Page 14 of Delta (Alpha #12)

"…A nd then I literally ran into you," Bryn says, finishing her story.

We've taken the bus back across the city, and we're now waiting at a different stop for the bus that'll take us to the train station.

And I'm one conflicted motherfucker. On one hand, I'm legitimately impressed.

It takes some big fat fuckin' stones to try and stop a kidnapping from happening.

And to then have the presence of mind and self-control to stay calm and let a horrific situation play out like that?

Letting some fat ugly old fuck almost rape you so you have the best shot at killin' him?

Stones, mate. Big brass ones. Especially after seeing that poor girl dragged off like that, coming back all fucked up and traumatized, knowing you're next?

Rage burns in my belly. This is a shit situation.

This girl is like no one I've ever met. She's not complained once.

Not about the cold, not about walking for hours, not about a dirty city bus, not about anything.

She ain't judging me, mostly—and some of my life choices deserve harsh judgment.

I ain't no choir boy, and that's fact, innit?

She's fucking goddamned exquisite. Breathtaking.

Funny. Witty. And them two ain't the same, mind you.

She's got a helluva sharp tongue, which is a turn-on for me.

I like a girl who can keep up with me, keep me on my toes.

I guess I feel…like she gets me. I mean, fuck, mate.

The dyslexia bit? When most women find out I can barely read, they assume I'm stupid and uneducated.

I ain't. I mean, my accent don't help none, either, but I ain't stupid and I ain't uneducated.

It's just not been a formal education, you might say. Given my life and the way I grew up, it's a miracle I made it out of London and off the streets without getting sent down, let alone with any kind of education. The military made sure I got some learning, but once I was up for deployment, reading Hemingway and being up on my maths wasn’t as much of a priority. I’ve had to make it a priority for myself.

For her . So I can be someone she'd be proud of.

And she wouldn’t be proud of what I'm doing now, would she? Tricking this fascinating, beautiful, intense woman into the hands of the very man she's running from?

Low, even for the likes of me.

But I haven't got a goddamn choice. I just haven't.

Time's about up. I could take a deployment with an outfit like Wagner or Blackwater, but…

the risk is high. I'd make the bank I need, but there's no guarantee I'd live to use the money.

What other options do I have? Not a fuckin' one, that's what.

I'm no grifter or con artist. Robbing banks won't do it.

Extortion? Blackmail? I'd sell a fucking organ if it'd pay for the treatment she needs.

No. This is it. It just sucks a fat one that the target is so goddamned perfect in every way.

Why couldn't she be ugly or annoying? Like, one of those whiny slags who go on and on about their vegan cheeses and hot yoga and those fuckin' awful essential oils and shit.

I shagged a girl like that, once. And I swear, even the fact that she had a great pair of tits and a mouth like a hoover was almost not enough to overcome how fucking annoying she was.

Why couldn't Bryn be like that? It'd be at least a little easier to betray her like I'm going to.

Not much, but some. Shit, no woman, no matter how awful or obnoxious, deserves the fate in store for Bryn.

I'm gonna have to harden myself, at some point. Let the massive arsehole I really am come out. Let her see my true colors.

She don't need to know the reason I’m doing it. It won't help. Won't make the betrayal any less bitter. Nah, best keep that to myself.

Would it be better to stop letting myself like her now? Just be a massive wanker to her until I turn her over to him?

Can I do it? I dunno.

I dunno if I can.

I push the thoughts aside and look at her. She's stopped shivering, finally. "You killed him with a pencil?"

She shrugs, nodding. "Did what I had to do."

“You’ve got sand, Bryn. Truly." I mean that, too.

She shrugs again. "If I hadn't frozen in the first place, none of it would have happened. That poor girl would be home. She wouldn't have gotten raped. I'd be back at the hotel with Killy and Cal. I just…" she sighs, shuddering. "I can't help but feel like it's my fault."

"Nah, love, nah. It ain't your fault." I can't help but wrap my arm around her slender shoulders; she resists for a moment and then leans into me, and rests her head on my shoulder.

"It's not. Yeah, you froze. But if you've never shot someone before, it's a tough thing to do.

It's hard to cross that Rubicon. You can't take it back. "

She scrapes her fingers through her hair, sighing. “What does it say about me that I'm not, like, super upset and sick about the way I killed those men?"

"Not a damn thing, if you're askin' me," I tell her. "Some people just deserve death, and those two did. And aside from that, you did what you had to do to stay alive. No shame or guilt in that."

"I just feel like I should… feel something." She sighs, shaking her head and shrugging. "I mean, if I think about it too hard, I get icked out, but I don't feel bad. I don't feel guilty. Honestly, I wish I’d just shot them both back at the club."

"A pencil to the eye for your first kill is fuckin' wicked, Bryn. