaitlyn asks. Looking back toward Cruz.
“Response?” Cruz echoes. Wiggling her head.
Kaitlyn lets out another heavy sigh. Exasperated. Pained. But she doesn’t otherwise verbalize her frustration. Clarifying, “When you’ve asked her about her fiancé. Does she immediately shut the conversation down or lie or…”
“Oh… Uhh…” Cruz starts. Buying herself time to figure out her answer. Her head throbbing. Her conversations with Aaliyah not readily accessible. But she won’t admit that. Can’t risk getting sent to a hospital for further evaluation. So she pushes forward. Answering based on what little she can remember, “She doesn’t completely shut down conversation about him. Though she clearly doesn’t like discussing him more than she has to. So I’ve been careful to not push too hard. As for lying, I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure that out. But my gut tells me that she’s being honest.”
“Your gut,” Kaitlyn scoffs.
She leans back in her seat. Crosses her arms. Glares at Cruz. Eyes narrowed. Lips pursed. Like she’s trying to reach a decision about something. She relaxes after a long moment. Leans forward. Stares deep into Cruz’s eyes. Asks. Her voice a near whisper. “Has she reached out since you got separated tonight?”
“Uhhh….” Cruz grimaces. Starts fumbling for her phone. Stupidly. Because she’s still wearing a very short dress that doesn’t have pockets. She looks toward Bobby. Mouths, ‘Where is…’
“Your purse,” Bobby answers. “Tex is gettin’ it.”
She hears a snort. Glances back over at Kaitlyn in time to catch her muttering, “Nobody thought to check it?”
Cruz doesn’t take the bait. Keeping her expression even. Because out of everyone here, she has the best excuse for not looking at her phone. So there’s no way in hell she’s going to invite an ass chewing that’s better aimed at the other occupants of the room.
Joe comes to everyone’s defense, “Relax. We needed to get her squared away first.”
Kaitlyn doesn’t seem placated. She just seems angrier. Meaner. Her jaw clenched tight. Eyes boring holes through Cruz’s skull.
There’s stomping. Squeaking. Cruz glances up. Spots Tex tripping his way into the room. “Here!” he shouts. Tossing Cruz’s purse at her.
She catches the bag. Opens the flap. Pulls out her phone. Presses the side button. Aaliyah’s name is visible. Texts and missed calls.
Shit.
She unlocks her phone. Opens the messages. Reads through them.
Aaliyah (11:08 pm): Where are you?
Aaliyah (11:08 pm): Are you safe?
Aaliyah (11:08 pm): They won’t turn the car around
Aaliyah (11:10 pm): Can you get a cab back to the house?
Aaliyah (11:21 pm): Zara? You’re worrying me. Please text me back
Aaliyah (12:14 am): Asif is taking me back
Aaliyah (12:38 am): Where are you?
Aaliyah (12:41 am): Are you mad at me? I’m so sorry. It all happened so fast and I had no choice. They would have punished me if I got out of the car and ran back
Aaliyah (12:46 am): Ok. I understand. You’re mad and want space. Please call me when you’ve calmed down
She finishes. Stares at the screen. Heart in her throat. Stomach rolling. Aaliyah’s worry making her sick.
There’s a throat clear. Kaitlyn’s voice, “Well...?”
“Oh sorry. Umm…” Cruz replies. Looking up at Kaitlyn. Flushing. She glances back down at her phone. Exits her messages. Clicks her phone app. Spots Aaliyah's name dozens of times in red.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
She looks back up. Meets Kaitlyn's gaze. "She's called a bunch and texted too. Do you want me to read them?"
"Uh-huh," Kaitlyn nods. Her icy stare the equivalent of an eye roll.
Cruz swallows. Looks back down at her phone. Opens her messages. "So...." she starts. Scrolling back to the first message. "The first one has a timestamp of 11:08. ‘Where are you?’ Then she texts, ‘Are you safe. They won’t turn the car around. Can you get a cab back to the house?’”
She pauses. Glances back up. Checking Kaitlyn’s reaction. It’s not positive. Kaitlyn still glaring. Looking impatient. So Cruz glances back at her phone. Rushes through the remaining messages without taking a breath, “Then she texts again about an hour later, ‘Zara? You’re worrying me. Please text me.’ That’s followed by ‘Asif is taking me back.’ Then ‘Where are you?’ She goes silent for another hour. Then she texts again, ‘Are you mad at me? I’m so sorry. It all happened so fast and I had no choice. They would have punished me if I got out of the car and ran back.’ And then the last one says, ‘Ok. I understand. You’re mad and want space. Please call me when you’ve calmed down.’”
She locks her phone. Pulls in a breath. Forces herself to make eye contact with Kaitlyn.
She’s met with a glare. Though it’s less angry and annoyed than the prior one. Kaitlyn’s eyes far away like she’s thinking through the information. She turns her head after a moment. Addresses Joe, “What do you make of that?”
Cruz frowns. Taps her phone on her leg. Unhappy that Kaitlyn is consulting Joe because she’s the one who knows Aaliyah best which makes her the best person to offer insight into the messages. But she holds her tongue. Aware that Kaitlyn is her superior and that answering for Joe in this instance could make this horrible conversation worse.
“I think…” Joe finally answers. Throwing a quick glance toward Cruz. “That Aaliyah is worried and panicking and drawing the wrong conclusion because she can’t think straight.”
Snickering breaks out across the room. Cruz looks toward the far wall. Glares at Two Cups. He grins in response. Not backing down. At least not for Cruz. His expression changing real fast when Kaitlyn lifts her hand and snaps twice.
Cruz has to pull her lips into her mouth to keep from laughing. She looks away. Back toward Kaitlyn. Immediately sobers because Kaitlyn is looking at her again. “What do you think?”
“I think… I think…” Cruz starts. Nodding. Tapping her phone on her leg. “That yeah. Joe is right. She’s blaming herself because she’s worried and she’s probably more frustrated than ever that she is who she is. ”
Kaitlyn nods. Looks back toward Joe, “I agree.”
There’s silence. Kaitlyn and Joe having another one of those private exchanges. Leaving Cruz to stew over the messages. Panic starts to set in. Worry about Aaliyah’s mental state. How distraught she sounds. The crazy stunts she might pull to find Zara. Stunts that could end her life.
Cruz loses her composure. Blurts, “Do I text her back?”
“No!” Joe half-shouts. Lurching forward. Her eyes dropping down to Cruz’s hands. Making Cruz think for a moment that Joe is going to grab her phone.
But Joe seems to catch herself. Stopping her forward motion before she gets close. She sits up straight. Clears her throat. Lets out a quiet chuckle. Repeats, “No. It’s late and we need time to adjust your cover and prepare you for going under again.”
“Ok… So…” Cruz trails off. Wiggling her head. Her eyes wide. Pleading with Joe to give her more information about the next steps
“You have a concussion,” Kaitlyn starts. Tone even. “You were taken to the hospital and admitted overnight. Your phone got damaged during the scuffle, so you’ve missed all of her texts and calls. The hospital contacted your parents who arranged for a flight back to Charlotte. You will arrive at your dorm tonight and obtain a new phone at which point you will see her messages and make contact and explain what happened. Does that work for you…” Kaitlyn lifts an eyebrow. Then twists her head. Finishing, “Joe?”
“It should,” Joe replies. Then she looks past Kaitlyn, “Bobby? Can we get the Charlotte cover ironclad by late tonight?”
“I think so,” Bobby nods. Her fingers tapping on the edge of the desk. “Most of it is done. You’ll need hospital records now too?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
Joe and Kaitlyn confirm simultaneously.
In most circumstances, the echo would be funny. But this isn’t most circumstances. The room staying silent. Bobby not reacting. Too busy looking at her watch. She winces. Looks back at Joe. “Now? Or can I hit the hay for a bit?”
“Rest,” Joe answers. “I need to leave with Kaitlyn for D.C., but everyone else should stay here. Sleep. Monitor Cruz’s phone for new messages. Get her cover sorted out in the morning. I’ll be in touch late morning with instructions on what to do.”
“Roger that, ma’am,” Bobby calls out. There’s a thudding sound. Bobby leaping off the desk.
Kaitlyn gets to her feet. She brings her hands to the front of her jacket. Pulls on the fabric. Straightening it out. Her eyes staring down at Cruz. The gaze withering. Uncomfortable. But Cruz holds it. Not wanting to back down from this woman. Concede that she’s weak. And she is. All of her training and battle experience unable to prepare her for a woman like Aaliyah.
“Ready?” Joe asks.
Kaitlyn breaks the stare. Her head turning toward Joe. “Yes. Let’s hurry. I’d like to see my husband before we start the day and you should probably see yours too.”
Joe snorts. Throws a look Cruz’s way. Panicked. Pleading. Cruz gives her a nod. Understanding that she’s to remain silent about what she heard.
Joe smiles at her. Then she turns. Starts walking away. Kaitlyn doesn’t follow. Looking back at Cruz. “Your mission from this point forward is to make Aaliyah happy. Fuck her if you have to. Pretend to love her. I don’t care. But don’t lose sight of who you are and why you are there. I want Amrohi dead and maybe the fiancé too. The second you think that you can’t handle that, you let someone know. Because if you don’t and you catch feelings and you decide to do something dumb, you won’t just get yourself killed, you’ll get the people in this room killed too. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cruz replies. Tone firm. Expression even.
Kaitlyn stares at her for another moment. Then she nods. Spins around and follows Joe out of the room.
Cruz waits a few moments to make sure that Kaitlyn is really gone. Then she leans back against the couch. Ignoring the jolt of pain that shoots through her skull. She shuts her eyes. Exhales a low, “Fuck…”
She hears laughter. Muffled chatter. Footsteps. She doesn’t look to see what everyone is doing. Preferring to stay in the dark as she tries to relax after one of the most uncomfortable conversations of her life. Kaitlyn terrifying to the point she’s longing for Sami’s douchey company again.
Time passes. The room quiets. Everyone trickling out. Leaving Cruz alone with her thoughts and her pain. She remains still. Keeps her eyes shut. Content to stay like this for the rest of the night. Not wanting to open her eyes and face her reality. The way too short dress that’s covering her body. Her bruises. Her scrapes. The fresh wounds on her head. The fact that she’s in a random mansion instead of a closet with Aaliyah. Her knees planted by Aaliyah’s ears. Her hips rolling as she rides Aaliyah’s tongue. Aaliyah’s ha–
There’s a thud. Loud. Close. She startles. Her eyes flying open. Landing on Tex.
He points to the floor, “Your go-bag. Make yourself comfortable and get some rest. There’s bedrooms upstairs if you want something nicer than the couch.”
She hums. Gives him a polite smile. Too exhausted and emotionally out of sorts to muster a better reaction.
He stares at her curiously for a moment. Then he returns the smile. Backs away. Shouting, “Goodnight!” once he’s through the door.
She blows a raspberry. Leans forward. Puts her head in her hands. Groans. Her head throbbing. Her body aching. Making her wonder if she got stepped on or punched after she dropped to the ground. She pushes to her feet. Grabs her bag and her phone. Exits the room. There’s a hallway immediately to her right. Stairs on that side too. A door halfway down the hall. It’s location below the stairs meaning it’s either a closet or a bathroom. There’s another door at the end of the hall. It’s open. Counters visible. A dishwasher. Making that room the kitchen.
She looks ahead. Spots a massive living room. Three couches. Carpet. A big screen TV positioned over a fireplace. She winces. Thinking about Hunter. How he’d be horrified by the sight. His analness over proper TV placement legendary to the point that half the people on base started putting their TVs in terrible spots just to get a rise out of him. She lifts her phone. Unlocks it. Starts to take a picture to text him. Stops. Because it’s not her phone. It’s Zara’s. And she’s not one of them anymore. She’s a Lioness. Undercover. No friends. No family. Just a team who have promised to have her back. Though given what she knows about the Lioness program, they might not make good on that promise.
She sighs. Locks her phone. Steps to the right. Opens the door below the stairs. It is a bathroom. Tiny. The counter barely bigger than the small sink it holds. She steps inside. Shuts the door behind her. Drops her bag on the floor. Holds out her arms. Laughs when she can’t fully extend them. It’s not quite airplane lavatory size, but it’s close. The ceiling odd too. Low. Within easy reach. She chuckles. Thinking about Tucker trying to fit inside. He’d have to hunch down and be careful about how he moved. His fist likely to punch through the ceiling if he did something as simple as raise his arm.
She looks back toward the counter. Sets her phone down. Half of it perched over the edge of the sink. A dangerous position. One that could lead to her actually damaging her phone and being cut off from Aaliyah until she could find a replacement. Which is reason enough for her to grab her stuff and head upstairs. Find a bigger bathroom. One that probably wasn’t a tiny closet before the owners decided to add a toilet. But she’s hurting and exhausted and here. So she leaves her phone where it is. Drops down to her knees. Unzips her bag. Pulls out her toiletry kit, a simple cotton t-shirt, and shorts.
She gets to her feet. Groaning. Her ribs yelling at her for moving. She spins around. Sets her items on the back of the toilet. Not caring that there’s a thin layer of dust visible. Dust preferable to other types of grime. She spins back around. Gets her first real glimpse of herself since using the bathroom at the restaurant. She’s a mess. A big, white bandage covering a large portion of her head. The strands of hair that aren’t below the bandage are sticking every which way. Some crusty and dark.
Blood.
She grimaces. Wondering if she’ll be able to wash her hair tomorrow or if she’ll have to wait until her wounds fully heal before getting them wet. If she has to wait, that could complicate the mission. Because there’s no way in hell she’s returning to Aaliyah’s side bloodied and bandaged. She wants to look nice and she wants to feel nice so that they can spend their time together doing fun things instead of Aaliyah fussing over her beat up body.
She moves her gaze lower. Spots more red splatters covering her shoulders and chest and the upper part of Aaliyah’s dress. She winces. Wondering about the price tag on the dress. Whether Aaliyah will want it back. Whether she’ll expect Cruz to foot the cleaning bill. Hopefully she won’t. But if she does, Cruz will pay. Unless it’s FUBAR’d and she wants Cruz to pay for the replacement. That could cause problems. Not necessarily with obtaining the money because the CIA would be good for it, but rather with her cover. Zara unlikely to have that cash on hand. Though she does drive a Mercedes and she will be taking a last second flight back to Charlotte which would indicate a certain level of wealth. A level that she’s undercut by claiming she had to work and not disputing Nala’s statement about her not being rich.
She pulls in a breath. Blows it out slowly. Trying to calm her internal panic before it kicks into high gear. Her distance from Aaliyah already allowing her to find faults with her story. And if that’s the case, then what faults will Aaliyah find as she replays their interactions? Assuming she replays them. Maybe she’s done with Cruz. Her worry about Cruz’s silence and disappearance turning to anger and sadness and a resolve to write off Cruz for good.
Shit.
Shit
Shit.
She is panicking now. Joe’s statement about Aaliyah chasing her last bit of freedom on her mind. Joe’s assertion correct. Aaliyah is chasing that last bit of freedom and she likely will look elsewhere if Cruz doesn’t give her what she wants and since Cruz doesn’t know when the wedding will take place, she has no idea how long Aaliyah will be willing to wait. Maybe she’ll cut her losses as soon as tomorrow. Ask Ehsan if she can go prowling for another gift. He w–
Her phone buzzes. The force sufficient for it to fall into the sink. She growls. Fishes it out. Glances at the screen. Spots Aaliyah’s name. A new message. She starts laughing. Panic fading as she presses on the notification.
Aaliyah (2:39 am): I can’t sleep. I miss you and I’m worried. Asif said multiple ambulances were called to the scene and that there was lots of blood inside. I had him call the hospitals, but they wouldn’t give out any information. So I will pray for you and that you are ok and just mad and not hurt. Please call me. I don’t care what hour. I need to hear your voice
Cruz sets her phone back on the tiny sliver of counter. She closes her eyes. Grits her teeth. Starts swinging her fists. Furious. At herself. At Joe. At Kaitlyn. And needing an outlet for that fury. Her flailing doesn’t help. The walls too close. Her fists catching the left wall and the door. The hard surfaces scraping her knuckles.
“Fuck…” she growls. Her hands dropping down. Slapping the counter. She misses her phone. Though it probably would have been better had she hit it. Because the vibration from her slap sends it clattering right back into the sink.
She groans. Fishes it out. Sets it back on the counter. Smartly this time. Flipping it so that the skinny edge is against the marble surface. She closes her eyes again. Pulls in a few deep breaths. Calming herself down enough so that she can get on with her task. She stands up straight. Opens her eyes. Continues her inspection. Her eyes going to the lower portion of her dress. It’s stained. Dark splotches visible. One stain in the shape of a boot near her ribs. Confirming that she probably did get stepped on while she was unconscious.
She reaches around her back. Finds the zipper. Tugs it down. Offering a silent thank you to the universe when it goes easily and quickly instead of getting stuck and forcing her to either dislocate a shoulder or rip the thing to shreds. She’d probably lose her mind then. A minor indignity, but one she wouldn’t be able to tolerate after a long stretch of indignities. Getting kidnaped and tortured. Having multiple people listening to her having sex. Enduring Sami’s rapey glances and insults. Taking a beer bottle to the back of her head. Getting stepped on. She’s at her fucking limit and if a single damn thing happens between now and crashing, she just might crack and text Aaliyah back and blow the entire damn mission by making up a story about the hospital and a late night discharge and her need for a bed because she really needs Aaliyah right now. She needs her embrace and her smile and wonderful laugh and that sense of comfort that she provides. Cruz feeling at ease in her presence. Safe.
She shrugs the dress off. Steps out of it. Stares at her body. Bruised. Beaten. The marks on her ribs angrier than they were when she left Ehsan’s mansion. She starts fuming again. Silently. Keeping her fury locked inside so she doesn’t wake anyone up by beating the shit out of the walls or breaking the mirror. She’s not usually at risk of getting so angry that she beats up inanimate objects because it’s an Edgar response and it’s not ok. But sometimes she does understand him. The anger too much. Containment agonizing. But the agony doesn’t last. The anger eventually receding. Just like it’s doing now. The deep breaths she’s taking helping. Thoughts of Edgar too. How she’s not him and won’t ever be like him.
She relaxes. Opens her toiletry kit. Brushes her teeth. Washes her face. Using the hand towel to dry herself off. She opens the cabinet below the sinks. Hoping that there are more towels stored below. There aren’t. Just extra toilet paper and a few cleaners.
Shit.
She closes the cabinet. Grabs the only towel. Wets it. Pumps a squirt of hand soap onto the surface. Then she starts cleaning the blood off her shoulders and chest. Blood and glitter? No. Glass. The sparkles she’s seeing on her shoulders and towel are definitely glass. Which would explain why some of the blood isn’t coming off. The tiny red spots lacerations rather than splatters.
It’s another indignity. But she manages to keep herself together. Too tired to follow through on her mental threat to contact Aaliyah. All she wants is sleep. So she pushes herself to keep going. Rinsing the towel. Running it over her body one last time to make sure most of the grime is off. Then she drops the towel onto the floor. Not wanting to hang it up and risk someone getting a nasty surprise when they use it in the morning.
She chuckles at that thought. A gross thought. Revolting. But one she does find amusing as she hurries through the rest of her routine. Dressing. Using the bathroom. Washing her hands. Her amusement fading when she has no choice but to use her shirt as a towel. She sucks it up. Gets her hands dry. Then grabs her phone and go-bag. Exits the room. Leaving her toiletries and the dress behind as another signal to people that they should find a different bathroom to use.
She makes it to the end of the hall. The front door is directly ahead. The stairs and big living room to her right. The smaller room that she woke up in to her left. She contemplates her options. Climbing the stairs to find a bed. Crashing on one of the bigger couches. Returning to the couch that she already knows is comfortable and probably stained with her blood.
She hooks a left. Enters the smaller room. Stops near the entrance so she can give it a proper inspection. There’s a window behind the couch that she woke up on. The curtains drawn. More windows behind the desk that Bobby was perched on earlier. The curtains also drawn. Billowing slightly from the A/C that’s blasting through the room. The desk is big. Fancy. Like one of those desks you’d expect to see in a picture of some important CEO conducting business from the top floor of a skyscraper. Though the chair that’s pushed beneath doesn’t look very fancy. The back plastic. The cushioning ripped.
Huh.
She moves her gaze to the right of the desk. There’s a bookshelf. One of the many in the room. Every inch of the non-window portion of the walls lined with them. She takes another step inside. Grabs the door. Tugs it back and peers around the edge. Chuckles. Mentally adjusting her assessment. Every inch of the non-window and non-door portions of the walls lined with bookcases.
She releases the doorknob. Walks slowly toward the couch. Examining the contents of the shelves as she passes. Books. An assortment of knick-knacks. Paper weights. A taxidermy pheasant. Small decorative plates painted with Samurai warriors. A single Japanese character present on each plate. She immediately recognizes the characters. The plates showing the Seven Virtues of Bushido. Righteousness and Rectitude. Respect. Heroic Courage. Honor. Compassion. Honesty and Sincerity. Duty and Loyalty.
She stares at the plates for a long while. Taking in the lettering and the delicate painting. Each plate depicting a scene related to the virtues. Her mind on her mission and her past. Her brief stint in Japan. A post that was supposed to last for at least six months turning into three weeks. Shit hitting the fan in Afghanistan. The president deciding to send more troops. They called her number. Sent her to the desert where she got her first taste of live action. She was green then. Green and scared out of her mind. But she remembered her training. Followed orders. Kicked down doors. Killed people. Saved people. And now she’s here in some random house staring at these virtues. The ones that she’s violating nearly every second of the day. Her integrity gone. Her respect for herself nowhere to be seen. Her honesty and sincerity a joke. She’s lying to everyone. Aaliyah and Joe and Kaitlyn and herself. Maybe she’s being courageous. It takes a certain amount of bravery to go undercover with people who would kill you in a heartbeat. But there’s nothing courageous about a mission that requires using a good and kind person to do something morally questionable. And it is questionable. Killing a man in cold blood. Depriving him of due process. And sure, she’s done this before. Killing known terrorists is her job. But those men were different. They were actually killing people themselves. Dealing arms and building IEDs and causing tremendous amounts of harm and chaos.
But Aaliyah’s father is a businessman. He might be funneling money to the types of terrorists that she killed, but he’s not getting his hands dirty. Not handling the guns or building the bombs or sitting in a bunker somewhere issuing orders to kill people. So flat out killing him doesn’t sit right with her. She’d rather arrest him. Hand him off to a court system. Let him stand trial for whatever crimes he’s accused of. And maybe he would be found guilty and sentenced to prison or put to death, but that punishment wouldn’t be dealt by Cruz’s hand and it wouldn’t shatter Aaliyah’s world the way that Cruz putting a bullet through her father’s head will.
She sighs. Her heart racing. Her head throbbing. Thoughts of the end goal too much to handle at this late hour and in her diminished state. She backs away from the bookcase. Spins around. Spots a lamp on the other side of the couch. She walks over to it. Switches it off. Drops her bag onto the floor. Then eases herself down onto the couch. Taking up her earlier position. Her head resting against a throw pillow. She closes her eyes. Promptly shivers. Feeling the full blast of the A/C. But she won’t get up to find a blanket. She’s down now and she’s not moving until she’s had some quality rest. Or at least not moving a lot. She does have to move a little. Her current position causing a pinch in her neck.
She wiggles around. Trying to get comfortable. Comes to a stop with her right arm draped off the couch. Her hand touching the floor. Her hand that has her phone that has messages from Aaliyah on it.
Aaliyah…
She sighs. Opens her eyes. Lifts her hand up and presses the side of the screen. It’s blank. Just the time and the default iOS wallpaper. She bites her lip. Wiggles it. Thinking about Aaliyah. Her worry and desperation and how fucking cruel it is for Cruz to be mostly fine and yet ignoring her. She releases her lip. Sets her phone on the ground. Moves her hand up to the couch before she cracks and sends a message that would invite the full force of Kaitlyn’s fury. She needs to be patient. Follow orders. And she will. Because she’s a Marine whose duty and loyalty is to her country rather than her own heart.
She closes her eyes. Snuggles against the throw pillow. Pulls in a deep breath. Blows it out slowly. Trying to clear her mind so that she can sleep. She fails. Her mind going immediately back to Aaliyah. The closet. Her knees on either side of Aaliyah’s face. Her hips rolling as she grinds herself down against Aaliyah’s tongue. Aaliyah’s hands on her ass helping her move. Her own hands on her tits. Plucking at her nipples. Making herself feel extra good while also giving Aaliyah an enticing sight. Assuming she was facing that direction. Maybe she’d be turned around. Staring down at Aaliyah’s cunt. Watching her hips roll. Her cunt chasing friction that wasn’t there. Or maybe Aaliyah would only have one hand on Cruz’s ass and her other hand would be between her legs. Rubbing her clit.
Cruz would watch for a while. Enjoying every second of the sight. Then she’d tip down. Push Aaliyah’s hand away. Take over the task with her tongue. Possibly introduce Aaliyah to yet another act. At the very least she’d be the first woman to be on top with Aaliyah as they 69’d. Aaliyah’s statement that she’s never had a woman sitting on her face inconsistent with having a woman on top during that act. Cruz wants to be the first to do both. The thought alluring. Arousing. And now she’s wondering what other firsts are left for Aaliyah. She’ll have to bring it up the next time they’re intimate. Offer to help Aaliyah explore all of her desires. Though she’ll have to be a bit careful about her cover. Completely taking charge and showing the full extent of Cruz’s experience could backfire. Lead to Aaliyah questioning how she knows so much about lesbian sex and how she’s so good at it. Though that ship has probably already sailed. So she shouldn’t worry about it. She can lie about Zara’s past lovers if necessary. Or she can wave away any inquiries with a shrug and smirk and a teasing statement about being a natural.
But all of this assumes that she sees Aaliyah again and it’s entirely possible that she won’t. Aaliyah’s mental state not the only complicating factor. Ehsan could wake up tomorrow and change his mind. Tell Aaliyah to lose Zara’s number and that could be that. The mission would be over and she’d never see Aaliyah again and–
“Ugh,” she grunts. Rolling over. Stifling a second grunt as her wounded head hits the pillow. She can’t think like this. Not if she wants to get some rest. She has to stay positive and upbeat and proceed like everything will be ok. Which means she can think about that conversation. How it will start and how it will go. She should do it before they get naked. Maybe after they’ve been kissing for a while, she can pull back and ask Aaliyah about what she wants to try before her time runs out and then she can promise to make those desires a reality starting with the desire that Aaliyah has already expressed. Her sitting on Aaliyah’s face. Giving Aaliyah a wonderful memory. One that won’t be wonderful for very long because Cruz is going to kill her father and shatter her world.
She rolls over. Pushes her face into the throw pillow. Screams. Loud and long. Stopping only when she’s out of breath. She settles down then. Clears her mind. Focuses on her breathing. Drifts away into an uneasy sleep.
There’s pounding. Footsteps. Heavy. Shouting, “Go-oooood mornin’ sunshine! Watcha fixin’ me for breakfast?”
Cruz groans. Blinks her eyes open. Spots an empty wooden chair. An empty hallway. She hears laughter. Muffled chatter. Two Cups talking to someone in the kitchen. She groans again. Closes her eyes. Inhales. Smells coffee. Her stomach rumbles. Her mouth waters. She hears more thudding. Opens her eyes again. Spots bodies flying down the stairs and rushing past the door to her room. Bodies she can’t identify. Their movements are too fast. Her eyes too blurry from sleep.
She blinks a few more times. Lifts her hand to her face. Wipes her eyes. Clearing out the crust that’s collected overnight. Then she reaches down to the floor. Grabs her phone. Presses the side button. Gets no response.
Shit.
She pushes into a sitting position. Her movements slow. Uncomfortable. Every part of her body hurting. Her ribs feeling the worst. Making her wonder whether they got cracked last night from her trampling. She eyes her bag. Knowing there’s a charger inside. But she doesn’t move yet. Giving herself a moment to adjust to being awake and in pain. Though her choice backfires. Her eyes falling shut again. Sleep threatening to take hold.
“Get your feet off the damn table!”
She startles. Bobby’s voice loud. Unexpected. Making her jump on the couch. At least she’s awake now. Her eyes open. Her heart racing. Her ears attuned to the noise coming from the kitchen. Laughter. Scraping sounds. Like chairs sliding over a floor. She’s curious about what’s happening, but not curious enough to go find out. She can probably guess anyway. This crowd not shy and not hesitant to get physical. Meaning Bobbly likely took matters into her own hands. Knocked whoever’s feet off the table. It would have started a scuffle. Playful. Short. One that ended amicably. Which would explain the relative silence that she’s hearing now. Footsteps audible, but nothing else.
She shakes her head. Gets herself moving. Leaning to the side so she can grab her bag. She pulls it closer. Unzips the side pocket. Extracts her phone charger. Then she sits up. Begins looking for an outlet. She identifies a few options. One to the immediate left of the door. Though it’s partially shielded by a bookcase that looks to be almost flush with the wall. She’d have to pull the bookcase back to make it fit and that’s probably not a good idea. She has no clue who owns this house or all these strange knick-knacks and she doesn’t want to find out because she broke their expensive china or damaged their taxidermy animals.
She winces. Eyeing the animals on this bookcase. Rabbits. Two of them. Small. White. A raccoon. Bigger than the rabbits, but still small enough to fit on the shelf. It’s wearing a hat. One arm and paw raised like it’s giving her a finger gun. It’s disturbing. All of it. The fact that someone stuffed these poor creatures and then went to the trouble of dressing them up and posing them.
She looks away. Shuddering. Focusing back on her task. Plugging in her phone so that she can see if Aaliyah texted her again. She launches herself off the couch. Dropping down to her knees near the desk. She crawls closer. Pulls the chair free. Confirms the presence of a power strip near the wall. She lowers herself further. Ducks her head below the desk. Plugs the charger into the strip. Hears loud laughter. Banging. Like someone is pounding their fist on a table.
She eases out from under the desk. Looks to her right. Searching for the chair so that she can use it to push herself to her feet. A flash of light catches her eye. Drawing her focus to the corner.
“Holy shit!” she screams. Leaping to her feet. Backing away. Knocking into the lamp. She whirls around. Catches it. Then twists back around. Hiding behind the lamp as she gets a better look in the far corner.
There’s a King Cobra. Dead. But real. Coming out of a basket.
“Jesus fucking christ,” she mutters. Moving her hand to her heart.
She starts laughing. Humorlessly. Does another pass of the room. Searching for other terrifying creatures. There are none. Thankfully. The pheasant, bunnies, raccoon, and snake the only ones present. At least here. Who knows what other horrors are hiding in this house.
She steps out from behind the lamp. Bends down. Grabs the white cable. Plugs it into her phone and sets her phone on the desk. Then she leaves the room. Creeps down the hall to the bathroom. Not wanting her team to know she’s awake. Though her ‘holy shit’ probably tipped them off.
She makes it to the bathroom door. Randy visible in the distance. His back toward her. Arms moving like he’s chopping something on the counter. She opens the bathroom door. Slips inside. Quietly. Relieves her bladder. Brushes her teeth. Grabs her toiletry kit and Aaliyah’s ruined dress. Sneaks back into her room. Makes a beeline for her phone to see if there are Aaliyah messages waiting. There aren’t. Her screen empty once the phone powers back on. The absence devastating. Hurting her like a punch to the gut.
She pulls in a deep breath. Starts to rationalize the lack of contact. It’s early. 8:12 am. Aaliyah doesn’t have a job to get to and she had a late night last night. She might be sleeping in or giving Zara space. So Cruz shouldn’t panic. Yet. If a day passes without a peep, then she can freak out. But for now she’s going to stay calm and be patient and let the situation unfold naturally.
She calms down. Drapes the dirty dress over the back of the rolling chair. Sets her phone and her toiletry kit on the desk. Inhales. Catches a whiff of coffee and something else. Spicy. Savory.
Her mouth waters. Her stomach gurgles. She exits the room. Wanting coffee and food even if getting coffee and food will likely come at the expense of her sanity. Her team there. All of the jokes they didn’t get to make last night probably at the ready. Jokes that will fly until her team has exhausted their stash because Joe and Kaitlyn are no longer here to keep everyone in check.
She pauses right before she gets to the doorway. Squares her shoulders. Lifts her chin. Determined to take whatever they throw at her with her head held high. She enters. Spots Randy ahead and to her left. Swirling a spoon in one of the pots that’s on the stove. The other three burners are also occupied. Sausage on one. A big covered pot behind it. A small frying pan to the right.
She swallows. Her mouth watering again at the prospect of food. She looks to her right. Spots a table. Tex, Two Cups, and Bobby sitting down. All of them occupied. Bobby on her laptop. Scrolling through what Cruz assumes is some sort of mission briefing. Tex has the paper in front of him. A pencil in his hand. A crossword puzzle visible. Two Cups is kicked back in his seat. His feet on the empty chair. A paperback in his hands. A Fabio looking man on the cover holding a woman dressed in one of those fancy, suffocating gowns.
Huh.
She did not expect Two Cups to be a fan of romance novels. But she’ll roll with it. Hold back teasing. If only because he’s the person most likely to give her hell about Aaliyah and going for his neck might cause him to stomp down harder on hers.
She takes another step forward. Eyes darting back toward the counter. Looking for the coffee and waiting for someone to lob the first joke. She finds the coffee pot on the other side of Randy. Walks over. Still waiting for jokes. But nobody says a word. Not until she’s even with the coffee pot. Only then does Randy acknowledge her presence. Turning. Smiling at her. “‘Mornin’, Cruz. How ya feelin’?"
“Like I took a beer bottle to the back of the head and someone stood on my ribs,” she deadpans. Recycling her quip from last night. A quip she'll continue to use until she's healed or her team gets the message to stop asking her the question.
Randy chuckles. Looks back at the stove. Lifts the edge of the lid on the covered pot. Sets it down quickly before adjusting the temperature on the burner. He glances back over at her. “The medic left some pain meds. Tucker has ‘em. He can fix you up after breakfast.”
“Cool,” Cruz nods. Her focus drifting toward the table. Everyone still busy and ignoring her presence. Tucker absent. Possibly asleep.
She sighs. Looks back at Randy. He’s staring at her. Expectantly. Like he’s waiting for her to say or do something. What she doesn’t know. So she takes a guess. Pointing toward the stove, “Do you need any help?”
“Nope. I’ve got it covered.” He tilts his head. Gesturing to Cruz’s left. “Just fix yourself some coffee and take a seat. I’ll holler when it’s ready.”
“Ok,” she replies. Smiling. She turns toward the coffee pot. Pulls it free from the maker. Glances around for a mug. There aren’t any on the counters, so she opens the nearest cupboard. Finds dozens of them. Each of the four shelves crammed full of mugs in various shapes and sizes. She picks a tall one. Pastel pink. A chip on the handle.
She sets the mug on the counter. Fills it almost to the brim. Puts the coffee pot back on the burner. Then she takes a few steps back. Opens the fridge. Gasps. Because it’s crammed full of food. But that does make a certain amount of sense. Her team has set up camp here. Constantly ordering out would be risky. Each order placed revealing to multiple parties that there is a house full of hungry people at a certain address. And each pickup order placed would require one team member to show their face around town. So a big grocery store run and home cooked meals is probably the better option. But what the hell happens to all of this food if they have to suddenly leave?
“You ok there?” Randy asks.
She glances over her shoulder. Smiles at him. Lies, “Yeah, I’m just not really awake yet.”
He frowns at her. Then looks away. His arms extending above the stove to retrieve another frying pan. He gets it free from the hook. Looks back toward her. “You might be the first Marine I’ve met who isn’t ready to kick ass the second they open their eyes.”
She huffs a laugh. Twists back around so she can grab the cream from the fridge. She shuts the door with her hip. Steps back toward the counter. Offers a playful response as she adds a splash of cream to her mug, “I’m not a Marine, I’m a college student. They’re supposed to be allergic to early starts.”
“Fair enough,” Randy concedes. Laughing. He turns back toward the stove. Switches the back burner off. Moves the covered pot to a trivet that’s on the counter. Places the frying pan down in its place. There’s a sizzling noise. Some smoke. A foul smell. Like something was on the bottom of the pan. Randy doesn’t seem to care. Waving his hand over the pan until the smoke dissipates. Then reaching for the butter that’s sitting on the edge of the counter. He starts whistling then. Possibly signaling that their conversation is over. Or maybe it’s just something that he does when he cooks and he is open to speaking further.
It doesn’t matter. Cruz not having anything else to say. So she puts the cream back in the fridge. Grabs her coffee. Heads toward the table. Comes to a stop by the empty seat. She stands there. Waiting for anyone to acknowledge her. But they don’t. Everyone’s eyes staying down. Making her wonder if they’ve decided to hold off on teasing her in favor of driving her mad by pretending that she doesn’t exist.
She clears her throat. Sets her mug on the table. Grabs the back of the chair. Wobbles it while asking, “Can I sit here?”
Two Cups glances up. He smiles at her. Drops his feet, “Sure.”
“Thanks,” she mutters. Pulling out the chair. She sits down. Scoots closer to the table. Grabs her mug. Takes a sip. Glances around the area. The table is in a breakfast nook. There are big glass windows behind Two Cups and Tex. A deck visible. Access to the deck through doors that go into the room that borders the room she slept in last night. That room accessible through a door that’s to the left of the kitchen entrance.
She leans to the side. Peers around Bobby. Trying to look into that room. She spots a shoe rack. A coat stand. A closed door. Nothing else. The angle too bad for her to get a clear look. But it’s not a big room. So if she had to guess it’s some sort of storage area or laundry room or both.
She returns to a more comfortable position. Grabs her coffee. Takes another sip. Focus drifting back to the people at the table. Bobby is chewing her bottom lip. Tapping her fingers next to the touchpad. Her eyes narrowed like whatever she’s reading is stressing her out and that’s not good because if it’s work related then it’s Cruz related and–
“You want something to read?” Tex asks.
Cruz startles. Whips her head toward him. Then drops her gaze to the table where he’s pushing the newspaper toward her. She smiles. Grabs the edge of the stack. Starts sliding it the rest of the way. Mumbling a barely audible, “Thanks.”
She hears a grunt. Doesn’t look back up. Too focused on the words printed on the top of the first page. The words and lettering familiar enough that she can read them even while they’re upside down.
The New York Times.
She grabs the front section. Twists it around. Unfolds it. Starts skimming through the headlines. Ukraine. Fires in the southwest. China trade talks. Gun control. She flips the page. None of those topics catching her interest. The next page isn’t much better. More Ukraine. More China. Mexican cartels. So she keeps going. Flipping and flipping until she reaches the end of the A section without finding a single damn thing to read.
She drops the section down. Grabs the second section. Thinking about the newspaper back home. They didn’t subscribe, but there would usually be a paper on the kitchen table when she woke up. Her mother or one of her mother’s loser boyfriends either purchasing it elsewhere or stealing it from a neighbor. The latter more likely though she never asked because she wanted to maintain the illusion of her mother as a good and moral person whose only failing was atrocious taste in men. She also didn’t want to risk getting cut off from a vital source of knowledge. The sports and funny pages her preferred reading material before she had to leave for school. She also liked the crossword. Would carefully rip it out and tuck it into a textbook so that she had something to do during extra boring classes.
She’d read every article though. Local news. Global news. Political news. She didn’t always understand it, but that didn’t matter. It kept her occupied and out of trouble and eventually she did start to understand it. Politics and global affairs starting to make sense during her teenage years. That’s also when she stopped reading the local section. Hating the focus on crime. How often she’d be able to recognize streets or businesses or the names of suspects.
One of her mom’s shitty boyfriends appeared one day. He got popped for a DUI. One that involved a crash and property destruction. He was lucky to survive. His car didn’t. The sign in front of Burger King sure as hell didn’t. The accident and his belligerent behavior following the arrest was enough to get him featured. So not only did his name appear, but also his mug shot, and a picture of the damage.
He posted bail. Was back home within three days. He cut the story out. Hung it on the fridge like he was proud of it. He violated the terms of his bail a few weeks later. Got arrested. Spent the remaining time before his trial rotting in jail. That was the end of him and her mom. But not the end of that newspaper clipping. It lived on the fridge for the rest of her mother’s days. Only coming down after her mother died and they got evicted from their place.
She reaches the end of the second section. Drops it down despite the fact that she didn’t register any of the words. Because she knows what she wants to read now. The crime report. A big crime occurring last night in an area frequented by city residents. Which means the Times might have deemed it worthy of coverage.
She hurries through the rest of the paper. Skimming each headline. Finding nothing crime related aside from an opinion column bemoaning the lack of citations for public urination.
She sighs. Loud. Long. Agitated. Grabs her coffee. Takes a big sip.
“What were you looking for?” Bobby asks.
Cruz sets her coffee down. Glances over at Bobby. Surprised by the question given how deep in the zone Bobby was. And she still is. Her eyes locked on her screen. Her fingers tapping rapidly near the touchpad. Her face scrunched to the point she’ll probably have creases on her forehead. She must have looked over recently. Saw Cruz’s search. Or maybe it was the amount of noise that Cruz made as she flipped through the pages. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. What does is whether she admits what she was looking for or deflects because she doesn’t want to interrupt a quiet morning with talk about work. Though Bobby is working, so…
She closes her eyes. Pain rushing through her head. She brings her right hand to her face. Starts rubbing her temples. Replying as she tries to massage the pain away, “A crime blotter. I wanted to see if there were any reports from last night.”
She hears a snort. Drops her hand. Looks back over at Bobby. She’s looking at Cruz now. Her lips wobbling like she’s trying not to laugh in Cruz’s face.
Cruz frowns. Wiggles her head. Signaling her confusion with Bobby’s reaction.
Bobby does laugh now. A few chuckles escaping as glances back down at her computer screen. “The Times doesn’t cover that shit and even if it did, it would have been too late to print for today’s paper.”
Cruz tips her head back. Lets out an embarrassed, “Ahhh…” She winces. Her head not liking the movement. She brings it back to a neutral position. Drums her fingers on the table. Asks. Cautiously. “Do you happen to know what–”
“Happened?” Bobby interrupts. Looking up from her screen. She leans back in her seat. Crosses her arms. “The usual bullshit. Two idiots got into it over a girl and then a bunch of drunk idiots turned into a full on brawl. The cops arrested the instigators and another guy who decided to use a broken chair leg as a weapon.”
“Shit…” Cruz mutters. Slightly disappointed that she got knocked unconscious before seeing the damage that a chair leg could cause. Though she can guess. Gnarly stab wounds that come with a nice side of splinters and would probably require a trip to the hospital.
She should drop the topic now. Let Bobby get back to work and wait until after breakfast to prod for more details. But she’s curious about how bad the scene got and how lucky she was to get out alive. So she lets a follow-up question fly, “Is that why people ended up in the hospital?”
Bobby does a double take. Apparently surprised by the question. She lurches forward. Slaps her hands on the table. “How do you know that?”
Cruz frowns. Alarmed by Bobby’s alarm. “Aaliyah said–”
“You’ve been talking to Aaliyah?!” Bobby shouts. Cutting her off.
“No!” Cruz shouts back. Lifting her hands in a defensive posture. “She texted me again last night to say that Asif had learned that people were hurt and that he called the hospital and couldn't get an answer on whether I was one of those people.”
“And you didn’t think to share this with us?” Bobby shoots back angrily.
“I–” Cruz starts only to immediately cut off. Bobby’s anger coming out of left field. And she is angry. Her face bright red. Steam practically coming out of her ears. It’s a level of anger that doesn’t seem warranted given where they left things last night with Joe telling everyone to get some rest.
She needs to defuse the situation. Fast. So she does. Offering an explanation. Her voice low. Calm. “It was late. Everyone had gone to bed. And since the text didn’t change our story, I figured it could wait until the morning.”
It’s a lie. Alerting the team about the message didn’t even cross her mind. But admitting that would probably piss Bobby off further. Though her lie isn’t going over very well either. Bobby sighing. Flinging herself backwards in her seat. Her chair skidding across the floor. Her hands moving to her face. She groans. Loud. Long. Agitated.
Cruz winces. Waits for another eruption. But it didn't arrive. Tex jumping into the conversation. Placing a hand on Bobby’s knee. “Relax, Bobby. Who’s gonna take command if you keel over from stress?”
His words earn him a laugh. Bobby chuckling as she drops her hands down.
Tex leans away. There’s a thud. Likely part of his chair hitting the floor because he had to extend so far to reach Bobby. He gestures toward Cruz. Continues, “She made the right call. We didn’t need to know about that message last night and I for one am happy she didn’t come wake us up to share.”
“Me two!” Two Cups shouts from the other side of the table. “I woulda been pissed if she knocked on my door.”
Bobby pulls in a big breath. She blows it out slowly. Brings a hand to her head. Starts ruffling her head. Her gaze moving back toward Cruz.
“Sorry,” she mumbles. Her face still red. Though more from embarrassment now. “There’s a lot happening that you don’t know about. I’m getting pulled in a million different directions and I’ve spent the last however long trying to get you entered into the hospital system so your cover is secure and I’m hungry which means I’m also hangry and–”
“It’s ok,” Cruz interrupts. Throwing Bobby a smile. Soft. Genuine.
Bobby shakes her head. Chuckles. “Not really, no. This is a clusterfuck of the highest order, but we’re gonna make it work.”
Cruz hums. Agreeing. And also feeling guilty because it is a clusterfuck and she’s partially responsible for that clusterfuck status.
Ugh.
There’s silence. Then screeching. Bobby scooting her chair back closer to the table. Cruz drops her gaze back to the stack of the papers. Hears Tex’s voice before she can start reading an article trendy fall trench coats, “Has she texted you again this morning?”
“Uh-uh,” Cruz mutters. Lifting her gaze. Adding, “Unless she’s sent something since I left the room.” She looks back at Bobby, “Should I go check?”
Bobby waves her off, “No. It can wait.”
Cruz frowns. “You’re sure? Cause…”
“I’m sure,” Bobby states. Her tone firm. But her expression is friendly. She reaches down. Pushes her laptop back a few inches so she can set her elbows on the table. Her head drops into her hands. Then she’s groaning, “It’s too early for her to be awake.”
Cruz lifts an eyebrow. Grins. Tempted to fire back with a teasing, ‘her or you?’ But it’s not the time for that. The conversation serious, so Cruz opts for a serious reply, “That’s what I thought too. So sh–”
There’s a slam. The table shakes. Cruz looks to her left. Two Cups’s romance novel is now on the surface. His right hand too as he pushes himself to his feet. “What’s the hold up, Randy? I’m starvin’ over here and I’m not the only one. Bobby nearly killed our Lioness 'cause she’s runnin’ low on fuel.”
There’s a snort to Cruz’s right. Bobby. Then her voice, “How can you be starvin’? Or was I imaginin' that Pringles can you tucked under your arm last night when you went upstairs?”
Cruz grimaces. The twinkle in Two Cups’s eyes telling her exactly what’s about to happen. She doesn’t look away though. Which means she gets to witness Two Cups turning his body toward Bobby. Humping the air. Teasing, “I didn’t bring that up there for the chips.”
“Nooooo,” Cruz groans. Slapping her face. Laughing despite herself. Because Marines are going to Marine. Though Two Cups isn’t a Marine. He’s Army. Delta Force? A Ranger? She can’t remember. That night in Kuwait when she first met the team hazy. The alcohol flowing too quickly. Cruz forcing herself to keep pace because she needed to prove that she was one of them. So she can’t recall all of the specifics of everyone’s backgrounds. All she knows is that they are skilled and elite and possess the same juvenile sense of humor that she got used to while working her way up through the Marines. So that means jokes about fucking everything in sight. Jokes that might not actually be jokes in Two Cups’s case since his name comes from a night when he apparently tried to do just that.
Her laughter fades. She uncovers her face. Everyone else is still laughing. Two Cups is still humping the air. Cruz grimaces. Looks away in time to catch Tex muttering, “You walked right into that one.”
“I did, yeah,” Bobby sighs. Though she’s still laughing. Her hand lifted like she’s trying to shield herself from the view of Two Cups’s hips.
She drops it down after a second. Climbs to her feet. Walks toward Randy. “What is the hold up? You’ve been cookin’ for hours.”
Cruz hears a huff. She twists her head. Spots Randy waving a spatula at Bobby, “I have not been cookin’ for hours. It’s been fifty minutes. Tops. Which is pretty damn good when I’m preppin’ for six people which is more like eight people 'cause of him…” Randy waves the spatula toward a still humping Two Cups.
Bobby groans. Mutters something that Cruz can’t catch. Though it does make Randy laugh. She steps away. Flings open the fridge. Starts digging inside. Randy turns back to the stove. Sticks his spatula into one of the pans. Bobby returns. A bottle of water in her grasp. She reaches out. Tries to grab something from one of the pans, but Randy slaps her hand away. Shouting, “Don’t you dare! If you wanna be helpful, go find Tucker and tell him that chow’ll be up in a couple of minutes.”
Bobby steps away. Muttering something else that Cruz can’t hear. This statement earning her the finger from Randy.
Cruz chuckles. Spins back around. Her gaze following Bobby as she trudges into the mystery room. She flings open the door. Steps inside. Disappears down a set of stairs. Her voice sounds out seconds later, “Hey Tuck! Chow’s almost up!”
There’s thudding. Footsteps pounding on wooden stairs. Bobby emerges from the door. Tucker right behind her. He’s sweaty. His tank top completely saturated. His muscles glistening and bulging.
“You know it wouldn’t hurt for you to skip a day every now and then,” Two Cups shouts before Tucker is fully into the room. “You’re making the rest of us look bad.”
Tucker laughs. Waves Two Cups off, “Don’t give me that shit. You’re making yourself look bad with all of those late night Twinkies.”
“I think you mean Pringles,” Bobby corrects. Coming to a stop behind her empty chair.
There’s laughter. Tex cracking up. Tucker doing the same.
Two Cups steps behind his chair. He grabs the back. Looks toward Bobby. “We went over this. I bought those upstairs for the can.” He punctuates his words with a few more hip thrusts. Then he looks toward Tucker, “I’ve gotta keep my moves sharp for the next time your mom visits.”
There’s more laughter. Groaning. Cruz doesn’t react. Choosing instead to observe the dynamic. Jokes about fucking people’s moms is also standard practice. But it’s riskier. Joke like that with the wrong guy and he’ll knock your teeth down your throat.
But it seems to be ok with this group. Tucker laughing along for a few moments before firing back, “You better. She deserves more than twenty seconds of love.”
That makes the place explode. Everyone cackling loudly. Cruz too now that she knows it's safe. Tucker’s comeback hilarious. A comeback that Two Cups can’t seem to top. He’s just standing there. Pouting. His finger making a squiggly mark over his cheek like he’s tracing a tear.
“Alright… Alright… Everyone settle down!” Randy shouts. “Chow’s ready!” Two Cups immediately drops the act. Whirling around. Bolting toward the stove. Practically bulldozing Randy to the side in his haste to get to the food.
Randy doesn’t seem bothered. He gathers his balance. Steps toward the sink. Sets the spatula down. Then he spins around. Leans back against the counter. Crosses his arms. A look of satisfaction on his face as he watches Two Cups pile his plate high with food.
Cruz climbs to her feet. Moves closer to the stove. She’s starving. But not quite Two Cups level starving. So she holds herself back. Letting everyone else get their food first. It looks incredible. Rice and red beans. Scrambled eggs. Hash browns. Sausage. Thick slices of toast. No toaster in sight. Meaning Randy must have toasted the bread on a burner.
Her mouth waters. She starts tapping her foot. Her stomach gurgling painfully. Longing for edible food. Dinner last night was ok. The food ridiculously expensive, but prepared well. She just didn’t enjoy it. The company and conversation atrocious. The guards making her nervous. But today there are no guards and no assholes to ruin her meal, so she’s going to enjoy every second of it. Assuming her team doesn't start with the expected jokes about her and Aaliyah. But if they do, she’ll handle it. Take whatever they throw her way and let it bounce off of her. Because she’s the one who got laid. Twice. And she’s the one sticking her neck out here. Conducting an affair for the sake of her country. An affair that’s going to shatter her heart. Assuming it doesn’t get her killed first.
“You gonna eat?” Randy asks.
Cruz blinks. Looks toward Randy where he’s still standing by the sink. She smiles. Nods. Takes her turning. Stepping toward the stove and grabbing a plate from the stack to the left. She starts serving herself. Marveling at the portion control. The pots and pans holding just enough food for her and Randy. Which means he guessed correctly on how much to prepare and that everyone knew how much to take. She grabs a fork and knife when she’s done. Steps away. Asks, “You on culinary duty before you joined the program?”
“Nah,” Randy replies. Stepping toward the stove. Grabbing the last plate. “I just love to cook. Always have. Grew up campin’ with my pawpaw and cousins. I learned a lot about cookin’ on the fly from him. One pot meals ‘n’ all. So I did do a little of that when I was deployed. But never full time til Joe hired me and put with me these folks. I wouldn’t trust a single one of ‘em to boil water.”
“Hey!” Tex calls out from his seat at the table, “That’s not fair! I can hold my own on the grill.”
“That’s true,” Randy shouts back, “But how often are we someplace with a grill? And that doesn’t solve the problem of sides.”
There’s laughter. Nods of agreement. Tex’s voice audible over the din, “The grocery store solves the problem of sides.”
Randy snorts. Shouts back, “How’d that work out for ya last time?”
There’s more laughter. Loud. Tex blushes. Looks away. His eyes on his plate.
Randy looks back toward the stove. Resumes serving himself. Muttering, “Bad potato salad.”
“Ah,” Cruz nods. “That’ll do it.”
Randy hums. Snags the last piece of bread and sets it on his plate. He looks at her. Tilts his head. Gesturing toward the table. “How about you?”
Cruz gets moving. Following Randy to the table. It’s cleared now. Romance novel, crossword puzzle, and laptop gone. Two extra chairs have arrived. Including the beat up rolling chair from her room. She sets her plate down. Answers Randy as she slides into her seat, “I started fixing my own meals before I was old enough for school, so I can more than hold my own.”
“Damn,” Tucker mutters from his spot across the table.
She doesn’t look his way. Holding Randy’s gaze. Watching his reaction. He’s surprised. His brows lifting. His lips were pursing. Head slowly bobbing up and down like he’s processing the implications of her statement. A statement she probably should have softened to something like, ‘I started helping my mom cook at four or five.’ But that would be a lie. Because she started helping at three. And she needs a break from the lying. So they can think whatever they want to think. They probably know her background anyway. Have probably seen that file. The one that the SERE instructor held before putting her in a chokehold.
Her stomach rumbles. She glances away. Deciding it’s time to focus on her food rather than everyone’s impressions of her. She grabs her fork. Stabs a potato. Shoves it into her mouth. Barely tasting it in her haste to swallow. She stabs another potato. Shovels it down. Repeats the process until only one is left. A hand comes to rest on her left forearm. She turns. Frowns at Randy.
Randy echoes her frown. He pats her forearm. Issues a gentle admonishment, “Slow down. I didn’t put all that effort in for you to not taste it.”
She sets her fork down. Flashes him an awkward smile. Reaches for her coffee. Take a breath as she brings the mug to her mouth. She’s tense. Agitated. Her knees bouncing below the table. Lingering unease from the mention of her past. Nerves about what comes after breakfast. Checking her phone for messages. Waiting for Joe to call.
She stills her knees. Takes a sip of coffee. Swallows it slowly as she sets her mug back down. She grabs her fork. Stabs the remaining potato. Shovels it into her mouth. Chews it. Slowly. Allowing herself to taste the food. It’s excellent. Salty with a hint of spicy. The outside crunchy. The inside tender. She swallows. Turns toward Randy. Mumbles, “It’s wonderful, thank you.”
Randy glances over at her. He smiles. His entire face lighting up from the praise. A red tinge appearing too like he’s somewhat embarrassed. He looks away. Shyly. Confirming the embarrassment.
Cruz chuckles. Decides to ease his embarrassment by cracking a joke, “You should be a Lioness. Ehsan and his entourage would eat a lot better if you were undercover instead of me. They can’t even make a roast beef sandwich correctly.”
Randy twists his head. Deadpans, “I don’t have the right equipment for that.”
His words result in a mix of groans and laughter. Cruz doesn’t look around to see who is doing what. She’s having fun now. Bantering like she’s used to bantering during meals. So she keeps it going, “Excuse me. Lion. Is that better?”
“Uh-huh,” Randy nods. “Much better.” He lifts his arms. Circles them in front of his face. “Roarrrrrr.”
Cruz wasn’t expecting that from him. She cracks up. Hears more laughter from around the table. Something flies into view. Smacks Randy on the chest. Drops into his lap. Leaving a big stain on his shirt. He looks to his right. Shouts, “Dammit, Two Cups! What was that for?”
“For whatever the hell that just was!” Two Cups shouts back. “The roar and…” He lifts his arms. Starts mimicking Randy’s motion, “...this weird thing. Have you seen a lion? They don’t move their arms like this.”
More laughter erupts from around the table. Randy’s face turns bright red. He waves his hand. “Cut it out. Y’all are missin’ the point.”
His words don’t work. Everyone still laughing. Cruz included because his hand thing was weird.
Randy groans. Then he lifts his hands. Does the motion again. “Roaarrrr! I’m a lion. With a mane. See…? Roarrrrr!”
There’s even more laughter. Another projectile lands on Randy’s shirt. Splattering it with red. Two Cups apparently finding ketchup at some point.
Huh.
That would have been nice to have on her potatoes. But she can’t stay mad about it. Too busy laughing her ass off. Unable to stop even though she’s laughing so hard that it’s causing her pain. Her ribs unhappy with the movements. She closes her eyes. Tries to get a lid on her laughter.
She hears a slap. Hears silverware rattling on the table. Then Bobby’s voice. Strained from laughter, “No… No… I’m sorry dude, but no.”
Cruz opens her eyes. Looks over at Randy. He’s glaring in Bobby’s direction. Then he’s looking away. Muttering, “Whatever. Like I’m the only one who's ever wanted to roar when talking about our Lionesses.”
The mood in the room changes instantly. The laughter not stopping, but it does quiet down. Cruz looks around the table. Spots subtle nods. Everyone apparently agreeing with Randy’s statement. A statement that has her on alert. Wondering just how many women have sat in this seat with them. She knows about one. The woman who came before her. The woman who Joe took out with a missile strike. But she also knows the program has been in a place for a while. Longer than a single mission. She shouldn’t ask. But she can’t help herself. Blurting, “How many have there been?”
“How many what?” Tex asks.
“Lionesses,” she clarifies. Grabbing her piece of toast.
The mood in the room changes again. Her question snuffing out all traces of laughter. Everyone is quiet now. Exchanging looks with each other while carefully avoiding her gaze.
She swallows. Rips her slice of toast in half. Regretting the question. But it’s too late to walk it back. So she reaches for the jar of strawberry jam. Grabs her knife. Starts to slather some onto her bread.
“A few,” Tucker starts. Drawing her gaze up. “But we prefer not to live in the past.” His voice low and firm. His expression friendly.
She gives him a nod. A soft smile. Understanding his message: ‘Drop it.’ She won’t ask again. Though she shouldn’t have asked in the first place. Her question a breach of etiquette. Conversations about fallen comrades aren't forbidden, but prodding is a huge ‘no no.’ You have to let people volunteer that information and then use your brain to figure out what kinds of follow-up questions are appropriate for the situation.
She drops her knife. Puts the two halves of the toast together. Brings it to her mouth. Chomps down on it hard. Using her teeth to get rid of some of the anger that she’s feeling with herself. Because she fucked up. Big time. Acted like a goddamn noob. The table still eerily quiet. Everyone appearing lost in their heads. Likely thinking about those Lionesses that they couldn’t save. She should have just kept her mouth shut. It’s not like the information would help her at all. The risks of her mission unchanged by whether they’ve lost one lioness or a thousand of them. Each mission new and dangerous and Joe has made it very clear that she might not come home.
Ugh.
She takes another bite of her toast. Chews it forcefully. Eyes on her plate. The rice and beans and sausage and eggs that she’s yet to touch. The rice and beans and sausage and eggs that she might not touch because she’s that upset fo–
A massive burp rings out to her left. She whips her head in that direction. Catches Two Cups leaning back in his chair. Mouth open as he extends the burp for as long as possible. His right hand on his stomach. Rubbing circles.
The tension in the room breaks. The men laughing. Bobby groaning. Throwing a potato across the way. Nailing Two Cups in the chest. He picks the potato up. Blows Bobby a kiss. “Thanks, Roberta!” Pops the potato in his mouth.
Cruz hears a growl. But she doesn’t look over. Anticipating what will happen next. And it does. Another potato flying across the way. Nailing Two Cups in the chest. He holds it up. Winks at her, “You’re so predictable.”
Cruz hears a sigh. She does look now. Catches Bobby rolling her eyes and giving Two Cups the finger. But Bobby can’t hold the expression. She cracks. Laughing. Then she grabs her plate. Pushes it toward Tucker. Her gaze moving past Cruz. “It was great as usual, Randy. Thanks.”
Cruz doesn’t look to see Randy’s reaction. Her eyes on the plate as it makes its way from Tucker to Tex to Two Cups. He pushes his empty plate to the side when it arrives. Rubs his hands together. Dives in like eating Bobby’s leftovers is the norm.
Cruz looks back at her own plate. Considers giving up the rest of her share. But that would basically mean giving up her entire share and that’s not a smart move because she has no idea when her next meal will arrive and what kind of physical activity she’ll have to do in the meantime. If shit hits the fan and she has to fight for her life, then she’ll need the calories on board. So she gets back to work. Eating her food. Slowly. Making sure to taste each bite. Watching as everyone else finishes and leaves.
Tex is the only one who stays in his seat. He doesn’t try to talk to her. Putting his crossword puzzle back on the table and resuming his work. Stroking his beard as he thinks. Jotting down possibilities in the margins.
She finally finishes. Eating the entire plate despite feeling full a half dozen bites ago. Randy’s cooking good enough to make her push past her limits. She taps on the table. Trying to get Tex’s attention. It doesn’t work. His eyes staying on his paper. So she gives up on trying to be polite. Interrupting, “What’s the plan now?”
Tex lifts his gaze. Frowns. His eyes darting down and then around the room. He sits up straight. Sets his pencil down. “Since you’re done, I’ll get rolling on dishes. Otherwise the plan is still the same as last night. We rest and wait for Joe to give us orders.”
Cruz nods. Eyes the table. It’s a mess. Nobody clearing their place or putting the condiments back into the fridge. She twists around. Gets a look at the counter and sink. There’s an even bigger mess present. All of the pots and pans and plates that Randy used to prepare their meal are waiting to be scrubbed down.
She looks back toward Tex. He’s scowling at his puzzle. It’s about seventy percent done. A few big words eluding him. Ones that will likely unlock the smaller words that are also blank. She could offer to help, but she won’t. Knowing he’ll probably be annoyed by the implication that he can’t do it on his own. So she climbs to her feet. Grabs her plate. Makes a different offer, “You want some help with this mess?”
Tex whips his head up. He gives her a look. Surprised. Then he sets his pencil down. Stands up. “If you’re offering, sure.”
“I am,” Cruz replies. Reaching down to gather Randy’s plate.
She turns. Heads toward the sink. Starts the water. Pushes the knob backwards. Guessing on the direction that will produce hot water. She finds the stopper. Sticks her finger under the water. Winces. The water already too hot. She shuts it off. Plugs the sink. Starts the water again. Grabs the soap and tips it over by the spray. Gives it a big squeeze. Then she sets it back on the counter. Waits for the sink to fill. Mind drifting to Aaliyah. Their bathing suits. The ruined couch.
She starts laughing. Lightly. Shaking her head. Thinking about the idiocy of that move. Ehsan’s reaction when he got home. She’s lucky he doesn’t love Aaliyah and that he’s not like Edgar. Because if he was, then shit could have gone real bad fo–
There’s movement to her right. She startles. Leaps out of the way. Hears Tex laughing as he starts dumping dirty plates into the soapy water. He turns the faucet off when he’s done. Gives her a look. Concerned, “You alright?”
“Yup,” she replies. Lying. A white lie. Because she’s not alright, but saying that she’s not would invite scrutiny that she can’t have if she wants to continue the mission.
Tex doesn’t seem placated. His eyes narrowing. Studying her. Which means he might pick up on her bullshit answer. She looks away. Spots a plate peeking out of the soapy water.
“We’re washing those too?” she blurts.
Tex’s face scrunches further. He glances away. Then he’s nodding. Looking back at her. Answering, “Yup. Last thing we need is to burn the place down 'cause Joe called and we left the dishwasher running.”
She relaxes. Her diversion working. But she’s not out of the woods yet, so she keeps the conversation going. Lifting her finger. Waving it around the room. “Who owns this place?"
Tex shrugs. Looks away. Answers as he grabs the sponge that’s sitting on the back edge of the sink, “I have no fucking clue. Bobby coordinates all this stuff with a team at Langley. She calls and tells them what we need and they set it all up.”
Cruz hums. Moves the faucet to the second sink. Then starts looking around for a dishtowel. All she can find is one dangling off the rod on the oven. And that won’t work. Big grease stains visible. Dark, but still oily, meaning that towel has gone unwashed for a long while.
She grimaces. Takes a step to her left. Pulls out the drawer. Spots silverware. She closes it. Pulls out the next drawer. Aluminum foil and coffee filters.
Ugh.
She keeps going. Pulling out each drawer. Finding everything but towels until she reaches the drawer by the fridge. She grabs a handful. Brings them back to the sink. Spreads two of them out on the empty countertop. She looks toward Tex. Blows out an exaggerated breath, “Ok. I'm ready.”
He gives her a thumbs up. Begins to rinse off the first plate. “Why do you ask?”
She frowns. Confused. But only for a moment. Her brain quickly recalling their prior conversation, “Oh… uhh…” she starts. Taking the rinsed plate from Tex. “This place is so much different than where I slept the last few nights. It’s… It’s…” she pauses. Needing a second to let the thought develop. “It feels real and lived in… you know with the chipped coffee mugs and–”
“Dead animals?” Tex cuts in. Laughing.
She grimaces. Mutters, “Yeah.”
Tex lets out another few laughs. His hands busy rinsing off a second plate. He glances her way after a moment. Asks, “Ehsan’s mansions didn’t feel lived in?”
“No,” she answers. Quickly wiping off the first plate so she can accept the next one. “The rooms they put me in for the night were plain and boring. I’ve seen hotel rooms with more character. The one master bedroom that I saw was similarly boring. I mean the furniture was nicer and had more color and detail, but there wasn’t any art or decorative items.”
“Huh,” Tex grunts. Holding out the plate. “You weren’t in the master last night when you got ready for dinner?”
“Mmm…” Cruz hums. Grabbing the plate. Moving the towel to the surface. “It was another spare room. The closet was stuffed full with clothes and the bathroom had a bunch of beauty products, but otherwise it was similarly empty.”
“Really?!” Tex half-shouts. He huffs a laugh. Lifts a plate out of the soapy water. Inspects it for a moment before moving it to the other side of the sink for a rinse. “You’re telling me that those big fancy houses don’t have art or statues or random crazy expensive shit that probably costs more than you or I make in a year?”
“I am,” Cruz confirms. Grinning. Amused by Tex’s reaction.
Tex huffs. Hands off the plate. Muttering, “I don’t believe you.”
Cruz laughs. Dries the plate. Curious now about his reaction. Why he’s so surprised by the lack of decor in Ehsan’s mansions. But she doesn’t ask. Not wanting to prolong a conversation about Ehsan and his wealth. Or correct the record. Because she misspoke. The Chesapeake mansion did have decor in the common areas. And for whatever reason she didn’t recall it until now.
No. Not for whatever reason. She has a reason. Her head injury. And now she definitely won’t speak up to clarify that it was only the Hamptons mansion that was empty. Because that admission won’t just invite scrutiny, it will invite a call to Joe or a doctor. So she lets the conversation stay dead. A comfortable silence settling over them as they work. Tex proving to be a nice guy. Quiet. Thoughtful. His demeanor hiding the fact that a killer lurks inside. A killer she’s only gotten a quick glimpse of when they stormed the bar. He w–
A mug appears in front of her. Tex’s voice following, “What do you think of the Hamptons?”
She accepts the mug. Starts running the dish towel over the wet surface. Mumbling after a moment, “It’s ok. I guess.”
“So you’re not a fan,” Tex laughs. Nudging into her side.
She chuckles. Sets the mostly dry mug onto the counter. Gives him the truth, “I’m not here for fun. I’m undercover and it’s stressful as fuck and that’s impacting my perception.”
“Nah…” Tex starts. Handing over another mug. “Your perception is just fine. I grew up in Rumson. You ever heard of it?”
“Mmm…” she hums. Shaking her head to signal ‘no.’
There’s clattering. Splashing. She looks over. Spots Tex piling more dishes into the soapy water. He keeps another coffee mug in his hands. Answers as he begins to give it a good scrub, “It’s a similar place. Water on three sides. A bunch of old mansions built by city bankers back in the day. The scenery is nice. The beaches and all of that. But growing up there…” he trails off. Huffs a laugh.
She frowns. Sets the latest coffee mug down on the counter. “You didn’t like it?”
“No,” he replies. Looking toward her. “I couldn’t wait to get out. So I did. Enlisted at eighteen and never looked back. My parents have never forgiven me.”
He looks away. Starts rinsing off the mug.
“For joining or leaving?” Cruz asks once Tex shuts off the water.
“Both,” Tex answers. Passing over the mug. “But I had to go. A life of country clubs and commuting to the city and raising three kids wasn’t for me. I wanted adventure and excitement and a chance to help people and that’s exactly what I’m doing now.”
Cruz hums. Brings the dish towel to the mug. Sighs when she realizes it’s too saturated to do any good. She tosses it to the side. Snags a dry dish towel from the pile. Begins furiously working it over the coffee mug. Trying to find a good reply to Tex’s statement. But she can’t. Too unsettled by his words. His claim that he’s helping people. Because last time she checked he’s part of an elite QRF team that helps carry out assassinations on behalf of the CIA. Which means he thinks that killing is a net good. That each of these missions saves more people than they kill. But she’s been overseas. Knows the situation. How you take one bad guy down and another immediately pops up in his place. There’s just endless carnage. Endless killing. And the only way you can keep going is by believing what Tex just said. That you’re helping people. That every life you take is another life saved. But there’s no way to verify that. You have to take it on faith. And now that she’s here–a living, breathing CIA weapon– aimed at a man who isn’t on the battlefield, she’s starting to lose that faith.
She hears a laugh. Then Tex’s voice, “I think it’s dry now.”
She stops her wiping motions. Chuckles. Sets the mug down. Looks back over toward Tex. He’s smiling at her. Completely unaware that he interrupted a crisis of faith.
“Here,” he holds out a frying pan.
She takes it. Starts running the dish towel over the surface. Feels a nudge into her side after a moment. Tex’s voice follows. Soft. “What about you? Why’d you join?”
She frowns. Stops drying. Turns toward Tex. “Don’t you know that already?”
Tex glances over at her. Shakes his head. “No. Why would I?”
Huh.
She looks away. Continues running the dish towel over the pan. A pan that isn’t completely clean. Grease still present on the surface. She won’t hand it back. It’s clean enough. So she keeps going. Wiping. Answering Tex’s question, “The other night, when I was in the hole…” she pauses. Looks toward Tex.
He glances at over at her. His face scrunched. Like he’s concerned about where this is headed.
She chuckles. Looks away. Finishes, “There was a file. One of the guys had it and he used it when th–”
“No,” Tex cuts her off. Voice loud. Firm. “There’s no file. Joe told us some basics about where you served and where you’re from, but that’s it.”
She nods. Blows out a breath. Relieved that the worst parts of her life are still under wraps. Edgar. Josecito. Dancing. But those parts are a big reason that she ended up in the Marines. Which means she can tell the full truth, lie, or find a middle ground and hope that he doesn’t push for more detail. She aims for the middle ground. “I had it rough as a kid. Like really rough.”
She pauses. Wanting to check Tex’s reaction before she continues. He gives her a tight smile. Muttered words, “I kinda figured that with what you said at breakfast.”
She huffs. Turns away. Tosses the now greasy rag aside and grabs a clean one. “Life didn’t get better as an adult. I made bad choices and found myself in a situation where my only choices left were to sink fully into that life or enlist. I chose to get out.”
There’s silence. Well, relative silence. Tex not saying anything. Though he’s making a lot of noise in the sink. His hands below the surface. Moving around. Likely washing silverware. The clanking and clattering a familiar tune. He’s also looking at her. She can feel his stare. It’s uncomfortable. Making her feel exposed and raw. Which is ridiculous because she didn’t tell him that much. Didn’t go into the specifics about how she likely would have been killed if she stuck around. And because he’s literally heard her having sex. Twice. And not just emotionless sex with some woman she met at a bar. He’s heard her having the most meaningful sex of her life. H–
“Did I make you uncomfortable?” Tex asks. His hands lifting out of the water. Forks and knives visible in his grasp.
She looks up. Meets his gaze. Admits, “A little… Yeah…”
His face falls. He looks away. Turns on the tap.
Cruz winces. Regrets her choice to go with the truth. His question begging for a white lie. She shifts into damage control. Rushing out, “It’s not just you. It’s everything. The mission… What I’ve had to do. It’s– it’s not what I expected when I signed up and–and everyone heard me and it’s a lot.”
The tap shuts off. Tex turns his entire body toward her. He holds out the pile of dripping wet silverware.
She reaches for it. But he holds it back. Bending down until he’s at eye level with her. “Not everyone,” he states. Voice firm. Even. Gaze intense.
She blinks. Wiggles her head. Not following.
Tex smiles. Stands up straight. Holds the silverware out again. Allows her to take it.
He turns back around. Plunges his hands into the soapy water. There’s thudding and clanking and then his voice, “You remember that chatter last night about Texas?”
“Uh-huh,” she replies. Partially distracted by the amount of water running down her arms. She steps to the left. Drops the silverware on a clear portion of the towel. Starts spreading the pieces out.
“Well some hotshot who works with Joe asked for help and she sent him Randy, Two Cups, and Tucker. The op went sideways and that’s why Kaitlyn was here and why both of them are in D.C. today, but that’s beside the ugh…the point…”
She looks over. Spots Tex shaking out his finger. He turns. Offers an explanation, “Stabbed myself.”
She hums. Looks away. Starts blotting the silverware.
The tap turns on. Then it shuts off. More silverware appears in her life of sight. “The point is that it was only me, Bobby, and Joe in that room when you were talking on the beach in Chesapeake. I went for a long walk once you got inside.”
She pulls in a big breath. Blows it out slowly. Her breakfast gurgling in her stomach. Tex’s words a relief. But not completely. Because that only accounts for the first night.
She clears her throat. Ignores the offered silverware. Asking, meekly, “What about yesterday?”
Tex chuckles. Dumps the silverware on top of her partially dried pile. Then he steps away. Plunges his hands into the water. Answering as he gets back to work, “Same deal. Once we knew where it was going, Bobby put on headphones and listened while the rest of us kept working on building out profiles of Aaliyah’s friends.”
Oh.
Cruz pulls in another big breath. She blows it out slowly. Relieved for real this time. She blinks. Feels a tear rolling down her cheek. Cringes. Because she’s not a crier and yet that’s exactly what she’s become since assuming the Zara persona. She doesn’t brush the tear away. Her hands busy blotting water off the even bigger pile of forks and knives. So the droplet gets to complete its journey. Rolling over her bruised skin. Dripping off her face. Splashing onto the floor. Her mind processing the rest of Tex’s statement. She sniffles. Turns her head. Asks, “What have you learned about them?”
Tex snorts. Throws her an amused look. “Nothing that I can share with you.”
She sighs. Nods. “Right. Yeah.”
Tex pulls his hands free from the water. He moves them to the second sink. Rinses them off. Takes a few steps toward her. “You’re doing incredible, you know that?”
She rears back. Stunned. So stunned that all she can do is wiggle her head, ‘no.’
He lets out a laugh. Loud. Genuine. “Well you are. I’ve been here since the start and this is hands down the most difficult role we’ve asked someone to play. Our last girls were covered head to foot and spent their days cooking and doing laundry while shooting the shit with the daughters of our targets. Sex was out of the question. Drinking would have gotten them stoned.”
She inhales. Looks away. Because that’s what she expected to be doing. And now her curiosity is back. About those earlier missions. Why and how they failed. And since he’s opened the door to talking about them, she won’t be breaching etiquette if she prods.
She looks back toward him. Meets his gaze. “Then why did those ops fail?”
Tex scoffs. Starts backing away. “Who said they failed?”
“I know the last one did,” Cruz replies. Holding her ground and Tex’s gaze.
He looks away. Hands returning to the soapy water. A loud sigh escaping his lips. His hands reappear after a moment. Sponge in his left fist. He grabs a pot off the counter. Plunges it into the water. Lets out another sigh. Then he looks her way. Finally answering, “It did. She got blown and there was nothing we could do for her. Joe made the right call. As for the other missions…” he trails off. His face twisting into a snarl. He looks away again. There’s a loud bang. The pot slamming into the bottom of the sink. The noise so loud that Cruz fully expects to see a dent when Tex pulls it out of the water.
He’s apparently on the same page. Immediately pulling the pot out. Flipping it over. Inspecting it. He starts laughing. Dumps it back below the surface. Looks back her way, “Shit went sideways after the deed was done.”
She swallows. Gives him a tight smile. Holding back the only comment that comes to mind. A barb that it was the team that failed and not the Lioness. Because giving voice to that thought would be cruel. The equivalent of rubbing salt into a wound. Tex almost certainly aware of what went wrong.
He pulls the pot out of the water. Starts rinsing it off. Speaking as he works, “I go over those moments daily. Thinking about what else I could have done or what we could have done and the answer is nothing.” He shuts off the water. Holds out the pot. “Sometimes there’s just no way out.”
“Joe’s made that very clear,” Cruz fires back. Ignoring the pot. Too angry about her night on Joe’s torture island to give a damn about the amount of water dripping onto the floor.
Tex lowers the pot. Takes a step closer. Ducks down so he’s on her level. Gives her another one of those intense looks like he’s trying to signal that he’s dead serious about whatever he’s about to say.
“We will do everything in our power to get you home safe. Ok?” he pauses. Widens his eyes like he’s waiting for a response. She doesn’t give him one. She just stares. Blankly. He chuckles after a moment. Keeps going, “But you need to know that we’re a small team and these people are smart and well guarded which means we can’t always be close. If they pull a gun on you in the living room, then… well…”
He’s right. If Ehsan’s security detail randomly pulls a gun on her, there’s not much that Tex and the rest of the team can do. It will be on her. And maybe that’s part of why she’s suddenly fuming. Her first stint with Aaliyah making it clear that she’s in over her head. Unprepared. And one wrong word away from eating a bullet.
She settles down. Grabs the pot from Tex’s grasp. Finishes his statement, “I better dodge and run like hell?” She uses a teasing and playful tone. Flashes him a bright smile. Though she’s dead serious. That’s all she'll be able to do if they pull a gun on her.
“Exactly,” Tex confirms. Tone firm. Expression serious. He steps back towards the sink. Continues, “Hopefully it won’t come down to that. But that’s why we need you back inside getting close to Aaliyah and gathering information. 'Cause the more we know about her and Ehsan and the situation, the better we’ll be able to protect you and prepare you for the end point.”
Cruz hums. Looks away. Feeling that all too familiar sense of panic that arises whenever she thinks about the end point. Killing Aaliyah’s father. Shattering Aaliyah’s world. She brings the dish towel to the pot. Starts wiping it dry. Giving each stroke her full attention in hopes that it will quiet her mind. She sets the pot down when she’s done. Accepts a freshly washed frying pan. Begins wiping it dry. Focusing on each stroke until it joins the pile.
Another silence settles over them. Comfortable. Tex washing. Cruz drying. Working through her entire stack of dish towels until all of the dishes are clean and dry.
She tosses the last towel down. Takes a step back. Looks toward the hallway door. She has no idea what to do with herself now. Rest probably not happening in a room with so many weird dead animals. And it’s probably not an option even if she switched rooms. Aaliyah weighing too heavily on her mind. Aaliyah’s silence. Which might not actually be silence since she hasn’t checked her messages in forever.
She hurries out of the kitchen. Sprints down the hall. Enters the small room. Smashes the side button on her phone. Nothing.
“Fuck!” she shouts. Slamming her fists down onto the desk.
She spins around. Leans back against the edge of the desk. Covers her face. Groans. Stays that way for a good while. Only relaxing when she realizes that the tips of her fingers are touching something crusty. Blood that she didn’t fully clean off last night.
She drops her hands. Pushes off the desk. Grabs her toiletry kit and stuffs it into her go-bag. Heads out into the hall to find someone so that she can ask about the shower situation.
She hears video game noises. Looks into the living room. Tucker and Two Cups are on the couch. Call of Duty on the way too high screen. She walks toward the entrance. Clears her throat. Waits for them to register her presence. Nobody reacts. She rolls her eyes. Gives up on being polite, “Hey Tucker, I wanna take a shower. Can I wash my hair or…”
Her interruption goes over as well as expected. Tucker growling. His character dying on screen. He looks her way. “Why are you askin’ me?”
She huffs a laugh. Takes another step into the room. “Didn’t you tell me last night that you were appointed team medic?”
He rolls his eyes. Tosses his controller down. There’s chuckling to her right. She looks over. Spots Bobby curled up in a recliner. Laptop on her lap. Glasses covering her face. A bald eagle dangling above her head. Wings spread. Fish captured in its talons. A real eagle. A real fish.
What the fuck?
There’s a bang. Then Bobby’s voice, “He did say that.”
Cruz glances back at Bobby. Her laptop is shut now. The recliner back in an upright position. Her focus on Tucker as she continues, “So how about you go do your job and put her through the concussion protocol again and then give her the instructions that the doc left about showering.”
“The instructions that you also heard and could easily repeat right now?” Tucker shoots back.
“Uh-huh,” Bobby answers. Grinning. “Those instructions.”
Two Cups starts laughing. He leans close to Tucker. Mutters something that Cruz can’t hear. But it’s something that leads to Tucker punching him in the shoulder. The punch only making Two Cups laugh harder.
Cruz can’t help herself. Chuckling along at the scene. Knowing full well that Tucker is feigning upset. He gets to his feet. Walks to the corner opposite Bobby. Unzips a small black bag that’s on the end table. Retrieves a flashlight and a pill bottle. Grumbling, “Why do I have to be medic? I’ve got just as much medical experience as y’all?”
“True,” Bobby confirms. “But you’re the only one here with any concept of bedside manner.”
Tucker snorts. There’s laughter from the couch. Then Two Cups’s voice, “Are you sure about that? He’s just as much of a dick as the rest of us.”
Bobby presses her lips together. Nods like she’s reconsidering her words. Then she’s laughing. Looking toward Two Cups. “Ok… Ok… I take it back. But he’s the only one here that I trust with a needle.”
There’s a groan from behind Cruz. She twists. Spots Randy walking down the stairs. “I thought we agreed to never speak about that incident again?”
He enters the room. Comes to a stop next to Cruz. Bobby doesn’t spare him. “You mean the incident where Two Cups stabbed you in the wrong spot and you had to go to the hospital ‘cause your balls started swelling? That incident?”
Cruz winces. Darts her eyes around the room. Everyone laughing. Even Randy. Though his laughter seems a bit less genuine. Which is why she won’t ask for more details about why he was getting a shot and why that shot would lead to the swelling of a very delicate area.
Tucker is the first to settle down. Lifting his arm. Waving Cruz over.
She complies. Trudging across the room. Tucker turns the flashlight on when she arrives. He shines it in her eyes. Runs through the same questions that he asked her last night. Hands over the bottle of pills when he’s done. “For your head and ribs.”
She looks down at the bottle. Percocet. Hands it right back over, “No thanks. I don’t fuck with this stuff unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Smart,” he mutters. Dumping the bottle back into the small bag. “Then go on and take a shower. The doctor said you can't get the stitches wet for at least twenty four hours, so don’t stick your head under the water.”
That’s the answer that she expected, but not the answer that she wanted. She can’t hide her disappointment. Growling as she trudges across the room. Laughter following her. She doesn’t react. Just grabs her go-bag from where she left it on the floor. Climbs the stairs. Dreading the fact that she’s going to have to spend the rest of the day with blood and beer and god knows what else festering in her hair.
There’s an open door at the top of the stairs. Tile floor visible as she gets closer. She reaches the top. Peers inside the room. Confirms that it’s a bathroom. A messy bathroom. Towels covering a good portion of the floor. The counter covered in water and toothpaste residue.
Eww.
She looks to her left. Spots three other doors. Looks to her right. Screams at the top of her lungs, “Holy fucking shit! What the fuck is wrong with this place?!”
She hears laughter from downstairs. Ignores it for the moment. Too busy staring at the animal that caused her outburst. Its brown fur and size reminding her of a German Shepherd, but that’s where the comparisons end. Its head sleek. Ears pinned back. Body barrel sized. Partially upright. Its right paw swiping through the air. Claws extended. Sharp. Looking capable of killing anyone who has the misfortune of tripping while trying to enter one of the doors on either side of the creature. The claws on the feet exposed too. Me–
“What do you think of Randy?” Two Cups shouts.
She grits her teeth. Clenches her jaw. Steps toward the stairs. Ignores his question in favor of shouting back, “Thanks for warning me!”
She hears more laughter. Louder. But she doesn’t get a reply. She growls. Glances back at the animal. Shouts, “Seriously though! What is it?! And why did you name it Randy?!”
“A wolverine!” Two Cups shouts back. “And it’s named Randy because it’s short, tubby, and deadly like our Randy.”
She snorts. Glances back over at the animal. Two Cups a more fitting comparison for its barrel shape. She looks back toward the stairs. Shouts, “Does that mean its middle name is Two Cups?!”
There’s laughter. Loud. Raucous. Voices that she can’t make out. She starts to spin around. Stops. Two Cups shouting again, “Correction! His name is now Hugh. I’ll save Randy for when we find a lion in one of the rooms.”
“Hugh?!” she shouts back. Not getting the reference.
There’s more laughter. Then Two Cups head appears through the living room door. “Jackman? The man who plays Wolverine?”
She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then she wiggles her head. “Nope. Never heard of him.”
Two Cups recoils. His jaw dropping like she’s blown his mind. He shuts it. Mutters something she can’t hear as his head disappears from sight.
She rolls her eyes. Familiar with that reaction by now. Her movie and TV knowledge abysmal. There are reasons for that. Her lack of wealth as a child. Her tendency to avoid living rooms because of her mom’s shitty boyfriends and then her own shitty, abusive boyfriend. So she’s not bothered. Not embarrassed. Though she is creeped out by the presence looming to her left.
She gets moving. Backing into the bathroom. Opting to make do with dirty counters rather than risk another scary animal encounter while trying to find a cleaner space.
She shuts the door once she’s inside. Flips the lock. Spins around. Drops her bag on the ground. Strips off her clothes. Promptly realizes that she doesn’t have a towel. She growls. Throws her clothes back on. Steps out into the hall and opens the door to the immediate right of the bathroom. She grabs a towel off the shelf. Returns to the bathroom. Strips down again. Stares at herself for a moment in the mirror.
It’s the worst she’s ever looked. The visible portions of her hair a mess. Some locks crusty. The others greasy and sticky. All of it tangled. Her body bruised and bloody. Not even Edgar’s beatings could come close to this. It’s going to take weeks for her to fully heal. Weeks during which she’ll hopefully be in Aaliyah’s presence. Enjoying her company and her caring touch. Soaking in her laughter and her infectious smile. L–
There’s a knock on the door. She startles. Shouts, “Yeah?!”
“I have a shower cap if you want it!” Bobby shouts back.
She walks to the door. Plasters herself against the surface. Not wanting to give Bobby a visual to go with the audio. She opens the door when she’s certain she’s well hidden. Bobby’s hand appears through the crack. A shower cap in her grasp. Cruz takes it with a mumbled, “Thank you.”
“Uh-huh,” Bobby grunts. Her hand retreating. “Hurry up. I expect to hear from Joe soon and I’m guessin’ she’ll be callin’ us home.”
“Will do,” Cruz replies. Shutting the door.
She takes a step back. Turns the lock. Unwraps the shower cap and puts it over her head. The motions second nature after all of that time she spent flipping burgers while wearing a hairnet.
She starts the water. Steps under the spray once it’s warm. Keeping her head out of the water. Not wanting to test the efficacy of the shower cap. She makes quick work of her task. Using the bar of soap that’s in the soap dish. It’s gross. Probably unhygienic. But she doesn’t have the will or the energy to get out of the shower to retrieve the travel sized body wash that’s in her toiletry kit. She stops the water once she’s done. Dries off. Throws on the fresh set of fatigues that are in her go-bag. Gets a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Almost does a double take. Because Cruz is staring back at her. A bruised and beaten Cruz. But Cruz. Not Zara. The sight a relief and a reminder of who she really is. A Marine. A Marine who swore an oath to serve and protect her country. A Marine who will adhere to that oath no matter what.
There’s pounding on the door. Followed by Bobby’s voice, “Joe called, we’ve gotta move. Cars are leavin’ in fifteen!”
“Roger that!” Cruz shouts back.
She gets moving. Packs her go-bag. Races downstairs and into the small room. Makes a beeline for the desk. Grabs her phone. Hits the side button. Spots Aaliyah’s name.
“Oh thank god,” she mutters. Unlocking her phone so she can read the message.
Aaliyah (10:10 am): Good morning. I hope you are ok. I’m sorry for everything. Please call me
She sucks in a breath. Blows it out slowly. Fingers wiggling. Wanting to type a quick response. Something, anything, that would let Aaliyah know that she’s ok. But they have a plan and a cover to maintain, so she resists the urge. Locks her phone. Pulls it free from the charger and stuffs it into her pocket. Then she stares at the charging cable. Knowing that she has to unplug it because she can’t leave it behind. But that requires getting down on the ground which will hurt her ribs and her back and her neck and bring her eye level with the scary as hell King Cobra. A dead King Cobra. Which is better than the live snakes she encountered during her deployments. IEDs and snipers not the only hazards to worry about. Cobras and vipers just as likely to be lurking about in the rocks and ruins.
Ugh.
She pushes through her fear. Drops down. Unplugs the charger. Willing herself to not look to her right. She fails. A flash of light catching her attention as she retreats from below the desk. Her head turning automatically. Her eyes getting a glimpse of the snake. Head raised. Body posed like it’s about to strike.
She shivers. Terrified. Grossed out by the concept of stuffing dead animals. Climbs to her feet. Grabs her bag and sprints out the room. Grateful that she’ll never have to return to that place. She stops in the hall. Stores her charger in the side pocket of her bag. Stands there. Waiting. Watching. Chaos unfolding around her. Two Cups hastily packing up his gaming system. Randy and Tex breaking down guns. Bobby and Tucker hauling computer equipment outside. Cables and monitors and something that looks like a small satellite dish.
Huh.
She’d offer to help, but she can sense that it’s not necessary. Everyone focused and moving in a way which signals that this is the millionth time they’ve quickly broken down their headquarters ahead of a move to another location.
There’s a slam to her left. A disgruntled, “Dammit!” following.
She glances toward the sound. Spots Bobby just outside the house. A monitor in her hands. The screen door now closed. Meaning she probably bumped it as she was exiting. Cruz leaps into action. Dropping her bag. Pushing the door open as far as it can go. She pulls her hand away. Frowns when it tries to close on her. She pushes it back open. Steps outside. Identifies the problem. The door doesn’t have one of those hinges that keeps it open. Instead there’s a hook on the side of the house that fits through an eye hook on the front of the screen door.
She hooks the door. Steps back inside. Glances down at her feet. Her socked feet. Her socked feet that remain socked because there aren’t any boots in her go-bag. Though she could have sworn there were boots in her bag when she packed it.
Shit.
She leans her head through the open door. Shouts, “Hey Bobby! Is there any chance someone has size eleven boots lying around? I don’t have anything to put on my feet!”
“Oh! Yeah. Hold on,” Bobby shouts back. Only her legs visible. The rest of her body obscured by the side of the SUV as she packs the trunk.
She emerges after another minute. Boots in hand. Boots that look surprisingly like Cruz’s boots. She returns to the front door. Holds the boots out. Explaining, “It’s a tight fit. We had to take ‘em out and cram ‘em under a seat.”
“Ah…” Cruz nods. Accepting the boots. “Thank god. I don’t think I’d live it down if I went shoeless for the rest of the day.”
Bobby snorts a laugh. Steps through the front door. “Eh. Could have been worse. We could have tossed your entire bag back in the house and left you to travel barefoot in that skimpy dress you were wearin’ last night.”
Cruz winces. Horrified. “You’d really do that to me?”
Bobby shrugs. Grins. Walks away. Leaving Cruz there alone to wonder whether she’s teasing or not. She probably is because there’s a code. Unspoken. But religiously adhered to by people in her line of work. Jokes and pranks are fine, but they can only go so far and have to stop if they would interfere with someone’s work in a way that could get someone killed or disciplined. And leaving her bootless and in a skimpy dress while on the clock would count given that she barely survived a bar fight in that outfit.
She laughs. Humorlessly. Thinking about those moments on the dance floor. What she could have done differently. Left with the guy she pushed away is the obvious answer. If she’d fled through the front door, then maybe she’d have spotted Ehsan’s security detail and been able to flag down a ride. Instead she went right back into the mess in hopes of following them out of the other door.
Ugh.
There’s movement to her right. She looks down the hall. Spots Tucker coming her way with a big duffle bag. Two Cups emerges from the living room a few seconds later. A similar sized duffle in his hands. She leans back against the wall. Gets her boots onto her feet. Then she grabs her bag. Takes it outside. Preferring to wait by the Suburbans. It’s a few more trips before everything is out. Tex and Bobby somehow fitting all of the team’s gear into the two SUVs. Cruz climbs into the backseat of the second car. Feeling somewhat unsettled by the amount of firepower behind her. Grenades and M25s and flash-bangs and what might be an EMP. The equipment here for her. To protect her. To save her. Because the mission really is that dangerous.
She swallows. Closes her eyes. Hears the engine roaring to life. Then they’re moving. Bobby backing them out of the driveway. She keeps her eyes closed for a long while. Not inclined to take in the view. Knowing that it’s probably the same boring view that she saw while riding around town yesterday. Narrow tree-lined roads. Large fences hiding large houses. Minutes pass. The car silent. Tex in the passenger’s seat. Bags of gear next to her. None of them apparently in a chatty mood. But then she feels a buzz in her pocket. A buzz that she can’t ignore. One that will require her to both open her eyes and speak.
She sighs. Gets her eyes open. Fishes her phone out of her pocket. Unlocks it and checks the text.
Aaliyah (10:56 am): I miss your smile and your face. Call me
She closes her eyes. Grits her teeth. Starts working through the complicated mix of emotions that are overwhelming her system. Anger and longing and grief and guilt. She misses Aaliyah too. Her smile and her face and her touch and her laughter. And it’s killing her to be gone. Even as part of her wishes that she could stay gone so as to not cause Aaliyah further harm.
She calms down. Opens her eyes. Clears her throat. Leans forward slightly so she can relate the news. “Aaliyah texted me. Twice, actually. One came through a bit earlier and she just messaged me again.”
“Ok!” Bobby shouts. Voice louder than necessary. Her eyes looking back at Cruz through the rearview mirror, “What’d she say?”
Cruz hesitates. Uncomfortable with the notion of sharing what is supposed to be a private exchange. At least on Aaliyah’s end. But she has no choice. Because none of this is private. So she does her job. Looking back at her phone. Giving Bobby the paraphrased version, “Not much. Just that she’s sorry and misses me and wants me to call her.”
She hears a sigh from the driver’s seat. Lifts her gaze. Spots Bobby frowning at her through the rearview mirror. She echoes the frown. Wiggles her head. Silently asking Bobby to expound on her reaction. But Bobby doesn’t. She just looks away. Drives. Her response not coming until they’re miles down the road, “Pay closer attention and let me know whenever she texts. Do not text back unless we tell you to. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” Cruz replies. Tone firm. Marine-like.
Bobby’s eyes move back to the rearview mirror. She nods at Cruz. Shouts, “Good!” Then she’s looking away. Eyes ahead. Focused on the road. But she’s not done speaking. Her unnecessary shouting continuing, “We’re in a bit of a mess right now! We’ll do a full briefing later, but Joe has pulled us into something down by the border! There’s a house that may or may not have a bunch of explosives and Al-Qaeda inside so we’ve gotta deal with that before we can get you back under!”
“Oh,” Cruz exhales. She leans back in her seat. Blows out a breath. Surprised by the information. Thrilled by the prospect of getting some action that doesn’t require her to wear a dress or a bikini. And as much as she misses Aaliyah and wants to see her again, a break will probably be good for her sanity. Storming a house and taking down bad guys likely to let her get back into touch with her true self. Cruz the Marine and then maybe, just maybe, she won’t lose herself again the next time she sees Aaliyah. If she sees Aaliyah.
Shit.
She closes her eyes. Her panic about ruining everything returning. Aaliyah being unwilling to wait. Possibly blocking her number which will prevent her from even trying to lie about being hospitalized. Though her car is still in Chesapeake. They’ll have to talk about that. So she shouldn’t worry. Everything is fine and will be fine. She just needs to stay calm and be patient and let the situation unfold naturally and repeat this mantra every damn time she starts to freak out.
Her panic fades. She forces her eyes open. Stares out the windows. They’re on a big road now. Three lanes. Busy. Unlike anything she saw while in the Hamptons.
She leans forward. Asks, “Where are we going?”
“MacArthur,” Tex answers. Twisting his head. “Using one of the local places would be a bad idea. We don’t know if they’ll be on the move again or if they’re paranoid enough to have security stationed at each place to monitor traffic.”
She squints. “Each place?”
Tex twists further around. Gives her a look. Amused. “You landed at the airport closest to Ehsan’s place, but this crowd loves their planes. There’s airstrips everywhere from JFK in Queens all the way up to Montauk. MacArthur offers commercial flights, so that gives us more cover. We’ll go in through a back gate and pull right up to the plane. You should keep your head down when you board though. Maybe put on a hat to hide your hair?”
“Good idea!” Bobby adds. Still shouting. Her hand coming into view. Punching Tex in the shoulder. “I knew there’s a reason we keep you around!”
He pushes Bobby’s fist aside. Rolls his eyes. Ignores the barb. Focus still on Cruz as he asks, “Do you have one?”
“I do,” she replies. Pointing to her bag at her feet.
“Cool,” Tex offers. Smiling. “Then sit back and relax 'cause we’ve got at least another thirty before we’re there.”
She hums. Leans back. Closes her eyes. Tries to doze. She can’t. Too on edge. Anxious about her mission and seeing Aaliyah again. Amped up about the new mission. Explosives. Terrorists. A chance to make a tangible difference by taking out actual bad guys instead of one whose only alleged crime is writing checks from behind a desk.
Aaliyah (2:39 am): I can’t sleep. I miss you and I’m worried. Asif said multiple ambulances were called to the scene and that there was lots of blood inside. I had him call the hospitals, but they wouldn’t give out any information. So I will pray for you and that you are ok and just mad and not hurt. Please call me. I don’t care what hour. I need to hear your voice
Aaliyah (10:10 am): Good morning. I hope you are ok. I’m sorry for everything. Please call me
Aaliyah (10:56 am): I miss your smile and your face. Call me
Something smacks Cruz in the chest. She startles. Fumbles for the object. Fumbling her phone in the process. It clatters to the ground. Bounces into the aisle. Bobby picks it up. Glances at the screen. Muttering, “Nice reflexes, Marine.”
Cruz doesn’t try to defend herself. Too busy freaking out over what’s on her screen. The Aaliyah text messages that Cruz has been reading over and over again since they took off. Or worse, an accidental reply. Even an unsent one could spell disaster if Aaliyah happened to have their conversation open and caught the dots bouncing around below her last sent message.
Bobby drops down into the seat across from Cruz. She holds out the phone. Snatches it away before Cruz can grab it. She lifts an eyebrow, “Waiting for her to text you again?”
Cruz shrugs. Holds out her hand. Darts her gaze to her phone.
Bobby relents. Handing it over. Though she’s not done with the conversation. “Don’t tell me you were thinkin’ about textin’ her back.”
“No,” Cruz answers. Lying. Because that’s absolutely what she’s been doing. “I’m just trying to get a read on her mental state. I’m worried that she’ll block me.”
Bobby snorts. Leans back in her seat. Gives Cruz a withering look. “Now why the hell would she do that?”
“Uhh…” Cruz starts. Squinting at Bobby. Trying to figure out her reaction because the answer is obvious. She lifts her phone. Waves it around. Doesn’t hide the annoyance in her voice as she states the obvious, “‘Cause I’m ignoring her.”
Bobby tips her head back. Groans, “Oh my god…” She looks back down. Stares at Cruz, “Have you ever met a lesbian before? It’s never over. Not even when both of you wish it was. So there’s no way she’ll block you.”
Cruz frowns. Starts darting her eyes from side to side. Thoroughly confused because her experience with lesbianism is apparently nothing like Bobby’s.
Bobby doesn’t seem to register her confusion. She’s on a roll. Ranting, “You could ghost Aaliyah and she could go off and marry Ehsan and have a million of his babies and yet I’m certain that she’d keep your number in her phone and never give up hope that your name would appear one day.”
Cruz can’t hold herself back. The statement too absurd. She snorts. Fires back, “Are you out of your mind? There’s no way that would happen.”
“I’m not,” Bobby answers. Grinning now. “Though it’s true that it won’t happen because you’re going to text her once we clean up this Texas mess and give her your story about Zara being in the hospital and her phone getting destroyed and she is going to eat it right up because she’s in too deep to question anything. All she wants is Zara and Zara’s hot body.”
Cruz clenches her jaw. Looks away. Not liking the way Bobby smirked when alluding to Aaliyah’s desires. Her eyes land on the object that Bobby tossed her way. A sub. A bag of chips stuffed inside the plastic covering.
She chuckles. Looks back up. “Jersey Mike’s? Did Tex pick?”
It’s a bad joke. Terrible. One she offered to get Bobby’s focus away from Aaliyah. Her diversion fails. Bobby seeing right through her bullshit. Rolling her eyes. Glaring. Then she’s leaning forward. Issuing a sharp rebuke, “Don’t give me that shit. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Cruz grits her teeth. Holds Bobby’s gaze. Keeps her mouth shut. Bobby’s reprimand completely warranted.
Bobby’s expression softens after a moment. She lowers her voice. Almost whispering, “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Cruz snaps. Sharply. Defensively. Stupidly. Her rushed statement an indication that she’s the exact opposite of fine.
“You’re not!” Bobby fires back. Tone angry now. “I’m the only person who’s listened to every damn second of you and Aaliyah fucking. Kaitlyn was right. Either you’re the most impressive liar on the goddamn planet or you’re in just as deep as Aaliyah and lyin’ to us.”
Shit.
Bobby’s words are true. Meaning she has to tread carefully. Keep her emotions in check. Act confident rather than defensive. So she doesn’t respond. She just holds Bobby’s gaze. Glaring. Like she’s annoyed by the accusation.
“Look,” Bobby starts. Expression softening again. “I get it. Ok? She’s hot and she’s got a great personality. If she looked my way, I’d do everything I could to close the deal. You know what I mean?”
Cruz nods. Put off by the notion of ‘closing the deal,’ but she doesn’t push back on the phrasing. Knowing that now is not the time.
“But it has to stay at that,” Bobby continues. “You’re on a mission. You can fuck her, but you can’t love her and if it’s already too late and you’re catchin’ feelings, then you have to let us know. We can pull the plug. Joe won’t be happy and Kaitlyn will probably make sure you spend the rest of your career scrubbin’ latrines, but that’s better than lyin’ to us and movin’ forward and gettin’ to the end and bein’ unable to do what you need to do. I don’t know how exactly that will shake out, but Kaitlyn probably had it right last night. You’ll end up in a body bag and take some of us with you.”
Cruz stares blankly ahead. Processing Bobby’s words. All of them true. Infuriatingly so. She should take the offered out. Come clean. Let Joe pull the plug and let Kaitlyn make the rest of her years serving miserable. But then she’d never see Aaliyah again and that’s not an option. So she lies, “I’m fine. She is hot and she’s into me and if I don’t ruin it all by ignoring her, then I’ll enjoy that fact up until the moment I shoot her father in the head or stab him or break his neck or do whatever else I need to do.”
Bobble chuckles. Glances away. Starts ruffling her hair. She looks back at Cruz after a moment. Leans forward. Speaks. Her tone menacing. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Cruz shrugs. Keeps her expression even. Worried that if she shows even the slightest crack in her facade that Bobby will go over her head. Voice her concerns. Force Joe’s hand. And then she’d never see Aaliyah again.
Her choice seems to work. Bobby grinning. Leaning away. She taps her fingers on the armrest. Tilts her head. Asks, “Was she as good as she sounded?”
Cruz’s blood starts boiling. She clenches her jaw. Grips her phone tight so she doesn’t leap across the seat to kick the living shit out of Bobby. But that’s exactly what Bobby wants. She’s trying a new tack. Speaking crassly about Aaliyah in hopes that Cruz will break and defend Aaliyah and thus reveal that Aaliyah is more to her than just a roll in the hay.
She calms down. Gives Bobby another shrug. A grin.
Bobby doesn’t seem happy now. Her shoulders slumping. “Come on Cruz,” she whines, “I need more than that. I haven’t seen any action in months.”
Huh.
Cruz wasn’t expecting that admission. Bobby not just an attractive woman, but an attractive woman who serves. She shouldn’t struggle to find company. Unless she’s lying because she’s still trying to play mind games with Cruz. There’s only one way to find out. And that’s to push the conversation onto Bobby’s love life. See if she gets pissed and brings it right back to Aaliyah.
“Why’s that?” Cruz asks. Grinning. Lifting an eyebrow.
Bobby’s eyes shut. She brings her hands to her face. Groans into them. Answers as she slides them down, “Why do you think?”
Cruz has no clue. So she just wiggles her head. Waits for Bobby to speak.
“Because,” Bobby starts. Throwing her hand out. Waving it around, “My life is this damn this job and these idiots. I’m always on the move and always on call and you’ve seen our home base. Can you imagine bringin’ a woman back there?”
“I can, yeah…” Cruz replies. Chuckling. “But…” she trails off. Winces.
Bobby starts laughing. Low. Humorless. She lets out another groan. “I tried it once. Never again. We had to listen to everyone carryin’ on in the livin’ room while we were fuckin’. Then she tried to sneak out the next mornin’ while the guys were playin’ around with their laser guns. She screamed and ran back into my room and…” Bobby cuts off. Finishing with a heavy sigh. Her eyes shut. She starts laughing again. Humorlessly.
Cruz lets out a few of her own laughs. Then she fills in the blank, “You never heard from her again?”
“Yeah…” Bobby confirms. Eyes opening.
Cruz grins. Latching onto an inconsistency in Bobby’s words. One she won’t let pass. “So she wasn’t a lesbian then?”
“Huh?” Bobby grunts. Staring at Cruz like she’s thoroughly confused.
Cruz sits up straight. Her grin growing. She leans forward. Goes for the kill. “You said that lesbians are never done with each other."
“You– Ugh,” Bobby groans. She bangs her fist on the armrest. Laughs a few times. Then she’s rushing out, “That was different! We knew each other for about an hour before I took her home. I’m talking about those situations where it’s more. Where there are feelings. Then it’s never done. Ever!” Her fist meets the armrest again. Her expression serious now. Like she is talking from experience. Meaning there’s at least one woman out there who broke her heart.
Cruz doesn’t prod. Heartbreaks another topic that’s best addressed only when raised by the heartbroken party. So instead she tells the truth. “I wouldn’t know. All I’ve had since I started dating women is meaningless and shallow.”
Bobby looks away. Her gaze toward the window. She’s silent for a long while. Then she’s looking back at Cruz. Leaning closer, “That’s why I’m worried about you.”
Cruz pulls in a big breath. Blows it out slowly. Nodding. But staying silent. Bobby not buying a single bit of her earlier bullshit, so there’s no need to serve her more.
Bobby holds her gaze for another moment. Then she’s climbing to her feet. Stepping out into the aisle. “We’ll get you back under as soon as we can. I promise.”
Cruz nods. Mumbles, “Ok.
“Good,” Bobby smiles. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”
She starts to walk away. Cruz glances past her retreating form. Spots Two Cups standing up. Doing some sort of weird dance in front of Randy. His arms stretched wide. His gut jiggling.
She laughs. Thinking about this morning. The jokes. The teasing. The complete absence of teasing on her behalf.
“Wait!” she shouts. “I have a question!”
Bobby spins around. Lifts an eyebrow.
Cruz looks past Bobby again. The rest of the team isn’t that far away. They’ll probably be able to hear her question if she shouts it. So she lifts her hand. Waves Bobby back over. Asks once she no longer needs to shout, “Last night everyone was giving me shit about Aaliyah. Today you’re the only person who’s really brought it up. Why’s that?”
Bobby opens her mouth. Shuts it. She twists around. Throws a glance toward the rest of the team. Then she twists back around. Takes another step forward. Explains. Sheepishly. “Joe texted early this mornin’. She made it clear that everyone had to lay off ‘cause you’d been through hell and were bustin’ your ass to get the job done so we shouldn’t make you feel bad about somethin’ you’d probably have to do again.”
“Oh…” Cruz exhales. Frowning. Slightly offended that Joe stuck her nose into Cruz’s business like this. Also surprised that everyone is complying with Joe’s order. They have no reason to comply. Especially with Joe gone. Unless they think she’d tattle on them.
“There a problem?” Bobby asks. Frowning now.
“No,” Cruz replies. Shaking her head. “I’m just surprised you’re listening to her. It’s not like I would rat you out for picking on me.”
Bobby taps on the back of Cruz’s seat. Lets out a low, “Ahhh…” She chuckles. Waves her hand. “No. Of course you wouldn’t. Nobody here thinks you would. But that doesn’t matter. Joe’s the boss. If she says jump, we jump.”
“Always?” Cruz asks.
Bobby looks away. Ruffles her hair. Then she’s looking back. Confirming, “Always.”
Huh.
She turns around again. Walks off. Likely escaping before Cruz can prod about her hesitation. But that’s ok. The fact that Bobby did hesitate is helpful. Because it means that this team isn’t exactly like the military where orders are handed down and followed despite whatever personal misgivings the soldier might have. There is room for dissent or at least room to feel that dissent and possibly discuss it with others.
And that makes sense. They’re a small team doing dangerous work. A team that functions like a family. Everyone clearly knowing everyone well and caring for them. Joe a part of that team and that family. Drinking with them and joking with them. Which means there’s more familiarity among the different rungs on the ladder. Familiarity which allows for more leeway to speak freely without repercussion.
She files that nugget of information away. Spins back around. Lifts her phone. Presses the side button. Spots no new messages. She pouts. Tosses the phone onto the table. Then she grabs her sub. Pulls it free from the plastic bag. Her chips falling onto the ground. She leaves them there. Unwraps the sub.
Roast beef.
She laughs. Twists her head. Catches Bobby’s eye from her perch in the back of the plane. Bobby winks at her. Cruz laughs again. Spins around. Gets to work on her food. Thrilled by the teasing. Pleased that Joe’s words haven’t entirely scared them off.
Notes:
Kudos/comments appreciated. Nice comments motivate me to write more regardless of when you leave them. So if you're reading this weeks/months/years after the posting date, please comment if you liked it. Even something as simple as a keyboard smash or a few emojis or an ‘extra kudos’ will make my day 🙏🏼
P.S. I know this was light on Aaliyah, but that was necessary cuz I'm still sticking close to canon events. I will make up for her absence very soon. I promise.
Chapter 4
Summary:
Cruz kicks some terrorist ass.
Notes:
And now for the chapter with the scene that's been in my head since I saw 1x05. You're welcome 😊
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
Cruz looks up from her gun. Spots Joe storming across the hangar. Her eyes on Cruz. Meaning the question is for Cruz.
“Cleaning my gun!” she replies. Shouting. Holding back the ‘duh’ that wants to escape. Knowing that Joe won't like the attitude.
Her polite response is for nothing. Joe huffing. Looking toward Bobby. Shouting, “What the fuck is she doing?!”
Bobby doesn’t answer right away. She tosses her rag down onto her table. Walks around to the other side. Leans against it. Crosses her arms. Speaks once Joe is in range, “Cleaning her gun.”
Joe comes to a stop. Glares at Bobby. “You know what I meant.”
“Yeah,” Bobby replies. Casually. Like she isn’t bothered by Joe’s outburst. “She’s part of the team and you said to bring the team, so…” she trails off. Uncrosses her arms. Gestures toward Cruz.
Joe doesn’t follow the gesture. She takes a step closer to Bobby. Raises her voice, “No, she’s not part of the team. She’s the asset. We can’t lose her.”
“Uh-huh,” Bobby nods. Grinning. Like Joe’s outburst has gone from ‘whatever’ to ‘funny.’ She takes a step closer to Joe. Tilts her head. Once again gesturing toward Cruz. “She’s experienced and we need all the help we can get on this. Unless something's changed since we last spoke and we’re not lookin’ at six hostiles.”
Joe drops her duffle on the ground. She sighs. Shakes her head. “No. Nothing’s changed. But she’s too valuable. We can’t have her eating a bullet or getting caught on camera and going viral. I’m in enough hot water with Kaitlyn as it is. If we lose our Lioness and our shot at Amrohi, well…” she trails off. Holds Bobby’s gaze.
Cruz rolls her eyes. Offended and annoyed by the way they’re talking about her while she’s standing right here. She jumps into the conversation, “That won’t happen. I know what I’m doing. So the only way that I eat a bullet is if someone else fucks up and the only way I’ll be caught on camera is if you invite the news.”
“Did I ask for your input?!” Joe shouts. Whipping her gaze toward Cruz. Glaring at her.
Cruz clenches her jaw. Keeps her head high. Refusing to back down. Because she wants this mission. Needs the brief escape that it will give her from Zara and Aaliyah.
She hears light laughter to her left. Then Bobby’s voice, “She’s got a point boss. Who’s gonna be around to film this?”
Joe looks away. Her glare now aimed at Bobby. A glare that’s doing no good. Bobby still grinning like she’s amused by Joe’s anger.
“What about her head?!” Joe snaps. Her arm shooting out. Finger pointing at Cruz.
Cruz rolls her eyes again. Furious now. Because it’s clear that Joe is ignoring her on purpose. She jumps back into the conversation. Answering before Bobby can get a chance, “Her head is fine. She’s not concussed.”
She expects Joe to rip her a new one. The sharp inhale she hears to her left signaling that Bobby expects it too. So she’s surprised when Joe starts laughing. It’s not a humorous laugh. But it’s not a sign of rage either. She looks Cruz’s way. Scrunches her nose. Stomps her foot. Clearly fighting with herself about something. She seems to make up her mind. Her face relaxing. Looking back toward Bobby, “Fine. She’s in. But…” she turns back to Cruz. Lifts her finger. Waves it. “Only if someone with an actual MD clears you. So put that down and go to medical. Now. We’re on the clock here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cruz replies. Already moving to break down her gun. She gets it back into the case. Heads toward the hangar door. Clueless about the location of medical. This is her first time at Lackland. Her prior stints in Texas taking her to Fort Worth and El Paso, but never near San Antonio. So all she knows about the base is what she saw during her quick ride in the back of a Chevy. Which means she should stop and ask for directions. But she won’t. Tempers short at the moment. Everyone stressing out about the upcoming mission and something else too. Something they won’t share with her. But something that involves CIA politics and possibly the future of their team. So it’s better for her to just stay silent. Leave. Walk around. Get some fresh air. Enjoy her first bit of space since Joe’s goons kidnapped her on the streets of D.C.
She makes it within twenty feet of the hangar exit. Notices the door beginning to open. She slows her pace. Mindful that there could be a vehicle waiting to enter. A vehicle that might zoom inside and take her out. But there is no vehicle. Just Kaitlyn and two men in uniform. Which is actually worse than a Jeep or Humvee. Probably more deadly too.
She drops her gaze to the ground. Picks up her pace. Hurrying toward the exit while praying that Kaitlyn is too caught up in her phone conversation to hassle Cruz.
Her prayer goes unanswered. Kaitlyn’s voice audible after a few more steps, “Hold on a second. I need to deal with something.” There’s a pause. Then a loud and abrasive, “Cruz! Where do you think you’re going?!”
She stops moving. Lifts her head. Twists around. Answers, “To medical to get my head checked out.”
“No you’re not,” Kaitlyn scoffs. Moving closer. “Because you're not here right now. None of us are.”
“But Joe s–” Cruz tries. Gesturing toward the tables.
She doesn’t get to finish. Kaitlyn cutting her off. Sharply. “But Joe nothing…” She narrows her eyes. Lifts them. But only slightly. Meaning she’s probably inspecting Cruz’s head. Her next words confirming this fact, “How are you feeling?”
“Fine aside from some bruising and the cuts,” Cruz answers. Honestly. Her headache gone. At least for the moment.
Kaitlyn frowns. “Then why–”
“She might have a concussion!” Joe interrupts. Shouting as she storms into view. “I’m not taking her out into the field if her bell’s rung!”
Kaitlyn twists her head. Looking toward Joe. She brings her phone back to her ear. Mutters, “I’m going to have to call you back.” She drops the phone down before she’s even done speaking. Ends the call. Turns so her body is partially facing Joe. Shouts, “You’re taking her into the field?!”
Joe inhales. Visibly. Her head nodding. She doesn’t speak. Yet. Either because she’s buying herself time to prepare for this conversation or because she doesn’t want to get into it while she’s still at a shouting distance.
She makes it to where they stand. Throws Cruz a quick look. A warning look. Like she’s trying to tell Cruz to shut the fuck and let her handle this. Then she looks back at Kaitlyn. Finally replies, “We need her. There’s six of them and only seven of us. I don’t like those numbers for a capture mission.”
Capture?
That’s news to Cruz. News she can’t fully process because Kaitlyn is muttering something about Joe’s lack of nerve. Her exact words drowned out by a plane roaring by overhead. But Joe apparently hears them just fine and she’s not happy and she’s not holding back. Stepping closer to Kaitlyn. Practically growling in her face, “Do not question my nerve. You know what I have on the line. What I have waiting for me at home. I want eight.”
Kaitlyn’s expression softens. She gives Joe a look that might almost count as friendly. Which has Cruz wondering about their relationship. How long they’ve worked together. How well they know each other. But these thoughts don’t last for long. Kaitlyn glancing her way. Asking, “You’re up for it?”
“I am,” Cruz replies. Voice firm. Gaze locked with Kaitlyn’s, “It’s what I’m trained to do.”
Kaitlyn nods. Looks back at Joe, “Call the hospital. Have them send one person here. If they say she’s good, she can go.”
She looks back toward Cruz, “Do not fuck this up. Amrohi is the priority. I want him dead. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” Cruz replies. Voice firm. Gaze locked with Kaitlyn’s. Though her confident demeanor is a smokescreen. Inside she’s starting to crumble. Her gut twisting from the mention of the ultimate goal. Killing Aaliyah’s father. Ruining Aaliyah’s life.
Kaitlyn holds her gaze for another moment. Then she spins around. Storms away. Her phone out and already getting raised back to her ear.
“Go back to what you were doing,” Joe orders. Drawing Cruz’s focus to her left. “I’ll make the call.”
“Roger that,” Cruz replies.
She begins walking back to the table with her gear. Hears Joe’s voice, “Wait!”
She spins around. Lifts an eyebrow.
“Remember that all of this…” Joe starts. Gesturing around the room. “...is classified. Lie about the how, but not what you’re feeling.”
Cruz frowns. Walks back toward Joe. “And if they push me on the how?”
“Say it’s classified. And if that doesn’t get their attention, ask them if they’d like to speak with your boss’s boss.” A grin appears on Joe’s face. She lifts her eyebrows. Finishes, “That should shut them up.
“And if it doesn’t?” Cruz asks.
“Then it means there’s a doctor working for the Air Force who has no sense of self-preservation and they’re going to get what they deserve,” Joe answers. Grin growing. Her head tilting as she says the last few words.
Cruz follows the gesture. Spots Kaitlyn in the distance. Phone clutched to her ear. Left hand on her hip. Gaze down on the ground like she’s following her foot that she’s dragging along the concrete surface. She’s not speaking for once. But she doesn’t look happy. An ass chewing likely inevitable for whoever has the misfortune to be on the other end of the line. Unless she’s speaking with one of her bosses. Then she might be the one getting her ass chewed out. About this Texas mess. Her asset fucking the mark. Some other CIA bullshit that Cruz isn’t cleared to know.
She winces. Everything about that woman and this organization making her uncomfortable. But she’s in it now. And she has a chance to kick some ass. So she shakes off her feelings. Looks back toward Joe. Nods, “Understood.” Then she spins around. Heads back to her station to resume getting her gear ready for the upcoming fight.
“Hey Marine!” Two Cups shouts. His voice echoing through the large hangar. His words likely aimed at Cruz since she’s yet to see another Marine among the uniforms milling about. But she doesn’t react. ‘Marine’ not her name even though everyone keeps calling her that.
“Hey Marine who got the shit kicked outta her last night!” Two Cups shouts. His voice once again echoing through the large hangar.
Cruz sighs. Glances up. Starts searching for Two Cups. Spots him near the hangar door. A woman standing next to him. She’s uniformed. Carrying a medical kit. Which means she’s here to clear Cruz for action.
That gets Cruz’s attention. She leaps to her feet. Tosses her half-eaten bag of Fritos onto the table. Brushes her hands off on her pants as she starts walking toward Two Cups and the doctor.
She meets them about halfway. Takes a quick glimpse at the doctor’s uniform. Captain Perez. She’s young. Pretty. Long dark hair. Dazzling green eyes. She’d definitely catch Cruz’s attention if Aaliyah wasn’t on her mind. But Aaliyah is on her mind. Again. Returning after a surprisingly lengthy absence only because another beautiful woman has crossed her path. She pushes those thoughts aside. Greets Captain Perez, “Captain…”
“Patient,” Captain Perez replies. Smiling. A beautiful smile. Her teasing tone slightly flirtatious.
Cruz is not the only person to pick up on the tone. Two Cups laughing. Giving her a knowing a look. He steps closer. Pats her on the back. Whispers into her ear, “Looks like you’re gonna be in good hands. I’ll leave you to it.”
He steps away. Starts heading back toward the tables. Cruz watches for a moment. Unhappy to be left alone to deal with a woman who might be interested. But then again she might not be interested. They’ve exchanged all of two words. So it could just be in Cruz’s head. Her experience with Aaliyah coloring her perception. Making her think that every woman who so much as smiles at her wants to fuck her. That’s a ridiculous thought. One that calms her down enough to look back toward the doctor. She clears her throat. Evens her expression. Affects a stern Marine-like tone, “Did my boss explain the situation?”
“Yes,” Captain Perez replies. Smile fading. “We need to make sure you’re fit for action. Why don’t we…” she trails off. Her focus drifting past Cruz. Her eyes narrowing. She hums. Looks back toward Cruz. Smiles. “Something tells me that I won’t be welcome over there, so let’s just go stand by the door. I don’t want to cause any problems.”
Cruz laughs. Lightly. Rudely. Unintentionally. Her last exchange with Joe too fresh in her mind for her to get a lid on her reaction.
“Something funny?” Captain Perez asks. Frowning. Like she’s confused, but also offended.
Cruz settles down immediately. She takes a step toward the hanger door. Shakes her head. “Mmm…” Explains once she’s certain Captain Perez is following her, “You’re smart and perceptive is all. We… Well… It doesn’t matter.”
It’s not the best explanation. But it’s the best that she can do. Sharing that she was told to lie about the how of her injuries because she’s on a classified mission would probably be just as bad as telling the truth about the how.
She hears a grunt. Looks over. Captain Perez’s gaze is firmly ahead. So Cruz looks away. Figuring the conversation is over. But it’s not. Captain Perez replying once they reach the door. “If you’ve been around as long as I have, you learn the rules.”
There’s a thud. Likely Captain Perez’s medical bag hitting the ground. But Cruz doesn’t look to confirm the source of the sound. She’s too busy scrutinizing Captain Perez. Trying to figure out her age. She can’t ask that. Not without getting slapped. But she can ask a similar question. So she does, “How long is that?”
Captain Perez huffs a laugh. Takes a step closer. Her eyes narrowing. Focusing above Cruz’s eyes. “Longer than you probably think. I’m older than I look.”
Huh.
Cruz nods. But otherwise stays still. Trying to get a read on the situation. Captain Perez’s tone once again sounding flirtatious. But that would be ridiculous because she’s a professional who is currently conducting a very exacting inspection of Cruz’s bandaged head.
Cruz pulls in a big breath. Waits. Panicking about her mental state. Her perception of reality. The fact that she probably should be sidelined if she’s reading something into a situation that isn’t here.
Captain Perez finally steps away. She gives Cruz a soft smile. Lifts her hand. Brings it close to Cruz’s face. Asks, “Is it ok to touch you?
Cruz nods. Not trusting herself to speak right now.
“Ok,” Captain Perez mutters. Her eyes lifting again. Her hand moving too. “I’m going to start by pulling off your bandages so that I can look at your wounds. This might hurt.”
Cruz snorts. Mumbles, “I’ve had worse.”
“I can see that,” Captain Perez replies. Fingers landing on the top edge of Cruz’s bandage. There’s a tug. Pinching. Pulling. Captain Perez’s left hand moves to the top of Cruz’s head. She feels pressure. More pinching and pulling. Stinging now. Burning too. She shuts her eyes. Hears Captain Perez’s voice, “Did this happen all at once or did you get into it multiple times?”
“Uhh… Umm… Ohh…” Cruz stumbles. Wincing. The stinging and burning as Captain Perez continues to remove the bandage impeding her ability to properly reply.
She hears a grunt. Feels a sharp burst of pain. Captain Perez ripping the last of the bandage off like it was a strip of wax. Cruz grits her teeth. Waits for the pain to subside. Then she finally responds, “Is that a medically necessary question?”
Captain Perez doesn’t answer. But she does speak. A barely audible, “Shit…” sounding out from in front of Cruz.
Cruz’s eyes fly open. Her focus immediately drawn to the reason for Captain Perez’s curse. The bandage is in Captain Perez’s hands. It’s a large square. Tape covering all sides. An alarming amount of Cruz’s hair covering the tape.
She winces. Starts to bring her hand to her head to check for bald spots. Captain Perez seems to anticipate her intent. Reaching out. Pressing down on Cruz’s arm. “Don’t. I’ll look in a moment and let you know how bad the damage is. But to answer your question, yes. I can guess about the timing of your injuries if I need to, but guessing is a bad idea in my line of work.”
“Mine too,” Cruz laughs. Holding Captain Perez’s gaze. Smiling at her. A slightly flirty smile. One that gets returns by Captain Perez.
Shit.
She looks away. Stares at the floor. Confused about why she smiled at Captain Perez like that. She doesn’t get a chance to figure it out. Captain Perez asking another question. Her voice coming from behind Cruz’s back. “With that in mind, are you comfortable telling me when everything happened?”
Cruz sighs. Thinking back to Joe’s torture island. The beatings and the waterboarding and the heinous sounds. She swallows. Grits out an answer, “The head injury happened last night. Everything else was a few days ago.”
There’s a tap on Cruz’s shoulder. Captain Perez’s voice following, “Thank you. Can you squat down a bit so that I can see the top of your head?”
Cruz complies. Lowering herself. Her ribs twinging. Unhappy with the movement.
She hears a sharp inhale. A muttered, “Yikes.” Captain Perez apparently unhappy with what she’s seeing. Which puts Cruz on edge. Open or infected wounds almost guaranteed to get her sidelined.
She hears a zipper. Glances to her right. Captain Perez is kneeling down. Putting gloves on her hands. She looks up after a moment. Smiles at Cruz. “Do you have a latex allergy? I should have asked first…” she trails off. Winces. Then mutters a soft, “Sorry.”
“Uh-uh,” Cruz replies. Wiggling her head. Returning the smile. Stupidly. Because if Captain Perez is flirting with her, then she needs to maintain control. Not invite further attention. Because this can’t go anywhere. It’s unethical. And she has Aaliyah.
She sighs. Thinking about what Aaliyah is doing right now. Lounging on the beach with her asshole friends. Maybe shopping with the girls. Malika had mentioned something during dinner about wanting to blow a lot of money. Which led to Cruz almost choking to death on her wine. Malika’s words arriving right as she had taken a sip. Aaliyah had looked her way. Smirked. Cruz h–
A hand lands on her shoulder. Startling her. But she has enough presence of mind to not react. Knowing that being jumpy might raise concerns about her fitness. Though she can’t control her next reaction. A hiss. Brought about by the finger that’s now on her scalp.
“Sorry,” Captain Perez whispers. “I’ll be done soon.”
Her finger retreats moments later. The hand on Cruz’s shoulder leaving too. She walks back into view. Smiles at Cruz. “It looks good. No sign of infection. The stitches have held. But…” she trails off. Throws Cruz an apologetic look. “The tape did do some damage. I’m sorry. I don’t know who put that on you, but they did a piss poor job. Wrong tape. Wrong placement…” she pauses. Lets out a wry laugh. “You’re lucky I didn’t have to get my scissors involved.”
“Great…” Cruz mutters. Hand lifting again. She catches herself this time. Dropping it down before she put her grease covered fingers on her wounds.
Captain Perez winces. Her eyes lifting like she’s looking at Cruz’s hairline. “Wear hats?” she suggests. Dropping her gaze back down. “Or keep your hair up until it grows back?”
Cruz hums. Nods. Doesn’t reply. Too busy wondering how this will impact her upcoming time with Aaliyah. Whether she’ll be able to get away with wearing hats while they float through the rich people scene. Assuming they go out. Maybe she’ll get lucky and they’ll just lounge around one of Ehsan’s mansions. Getting to know each other. Intimately.
She smiles. Imagining Aaliyah in a bed. Naked. Her leg thrown over Cruz’s hip. Her hand playing with Cruz’s hair as they talk about nothing in between rounds. She wo–
There’s clattering to her right. She looks toward the sound. Captain Perez is on her knees again. Pulling items out of her medical bag. A bandage. Tape. A small pair of scissors. A roll of gauze. She gets to her feet. Steps behind Cruz. “I’m about to do a much better job. Keep this on for at least another twelve hours. Then you can take it off and wash your hair. Just do so gently and if you feel any ripping or tearing or it starts bleeding and won’t stop, seek medical attention. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am,” Cruz responds. Tone firm. Marine-like. The formality hiding her annoyance with the time frame. Because if she does get cleared for this mission, then she’s going to be a disgusting, smelly mess when she’s done and will have to endure the funk in her hair for hours after she gets the funk off her body. Unless of course the mission isn’t imminent. But it has to be. The vibe in the hangar screaming that it’s go time. And then there’s the type of mission. Capture, not kill. They’d be stupid to carry it out during the day. Especially since soldiers aren’t supposed to operate like this on U.S. soil. So no. It’s imminent. And–
There’s a ripping noise behind her. A huff. Then Captain Perez’s voice. “I should have had you bring a chair over.”
“Mmm…” Cruz hums. She chuckles. Adds, “My ribs agree.”
“Your ribs?!” Captain Perez half-shouts.
Shit.
Cruz fucked up. She should have kept her mouth shut about the rib pain. Because that’s another thing that could get her sidelined. But the truth is out and probably would have come out anyway since Joe told her to be honest. So she comes completely clean, “I don’t really know what happened to me last night. The thing that caused those cuts knocked me out, but I’m pretty sure someone stepped on me.”
“Pretty sure?” Captain Perez scoffs. Stepping back into view. Strips of tape dangling off her arm.
Cruz lifts her hand. Points to her ribs. “There was a shoe print right around here when I woke up, so…” she trails off. Shrugs. Not feeling the need to finish the thought.
Captain Perez gapes at her for a moment. Then she’s walking back behind Cruz. Muttering, “That would do it.”
There’s a sigh. Heavy. A crinkling noise. Then Captain Perez’s voice, “We’ll look at those next. I might have to pull you for x-rays. How’s that going to sit with those folks over there?”
Cruz grimaces. Her gaze traveling across the hangar. The tables. The couches. The monitors showing feeds from the house where they expect the terrorists to crash. Kaitlyn is visible. Pacing back and forth. Phone pressed against her ear. She won’t be happy about x-rays at all. The timing bad. The fact that a bunch of people will see her face worse.
Shit.
She clears her throat. Answers Captain Perez’s question with one of her own, “You want my honest answer?”
“Always,” Captain Perez replies. Her voice eerily close. Her breath ghosting over Cruz’s neck. Making her shiver. Uncomfortably. Stupidly. Because there’s nothing sexual about Captain Perez’s proximity. She’s doing her job. The bandage now pressing against Cruz’s head. And Cruz is making it weird because… because…
Because she’s hurting and exhausted and on edge and feeling violated from the fact that three people listened to her having sex and at least one person will likely listen to her having sex again because there’s no way that she’ll go back undercover and act like a nun. But none of that matters now. She has a new mission. One that requires medical clearance. So she pushes through her discomfort. Gazes across the room. Her eyes landing on Kaitlyn as she begins to speak, “I want to go. I feel up to going. I think they need me to go and I don’t think we have a lot of time before we’ve gotta go. But I’ve also been warned not to lie to you because if I am a liability, then…” she cuts off. Not comfortable stating that she could get her team killed and not wanting to come out and confirm to Captain Perez that this is in fact the kind of mission that could get people killed.
There’s silence. Another touch on her head. A strange noise. One that Cruz can’t place. Then Captain Perez’s voice, “Understood. I’ll do what I can here.”
Captain Perez moves as she speaks. Stepping in front of Cruz. The source of the strange noise now identifiable. The gauze unrolling from its spool as Captain Perez works the roll around Cruz’s head. Circling her until Cruz has gauze covering every inch of her forehead and the upper part of her ears. It’s uncomfortable. Itchy. And it’s going to be boiling under her helmet. But there’s no tape on her hair, so she won’t complain.
She hears a ripping noise. Feels pressure against her right temple. Hears Captain Perez’s voice. “I’ve taped it away from your hair. If for some strange reason you have to wear a helmet within the next twelve hours, be careful when you take it off so that the bandage doesn’t move with it. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cruz replies. Politely. Professionally.
She hears a laugh. Then Captain Perez is stepping away. Moving around to Cruz’s front. She grins at Cruz. Orders, “Stand up straight and take off your shirt.”
Cruz snorts. Complies with Captain Perez’s instructions. A quip on the tip of her tongue. Banter about Captain Perez not holding back what she wants. But she doesn't let the quip fly. Aaliyah flashing into her mind. Her beautiful face. How crushed she’d be to learn that Zara messed around with another woman during the time they are apart. Not that she would have the chance to mess around because there’s no time and she has no interest and she might be hallucinating Captain Perez’s interest because of her head injury or because she’s on edge and raw and completely fucking out of sorts as she tries to manage being herself with being Zara an–
She hisses. Unprepared for Captain Perez to start her exam by touching one of the bruises on her abdomen. Her hiss more the result of her surprise than any resulting pain. But it gets Captain Perez’s attention. Her hand immediately moving away.
“Damn....” she mutters. Lifting her eyes to meet Cruz’s gaze. “So most of this happened a few days ago, but the ribs were last night?”
“Uhh…” Cruz starts. Wincing. Flashing back to Joe’s torture island. Lying on the floor with her hands and feet tied while Joe’s goons kicked the shit out of her.
“So both nights, then?” Captain Perez guesses. Echoing Cruz’s wince.
Cruz nods. Looks away. Embarrassed by the state of her body. Her gaze landing across the hangar. Everyone congregating now by the monitors. Kaitlyn visible at the front of the crowd. Meaning a briefing is about to start.
Shit.
She looks back toward Captain Perez. Find hers hunched over. Examining Cruz’s sides. She glances up after a moment. Huffs a laugh. “Sometimes I do wish that I had the kind of clearance that could let me know the how and the why. But then again, maybe I’m better off not knowing.”
“Probably,” Cruz confirms. Chuckling. “You d–” she cuts off. Captain Perez choosing that moment to press down on her side.
“That’s not good,” Captain Perez mutters. She lifts her gaze back to Cruz’s face. “Raise your arm for me.”
Cruz raises her arm. Fully exposing her side.
Captain Perez stands up. Takes a step back. “Good. Now it drop it down again.”
Cruz complies. Eyes on Captain Perez. Studying her reaction. She’s frowning. Focusing on Cruz’s ribs. She looks toward Cruz after a moment. Asks, “Did that hurt?”
Uhhh…
“Uhh…” Cruz starts. Not knowing how to answer. Because technically it did cause pain. Any and all movements of her body resulting in a sensation. But if she says yes, then this might doom her participation in the mission. But she has to say yes because she was told not to lie.
Her non-answer results in a laugh. Captain Perez’s face lighting up with a bright smile. “Ok tough guy," she teases, "we’ll do the pain scale. One to ten. How much did it hurt?”
“Point five,” Cruz replies. Grinning at her violation of the pain scale.
Captain Perez huffs. Crosses her arms. Glares at Cruz like she doesn't share Cruz’s amusement over violating the pain scale.
Cruz should walk it back. Answer with a 'one' and maybe an apology because her fate is in Captain Perez's hands and pissing her off is yet another thing that could get Cruz sidelined. But she doesn't. Figuring a fuller description of what she's experiencing will be more helpful than a number. She clears her throat. Answers honestly and professionally, “There’s a twinge whenever I move in certain ways and sometimes there’s a dull aching throb, but never the kind of pain that would have me doubled over and incapacitated and unable to do whatever the hell I might need to do if I were hypothetically put in a dangerous situation.”
Captain Perez blows out a sharp breath through her nose. She’s standing close enough for Cruz to feel the blast. She shivers. Nervous. Because Captain Perez’s eyes are narrowed and back on her torso and this feels like a vital moment. The one that will make or break the mission.
She holds her breath. Waits.
Captain Perez steps to the side. She rests her left hand on Cruz’s ribs. Her right hand moves to the center of Cruz’s back. “Breathe in for me. Deep and slow.”
Cruz complies. Breathing in deep and slow.
“Good,” Captain Perez says. “Now breathe out for me. Slowly.”
Cruz follows her latest set of orders. Breathing out. Slowly.
“Good,” Captain Perez whispers. Her hand leaving Cruz’s back. She runs her fingers over Cruz’s ribs. Lightly. Carefully. Then she takes a step back. Looks at Cruz’s face. Asks, “Was the pain worse when you breathed?”
“Slightly,” Cruz admits. “But still not at the level of incapacitating.”
“So a one?” Captain Perez suggests. Widening her eyes. Smiling. Like she’s trying to help Cruz pass the test.
“Sure,” Cruz confirms. Shrugging. Going along with the suggestion because the scale really does not work for her. Her brain sorting pain into only two categories: uncomfortable, but tolerable, and unbearable to the point it’s incapacitating.
Captain Perez studies her for a moment. Then she’s nodding. Taking a half step away. She gestures toward Cruz’s side. “It's highly likely that your sixth rib is fractured. The good news is that we don't need to take a look. Nothing feels out of place and you aren't in a debilitating amount of pain, so it's probably just a minor crack that will heal on its own."
"Cool," Cruz mumbles. Her hand moving to her side. Pressing down on the bruise. Wanting to see if she can feel the crack. All she feels is a fresh burst of pain. She laughs. Looks back toward Captain Perez. Opens her mouth. Intent on asking how long it will take to heal, but she doesn’t get a chance. Two Cups shouting from across the hangar, “Yo! Marine! Get your ass over here!”
She glances his way. Spots everyone still standing by the monitors. All heads turned in her direction.
Shit.
She looks back at Captain Perez. Alarmed. Because she doesn’t think they’re done with the exam yet.
“Give me two minutes,” Captain Perez states. Firmly. Confidently. Like she’s not worried about making Kaitlyn wait. Probably because she’s never met Kaitlyn.
Two minutes seems reasonable, so Cruz doesn’t protest. Glancing back toward the briefing. Shouting, “Give me two minutes!”
“Make them fast!” Joe shouts back.
“Shit…” Cruz mutters. Glancing back at Captain Perez. “Uh…”
“Relax. I just need to make sure your brain isn’t scrambled,” Captain Perez replies. Smiling. She reaches into her pocket. Returns with a small flashlight. She turns it on. Aims it at Cruz’s eyes. Switches it off after a moment. “Your response is normal. Have you thrown up since last night?”
Cruz shakes her head. Answers, “No.”
Captain Perez nods. Returns the flashlight to her pocket. “Where are you?”
“Lackland Air Force Base in Texas,” Cruz answers. A jet choosing that moment to fly by overhead. The rumbling probably drowning out her answer. But she doesn’t repeat it. She just laughs. Points toward the ceiling. Waits until the sound is gone to add, “Duh.”
Captain Perez laughs. Smiles. A bright smile. Charming too. She takes a half step closer. Her eyes dropping down briefly before she asks, “What’s your name?”
Cruz grins. Certain now that Captain Perez is flirting. And this time she does flirt back. Answering playfully, “You don’t know it and you shouldn’t know it.”
Captain Perez holds up her gloved hands. Her smile growing. “No I shouldn’t. You weren’t here and I didn’t see you.” She drops her hands. Starts pulling off her gloves. Tilts her head toward the briefing area, “Go. You're good.”
Cruz nods. Starts walking away. She pauses after a few steps. Turns around. Calls out, “Thanks, doc!”
Captain Perez looks her way. Glares. “Captain,” she fires back. Lifting her finger. Pointing to her shirt, “I’ve gone through med school and basic and done three tours. I’ve earned the title."
Cruz studies Captain Perez as she speaks. Taking in her beautiful brown hair and dazzling green eyes. She’d be right at home on the cover of a beauty magazine. And right at home in Cruz’s sheets. But she’s not Aaliyah and Aaliyah is the only woman that Cruz wants. So she’s wasting her time here. Missing an important briefing to flirt for no logical reason. So she ends it now. Politely. Smiling back at Captain Perez as she amends her statement, “My apologies. Thank you, Captain.”
She spins around before Captain Perez can reply. Speed walks across the hangar. Shirt clutched in her left hand. She makes it to the area with the monitors. The briefing is over. Everyone scattered about. Talking quietly or fussing with their gear. Kaitlyn is pacing back and forth in front of the screens. Her phone clutched to her ear. Her left hand perched on her hip. Her jaw clenched. Eyes narrowed. Her fury palpable from a few feet away. Joe is nearby. Hunched over. Pointing at something on one of the monitors. Randy by her side. Listening to whatever she has to say.
Cruz creeps closer. Gets a glimpse of the monitors. Explosives. Lots of them.
Joe twists around. Gives Cruz a once over. A look of possible alarm flashing over her face at what she sees. But the look is gone as quickly as it arrives. Joe’s expression hardening. “Please tell me you’re cleared.”
Cruz grins. Starts nodding vigorously. Unable to hold back her excitement.
“Phew…” Joe exhales. Her shoulders slumping. Head tipping back. Eyes going to the ceiling like she's offering a silent prayer of thanks. She straightens up after a moment. Moves her right hand to her face. Pinches her temples. Gestures toward the table with Cruz’s gear. “Go get dressed and finish getting your gear ready. Then find Kyle. He’ll get you up to speed on the plan.”
“Roger that,” Cruz replies. Taking a step back. Her eyes drifting to the monitors. The explosives. The terrorists moving around. Terrorists that she’ll be capturing in just a short while.
Her grin grows. She spins around. Gets her shirt over her head. Starts searching the hangar for a man who looks like a Kyle. She spots random uniforms. Techies. A blond guy with a beard having a hushed conversation with Bobby. His wide stance and broad shoulders screaming highly trained operative.
Bingo.
She heads over to where they’re standing by one of the tables. Interrupts their conversation, “Are you Kyle?”
The man looks her way. Frowns. But only for a moment. A smug grin taking its place as he turns his entire body. Leans back against the table. Crosses his arms. “The one and only. What can I do for you…?” he trails off. Lifts his eyebrows.
“Cruz,” she fires back. Sharply. “And don’t act like you don’t know my name.”
Kyle laughs. Glances toward Bobby, “Joe’s got herself a fiery one, huh?”
“Mmhmm…” Bobby nods. Her eyes on Cruz. “Fiery, but capable. You shoulda seen her the other night when she put a 260 pound Ranger in a chokehold.”
Kyle whistles. His head rearing back in surprise. He looks back toward Cruz. Lets out a low, “Damn…” His eyes running over her like he’s trying to figure out how she pulled that off. He finishes his inspection. Smiles at her. “I’ll make sure to stay on your good side then.”
“Good idea,” Cruz banters back. Cracking a smile now.
Kyle laughs. Uncrosses his arms. “Now that we have that out of the way, how about you answer my question. What can I do for you?”
She lifts her hand. Gestures toward the monitors, “Joe wants you to get me up to speed on the mission.”
Kyle sighs. Long and pained. His eyes possibly rolling. Cruz can’t tell. Kyle choosing that moment to turn toward Bobby. But whatever he does gets a laugh out of her. He pushes himself away from the table. Steps past Cruz. Waves his hand, “Come on, let me talk you through what Joe could have done herself.”
She hears more laughter from Bobby. Files the information away. Kyle apparently on Joe’s level and apparently not a fan. Bobby possibly agreeing with some of his views or possibly just laughing along because he’s technically a superior and she has no choice.
She follows Kyle to the monitors. Listens as he quickly explains the op. How there will be two teams of four. How one team will go in through the front while the other team will go in through the back. How overwatch will be blind. How the unanticipated presence of explosives means that that they will be killing instead of capturing the targets.
She stays by the monitors once Kyle is finished. Stares at them. Memorizing everything she sees. The layout of the house. The location of the explosives. The number and size of their targets. She steps away once she’s confident it’s in her head. Then she goes back to the table with her gear. Fishes out her gun. Starts putting it together. Mind on her mission. A house. Explosives. Killing bad guys.
It’s a long drive to the house. The mood in the SUV tense. Kaitlyn in the front seat staring straight ahead. Joe to Cruz’s right. Also staring straight ahead. Her helmet on the floor. Gun across her lap. Jaw clenched. Her mind on the mission. Hopefully. Because if it’s on whatever is happening at home with her daughter, then they’re in deep shit. Everyone needing to be fully present if they have a chance at pulling this off. Cruz included. Which means she can’t think about Aaliyah. How much she misses her. How the lack of any messages since this morning is making her gut twist and her heart ache. She needs to focus. Make it through the fight. And th–
“Kill your lights,” Kaitlyn orders from the front seat.
Cruz glances out the front window. They’re in a residential neighborhood. The Chevy in front of them has also gone dark. Local law enforcement response vehicles are parked to their left and right.
They drive for another thirty seconds. Then they come to a stop. Kaitlyn twists around. Glares at both of them, “Keep your heads on straight.” She looks at Cruz. “This is your mission now. Follow orders. Don’t try to be a hero. Just do your damn job and get out safe.” She twists toward Joe. Continues, “Don’t treat her differently. She’s cleared and as much as it pains me to send her in, we’re doing it. Trust her to do her job while you do yours. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am!” Joe replies. Shouting like she’s a recruit answering a drill sergeant during basic.
“Cruz?” Kaitlyn asks. Glaring at her now.
“Yes ma'am!” Cruz shouts. Echoing Joe’s tone.
Kaitlyn gives them both another look. Sharp. Unnerving. Then she’s spinning around. Muttering, “Good luck.”
Cruz takes that as a sign to go. She opens her door. Leaps out. Pulls her NODs down over her eyes. Powers them on. Spots the rest of her team ahead. Six figures huddling beneath a tree. She makes her way there. Stops.
Joe is apparently right behind her. Orders arriving within seconds of her reaching the group. “Tex, Randy, and Cruz with me. Everyone else with Kyle. Let’s move.”
They move. Joe taking the lead. Cruz taking the back. Preferring the position. Liking the ability to see everything unfold while having her teams’ sixes.
They reach the door. Pause. Joe crouches down. Punches in the door code. Then she’s standing up straight. Opening the door. And they’re off. Cruz’s head clearing. Her Marine side taking complete control. Training and adrenaline powering her movements. Each step precise. Her eyes up and searching out familiar marks. Targets and doors. She hears thudding. Scrambling. Bodies dropping. Other bodies racing to respond to the invasion. There’s a flash of movement in front of her. She pulls her trigger. Once. Twice. A body drops to the ground. She keeps moving. Through a door. Down a hall. Joe still in the lead. She pulls up abruptly. Orders, “Hold your position.”
Cruz ignores the order. Recalling her mental image of the house. The targets. Their rooms. Their weapons. There’s a single target behind the remaining door and he has a vest. So if they wait, they’re dead. She surges forward. Throws the door open. Fires three times. Dropping the target before he can detonate the vest that’s now on his body.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” Joe shouts. Storming into the room.
Cruz twists her head. Deadpans, “Saving your ass.”
It takes Joe a moment, but she quickly grasps the situation. Muttering a low, “Fuck…”
Then she’s pulling her radio closer to her mouth. Speaking into it. Robotically, “Scene is clear. One target wearing suicide vest in room three.”
She ends the transmission. Glances up. Orders, “Let’s move.”
They move. Exiting the house through the front door less than two minutes after they entered. Joe in the lead. The response trucks have moved closer. Local law enforcement are starting to mill about. Joe veers toward a man in a cowboy hat. Ripping her helmet off as she goes.
Tex doesn’t follow. So Cruz doesn’t either. She searches the distance. Spots her waiting SUV. Hurries toward it. Opens the back door and slides inside. She sets her gun down next to her. Shuts the door. Pulls off her NODs. Then her helmet. Her movements slow. Careful. But still not slow or careful enough to keep her bandage in place. The gauze moving along with her helmet. She growls. Shoves her fingers between her head and her helmet. Finds the problem. The tape is caught on the helmet. She releases the snag. Gets her helmet off. Leans back in her seat. Blows out a loud and deep breath. Relief washing over her. She survived. Kicked ass. And with any luck she’ll be able to see Aaliyah soon.
She hears a laugh. Glances toward the front seat. Kaitlyn is sitting there. Looking at her like she’s amused about something. Cruz’s expression? Her helmet struggle? The fact that Cruz made it out alive? It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Kaitlyn doesn’t look angry enough to kill someone.
Cruz takes a risk. Throws Kaitlyn a smile.
Kaitlyn doesn’t throttle her. She returns the smile. Offers what might be a sincere, “Well done.”
“Thanks,” Cruz mutters. Slightly uncomfortable now. Kaitlyn’s smile actually more terrifying than her death glares. Especially since it’s growing. Kaitlyn’s face lighting up now like a kid on Christmas. Not that Cruz would know. Christmas never a big deal for her family. B–
“Here,” Kaitlyn holds out her hand. Cruz’s phone visible in her grasp. “She texted you.”
Shit.
That explains Kaitlyn’s expression. This Texas mess a source of anger for her. But Aaliyah’s father is another matter. She’s obsessed with the guy. This mission. Cruz doesn’t get it and doesn’t agree with it. Still feeling like arresting Amrohi is better than killing him.
She grabs her phone. Doesn’t look at it yet. Not wanting to come off as too eager and risk fanning Kaitlyn’s concerns about her ability to handle this mission. So she stays calm. Holds Kaitlyn’s gaze. Asks, “Did you read the message?”
“Why would I do that?” Kaitlyn scoffs. Smile instantly fading. Her icy glare taking its place.
“Because…” Cruz starts. Wiggling her head. Searching for an answer that isn’t, ‘you’re obsessed with the mission and seem like someone who likes to micromanage everything so it would make sense for you to check the message.’ She comes up empty. Gives up. Drops her gaze. Unlocks her phone. Ignores the wry laughter coming from the front seat. Too busy reading the text.
Aaliyah (1:03 am): I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about your touch and your taste and how incredible it felt when you came against my fingers. I miss you. I’m so sorry. Please give me another chance. I won’t abandon you again. I promise 🥺
Cruz pulls in a big breath. Blows it out slowly. Hears an impatient, “Well?”
She looks up. Winces. “It’s dirty.”
“So?” Kaitlyn shoots back. “You think that’s going to shock me after everything I’ve already heard?”
Cruz flushes. Feels her temperature rising. Her blood boiling from anger and embarrassment. She looks back down. Does her duty. Reading the message to Kaitlyn, “I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about your touch and your taste and how incredible it felt when you came against my fingers. I miss you. I’m so sorry. Please give me another chance. I won’t abandon you again. I promise. And then she adds a pleading face emoji.”
She looks up when she’s done. Kaitlyn is frowning. Her eyes narrowed. Her gaze aimed beyond Cruz. Her head is bobbing. The wheels in her mind clearly turning.
Cruz waits for Kaitlyn to speak. But her own patience is running thin. She’s desperate to text back. So she takes another risk. Asks, “What do I do?”
“Nothing!” Kaitlyn barks. Looking back toward Cruz. “Follow the plan. Text her tomorrow evening and give her the story. You hurt your head and ended up in the hospital for two nights. She’ll bite.”
“You’re sure?” Cruz blurts. Anxiety overriding her sense of self-preservation.
Kaitlyn doesn’t spare her. She huffs. Leans closer. Practically growls, “What part of ‘I miss you’ don’t you understand?”
Cruz sighs. Looks away. Her focus drawn to the group of uniforms that’s standing in front of the house. Joe still speaking with one of them. All other team members are out of sight. Possibly already on their way back to base. Cruz not with them because Kaitlyn requested that Cruz be in her car.
Ugh.
She hears a sigh from the front seat. Kaitlyn apparently just as agitated as Cruz. Her voice arrives moments later, “I get your concern. You’re close. Too close, if we’re being honest here. And that’s clouding your judgment.”
Cruz glances back toward Kaitlyn. Meets her gaze. Lifts her chin to signal that she’s listening.
“So whatever worries you have about her getting angry and blocking your number,” Kaitlyn continues, “just stop. Push them aside. She won’t shut you off this quickly. You’re fine. You’re in. Your cover is solid. Bobby did the leg work on your hospital stay. Zara Adid was admitted with head lacerations, a concussion, and possible broken ribs. She was seen by a doctor who created a chart and wrote notes and tomorrow morning she’ll leave and fly back to Charlotte to attend her classes and contact Aaliyah. And…” Kaitlyn pauses. A grin appearing on her face. Wicked. “When Aaliyah asks to FaceTime, which I know she will, you’ll be able to show her your head wounds and new bruises and she’ll be so concerned that she’ll want to see you immediately.”
Cruz keeps her expression even the entire time that Kaitlyn speaks. She nods once Kaitlyn is done. Turns. Looks away. Stares out at the uniforms securing the scene. Her head high. Her body still. Feigning calm and confidence. But inside she’s a mess. Kaitlyn terrifying and growing more terrifying by the second. Because she can see right through this pep talk. Kaitlyn telling her what she needs to hear. Meaning Kaitlyn has a read on her mental state. Knows that Cruz is lying out of her ass. And yet she doesn’t care. She’s sending Cruz right back under. And that means that she’s done the math. Worked through all of the possible scenarios. Determined that the benefit of sending Cruz back in outweighs the risks of Cruz fucking everything up. Probably because if Cruz does fuck up, then it’s her ass on the line. Kaitlyn can call off any rescue attempt. Cut her losses. Pivot to a backup plan. And maybe that’s already happening. Maybe Kaitlyn is so eager to get Cruz back inside because she’s thinking a million moves ahead and Cruz fucking up and dying will set events into motion that draw Aaliyah’s father out into the open and then they take him out with a missile. Or–
The backdoor opens. Cruz whips her head to her right. Quickly grabs her gun off the seat. Rests it to her left. Barrel aimed at the ceiling. The seat bounces. She looks back to her right. Joe is getting situated. Her helmet on the ground. Her gun across her lap. Her body stretched out so she can shut the door. She gets it closed. Finds her seatbelt. Buckles it. Then leans back against her seat. Blows out a loud and long breath.
Cruz chuckles. Hears an echoing chuckle from the front seat. Meaning Kaitlyn probably was amused by her own relieved exhale upon reaching safety.
Joe grabs her gun. Sets it in a position similar to Cruz’s gun. Then she leans to the side. Addresses Kaitlyn, “Everything good here?”
“Yes,” Kaitlyn answers. Twisting further around and leaning forward. Her gaze moving to Joe, “I was just telling our Lioness not to worry. That her girlfriend will welcome her back with open arms.”
Cruz grits her teeth. Unhappy with the term that Kaitlyn used. A term Kaitlyn likely picked to get a reaction. So she stays calm. Doesn’t respond. Shifts her focus back toward Joe to check her reaction.
There is none. Joe all business. Brushing a strand of sweaty hair out of her face. Asking, “Has Aaliyah reached out again?”
“Yup,” Cruz replies. Keeping her answer short in hopes that Joe won’t ask for details.
But she’s out of luck. Joe leveling her with an unamused glare. Prodding, “And she said…”
Cruz glances down at her phone. The screen is dark. The device set to vibrate. So she knows there aren’t any new messages to bail her out. She looks back toward Joe. Gives her the abbreviated version, “That she’s sorry and she misses me and wants me to call.”
There’s a snort from the front seat. Cruz does react now. Glancing toward Kaitlyn. Glaring at her. Big boss or not she’s being an asshole right now and Cruz won’t stand for it.
There’s chuckling to her right. Then Joe’s voice. Amused. “I’ll take that to mean she wrote something explicit.”
Cruz hums. Doesn’t look over. Holding Kaitlyn’s stare. Letting Kaitlyn see her fury. Not that Kaitlyn cares. She just grins at Cruz. A big, shit-eating grin. Then she’s twisting back around. Addressing the driver, “Let’s move. I’d like to be back in D.C. before sunrise.”
The engine starts. Cruz quickly buckles her seatbelt. Feels the SUV begin to pull away from the curb. They drive slowly through the sleepy neighborhood. Lights off until they get to a bigger road. Then the driver puts his foot on the gas. Speeding them back to the freeway. Cruz gazing out of the window the entire time. Her eyes on the dark city. But her mind is miles away. Thinking about Aaliyah. How worried she is. The cruelty of making her wait so long to learn about Zara’s fate.
A blast of cold air interrupts her thoughts. The A/C now on full blast. Kaitlyn's voice audible. But barely. The rush of air drowning out her words. A set of circumstances that is probably not a coincidence. Kaitlyn hitting them with the arctic blast because she doesn't want them to hear her conversation. That's fine. Cruz is sweating through her clothes and her bandage. Big droplets running down her face and neck. Her system still amped up and ready to go. The Texas heat only making the situation worse. She reaches up. Finds the vent. Angles it toward her face. Closes her eyes. Savors the cool blast. The cool blast that's suddenly ending. The air getting turned down.
Cruz grunts. Opens her eyes. Glances toward the front seat in time to see Kaitlyn moving her hand away from the control. She doesn't complain. Not getting a chance. Kaitlyn immediately twisting around. Leaning closer. “I won’t be sticking around Lackland once we arrive, so if you have any questions, now is the time.”
“Ok,” Cruz replies. Frowning. Trying to figure out if she does have questions. She shakes her head after a moment. “None that I can think of.”
Kaitlyn looks toward Joe. Lifts an eyebrow. Cruz doesn’t have a clue what that means. But she doesn’t have time to worry about it. Kaitlyn looking back toward her. Smiling that terrifying smile of hers, “All things considered, you are doing an impressive job. But you need to clean up those specifics to make it easier for Bobby. If you can’t avoid them and have to lie, then wrap those lies in the truth. They’ll come off as more genuine and there’s less chance that you’ll forget them.”
Cruz wants to roll her eyes. Unhappy that Kaitlyn is on her ass about the specifics again. But she restrains herself. Focusing instead on the latter part of Kaitlyn’s statement, “That’s what I’ve been doing.”
“I know,” Kaitlyn says. “And it’s why I am impressed.”
Cruz sighs. Kaitlyn giving her whiplash. Putting her down one second only to build to her right back up. She lived through that shit with Edgar. Has tolerated it to a certain extent in the Marines. But Kaitlyn is taking it to a new level and she’s had enough. Snapping back, “Then why yell at me for fucking up and being green?”
She hears a snort next to her. Followed by a mumbled, “That was smart.”
Kaitlyn doesn’t spare her. Whipping further around, “Because you are green and you did fuck up in a hundred or so ways.”
Cruz frowns. Unable to follow Kaitlyn’s statements. Fucking up and being green inherently inconsistent with being impressive.
She hears more laughter from her right. Then Joe’s voice, “We’re being hard on you because we have to be hard on you if you’re going to succeed. You’re doing an impossible job with less training than we’d like, but the reality is that there’s no such thing as enough training. Each mission is different. There’s no way for us to train you for every possible scenario. All we can ever do is give assets the tools they need to succeed and then throw them into fire and hope they can find a way out.”
Cruz lifts an eyebrow. Fights off a snort. Because getting thrown into a fire would be a lot easier to handle than the hell she’s been through.
Joe seems to catch her reaction. Grinning. Chuckling lightly. “That’s not the best metaphor, but it’s the truth. We tossed you into the flames. You got a bit burned, but you’re here with us now alive and hopefully wiser so that you won’t make the same type of mistakes once we throw you back in.”
Cruz takes a moment to process Joe’s words. Then she gives Joe a little smile. Mumbles, “That makes sense.” And it does. She is wiser now. The time away from Aaliyah doing her good. Allowing her to reflect on her mistakes and choices without the stress of having to be Zara at a moment’s notice.
She looks toward the front of the car. Kaitlyn is facing ahead. Her phone out. Her fingers flying across the screen. Composing a message that Cruz can’t read. Though she wishes she could. Curious about the kinds of messages a woman like Kaitlyn sends. Whether she’s strictly business or if she has a wild side. Fetishes. Kinks. A propensity to send dirty messages and pictures to her husband or a lover or both. But it’s for the best that Cruz can’t snoop. Because Kaitlyn is the type of woman who could orchestrate her death if she stuck her nose where it doesn’t belong. And that’s what would be happening. Cruz actually having no right to look at Kaitlyn’s communications whereas Kaitlyn has every right to look at hers. Aaliyah’s messages part of the job. Their intimate moments too.
She glances down at her phone. Hits the side button. Spots the time. 1:21 am. She looks over at Joe. “What’s our itinerary now? Are we crashing here tonight? Staying longer?”
Joe glances her way. Wiggles her head. “No. You’ll go back to Liberty.” She leans forward and to the side, “Kaitlyn, can I ride with you to D.C.?”
“Mm–hmm,” Kaitlyn hums. Not looking up from her phone.
Joe leans back. Looks over at Cruz again, “Bobby will work out your transport. Knowing her, you won’t leave until everyone is showered and fed. Contact Aaliyah once you’re back at the house. Loop Bobby in on everything. Follow her instructions as if they come from me. Once Aaliyah invites you back, we’ll set up a call to fully prepare for that next meet. I’ll fly down if necessary. But let’s try to avoid that. I need to be at home to deal with…” she trails off. Lets out a heavy sigh.
“Roger that,” Cruz replies. Nodding. Keeping her expression even so that she doesn’t reveal her surprise over Joe’s reference to her personal life.
Joe squints. Making Cruz worry for a moment that Joe is about to yell at her for acknowledging her instructions. But then Joe's hand is moving. Lifting to Cruz's face. She brushes her fingers lightly over Cruz's cheek. Then she pulls hand away. Offers. Softly. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. But I’d also do it again. You’re better for it.”
Cruz doesn’t know what to say to that. An apology that’s somehow also justification for the act being apologized for. So she doesn’t respond. She just looks away. Starts gazing out of the window. The San Antonio skyline visible in the distance.
She hears a huff. Shuffling. She doesn’t look back over. Keeping her eyes on the big buildings on the horizon until they fade from view. Then she leans back in her seat. Closes her eyes. Pretends to sleep. Real sleep elusive. Her body too amped up from the mission and mind too consumed by thoughts of Aaliyah. Stuck in a bed somewhere. Ehsan by her side. Unable to sleep as she worries about Zara’s fate.
Cruz stumbles through the front door. Her feet catching on a duffle bag that someone left there. She growls. Kicks the bag. Trying to move it out of the way so that Tex doesn’t wipe out. She doesn’t succeed. But she does succeed at giving herself another bruise. The top of her foot meeting something hard and heavy. She hears laughter. Then Tex’s voice, “Blame Two Cups.”
She twists her head around. Meets Tex’s gaze. Sighs. “He always do this?”
“Yup,” Tex answers. Grinning as he steps toward the kitchen. “And if you call him out on it, he’ll come back with something about needing to hit the can and not being able to lug the extra weight.”
She grimaces. Steps further into the house. Calling out, “Then I’ll keep my mouth shut and pay closer attention next time.”
“Well look at that!” Randy shouts. “She can learn on the fly! Must be why Joe picked her!”
His statement catches Cruz off guard. She didn’t notice him entering the room. But she rolls with his teasing. Bantering back, “No. She picked me because I looked the part and I can kick ass.”
Her response earns her a round of laughter from Randy and Tex. She smiles. Drops her bag down. Throws herself onto the couch. Ignoring the resulting aches and pains in favor of finding the remote. She powers on the TV. Starts flipping through the channels until she finds NFL network. It’s a game from last season. Steelers vs. Ravens.
There’s movement to her left. She glances over in time to see Tex dropping down onto the couch. A big bowl of cereal in his hands. Her stomach rumbles. She’s hungry. But not in the mood to eat. Though she might partake in whatever Randy is about to fix for them. The sink now running. A pan clattering.
She starts to twist all of the way around to get a better look at Randy. Stops. Tex speaking, “You’re a football fan?”
“No,” she deadpans, “I just like watching NFL network.”
Tex starts chuckling. A red twinge appearing on his face. “Cowboys?” he guesses.
She winces. Shakes her head. “Chargers. My mom had San Diego ties.”
“But they’re not in San Diego anymore…” Tex mutters. Frowning.
“No shit,” Cruz fires back. Laughing. Lightly at first. Then harder once she can see Tex’s blush returning.
She calms down. Looks toward the screen. Gives him a better answer, “It’s hard to change that kind of allegiance. Everything stayed mostly the same. They just play in a different stadium and that doesn’t make much of a difference to me because I’m not a local.”
She hears a grunt. Crunching. Keeps her eyes on the TV. Letting the conversation die. But she can’t focus on the game. Her mind elsewhere. Her mother. Those San Diego ties. The city her first stop when she crossed the border. The place she got pregnant for the first time. She moved before she gave birth. Ghosted Miguel’s father. Kept moving until she was pregnant with Cruz. Then she stopped. Found steady work in Oklahoma City. But she would always speak fondly of those days in California. Raving about the beaches and the palm trees and the promise of her new life.
In hindsight those comments come off differently. Her mother not nostalgic for the beaches and the palm trees, but rather for a life unencumbered. One where she didn’t have multiple kids to feed and a job that wore her down until there was nothing left. Her work at the chemical plant the most likely cause of her cancer. Though Cruz can’t prove that. She can only suspect. Put the pieces together. Some of her mom’s coworkers also getting sick.
A door slams down the hall. She startles. Though she’s thankful for the interruption. Thoughts of her mother’s illness always hard to shake. Leading to more thoughts about what would have happened if her mother hadn’t died. How maybe she would have gotten that college scholarship and gotten out of Oklahoma City and never danced or met Edgar. But she also wouldn’t have become a Marine which means she wouldn’t have met Aaliyah.
Aaliyah.
She closes her eyes. Her heart racing now as she’s hit with a burst of unbearable longing. She sits with the feeling. Working through it. Reminding herself that this feeling is going to be the norm. That it’s all she will feel once she completes her mission and loses Aaliyah for good. Well, not all. She’ll feel other horrible emotions too. Guilt and anger and heartbreak.
Ugh.
She opens her eyes. Reaches for her phone. It’s not in her pocket. She frowns. Checks her other pocket. Then the floor. Finds it below the coffee table. She picks it up. Looks at the screen. There’s a missed call from Aaliyah. One that came through two minutes ago. She taps her finger on the screen. Debating what to do. Joe said to call Aaliyah once she got home, but she can’t. Her cover requiring her to wait until later in the day so that Zara has time to travel from the Hamptons to Charlotte and obtain a new phone. Or maybe she can. It’s 11:41 am. She could have gotten discharged at the ass crack of dawn. Hopped a plane at 8 am. Landed a little after 10 am. Stopped at an electronics store on the way home. And just now be walking through the door.
She leaps to her feet. Shouts, “Hey Bobby?!”
“Yeah?!” Bobby shouts back. Her voice coming from the direction of her bedroom.
Cruz starts walking that way. Waits until she’s in Bobby’s doorway to answer, “Did those hospital records you set up for me include a discharge time?”
“Yup!” Bobby calls out. Swiveling around in her desk chair. She pushes her glasses down to the edge of her nose. Adds, “I have you out at 9 am. Why?”
Cruz doesn’t answer right away. Too busy doing the math on the discharge time. There’s no way she could get to Charlotte in less than three hours.
Shit.
She sighs. Lifts her phone. Waves it while answering, “She called me again. I really want to call her back. Keeping her waiting is cruel and we’re already about to ruin her life. It’s too much.”
Bobby tilts her head. Her eyes narrowing. She tosses a ball into the air. Small. Bright orange. Catches it. The ball compressing as she tightens her grip. She relaxes her fist. Sighs. “You have a point. Come here.”
Cruz complies. Stepping further into Bobby’s room. Getting her first full look at the space. It’s bare bones. A bed. A desk. Piles of gear. But no personal touches. Which makes sense. Bobby admitting earlier that her life is the job. That she’s always on the move.
She comes to a stop by Bobby’s left shoulder. Glances down at Bobby’s laptop screen. Watches as Bobby pulls up a medical records system. A real one.
Huh.
“Did you hack it?” she blurts.
“Nope,” Bobby replies. Navigating toward a drop down menu. “I just got my hands on some credentials.”
Cruz scoffs. “That’s not hacking?”
Bobby chuckles. Clicks the ‘login’ option on the menu. Then turns toward Cruz. Grins. “I didn’t do anything other than ask someone at Langley for a little help. Did they hack it? Maybe. I don’t know and don’t care 'cause it doesn't matter.”
She looks back at her screen. Types in a username. Danielle.Greene. Then a password. The characters hidden behind asterisks. Then she presses enter. The screen flashes. A different screen appears. One that looks straight out of the history books. Green text. Black background. Tabs running along the top and left side. Cruz can make out a few words. Billing. Diagnostics. Patient Query. Doesn’t have time to read the rest. The screen already changing again. A search box appearing.
Bobby quickly fills in the box. ‘Zara Adid.’ She smashes the enter key. Violently enough for Cruz to hear it. The screen changes once more. Zara’s name appearing. A string of information next to it. DOB. Admission date. Discharge date. Bobby presses Zara’s name. The screen flashes again. Then Zara’s full record appears.
Bobby twists her head. “Ok. What are you thinking?”
“Uhh…” Cruz starts. Only now doing the necessary thinking, “I guess I’d need to leave early enough to get an 8 am flight.”
Bobby nods. Turns back toward her computer. Abruptly twists back around, “Wait. Are there any 8 am flights?”
“Shit…” Cruz exhales. “I don’t know.”
“Ok. Hold on.” Bobby spins around. Opens a new window. “We’ll find flights outta the airports near the hospital and then go from there. You might still have to wait a few hours ‘cause I don’t know if there are any direct flights from the Hamptons to Charlotte.”
Cruz clenches her jaw. Eyes the stress ball that’s now on Bobby’s desk. She’s tempted to grab it. Squeeze it hard. Hopefully relieve some of the tension that she’s feeling as she waits for Bobby to pull up flight information.
It’s not a long wait. Bobby having the search completed moments later. Cruz leans closer. Quickly skims the information. Her heart sinks. The earliest flight out of MacArthur is at 5:40 am. The next one not leaving until noon. The arrival time close to 8 pm because there’s a stop in Baltimore.
“Dammit,” she growls. Snagging the stress ball. Squeezing it tight.
Bobby doesn’t remark on the theft. She mutters a quiet, “Yeah. Not good.” Clicks the back button. “Ok. Let’s try JFK.”
She changes the airport. Presses enter. The screen reloads. Cruz leans closer. Quickly reads the information. 6:00 am. 7:10 am. 11:45 am. The 11:45 am could work.
She stands up straight. Tosses the ball into the air. Asking, “How long does it take to get from the hospital to JFK?”
“An hour and a half,” Bobby replies. Twisting around. Snagging the stress ball before Cruz can catch her second toss. She grins at Cruz. But otherwise doesn’t miss a beat, “So if you leave at 9 am, then you’re there by 10:30 am which is cutting it close. Though you don’t have a bag to check and it’s the weekend so traffic shouldn’t be as bad.” She spins back around. Looks at the screen for a second. Twists only her head this time. Meeting Cruz’s gaze as she continues, “You’ll land at 1:55 pm. You can be out front within fifteen minutes because again you don’t have a bag. Campus is twenty minutes away. There’s probably a million places between the airport and your apartment to get a phone. So you can be walking through your door by… mmm…” she pauses. Her eyes narrowing. “I don’t know… 2:45? Can you wait that long?”
She doesn’t wait for Cruz to answer. Rushing out, “Otherwise it’s gonna get tricky ‘cause if we discharge you last night and say you got a hotel room, then why didn’t you get a phone and call her?”
Cruz blows a raspberry. Frustrated by this latest turn of events. But everything Bobby is saying makes sense. So she has no choice but to agree. Reluctantly, “Yeah…” Though maybe not everything. “Why can't I get a phone on the way to the airport?”
“No time,” Bobby responds. Firmly. “If she asks, make it very clear that you barely made your plane. Maybe you got stuck in traffic or there were long security lines or whatever. But you had to run to the gate and got there right as they were closing the doors.”
“Ok. Yeah,” Cruz nods. “That makes sense.” She looks back at the screen, “Can you get me a spot on that plane? Or is that something they won’t be able to check?”
“Ohhh….” Bobby starts. Laughing. Wryly. Spinning all of the way around in her chair. She tosses the stress ball into the air. Catches it. “They can check everything. These guys have their own army of hackers. If they want to search for you, they will.”
That’s not the answer that Cruz expected. At all. Her heart starts racing. Nerves forming. Nerves that she doesn’t try to hide when speaking, “And what’s to say they haven’t already?”
“Nothing,” Bobby answers. Shrugging. Giving the stress ball another squeeze. “But Aaliyah’s statement that Asif hit a dead end by calling the hospital signals that they aren’t looking harder. And everything she’s told you points to her being disgusted by the surveillance capabilities of her guards. I don't get the sense that she’d cross that line and ask them to dig. At least not yet. So we have time.”
Cruz darts her eyes from side to side. Thoroughly confused by Bobby’s attitude and apparent sloppiness. Flight plans not even on her radar until Cruz brought them up. She can’t call out the sloppiness. Not without pissing Bobby off. But she does need to get a better sense of how much danger the sloppiness has put her in. So she asks a related question, “But what if we don’t and they have dug and not found anything?”
Bobby waves her hand. Dismissively. “Then it’s just computer systems bein’ computer systems. They don’t always work right and records can sometimes take a while to appear.”
Cruz nods. The words not reassuring at all.
Bobby rolls her eyes. Then fixes Cruz with a death glare. “Relax. This…” she gestures toward her computer, “Is our job. We know what we’re doing and we do it very well. Your job is to call Aaliyah in a few hours and act your ass off so that she invites you for another visit. Ok?”
“Yeah…” Cruz sighs.
Bobby pushes her glasses back into place. “Good.” She spins around in her seat. Points to the door, “Then get out of here and let me work.”
Cruz leaves. Heads toward the living room. Backtracks when she sees that Two Cups has claimed her spot on the couch. She can still hear the football game, but she’s no longer interested in watching it. Craving silence and space rather than the antics that are certain to occur once more people trickle into the common area. So she heads toward her room instead. Throws herself face first onto her bed. Groaning when her ribs impact the mattress. She rolls over. Lifts her phone. Checks the time. 11:50 am.
Ugh.
She drops her hand down. Closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Wondering what the hell she should do with herself for another three or so hours. Shower. Probably. A real shower. More than twelve hours having passed since Captain Perez checked her wounds.
She gets to her feet. Grabs a change of clothes. A fresh towel. Heads into the bathroom. Undresses quickly. Starts the water. Then she turns her attention to the gauze that’s covering her head. She finds the tape. Begins to peel it off. Immediately stops. A few strands of her hair somehow working their way between the gauze and the tape. She grits her teeth. Leans closer to the mirror. Trying to get a look at how much hair is caught. Not much, but more than she’d like.
She leans away. Grabs the edge of the tape. Starts peeling it away. Slowly. Carefully. Pain shooting through her scalp as the tape tugs her hair. She starts laughing. Thinking about Joe’s torture island. How this could be another method of pain to inflict. Granted it wouldn’t work on everyone. Many enlisted men going with a close cropped look. But for those with longer hair it could be effective. Covering their entire head with medical tape. Slowly pulling it off strip by strip. Which would mean pulling out their hair strand by strand. So if the pain didn’t get them to crack, then maybe the impact on their looks would. Soldiers having to decide whether they care more about their appearance or the mission. Though that kind of torture could compromise the ultimate mission. A soldier with half of their hair gone would probably raise eyebrows. Make it hard for them to blend in. Though that was also the case with the standard methods. The beating that Joe’s goons served up almost blowing her mission before it’d truly begun.
She grits her teeth. Mind going to Joe’s non-apology. Her anger leaking into her movements. The rest of the tape gone in a flash. Her hair coming with it. She growls at the hair covered tape. Balls it up. Throws it toward the trash can by the toilet. Then she gets to work on the next strip. This one coming undone easily. No hair caught. Just gauze. She moves to the third strip. Then the fourth. Both strips coming off just as easily.
She balls the strips together. Tosses the ball into the trash can. Then starts unwrapping her head. Laughing as more and more of her skin and hair get revealed. Her forehead red and full of little indents from the gauze. Her hair a greasy mess. She gets toward the end of the gauze. Feels the bandage moving. It slips away before she can catch it. Drops to the floor. She bends down. Grabs it. Inspects the surface. No blood, but there is some sort of discharge. Light brown. Greasy.
She grimaces. Tosses the bandage and gauze into the trash. Steps into the shower. Deciding to save a thorough inspection for once she’s gotten her hair clean. If she gets her hair clean. She’s having second thoughts now. Because it’s possible that the sweat and heat and friction from wearing her helmet into battle irritated her wounds which led to the gross discharge. Meaning she’s not quite as far along in the healing process as she should be and now she could rip her head open and end up in front of another doctor which would almost certainly push back her next interaction with Aaliyah.
She reaches up. Drags her finger over the area. It’s probably not the best move. Her finger likely carrying all sorts of bacteria and grime that haven’t been washed away by a quick blast of shower water. She feels pain. Ridges. But nothing overly gooey that would indicate a reopened wound or infection.
She makes up her mind. Steps entirely under the water. Moans when it hits her head. Her noise more about the fact that she’s about to get her greasy, sweaty, crusty hair clean than about how it feels. Because it doesn’t feel too great. The water irritating her lacerations. She reaches up. Runs her hands through what’s left of her hair. Saturating it fully. Then she reaches for her cheap CVS brand shampoo. Squirts some into her left hand. Sets the bottle back down. Begins working the soap through her hair.
She shuts her eyes. Drifts away. Imagining that it’s Aaliyah behind her. Aaliyah soaping up her hair. She shivers. Thinking about what else Aaliyah would be doing if she was here. How she’d probably be pressing kisses to Cruz’s neck and back. Maybe spending extra time on Cruz’s scars. Her hands eventually sliding down. Cupping Cruz’s tits. Playing with her nipples. Then maybe one would slide down further. Start playing with her clit. Teasing Cruz until she was begging for Aaliyah to fuck her. And Aaliyah would. Gently and lovingly. An–
Cruz’s eyes fly open. She drops her hands from her head. Stares at the shower wall. Her heart racing. Arousal. Anxiety. Alarm over how easily she attributed the word lovingly to Aaliyah’s actions. But that’s where this is heading. On her end and Aaliyah’s. What she’s feeling too powerful and too relentless to just be based on lust. Their connection already strong. Deep. And likely to get stronger and deeper as they spend more time together. And then it will end. Violently. Cruz doing her duty. Shattering Aaliyah’s world.
She grits her teeth. Fuming. Angles her head so that her scalp is under the water. She stands there for a long while. Savoring the burn of the water hitting her wounds. Then she brings her hands back to her head. Starts actively rinsing out the remaining shampoo. Her movements quick and careless. Her fingers hitting her lacerations multiple times. She doesn't care. Relishing the additional pain. Each burst diminishing her anger until it’s gone along with the shampoo.
She washes her body next. Using her CVS brand body wash. Her mind on the differences between her cheap brand and Aaliyah’s fancy French sounding brand. She can’t spot any. Both smelling nice and leaving her clean. Though Aaliyah’s did come in a much prettier bottle. She rinses the last of the soap off her skin. Grabs her cheap shaving cream. Barbasol. Shaves. Touching up her waxed areas in case she ends up back on a beach or back in Aaliyah’s bed. Aaliyah’s metaphorical bed. A real one likely a pipe dream at this point. But she’ll make do with whatever. The backseat of a car. An airplane lavatory. She chuckles. Thinking about the small bathroom at the house she woke up in yesterday. She could figure out the address. Steal Aaliyah away. Fuck her in one of the bedrooms upstairs or on those big comfy looking couches in the living room. Aaliyah could sit in her lap. Ride her fingers while she sucked on Aaliyah’s nipples.
Except…
The animals. Dead. Terrifying. Likely present in all rooms except for the under the stairs bathroom and the kitchen. And there could have been one in the kitchen. She wasn’t entirely alert during breakfast. Didn’t really glance around to see what was on the back wall. Which means they’d probably have an audience. An additional one. An audience that Cruz wouldn’t be able to shut out.
She laughs. Thinking about all of the terrible interruptions that could befall them. Aaliyah on her lap. Riding her fingers. A bald eagle visible over Aaliyah’s shoulders. Cruz sitting on the couch in the small room. Aaliyah on her knees. Her head bobbing between Cruz’s legs. Her tongue bringing Cruz to a quick end. One that would get ruined when she looked across the room to find a raccoon in a hat giving her a finger gun. Aaliyah being unable to wait. Tackling Cruz near the top of the stairs. Screaming for her life once she caught a glimpse of the wolverine.
That image is funny. Genuinely. Cruz now understanding why her team didn’t warn her about Hugh. Though he would probably wreck the mood. Aaliyah too freaked out to continue. Freaked out and pissed at Cruz because Cruz would be laughing her ass off. But Cruz is confident that she could salvage their encounter. Aaliyah wanting her too much to let something like a stuffed wolverine ruin their time. So she’d apologize. Grovel. Maybe start placing light kisses against Aaliyah’s neck. Pausing every few moments to whisper words about how good Aaliyah smells and how Cruz loves her soft skin and the mole on her inner thigh and the way her knees shake whenever Cruz touches her.
Aaliyah would relent. They’d find a room. Cruz would volunteer to clear it of dead animals. Then she’d drop to her knees. Make Aaliyah’s legs shake until they gave o–
She hisses. The water turning cold. Pulling her out of her fantasy. She spins around. Shuts the tap off. Steps out of the shower. Aroused. The cold blast not doing a damn thing to calm the desire that began to build while she was thinking about dropping to her knees. Tasting Aaliyah. And that’s actually for the best. Fantasizing about Aaliyah probably wrong, but at least it’s fun and will give her something to do while she waits for Zara to get home from the Hamptons.
She dries off. Dresses in a simple tank top and shorts. Skipping a bra because her ribs could use a break from the pressure. Then she combs her hair. Pats her wounds dry with her towel. Assuming that it’s ok to do so. Captain Perez didn’t exactly give her instructions on post shower care. She looks at the towel once she’s done. Spots no signs of blood or discharge. But she still dumps the towel on the ground. Not wanting to use it again in case there is some gross discharge lurking.
She steps toward the sink. Brings her hand to the back of her head. Carefully runs her fingers near her wounds. Trying to assess the extent of the tape damage. It feels pretty bad. Multiple areas smooth beneath her fingertips. She grits her teeth. Starts opening drawers in hopes of finding a hand mirror. All she finds are men's products—An electric razor. Degree deodorant. Aqua Velva aftershave—and dust.
Dammit.
She glances up. Spots the medicine cabinet. Pulls it open. Finds toothpaste and old toothbrushes. She sighs. Drops down to her knees. Opens the cabinets below the sink. Spots cleaners. A clear plastic storage container. She slides the container out. Opens it. Starts digging around through the random assortment of junk. A grimy loofah. Half-crumbled bar soap. Rusting fingernail clippers. She finally hits pay dirt. Her fingers coming into contact with a small hand mirror. She snags it. Gets to her feet. Spins around. Holds the mirror out. Lifts it up. Then angles it down until she can see the back of her head.
Holy fucking shit!
It’s not just pretty bad. It’s fucking terrible. Inch wide lines forming a square around her lacerations. The wounded areas also free of hair. Probably because the doctor had to shave some off so he could stitch her properly. She lowers the mirror. Spins around. Drops her fists. Pounding them on the counter. Furious with the hack of a doctor who treated her. She’s tempted to storm into Bobby’s room. Demand answers about who the hell stitched her up and where he got his medical license and what the hell they told him so that he would see her on such short notice and without asking any questions. But she won’t. Any answers that Bobby gives her won’t bring her hair back. And she has a pretty good idea of who he was because she has a pretty good idea about how Kaitlyn and the CIA operate. The supposedly covert agency not very covert. Stories and rumors abounding. So she probably got treated by someone in Kaitlyn’s orbit. A man with medical training who doesn’t practice in his day–to–day life, but does whenever Kaitlyn calls because otherwise something bad will happen to him or his family.
She huffs. Looks back up at her reflection. Suddenly glad that she doesn’t have a family. Nobody for Kaitlyn to come after if she decides to pull the plug on the mission. It will just be her. Scrubbing latrines for the rest of her days and she might actually be ok with that if it spares Aaliyah some pain.
No. Stop.
She slams her fists down against the counter. Hard. Too hard. The mirror shattering. Glass shards raining down on her left hand. She laughs. Humorlessly. Sets what remains of the mirror down. Shakes her hand off. Inspects it for damage. There is none. The universe giving her a break. Sparing her skin. She laughs again. Still humorlessly. Completely over her situation. But she won't pull the plug. Can’t. Needing to see Aaliyah again more than she needs air.
She stands there for another moment. Pulling in deep breaths. Blowing them out slowly. Marveling at the pain she feels in her ribs. Then she leaves the bathroom. Flings herself face first onto her bed. She groans. The impact generating more pain in her ribs. But she doesn’t care. Her focus drawn instead to the phone that’s resting near her head. She grabs it. Rolls onto her back. Lifts it up. Spots two missed calls and two text messages.
She unlocks her phone. Reads the messages.
Aaliyah (12:17 pm): If you’re mad and ignoring me, then please stop. You’ve made your point. I messed up and I’m sorry, but punishing me like this is equally wrong
Aaliyah (12:20 pm): I hope you are punishing me because the alternative is worse. I’m so worried. Please call me
She drops her phone down. Closes her eyes. Grits her teeth. Thinking about Bobby in the other room. How she should probably go show her the new messages. But she won’t. The messages changing nothing. Aaliyah’s mental state still the same. Worried and desperate and even if she’s desperate enough to unleash the power of Ehsan’s security team, it won’t matter. Bobby hopefully having all of the records in place by now. So Cruz stays put. Unlocks her phone. Sets an alarm for 2:45 pm. Then she drops her phone down. Rolls onto her side. Shuts her eyes. Begins thinking about Aaliyah’s lips and her breasts and all of the wonderful and filthy things they are going to do together soon.
Bells start chiming near Cruz’s head. She bolts upright. Startled and ready to fight. But fighting isn’t necessary. The bells coming from her phone. She grabs it. Silences the alarm. Pulls in a big breath. Trying to silence her racing heart. She fails. Her alarm from the alarm morphing into anxiety over what’s about to happen. A phone call with Aaliyah. One that will decide her and Aaliyah’s fate.
She leaps out of bed. Drops down onto the ground. Starts doing push–ups. Ignoring the pain in her ribs because she needs to burn off some of the adrenaline that is surging through her body before she makes the call.
Unless…
She hinges her elbows. Dropping down until she’s hovering just over the floor. Zara will be as exhausted and amped up as Cruz is right now because she will have had a day of frantic travel all while being cut off from Aaliyah and she’ll have turned her new phone on to discover all of Aaliyah’s panicked messages, so it’s ok that Cruz is so full of energy that she’s ready to burst. No. It’s better than ok. It’s ideal because it will help her sell her cover story. She pushes down. Applying enough force to propel herself to her feet. Then she twists around. Grabs her phone off the mattress. Unlocks it. Starts to press Aaliyah’s number. Stops. Recalling Bobby’s story about bringing a woman home. Similar antics from the team could ruin her cover and she can’t have that.
She locks her phone. Races to her door. Flings it open. Sticks her head out. Shouts, “Everyone! Listen up! I’m calling Aaliyah! Do not… I repeat… Do not make noise until I give you the all clear!”
“Boooo!!!” Two cups shouts back. She hears laughter. Muffled chatter. But no other discernible responses. Meaning her team is probably ignoring her.
She grits her teeth. Starts to exit her room. But then Bobby’s head appears from her doorway.
“Hey!” Bobby shouts. “Consider that an order from me. So no video games and no guns. You all sit your asses down quietly until she’s off the phone. Anyone who fucks this up and blows her cover is gonna have a private audience with Kaitlyn. Understood?”
“Yes ma’am!” Two Cups shouts back.
Bobby sighs. Loud and heavy enough that Cruz can hear the sound from a few feet away. She steps fully into the hall. A hint of annoyance in her tone as she shouts, “Tex, Tucker, and Randy?”
The men don’t ignore her this time. Replying immediately, “Yup,” “Yes,” “Understood.”
“Good!” Bobby yells. Laughing now. “‘Cause I kinda like your sorry asses. I’d hate to have to break in somebody new.”
Laughter flows in from the living room. But it doesn’t last. Someone immediately shushing everyone. Then there’s silence.
Bobby spins around. Lifts her chin. Throws Cruz a, “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Cruz mouths.
She backs away from the door. Slams it shut. Spins around. Presses her back against the hard surface. Pulls in a steadying breath. Then she lifts her phone. Unlocks it. Smashes Aaliyah’s name in her phone app. She brings her phone to her ear. Hears it ring. Once. Twice. Then Aaliyah is shouting, “Zara! Oh my god! Zara! Are you ok? What happened? Where are you? Why didn’t you call? I’m so worried. Say something. Please.”
Cruz laughs. Opens with a joke, “I will once you let me get a word in.”
She hears a heavy sigh. Light laughter. A weak, “Sorry.”
“No… “ Cruz starts. Pushing away from the door. Smiling like an idiot from just a few seconds of hearing Aaliyah’s voice. “I get it. You’re worried. I would be too if our roles were reversed.”
There’s another heavy sigh. Then Aaliyah’s voice. Louder now, “What happened?”
“What happened… What happened…” Cruz echoes. Brows furrowing as she drops down onto the edge of her mattress. This is where she should jump right into establishing her cover, but she holds off. Not wanting her story to come off as polished and practiced. So she chuckles her way through another humorless joke, “What didn’t happen?”
“Zara…” Aaliyah pleads. Voice cracking.
Cruz winces. Regretting her choice to fumble the conversation. Her goal of authenticity not worth causing Aaliyah further distress. She takes a breath. Dives into her story. Starting in the middle, “I was in the hospital…”
“You got hurt?!” Aaliyah shouts. “Where? How? I know the fight was bad and that people got admitted but…” she cuts off. Laughs. “Sorry. Sorry. You talk.”
“Yeah… No… It’s… Ugh…” Cruz sputters. Trying to hide her chuckles. Aaliyah’s rant adorable and amusing. She wipes her face. Blows out a breath. Delivers the next part of her cover. The only part that’s the truth, “I was at the bar for water and the fight started as I was making my way back to you. It was so scary. One second there’s someone screaming and then the next everyone around me is pushing and shoving and throwing punches and then something hit me on the back of the head and I woke up a little while later with a strange guy hovering over me.”
She hears a gasp. What might be a seagull squawking. Wind. But no words. So she pushes forward with her story. Telling a half–lie, “He told me he was an off–duty EMT and I guess he and his friend stabilized me and carried me out to an ambulance.”
“You guess?!” Aaliyah shouts. Alarmed.
Cruz huffs. Waits a beat. Already knowing her answer, but wanting to sell the notion that she experienced a traumatic event. She scuffs her foot across the ground. Creating a random noise. Further trying to sell her mental state. Then she finally answers. Groaning, “Ugh… It’s all hazy. I kept going in and out of consciousness. I remember glimpses of the ambulance and some hospital walls, but then I didn’t wake up for good until yesterday afternoon.”
Her words are met with dead air. The line filled with the sound of the wind and waves.
Cruz closes her eyes. Squeezes her left fist. Bracing for Aaliyah to reveal that she knows Cruz is lying through her teeth.
That doesn’t happen. Aaliyah’s voice finally comes through the line. Meek. Hurt. “You woke up and didn’t call me?”
Oh.
Cruz relaxes. Her eyes opening. Her fist unclenching. She swallows. Shakes her head. Tries to keep an even tone while establishing the next part of her cover story, “I couldn’t. My phone got trampled and I didn’t know your number. I asked for a phone book, but they said that they don’t carry those anymore because everyone has a smartphone. So I couldn’t even try to see if Ehsan has a landline.”
She hears a snort. A sigh. Then Aaliyah’s voice. Resigned, “It wouldn’t have helped. There is a landline in that house, but it’s unlisted because it’s for security.”
Cruz exhales. Closes her eyes again. Drops back onto the bed. Grimacing when her unbandaged head hits the mattress. She has no idea what to say now. So she stays silent. Waits for Aaliyah to speak.
But Aaliyah seems similarly at a loss for words. Her breaths heavy. Loud. Making Cruz wonder what she’s doing. Walking on the beach, probably. Though she could be having some sort of panic attack. Zara’s hospitalization freaking her out that much.
Cruz opens her eyes. Stares at the ceiling. Continues waiting.
Aaliyah finally speaks, “Where are you now?”
“School,” Cruz rushes out. Sitting up. “The doctor gave me permission to leave this morning, so my parents booked me a flight out of JFK.”
“Oh…” Aaliyah exhales. There’s another moment of silence. Wind and waves filling the line. Then Aaliyah’s voice. Disappointed. “They wouldn’t let you stay?”
“Mmm… No.” Cruz shakes her head. She pauses. Lets out a few wry chuckles. Thinking about her imaginary parents and their imaginary reaction to her hospital stay. “They were kind of mad that I was gone, actually. I didn’t tell them my plans. They thought I was at school.”
There’s silence. Then another low, “Oh…”
Cruz blows out a sharp breath. Closes her eyes. Starts her next statement with the truth, “I’m sorry, Aaliyah. I really am. I didn’t have time to get a phone on my way to the airport, so the earliest I could manage was after I landed. I went straight to AT&T for a new one. I literally just walked in the door.”
“Don’t be sorry!” Aaliyah snaps. Her voice harsh. Agitated. “I’m sorry for leaving you and not trying harder to find you. I knew something was wrong. But I couldn’t…” she cuts off into a sigh.
Cruz waits a moment. Giving Aaliyah time to continue her thought. Prodding only once it’s clear that Aaliyah won’t, “Couldn’t what?”
“Make a fuss!” Aaliyah shouts back. Voice still harsh and agitated. She falls silent again. Blows out an audible breath. Continues. Voice softer now. “They put me in Ehsan’s car. I asked for them to turn around so we could find you, but they said no and Ehsan agreed. I asked a second time. Begging. And they said no again. I had to respect that. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Cruz whispers. Telling another truth.
There’s another moment of silence. Then Aaliyah is speaking again. Agitation creeping back into her tone, “I pleaded with Asif once we were home. He eventually agreed to take me back to the bar, but he drew the line at barging into hospitals on my behalf.”
Cruz smiles. A genuine smile. Pleased that Aaliyah would go to those lengths for her. Though if Asif had, then this conversation would be going very differently. She chuckles. Humorlessly. Audibly. Heads off a potential question about her laughter by offering a partial truth, “I’m glad he refused. Hospitals take security and visiting protocols seriously. Ehsan might have changed his mind about us if you got one of his employees arrested.”
She hears a huff. Chuckling. Then Aaliyah’s voice, “Yeah…”
They fall silent. Cruz once again having no idea about what to say. Aaliyah apparently at a similar loss for words. But that’s ok. This silence is more comfortable. Aaliyah’s breathing no longer heavy. Waves and wind and the occasional squawk of a seagull filling the line. Waves and wind and the occasional squawk of a seagull that could make a good topic of conversation. One that would give them both a break from the heaviness of what they’ve been discussing. But Cruz doesn’t speak. Second guessing her idea to pivot to small talk about the beach. That conversation likely to be boring and might give Aaliyah the impression that she’s trying to evade further discussion of her injury and hospitalization. So she stays silent. Waits for Aaliyah to speak.
Aaliyah finally does, “FaceTime me?”
Shit.
Cruz startles. The silence dragging on for so long that she zoned out. The request also takes her by surprise. Though she should have expected that Aaliyah would want to see her.
“Uhh…” she starts. Cringing. “That’s a bad idea.”
“Why?” Aaliyah scoffs.
“Because…” Cruz starts. Getting up from the bed. Beginning a frantic inspection of her room for military gear because she knows that she has to cave. “... I look like shit.”
“I don’t care!” Aaliyah shouts back. Tone playful. Amused. Though her next words aren’t playful. Her tone low. Serious. “I need to see you.”
“Ok… Ok… Hold on a sec.” Cruz mutters. Caving because she’s finished her room inspection.
She doesn’t wait for a response. Disconnecting the call. Then she hurries across the room. Grabs the gear bag that’s in the corner. Stuffs it under her bed. Glances down at her clothes. Checking to make sure she picked ones that don’t have the Marines logo. She did. So she’s good to go.
She drops down on the edge of her bed. Opens FaceTime. Presses Aaliyah’s name. The call connects within moments. Aaliyah’s beautiful face filling her screen. She smiles. A big, probably dopey smile. Lovesick. The sight of Aaliyah instantly perking her up.
“Hi…” she whispers.
“Hi…” Aaliyah whispers back. “You’re really safe.”
“I am,” Cruz confirms. Smile growing.
Aaliyah beams at her for a moment. Then her eyes are moving away from Cruz’s face. Darting around. Narrowing. “And this is your dorm room?”
“Uhh…” Cruz winces. Looks away. Mumbles a shy, “Yup…”
“Show me?” Aaliyah asks. Excitement evident in her tone.
Cruz glances back up at her screen. Gets a glimpse of Aaliyah. Still beaming and looking way too excited about the prospect of seeing a dorm room.
Cruz laughs. Shakes her head. Shuts down the idea with a firm, “No.”
Aaliyah’s face falls. She pouts. Asks, “Why not?”
The pout is adorable, but Cruz won’t cave this time. Can’t. Her room clearly not a dorm room. So she gives Aaliyah a shrug and a bullshit explanation, “Because it’s small and ugly and I’m embarrassed by it.”
“Please…” Aaliyah tries. Batting her lashes. Finishing with another pout.
Cruz cracks up. Her laughter loud. Genuine. Aaliyah’s antics making her heart feel full. She stops laughing after a moment. Breaks the bad news, “Nope. You’re just gonna have to look at me.”
Aaliyah sighs. Dramatically. Then she grins. Bites her bottom lip. Moves the camera closer to her face. Whispers, “How terrible.”
Everything about Aaliyah’s delivery signals that she’s flirting, so Cruz should run with Aaliyah’s statement. Banter back. But she knows she looks like hell. Feels like it too. So she puts a wet blanket on the moment. Replying seriously, “Isn’t it?”
“Pfft…” Aaliyah waves Cruz off. Her eyes rolling. “Not at all. You’re gorgeous. I could stare at you for hours.”
Cruz’s heart flutters. She blushes. Darts her gaze down. Flustered by the praise. But she can’t keep her eyes away for long. Aaliyah’s own beauty calling her name. So she looks back up. Promptly blushes again. Aaliyah smirking at her like she’s thrilled by Cruz’s embarrassment. She feels another urge to look away. But she resists. Holding Aaliyah’s gaze. Smiling. Her heart still fluttering. Her cheeks burning. Her palms starting to sweat.
Aaliyah breaks the gaze after another moment. Her eyes darting down like she’s looking at something off camera. Her phone starts moving. Her neck and sternum coming into view. She looks back at Cruz. Grins. “New bathing suit.” Then she tilts the camera. Giving Cruz a glimpse of her chest and abs and fabric covered cunt. It’s only a quick glimpse. The phone going right back to Aaliyah’s face. She wiggles her eyebrows. Teases, “For making the boys crazy.”
Cruz lifts an eyebrow. Chuckles. “Boys, huh?”
“Mmm…” Aaliyah hums. “The boys. Though Nala didn’t seem to buy that excuse.”
“I wonder why?” Cruz replies. Frowning. Rubbing her chin. Pretending to be dumbfounded by Aaliyah’s revelation.
Aaliyah shrugs. Plays along, “I have no idea.”
They laugh. Stare at each other. A heated stare. The quick glimpse of Aaliyah’s new bikini on Cruz's mind. She’s dying to look away. Get another glimpse. But that’s not possible. Aaliyah’s chest out of frame.
“You like what you saw?” Aaliyah asks. Grinning.
Cruz nods. Licks her lips.
Aaliyah’s pupils darken. She breaks their stare. Her eyes darting into the distance. Then she’s twisting her head. Gazing in the other direction. She looks back at the camera. Bites her lip. Then the camera is moving again. Down to her chest. Her exposed chest. Aaliyah at some point yanking the fabric down.
“Jesus….” Cruz mutters. The sight wonderful and yet painful. Aaliyah taunting her with something that she’s too far away to touch.
She hears laughter. Then the camera moves back to Aaliyah’s face. “You’re so American,” she teases. Letting out a few more laughs before adding a, “Jesus…” in what sounds like an attempt at an American accent. Aaliyah holding the ‘geee’ for an extra second. Flattening the ‘us.’ But her continued laughter undercuts the attempt. The word just sounding garbled and funny.
Which is good. Because instead of having to explain why her Catholic roots just slipped into their conversation, Cruz can laugh along with Aaliyah and tease her right back, “‘Geeeesusss?’ Is that really what I sound like?”
“Yes!” Aaliyah shouts through her continued laughter.
Cruz rolls her eyes. Tries to act offended. Muttering, “Yeah… No… There’s no way…” But she can’t pull off the correct tone. Smiling too widely. Enthralled by the vision before her. Aaliyah radiant. Her hair blowing in the wind.
“You’re so beautiful,” Cruz blurts.
Aaliyah’s laughter instantly ends. She glances away. Blushes. Like she’s embarrassed by Cruz’s words. But she’s smiling. A soft smile. A soft smile that gets covered by the hand she’s slapping over her face. She lets out a groan. Drops her hand down. Sighs. Her eyes on Cruz.
It’s a curious reaction. Confusing. Cruz having no idea what to make of it. Aaliyah looking almost pained now.
“What’s the matter?” Cruz asks.
Aaliyah huffs. Moves her phone closer to her face. “What do you think? You’re in Charlotte and I’m here in this bathing suit with nobody to appreciate it.”
Cruz grins. Takes what she assumes is bait. “Maybe you should show it to me again so that I can appreciate it some more.”
Aaliyah lights up. She bites her lip. Give Cruz a slight nod. Then she’s moving her phone. Holding it out and angling out down so that Cruz can see her breasts and abs and fabric covered cunt.
She looks good. Too good. Cruz dying to get her hands and mouth on Aaliyah’s body. She clenches her fist. Grits her teeth. Lets out a pathetic sounding whimper.
Aaliyah must hear it. The phone immediately moving back to her face. Her smirking face. “Do you want to see more?” she asks. Lifting her eyebrows on the word ‘more.’
Cruz lets out another whimper. Reading between the lines. Knowing that Aaliyah is referring to another glimpse of her tits. She starts nodding. Vigorously. Not trusting her voice at the moment. Her eyes already moving down. Searching for Aaliyah’s tits. But of course she doesn’t see them. All she gets is a nice view of the bedroom floor.
She hears laughter. Then Aaliyah’s voice, “Too bad. I’m alone, but not really. You’ll have to wait to see the rest.”
Cruz whines. Unhappy. Not certain how long that wait will be. Her cover requiring her to attend classes this week. That’s too long. Way too fucking long. She glances back at Aaliyah. Widens her eyes. Pleads, “One more peek? Please…”
Aaliyah laughs. The sound loud. Wonderful. She settles down after a moment. Brings the phone closer to her face. Whispers, “Since you asked so nicely.”
The phone moves again. The camera giving Cruz a glimpse of Aaliyah’s breasts. Nipples hard. Skin pebbled like it’s cold out. And it might be. The day overcast. The wind whipping hard enough to blow strands of Aaliyah’s hair into the frame. Cruz whimpers. Wishing she could reach out and brush the hair aside. Then hold it back so she could bend down and press wet kisses all over Aaliyah’s chest. She’d take her time. Tasting every in o–
The camera moves. Back to Aaliyah’s face. Cruz growls. Unhappy with the interruption. But she gets over her disappointment. Aaliyah’s beautiful face and smile a welcome sight.
“Come back,” Aaliyah pleads.
Cruz swallows. Doesn’t answer yet. Her arousal fogging her mind, but not enough to make her forget her cover and her purpose. She will go back, but she needs to stay in character and that means playing hard to get, “I can’t. I have class.”
“Skip them,” Aaliyah urges. “Please? I need to see you and touch you and make sure you’re ok and I don’t know how long we’ll have.”
“What do you mean?” Cruz asks. Cautiously. A pit forming in her stomach. Aaliyah’s words ominous.
Aaliyah shakes her head. Looks away. Her expression darkening. Cruz waits. Less than patiently. Worried now that the wedding is set. That her time with Aaliyah might be over before it can even start.
A big gust of wind rushes over Aaliyah. Hair covers her face. She laughs. Pushes it aside. Finally looks back at the camera. “I don’t know when the wedding will be, but it has to be soon. He wouldn’t give me—us—this gift if it was months from now.”
“Fuck…” Cruz exhales. Stomach rolling so hard that she’s worried she might puke.
Another gust of wind rushes over Aaliyah. She winces. Brushes her hair out of her face. Her gaze drifts out of frame. Her next words sounding partially distracted, “I could be wrong. But if I’m not…”
The camera moves. Aaliyah moving too. The background changing. Sand and grass replaced by just sand.
“Ok… Ok…” Cruz starts once Aaliyah gets settled. “I’ll skip or–” she pauses. Grins. Points to her head, “I can be too injured to attend.”
“You’d lie?” Aaliyah asks. Lifting an eyebrow.
Cruz shrugs. Answers softly, “For you.”
Aaliyah smiles. Her face lighting up with excitement. She holds Cruz’s gaze for a few moments. Her smile slowly turning into a smirk. The camera shaking. Then moving. Aaliyah’s breasts appearing in frame. Exposed. Her nipples hard.
“For you,” Aaliyah whispers. Voice barely audible over the wind.
Cruz balls her left hand into a fist. Squeezes her thighs together. Her cunt throbbing. “You’re killing me,” she whines. “I’m so turned on right now.”’
She hears a laugh. Then the camera is moving again. Aaliyah’s face reappearing. Her beautiful face. Her smirking face. She licks her lips. Whispers, “You should do something about that.”
“Ye–ah?” Cruz asks. Throat suddenly dry.
“Mmm…” Aaliyah hums. Nodding. Slowly. Her eyes dropping down like she’s looking at Cruz’s lips.
Cruz whimpers. Aroused. Stunned. So stunned she can’t think well. An unnecessary question falling from her lips, “Now?”
Aaliyah widens her eyes. Lets out another long and low, “Mmmm.” Her head nodding. Slowly.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Cruz’s cunt clenches. She squirms on her mattress. Heart racing. Palms sweating. Mind blown and broken. Because this can’t be happening. Aaliyah can’t really be asking her to masturbate over FaceTime. She clears her throat. Seeks confirmation, “With you watching?”
Aaliyah doesn’t hum this time. She just leers at Cruz. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
Cruz crashes back onto the mattress. Groans. Torn on what to do. She wants to say yes. Desperately. But there are multiple highly trained CIA operatives down the hall who might be listening because they have nothing better to do and one operative who might be snooping on the actual feed because that’s her job.
“Zara? Zara?” Aaliyah shouts. Laughter tinging her voice. “Come back. Your ceiling is boring.”
Cruz grunts. Moves her phone so that it’s over her face. “Better?”
“Yeah,” Aaliyah replies. Her smile fading. Expression turning serious. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want. I thought it would be fun to try. I’ve never done something like that before.”
“Oh…” Cruz exhales. Processing the information. She frowns after a moment. Moves the camera closer to her face. “You’ve never watched someone touch themselves or you’ve never watched someone touch themselves on FaceTime.”
“Both,” Aaliyah replies. Holding Cruz’s gaze. Her pupils blown. Cheeks flushed. Hair blowing around her face.
“Me either,” Cruz half–lies. The FaceTime aspect new for her, but not the touching herself for someone part.
Aaliyah nods. Her eyes dropping. Looking at something below her camera or maybe she’s doing what Cruz has been doing. Dragging her eyes down in hopes that she can see more of Cruz’s body.
Cruz sits up. Holds the camera farther out. Giving Aaliyah a glimpse of her torso. She makes up her mind. “I want to do it. But ummm… Can you give me a few minutes first? I need to umm…” she winces. Widens her eyes. Allowing Aaliyah to fill in the blank however she wishes.
Aaliyah doesn’t fill in the blank. At least not out loud. She just laughs. Waves her hand. “Of course. Go… Do whatever. I’ll be here.”
“Thanks,” Cruz whispers. She brings her left hand to her face. Kisses her fingers. Then she brings them to the camera. She hears a gasp. Doesn’t look to see Aaliyah’s reaction. Smashing the end button.
She leaps to her feet. Glances down at her phone. Confirms that the call is over. Then she drops it onto the bed. Races out of the room. Stops first by Bobby’s door. She pokes her head inside the room. It’s empty. So she continues into the living room. The TV is off. Everyone is lounging around. Lost in their own activities. Two Cups reading his bodice ripper. Randy flipping through a comic book. Tex napping. Tucker doing push–ups. Bobby is sitting at the table. Laptop open. Glasses on her face. Stress ball in her hand.
She looks up from her computer. Calls out, “All done?”
“Uhh…” Cruz starts. Laughing nervously. Walking further into the room. “No. Umm…” she blushes. Winces. Twists back toward her room. Second guessing her choice to say yes because there’s no way in hell she can handle this conversation.
“What is it?” Bobby asks. Tone surprisingly patient.
Cruz looks back over. Forces herself to get the words out, “Is anyone listening or recording us if we FaceTime?”
Bobby’s eyes narrow. She tilts her head. Leans back in her seat. Hits Cruz with a shit eating grin. “Why are you asking?”
“Because she wants to umm…” Cruz pauses. Swallows. Starts waving her arm around. “You know…”
“Flick the bean?” Two Cups supplies.
There’s laughter. Loud. Raucous. Cruz glances toward the couch in time to see a shoe bouncing off Two Cups’s body. Randy the likely source.
Bobby doesn’t find the interruption funny. Shouting a harsh, “Quiet! This is the mission. If you can’t be mature about it, then get the fuck out!”
Damn.
Cruz winces. Feeling kind of bad for Two Cups. She glances back toward Bobby. Comes to his defense, “No. It’s ok. He’s right. But uhh… I told her I needed a minute to get ready, so I need an answer asap. Will there be tape of this or should I tell her that I’ve changed my mind?”
Bobby pulls in a breath. Slow. Heavy. She reaches up. Ruffles her hair. “Technically, yes. There should be. But…” she pauses. “Is this necessary? The video part? Would you be willing to do it over the phone since you’ve already…” she trails off. Widens her eyes.
Cruz huffs. Mentally filling in the blank, ‘fucked her with multiple people listening.’ But it’s a fair question, so she gets over her annoyance and disgust. Answers honestly, “I would, yeah. But she wants FaceTime and Kaitlyn made it pretty clear that my job was to make her happy.”
“That she did...” Bobby grits out. She sits up straight. Starts drumming her fingers on the table. “Alright. Then technical issues. Just get her off the–”
Cruz rears back. Surprised by Bobby’s phrasing. She’s not the only one. Laughter sounding out in the room. Forcing Bobby to stop speaking.
Cruz can see the exact moment that she realizes what she said. Her eyes shutting. Her jaw clenching. She starts laughing. Then she lifts her hand. Gives everyone the finger.
There’s more laughter.
Bobby ignores it. Opening her eyes. Addressing Cruz. “When you’re done with the… you know… end the call. Make up some excuse for why you need to hang up that second, so the technical problem can end. Then you can keep on talking with her or texting. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” Cruz replies.
“Good,” Bobby nods. Focus dropping to her laptop. She types. Clicks on her trackpad a few times. Then she lifts her left hand. Points toward the hall. “You’re all set. Now get out of here before she thinks you’re droppin’ a deuce.”
Another round of laughter breaks out. Cruz doesn’t join. Recoiling. Muttering an, “Eww…”
But she heeds Bobby’s instructions. Spinning around. Exiting the room. Two Cups’s voice following, “Have fun!”
She does laugh now. And she’s tempted to reverse course. Shout back an insult about romance novels and potato chip cans. But that would be mean and uncalled for. She doesn’t know him or his romantic history. It’s possible he has a thriving dating life. So she keeps walking. Enters her room. Shuts the door. Stands there for a moment. Terrified. Nervous. Her heart racing. Palms sweating.
She chuckles. Her nerves and terror ridiculous. She’s stripped down to practically nothing for gross men. Jumped out of airplanes. Taken fire. Run through stretches of desert filled with mines. What she’s about to do can’t compare. It’s going to be a positive experience. One that feels good and makes someone she cares about happy.
She pushes away from the door. Returns to her bed. Drops down. Grabs her phone. Initiates another FaceTime call. It connects instantly. Aaliyah’s beautiful face appearing. Her beautiful, worried face. “Everything ok?”
“Yeah… Yeah…” Cruz replies. Mumbling. Looking away. Feigning embarrassment as she lies with the truth, “Nervous…”
“Mmm…” Aaliyah hums. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. You can trust me.”
“I know,” Cruz replies. Lifting her gaze. Staring deep into Aaliyah’s eyes. Feeling sick because the same can’t be said for Aaliyah trusting her.
Aaliyah licks her lips. Her gaze dropping slightly down as she orders, “Take your shirt off.”
“Getting right down to it, huh?” Cruz teases. Her left hand moving to the bottom of her tank top. She starts to lift the fabric up. Then she stops. Grins. “I will, but first I want another look.”
“Uh-uh…” Aaliyah answers. Shaking her head. Smirking. “You’ve gotten three looks and I’ve had none. We need to even that out in the interest of fairness.”
Cruz snorts. Not sure what fairness has to do with the situation. But she doesn’t push back. Fulfilling Aaliyah’s desires more important than fulfilling her own. So she grabs the bottom of her tank top. Rips it up and over her head. Tosses it to the side. Her hair getting in her face. She laughs. Brushes it aside. Hears laughter coming through the line. Then Aaliyah’s voice. “Careful, you’re going to make me dizzy.”
Cruz frowns. Looks down at her phone. But it’s not down. It’s up because she was using both hands to get the hair out of her face.
She laughs. Brings her phone back in front of her. Holding it so that Aaliyah can only see her face. “Sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m not thinking well right now.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. Aaliyah’s expression darkening. “That’s right. You’re hurt. Are you sure you're up for this?”
“Yes!” Cruz shouts. She laughs. Humorlessly. Clarifies, “That’s not the problem. It’s… I’m dangerously turned on and… yeah…”
“Dangerously?” Aaliyah echoes. Lifting an eyebrow.
Cruz nods.
Aaliyah grins. Then she’s pulling the camera closer to her face. Whispering, “Let me see you.”
Cruz stops delaying. Deciding to trust that Bobby has disabled whatever tech they’re using to record her communications. She extends her arm. Giving Aaliyah a full look at her torso. Her breasts free. Nipples hard. Ready for her own touch. She does that now. Bringing her left hand to her chest. Cupping her breast. She squeezes it a few times. Then she starts moving her hand in a circle. Her palm brushing over her nipple. Sending sparks of pleasure straight to her clit.
She hears a whimper. The noise drawing her focus back to the image on her screen. Aaliyah is watching her closely. Bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her pupils blown. Her nostrils flaring from the force of her breaths.
“You like this?” Cruz asks. Knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it anyway.
“Yes,” Aaliyah confirms. Breathlessly. “You’re so…” she cuts off. Lets out another whimper.
“What?” Cruz prods. Moving her hand to the other side. Pinching her nipple.
Aaliyah doesn’t reply. Her focus on Cruz’s tits. Cruz lets the topic drop. Continues teasing herself. Pinching and pulling on the hard nub. Enjoying the sensations the actions elicit almost as much as Aaliyah’s reactions. Her heavy breaths and whimpers. The way her face is scrunching like it’s hurting her to watch. It probably is. Her choice not to touch herself with Cruz causing her distress.
Cruz lightens her touch. Moving her hand so that only the tip of her index finger is pressed over the top of her nipple. She starts circling the area. Her touch light enough to tickle. And that’s what she wants. Needing a break from the more pleasurable sensations so that she can get a question out, “Are you going to think about me later while you touch yourself?”
“Yes…” Aaliyah exhales. Her eyes snapping back to meet Cruz’s gaze.
Cruz can’t hold the eye contact. Her eyes shutting. Images of Aaliyah knuckle deep in her own cunt filling her mind. She hardens her touch. Flattening her hand. Squeezing her breast. Rubbing her palm over her nipple. Her hips thrusting. Searching for contact. Her cunt starting to ache in a bad way.
She moves her hand again. Sliding it down until she’s cupping herself over her shorts. She whines. The simple pressure feeling ridiculously good. Which is to be expected. Action like she saw in the early hours of the morning always revving her up. An orgasm one of the few ways she’s able to settle down. Assuming she has the time and privacy to quickly rub one out.
She didn’t back at base. Bobby choosing to shower at the same time. They were a few stalls apart. But the space was big and empty meaning every sound was audible. And this wasn’t just a hunch. Bobby confirmed it. Asking whether Cruz was ok given the amount of groaning she was doing. Cruz had shouted back that she was fine. Just sore. And that put an end to any notion she had of getting herself off.
But now she can find that release. And this orgasm will undoubtedly be more enjoyable than whatever she would have achieved in that Texas shower. Because Aaliyah is here with her. Watching her every move. Eyes wide. Pupils blown. Her mouth parted. Breaths heavy. Lips shiny. Her tongue constantly peeking out and swiping over them. At least that's what Aaliyah was doing the last time Cruz saw her. She has no clue what Aaliyah is doing now. Her eyes refusing to stay open.
She slows her hand. Blinks her eyes open. Gets a look at Aaliyah’s beautiful face. Her pupils blown. Her cheeks flushed. But she’s pouting now.
“What’s the matter?” Cruz asks. Pulling her hand entirely away from her cunt so she can think clearly.
“I can’t see,” Aaliyah whispers. Eyes darting down.
Cruz checks her image in the corner. Laughs. Her face and chest visible, but her hand completely out of view. She tilts the camera down. Starts moving her hand again. Rolling her hips down at the same time. “Better?”
Aaliyah ignores her question. Ordering, “Take them off.”
Cruz swallows. Her thighs shaking from the commanding tone in Aaliyah’s voice.
“Roger that,” she whispers.
Aaliyah gasps. Her mouth falling open. She moves. Sitting up or lying or down or rolling over. Cruz can’t really tell. The camera staying close to Aaliyah’s face. The shaking making it difficult for Cruz to see what’s happening in the background.
Cruz takes the opportunity to move as well. Scooting herself backwards on the bed so that she’s resting against the wall. It’s not very comfortable. The hard surface digging into her back. So she grabs a pillow. Slides it behind her body.
She hears laughing. Aaliyah’s voice, “Stop before you make me sick.”
Cruz winces. Brings the phone back to her face. “Sorry,” she whispers. “I’m trying to get comfortable.”
“Take your time,” Aaliyah replies. “But maybe put me down if you’re going to move around a lot. I’d rather look at the ceiling again than whatever it was that I just saw.”
“Roger that,” Cruz repeats. Smirking.
Aaliyah whines. Gives Cruz a look. Heated. Annoyed. But not in a bad way.
Cruz’s smirk grows. She bites her lip. Decides to go broke. Asking a question that she knows is going to result in a ‘no,’ “Join me?”
“I can’t…” Aaliyah whines. Pouting. “I mean I could. But I’m a long way from the house. I’d have to call you back in about half an hour. I don’t want to make you wait that long.”
“It’s ok,” Cruz whispers. And it is. A half an hour wait to come likely to kill her. And if it doesn’t, the people waiting outside will. All of this quiet time probably testing their patience. So she stops talking. Slides her hand back down. Cups herself. Rolls her hips. Whimpers as she gets a bit of relief. She hears a growl. Focuses back on Aaliyah’s beautiful face. Her beautiful, unhappy face.
“Zara…” she pleads. Tone frustrated. Pained.
Cruz winces. Glances away. Genuinely embarrassed to have forgotten that she was supposed to be taking her shorts off. She mutters a low, “Sorry.” Sets her phone on the mattress. Reaches for the waistband of her shorts. Starts to pull them down. Stops. Realizing that she’s about to put a lot of faith in Bobby’s promise that she disabled the surveillance of this call. It’s quite possible that Bobby didn’t. That she just made a show of typing on her laptop to make Cruz think she disabled the surveillance. All so that Cruz would feel comfortable following Kaitlyn’s order to make Aaliyah happy.
It’s an unsettling thought. One that has Cruz fuming. Though not at Bobby. She understands the rationale. Bobby’s loyalty. How Cruz’s comfort doesn’t matter as much as the mission. And she doesn’t exactly have a leg to stand on. If Bobby lied and manipulated her into doing what she’s about to do, then it would be no different from what she’s doing to Aaliyah. Lying to her and manipulating her all so she can kill her father. But she’s still heated. Still mad. At the bigger picture. How Kaitlyn could be somewhere in D.C. watching this feed. Sadistic grin on her face. Glass of white wine in her hand.
Cruz could end it all now. Tell Aaliyah she’s uncomfortable or that her head has suddenly started throbbing. Walk away with some of her dignity. Kaitlyn seeing her tits not that big of a deal. Hundreds and possibly thousands of people can claim to have seen them. They might even be on the internet. The bouncers at the club keeping a close eye on everyone to make sure nobody was recording with their phones, but they weren’t always able to spot the men with hidden cameras. Some of their clients going to extreme lengths to film the action. The club owner actually investing in metal detectors and hand wands because the problem was so bad. Though that was after her time. Tamara coming back to their shithole house one night complaining about the extra security measures. How they’d cost her a favorite whale.
But those hidden cameras never caught what was below her g–string. And if she does this now and if Bobby is still recording it, then her cunt will become part of an official government record. A classified record, but still a record. Accessible to anyone with the relevant clearance just like the audio files of her two prior encounters with Aaliyah.
Shit.
She bites her lip. Glances at her phone. Aaliyah’s face visible. She’s frowning. Probably because Cruz is taking forever and all she can see is the ceiling. Cruz gets moving. Tugging on her shorts. Needing to make Aaliyah happy despite the potential cost to her sanity and dignity. Those will be gone anyway once the job is done.
She gets her shorts to her ankles. Hears Aaliyah’s voice. Worried. “Are you ok?”
Shit.
Cruz winces. Kicks her shorts off. Starts pulling down her underwear. Lying, “I’m trying to figure out how to do this so you can see without a wobbly view and I can have both hands free to work.”
It’s not actually a lie though. Because she does need to figure out how to position her camera so that her hands are free and Aaliyah has a good view. She kicks her underwear off the bed. Grabs her phone. Brings it back to her face. Smiles at Aaliyah. “Can you tell that I’m new at this?”
Aaliyah laughs. Loud. Wonderful. The sound making Cruz’s heart flutter. She calms down after a moment. Brings her phone closer to her face. Whispers, “It’s ok. I trust that you’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah…” Cruz starts. Grimacing. Glancing around her room. Searching for objects that could help her pull this off. There’s a nightstand next to her bed. A lamp. Big crates of gear. Two Cup’s stuff that he’s left here. She has no idea where he’s bunking now. Doesn’t care. All that matters is that those crates are definitely military issue and can’t get caught on camera and won’t offer much help. Though they are at a good height. She could set a bag on top and then prop her camera up against the bag and give Aaliyah the full view. Though it would be at a distance. Which isn’t ideal. Aaliyah not getting a good look and Cruz struggling to see Aaliyah’s face.
She sighs. Sets her phone down. Twists around. Spots the pillows. She grabs them both. Scoots back until she’s resting against the wall. Grimaces. The hard surface still uncomfortable. But she’ll deal. Just like she dealt with the cramped couch and the dark closet. She spreads her legs. Drops the pillows in a stack near her feet. Then she grabs her phone. Lifts it to her face. Smiles at Aaliyah, “Ok… Uh… Ready?”
Aaliyah gives her a look. Sharp. Unamused. But Cruz can tell she’s playing around. Aaliyah’s eyes sparkling.
Cruz laughs. Looks away. Playing along by feigning embarrassment over her idiotic question. Though she is feeling a bit of real embarrassment now. Shyness too. Over what Aaliyah is going to see when she moves her phone into position. Everything. Cruz open and exposed. Though she’s been open and exposed for Aaliyah before. Had Aaliyah’s fingers deep inside. Had Aaliyah’s face buried between her legs. So there’s no need for shyness or anxiety. She trusts Aaliyah. More than she trusts Bobby or the U.S. Government.
Ugh.
She brushes aside those thoughts. It’s too late now. She’s committed and she does want this. So she looks back at the camera. Stares at Aaliyah’s face. Starts lowering her phone until she has it in position. She leans back against the wall. Spreads her legs a bit further. Hears Aaliyah gasping. But she doesn’t catch Aaliyah’s facial expression. Her focus on the corner of her screen. Her body. Aaliyah’s view. She chose well. Aaliyah able to see her face and her tits and her cunt.
“Fuck…” Aaliyah exhales. Breathless. “You’re wet…”
The hint of surprise in Aaliyah’s tone draws Cruz’s focus to Aaliyah’s face. She lifts an eyebrow. “You thought I wouldn’t be?”
Aaliyah shrugs. Brushes a few strands of her hair out of face. Offering meekly, “I don’t know what I thought. I–” she cuts off. Laughs. “Part of me can’t believe that this is happening. That you’re real and we’re doing this.”
“I understand,” Cruz whispers. And she does. The entire situation surreal. Though for vastly different reasons in her case. It’s unfair too. For both of them. How they could find something real and good and doomed to fail.
Aaliyah blows out a sharp breath. Her eyes narrowing. Darting down. She snags her bottom lip between her teeth. Whimpers.
Cruz grins. Knowing exactly what Aaliyah is looking at now. She brings her hand to her stomach. Slides it down until her fingertips are just above her clit. “What do you want me to do?”
“Tease yourself,” Aaliyah replies. Eyes moving back up to Cruz’s face for the briefest moment. Then going right back down to her cunt. “One finger. Over your clit. Lightly. I want to see how wet you can get for me.”
“Roger that,” Cruz whispers. Sliding her hand down further until her index finger is over her clit. She brushes over the hard nub. Lightly. Back and forth. Her eyes ahead. Locked on Aaliyah’s beautiful face. A beautiful face that keeps surprising Cruz with devastatingly dirty statements. A beautiful face that Cruz is going to sit on the next time she’s in Aaliyah’s presence.
Her hips jerk at the thought. She shudders. Her finger accidentally applying more pressure to her clit. The touch feeling so good that her head tips back and her eyes close.
She hears heavy breathing. Her own. Aaliyah’s. Hears wind howling in the background. Aaliyah’s voice. Shaky. Low. “What are you thinking about?”
“You…” Cruz answers. Bringing her left hand to her breast. She gives it a squeeze. Adds through a moan, “Sitting on your face.”
Her words are met with a strangled noise. Harsh breathing. Cruz forces her eyes open. Curious about what Aaliyah is doing. Whether she caved and started touching herself or if she’s just flailing around helplessly to keep herself from touching herself. She’s met with Aaliyah’s face. The camera up close. Shaking. Meaning Aaliyah could be doing something with her hand. She won’t ask. Trusting that if Aaliyah did cave, she’d let Cruz know. But Cruz can think about Aaliyah caving. Can imagine what it would look like if Aaliyah had a hand on her tits now. Moving it back and forth. Plucking at her nipples. How it would look if Aaliyah’s hand was underneath that new bikini. Her fingers sliding through her slick folds. Pushing deep inside.
The camera moves again. Aaliyah closer now. The angle changed. Giving Cruz a glimpse up her nose. It’s a funny view. But Cruz doesn’t laugh. Distracted by the pleasure she’s feeling from her hands and Aaliyah’s words. Low. Husky. “I want to do that…”
“Huh?” Cruz grunts. Not following Aaliyah’s statement. Her thighs shaking. Wetness steadily dribbling out of her cunt.
“You on my face. Smothering me,” Aaliyah clarifies. Her breaths so labored that her nostrils are flaring. “I want to drown in you.”
“God…” Cruz exhales. Her hips jerking again. Her fingers pressing harder into her clit. She’s on fire now. Cunt steadily clenching. Begging for penetration and relief. Penetration and relief that she’s denying herself because Aaliyah has taken charge of this encounter and she’s not about to change that fact. Following Aaliyah’s orders a big reason why she’s so damn wet.
So she waits. Teasing her clit. Trying to keep her hips under control so that she doesn't give herself a better touch. But Aaliyah doesn’t speak. She just watches. Eyes wide. Pupils dilated. Nostrils steadily expanding and contracting. Her phone still held at that unfortunate angle.
“Aaliyah…” Cruz whimpers. “Please…”
Aaliyah blinks. Lets out a quiet laugh. Her eyes dropping like she’s embarrassed. Then she’s rearing back. Wincing like she’s alarmed. She starts laughing again. Louder. Her phone wobbling. Her body moving. Cruz getting glimpses of the sky and the sand and dunes as Aaliyah shouts, “I can’t believe you were staring up my nose!”
Oh.
Cruz stops moving her fingers. She laughs. Tells a rare truth, “It’s ok.”
“No it’s not!” Aaliyah shouts. Her camera back on her face. She’s holding it higher now. Her face visible, but not her nostrils.
“It is…” Cruz reassures her. Still laughing. Lightly. “We’re both new at this, remember? And I really didn’t mind. I’m happy to look at you from any angle.”
It’s a line. Cheesy. One that would probably have Cruz rolling her eyes if someone directed it at her. But she also means it. And maybe that’s why it goes over well with Aaliyah. Her embarrassment fading. A soft smile appearing on her face. A smile that Cruz echoes. Her heart pounding. Fluttering.
Aaliyah eventually looks away. Her eyes dropping down. Then narrowing. Possibly because she’s noticed where Cruz’s hand is and what it’s not doing. Cruz fixes that problem. Sliding her hand back to her clit. Resuming her teasing touches.
Aaliyah’s expression immediately changes. She smirks. Her eyes lifting. The camera shakes. Stills. Then it’s moving again. Down. Landing on Aaliyah’s bare chest.
“How do you like this angle?” Aaliyah asks. Voice low. Husky.
“I love it…” Cruz gasps. Fingers defying Aaliyah’s orders. Moving furiously over her clit. The sight of Aaliyah’s tits too incredible for her to maintain control.
She licks her lips. Imagining what she’d do if she were there. How she’d be sucking on one nipple while plucking at the other. Or maybe she’d be pushing Aaliyah’s breasts together. Squeezing them as she slid her tongue back and forth between the hard nubs.
“Fuck… Fuck…” she pants. Sweat building on her forehead and chest. Wetness continuing to flow from her cunt.
She hears a whimper. Expects the camera to move back to Aaliyah’s face. But it doesn’t. Aaliyah keeping her phone down like she wants Cruz to have an extended look. So Cruz pushes her luck. Gritting out, “Touch them. Real quick. Please. For me…”
The camera moves. Angling upward. Aaliyah’s face appearing. Her nostrils too. Though she’s far enough away for it to not be as unfortunate as the earlier angle. She’s wiggling her bottom lip between her teeth. Her breaths heavy. Her hair blowing in the wind. She nods after a moment. Angles the camera back down. Then her hand appears on the frame. She starts with her left breast. Cupping it. Giving it a nice squeeze. Then she moves to her right side. Repeats the motions. Doing what Cruz wishes she could do. Then the show ends. The camera moving back up. Aaliyah’s face in the frame. Her nostrils hidden. “Happy?” she asks. Smirking.
“Yes and no…” Cruz replies. Her voice a pathetic whine. She licks her lips. Closes her eyes. Picturing Aaliyah’s tits again as she keeps moving her fingers. Adding in an even more pathetic sounding whine, “God, I wanna fuck you so much.”
“I know…” Aaliyah replies. Echoing Cruz’s pathetic tone. She falls silent. Cruz hearing the wind and the surf, but nothing from Aaliyah. The silence lasting long enough that Cruz starts to worry that Aaliyah has keeled over and is no longer breathing. But then Aaliyah’s voice comes through the speakers. Tone confident. Commanding, “Come for me and then we’ll figure out how to get you back here.”
Cruz forces her eyes open. Whimpers when she gets a glimpse of Aaliyah’s beautiful face. Her gaze intense. Determined. And aimed at Cruz’s face rather than her hand and cunt.
Cruz slows her strokes. Swallows. Her mouth dry from so much heavy breathing and panting. “You want me to come?” she asks. A dumb question. Unnecessary because Aaliyah just used those exact words. But she wants to see Aaliyah as she says them again. Hopefully in that same commanding tone.
Aaliyah nods. Her eyes dropping down.
Cruz has to stifle a groan. Aaliyah not reading her mind. She tries again. “Tell me. Again. Tell me to come.”
Aaliyah whips her gaze back up. She stares into Cruz’s eyes. Smirking like she understands. Then she speaks. Tone confident. Commanding. “Come for me.”
“Fuck…” Cruz exhales. Hips rolling against her fingers. More wetness leaking out of her cunt. “How? Tell me what to do…”
Aaliyah rears back. Eyes widening like she’s surprised by Cruz’s request. And maybe she is. Maybe she’s not consciously been in control this entire time. Her commands just happening in the moment because they feel right. And that’s ok. Because they are both new at this and new with each other and it will take time and practice to learn how to communicate what they want and what they need. Though maybe Aaliyah doesn’t know what she wants. She’s not answering. Her eyes down again. Likely focused on Cruz’s fingers. Her dripping cunt.
“Aaliyah, please…” Cruz begs. Squirming on the mattress. Her thighs shaking. “Tell me… I’ll do it. Please…”
“Fuck yourself,” Aaliyah orders. Tone sharp. Commanding. Her eyes darting briefly to Cruz’s face.
Cruz complies. Sliding her fingers down. Pushing inside with two. She hears a gasp. Doesn’t see it. Her head tipping back. Her eyes shutting. Pleasure racing through her body. Pleasure and relief at finally getting the penetration that she’s been craving for what feels like hours.
She sets a quick pace. Angling her fingers to hit the spots that bring her the most pleasure. She keeps her head tipped back. Her wounds pressing against the wall. But she barely feels the pain. Too focused on the pleasure she’s feeling as she fucks herself and the sounds that are filling the room. Aaliyah’s heavy breaths and light moans. The slick noises of her fingers as they thrust in and out of her hole. Her mind is active now too. Conjuring images of Aaliyah. Naked. Her breasts pressed against Cruz’s face. Her fingers between Cruz’s legs. Working furiously.
“Harder,” Aaliyah orders.
The words pull Cruz from her fantasy. She opens her eyes. Replaces imaginary Aaliyah with pixelated Aaliyah. An upgrade. One that has her cunt squeezing her fingers tight. She pulls them out. Thrusts back inside. Harder now. Complying with Aaliyah’s directive. Whimpering. Aaliyah so unfairly beautiful. Her gaze on Cruz’s hands. Her tongue swiping over her bottom lip. Making Cruz think about having that tongue elsewhere.
“Fuck…” she whines. Head tipping back again. Eyes shutting. Imaginary Aaliyah appearing once more. This time on her knees. Her head between Cruz’s legs. Tongue out. Swirling over Cruz’s clit.
She starts rolling her hips. Thrusting against her fingers as hard as she can in this position. Pretending that it’s Aaliyah’s fingers that are deep inside. Fucking her just how she likes it. While Aaliyah’s tongue swirls over her clit. She whimpers. Because she’s not getting the correct pressure on her clit to make her fantasy work. Her palm hitting the nub on almost every thrust, but it’s just not the same as a wet tongue.
“Good… Good…” Aaliyah pants. “Just like that…”
Cruz whines. Whimpers. Squirms on the mattress. Her eyes shut. Head tipped back. She hears more heavy breathing. Then Aaliyah’s voice again, “Touch your clit. Come for me.”
Cruz doesn’t need to be asked twice. She brings her left hand to her mouth. Sucks on her fingers. Getting them wet so that she can better replicate the sensation of Aaliyah’s tongue. She hears a growl. Pulls her fingers free. Grins as she slides her hand down to her cunt. Aaliyah’s reaction to her finger sucking something that she'll have to explore in detail later. But for now, she needs to come.
She reaches her clit. Begins swirling her wet fingers over the hard nub. Her touch firm. Targeted. Deliberate. Her orgasm starts building. Tension forming in her muscles. Making them tremble. Her thighs shaking harder now. Her legs sliding over the mattress. Her eyes shut tight. Her head wobbling. Tipping forward and then back. Each impact generating a fresh burst of pain. But she barely processes it. Her body outside of her control. Her mind gone too. She’s just a writhing ball of sensation now. Chasing pleasure and release. Aaliyah’s heavy breaths and her murmured praise barely breaking through the heady din. “Beautiful…” “Perfect…” “So wet for me…”
It’s the last statement that hurls Cruz over the edge. The tension in her body shattering. Leaving her in a state of pure pleasure. She rides the waves. Her hands working furiously to prolong her orgasm. But she can’t keep it going forever. Her pleasure slowing. Then subsiding. Her muscles give out once it’s done. She drops back. Her head banging into the wall. Pain bursts through her scalp. But she still doesn’t care. Too blissed out. Exhausted. Sweaty. Her eyes heavy. Her brain yelling at her to let them stay shut so that she can go to sleep. Happy and sated. But she ignores her brain. Starts blinking. Trying to get her eyes open. Aware of Aaliyah’s presence. Her heavy breathing still audible over the wind and waves. Then her voice comes through the line, “Wow…”
Cruz hums. Swallows. Keeps blinking until she’s able to keep her eyes open. She smiles down at Aaliyah. Grins. “Yeah… You should try it sometime. Ten out of ten. I highly recommend it.”
It’s a dumb joke. Horrible. But indicative of Cruz’s mental state. Happy and sated to the point she’s a bit goofy.
But Aaliyah doesn’t complain. She chuckles like she finds it funny. Then she’s licking her lips. Smiling at Cruz, “Oh I will. I’ll have to after watching that.”
“Mmm…” Cruz hums again. She rolls her hips. Chasing more of that good feeling. But it’s over now. Her clit sensitive. Her cunt needing a break. So she pulls her fingers free. Wipes them on the bed cover. Then she reaches down. Grabs her phone. Brings it up so that it’s near her face. She stares at Aaliyah. Closer now. Cruz able to see the specks in her eyes and the sweat on her brow and the crease on her bottom lip from where she was biting it. She’s so painfully beautiful and wonderful and so fucking far away. Unable to wrap her arms around Cruz and kiss her cheek and hold her as she comes down from her pleasure. It’s cruel and unfair and–
Oh no…
Cruz heart stops for a moment. A sensation present in her eyes. A sensation she’s all too familiar with. She blinks. Prays that she can hold the tears back. But she can’t. A tear sliding from the corner of her left eye. She brings her hand up. Wipes it away. Praying now that Aaliyah didn’t see the tear. But of course she did. Cruz’s phone perfectly capturing the moment.
“What’s the matter?” Aaliyah asks. Frowning. Her voice coming out slightly panicked.
Cruz closes her eyes. Wiggles her head. Starts laughing when she feels more tears leaking from both of her eyes. She opens them. Stares at Aaliyah. Gives her the truth, “Nothing really. I’m good. But you’re not here.”
Aaliyah’s expression changes again. Her frown turning into a pout. Her shoulders slumping. Head tilting as she lets out a quiet, “Aww…”
It’s an adorable reaction. One that has Cruz wishing she could kiss away the pout. But she can’t. Obviously. Their separation the fact that gave rise to that pout. So she just stares at Aaliyah. Smiling. Heart fluttering. Her smile growing when Aaliyah returns the smile. Her tears still falling. She reaches up. Brushes the next batch away.
That seems to break Aaliyah out of the moment. Her eyes dropping. Following the action. Her smile fading. “I’d come to you, if I could,” she starts. Her eyes lifting again to meet Cruz’s gaze. “But I have to stay close to the city.”
Cruz wiggles her head. Signaling that she’s heard Aaliyah’s words. But she doesn’t reply. Too busy kicking herself for her earlier slip. The one that opened to the door to Aaliyah possibly visiting her in Charlotte. Kaitlyn would throttle her for that mistake. Assuming Bobby didn’t get there first.
“But,” Aaliyah picks up after another moment. “You can come here. As soon as you want. Tomorrow even. Please? Get whatever doctor’s note you need and take the week off. We’ll be alone the entire time.”
Cruz rears back. Thrown by that information. But she’s functioning well enough now that she’s able to spare herself another impact with the wall. Though not well enough to spare herself from another mistake. Her reaction drawing a confused look from Aaliyah.
Shit.
She evens her expression. Leans into her mistake. Verbalizing her surprise, “Ehsan won’t be there at all?”
Aaliyah shakes her head. “No. It’s too long of a trip to go back and forth. Saturday is the earliest that I’ll see him. If I see him. Sometimes he doesn’t come home at all.”
“Oh…” Cruz exhales. Frowning. Ehsan’s absence good for her personally, but not for the mission. Though he’s the secondary mission. Earning Aaliyah’s trust and maintaining it until Aaliyah’s wedding day is the primary task. So if that means a week of her and Aaliyah fucking without Ehsan around, then so be it. There are worse things that could be asked of her. Like ki–
“You want Ehsan to join us?” Aaliyah asks. Her tone teasing. Though there is a bit of concern evident in her expression.
Cruz laughs. Waves her hand. “No! God, no. I’m just thinking about you and all of that alone time. Don’t you get lonely?”
Aaliyah’s face falls. She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Looks away. The question clearly causing her some distress.
Shit.
Cruz jumps into damage control mode. Blurting, “You don’t have to answer.”
Aaliyah snorts. Looks back at the camera. “No. I am lonely… Always…. Even when I’m not alone.”
“Right,” Cruz nods. “You don’t like your friends or…” she waves her hand. Finishes, “yeah…” Sparing them both another mention of Ehsan.
Aaliyah hums. Doesn’t say anything else. Neither does Cruz. They just stare at each other. The mood weird. Cruz regretting the direction that she took the conversation. Aaliyah… Aaliyah… She has no clue what’s happening in Aaliyah’s mind. She could ask, but that might prolong the awkwardness. So she does something else. Clearing her throat. Getting them back on track, “How should I get there? You have my car.”
Aaliyah’s eyes widen. She leans back. Letting out a long and slow, “Shit…” Then her eyes narrow. She looks away. But only for a moment. Her gaze returning to Cruz. A shy smile now on her face. “I forgot about that. Umm… I can have it towed back to you? We can hire someone and it can be at your dorm by the morning.”
“That could work,” Cruz starts. Nodding as she processes the information. “If I leave when it gets here then I could be in New York by…” she trails off. Frowns. Thinking about how long of a trip that would be. Most of the day probably.
Ugh.
“Nightfall?” she continues. Guessing. “I’ll probably have to go near D.C. and traffic there is always bad. I’m assuming that’s also the case once I get closer to New York.”
Aaliyah grimaces as Cruz speaks. She starts shaking her head. Verbalizing her reaction once Cruz is finally done, “No. Uh-uh. Then I won’t make you drive.” She leans closer to the camera. Whispers, “I want you here early.”
“How early?” Cruz asks. Grinning. Holding back her other question about why Aaliyah wants her there early because the answer would probably require her to rub one out again.
“As early as I can figure out… ugh…” Aaliyah’s camera starts shaking. Her body moving. Cruz getting glimpses of the water and sky as Aaliyah finishes her thought. “I will book you a flight out of Charlotte.”
Aaliyah’s face finally comes back into view. She’s wincing. Looking adorable and beautiful.
Cruz laughs. Asks, “Everything ok?”
“Mmm…” Aaliyah hums. She rolls her eyes. Lets out a light laugh. “My foot fell asleep.”
Cruz’s heart flutters. Aches. The separation starting to kill her. Which is why she needs to stay focused and follow up on Aaliyah’s offer to buy her a plane ticket. An offer she’s not sure she should accept because Zara might want to pay her own way or at least offer to pay her own way.
“So you’re ok with that?” Aaliyah asks. “Flying up here first thing tomorrow?”
“I–” Cruz starts. Cutting off. Running with the idea that Zara wouldn’t easily acquiesce to that kind of gift.
“You?” Aaliyah prods. Taking the bait.
“I–” Cruz starts again. Cutting off again so she can let out a huff. Then she pulls it together. Rushing out, “Are you ok with paying for one? If not, I can drive. I’m happy to. Gas would be cheaper than–”
“Stop,” Aaliyah interrupts. Her tone firm. Her expression annoyed. Meaning she’s either picked up on Cruz’s terrible acting or she’s pissed at Zara for pushing back. Cruz doesn’t have to wait long to find out the answer. Aaliyah’s gaze softening as she continues, “It’s Ehsan’s money. He won’t miss it. Trust me. There are too many zeros in his account to keep straight and…” she rolls her eyes, “...the number is always growing.”
Cruz smiles. Caves, “Ok… Then yeah. I will be happy to catch the first flight tomorrow on Ehsan’s dime.”
Aaliyah’s smile returns. Bright and giddy. Though Cruz has to struggle to maintain hers. Realizing now that accepting a ticket purchased by Aaliyah could pose problems for her cover. Which is why she should have adhered to Bobby’s instructions. Hung up immediately. Set the meet via text so that she could answer based on what her team could actually support. But it’s too late. Aaliyah squealing now. Her excited squeal. Her phone shaking like she’s doing something with her free hand or body. Clapping probably. Her thigh because she can’t clap her hands.
The shaking finally stops. The squealing too. A flush spreads over Aaliyah’s cheeks. She brings the phone closer to her face. Whispers, “I’m so excited.”
Cruz lifts an eyebrow. Teases, “Really? I couldn’t tell.”
Aaliyah sticks out her tongue. Scrunches her nose. It’s another adorable look. Another kissable look. One that has Cruz’s heart fluttering and aching again. She sighs. Offers another truth, “I want to kiss you.”
Aaliyah’s goofy face vanishes. She bites her lower lip. Darts her eyes down like she’s looking at Cruz’s mouth. “Soon,” she whispers. Gaze moving back to Cruz’s eyes.
They stare at each other for another long while. The wind blowing Aaliyah’s hair into her face. Waves audibly crashing to shore. Seagulls squawking overhead.
Aaliyah ends the moment. Her eyes darting off frame. Her brows narrowing. Then she’s looking back at Cruz. Pouting, “Someone has breached my solitude.”
“Oh no,” Cruz replies. Trying and failing to hold back a laugh.
Aaliyah doesn’t hold back. Chuckling. Then she’s moving again. Muttering, “It’s ok.” Her camera giving Cruz glimpses of Aaliyah’s stomach and chest and the sand and the dunes before Aaliyah’s face comes back into frame. A house visible behind her. Meaning she’s probably standing now. “I’ve been out for a while. My battery is low. I should get home before it dies.”
Cruz hums. Holds back a teasing barb about Aaliyah not carrying multiple phones like Ehsan. His name already mentioned too many times in this conversation.
The camera shakes again. Aaliyah walking now. Walking and talking, “I will text you the flight information as soon as I have it. If you text me your address, I will have your car sent home.”
Cruz barely processes Aaliyah’s words. Her phone extended far enough that Cruz can see Aaliyah’s chest. Tits bouncing with every step. She blinks a few times. Then she looks back at Aaliyah’s face. Spots a grin. Aaliyah apparently giving Cruz the view on purpose.
Cruz huffs. Glares at Aaliyah. A playful glare. The teasing sight more than welcome. She glances down again. Lets herself enjoy the view for a few more steps. Then she looks back at Aaliyah’s face. Evens her expression. Responds to Aaliyah’s earlier words as if she wasn’t just leering at Aaliyah’s tits, “Ok. I’ll text you my address. But on one condition…”
“What’s that?” Aaliyah asks. Eyes narrowing. Grin fading. Meaning she’s probably anticipating that Cruz will set a serious condition.
And that’s exactly what Cruz wants. She springs the trap. Smirking, “You touch yourself and then text me to say how hard you came while thinking about me sucking your clit.”
Aaliyah’s mouth falls open. She stops walking. Brings the camera to her face. Her flushed face. Cheeks tinged red. “You assume that’s what I’ll be thinking about?”
Cruz shrugs. Debates how to play this. Because she’s Zara. Not Cruz. And the words that just left her mouth were a hundred percent Cruz. Too confident and cocky and explicit for Zara. Though the same could be said for everything that’s just happened. Cruz acting as Cruz for the duration of their encounter. Acting differently now would be a bad idea. So she pushes Zara aside. Answers as Cruz, “I know that’s what you’ll be thinking about. My tongue on your clit and my fingers deep inside rubbing against that spot that makes your legs shake and…” she extends her camera. Spreads her legs. Giving Aaliyah another look as she finishes, “...this.”
She hears a whine. Doesn’t see Aaliyah’s face. The sky visible. A shaking sky. She laughs. Pulls her camera closer. “Too much?”
“No!” Aaliyah shouts. Face coming back into view. Eyes dark. Face flushed. “That was…” she blows out a breath. Fans herself. Laughs. “You have a deal.”
A door slams as Aaliyah speaks. The sound reminding Cruz that she’s not alone and that she really needs to end this call so she can stay in her team’s good graces.
She plays the interruption cool. Grinning at Aaliyah. Whispering, “Excellent. Now…” she tilts her head. Gesturing aimlessly. “Go. Get home and charge your phone. I should put clothes on and do a grocery run.”
She expects an agreement. A quick goodbye. But that doesn’t happen. Aaliyah frowning at her. Asking, “You keep groceries in your dorm?”
Cruz suppresses a grimace at her most recent slip. But this one she can easily recover from. “Yeah,” she shrugs. Waving toward the left corner, “I have a microwave and a small fridge. I like to keep it stocked with milk and yogurt and I usually have a few boxes of cereal on hand. That’s what I need to get.”
“Ahhh… Ok…” Aaliyah replies. Smiling. An embarrassed smile. “I’m not very familiar with college life. Everything I know I learned from movies and those aren’t always accurate.”
Cruz hums. Nods. Feigning agreement. In truth she doesn’t really know. Movies not her thing.
They fall silent again. Staring at each other. Aaliyah not walking. Cruz not making a move to end the call because she doesn’t want to end the call. She wants to keep talking to Aaliyah about movies and college and everything else under the sun. But it’s time. She has to go.
She drops her phone down so it’s near the center of her chest. Adjusts her grip so she’s holding it with both hands. “Go...” she urges. “We can pick this up later.”
Aaliyah lets out a heavy sigh. But she doesn’t fight. Pouting her way through her reply, “Alright. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Cruz lifts an eyebrow. Thrown the word choice.
An intentional word choice, apparently. Aaliyah winking. Then her image is shaking. Disappearing.
Cruz drops her phone. Leans back. Her head thudding against the wall. The sound echoing through the room. Pain shooting through her head. She winces. Less at the pain and more at the sound. Wondering now whether she made enough noise that her team could hear her all of the way in the living room.
Shit.
She slaps a hand over her face. Groans. Knowing that there are limits to Joe’s directive to not give her shit. Two Cups already cracking during that brief pre–FaceTime sex conversation. He probably won’t be able to hold back about this. Lobbing jokes her way as soon as she surfaces. Which she has to do. Imminently. Because as much as she wants to crawl under the covers and take a nice long nap, she needs do her job. And that will require dressing and going into the living room to give everyone the all clear and debrief Bobby on the conversation that happened after she came.
She rolls out of bed. Finds her clothes. Dresses. Heads into the bathroom to wash her hands. She hears a buzz as she’s drying them off. Tosses the hand towel down without hanging it up. Races into her room. Grabs her phone off the mattress. Spots Aaliyah’s name on her screen.
She opens the message. There’s a selfie. Aaliyah staring intensely at the camera. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth. The wind blowing her hair. A caption follows the image.
Aaliyah (3:22 pm): I miss you already ♥️
She inhales. Her heart fluttering. Aching.
She quickly opens her camera. Snaps a selfie. Giving minimal thought to the composition. Figuring that Zara can be equally as inept with picture taking as Cruz. She sends it to Aaliyah. Adds her own caption.
Zara (3:23 pm): I miss you too ♥️
She does. So much that it hurts. But this is her life now. This pain. This longing. It’s never going to go away and it’s only going to get worse.
Her screen lights up. Aaliyah’s name appearing. She smiles. A cheesy lovesick smile. Then she gets moving. Exiting her room before she ends up stuck inside texting with Aaliyah for the rest of the day.
Notes:
Kudos/comments appreciated. Nice comments motivate me to write more regardless of when you leave them. So if you're reading this weeks/months/years after the posting date, please comment if you liked it. Even something as simple as a keyboard smash or a few emojis or an ‘extra kudos’ will make my day 🙏🏼
Do y'all want more? The plan is to switch back to Aaliyah's POV in a fic that loosely follows the events of 1x06. It will be on the smuttier side, but it will also push the series plot along. So let me know if you are interested.
6/9/2025 update: I'm on the first revision of a draft that's sitting at 45k. It will be either one or two chapters. I hope to have something done by the end of the month, but my life is full of uncertainty right now, so I make no promises. It will be a new fic, so if you want a notification that it's ready, smash the subscribe button on my user profile or on the series page.
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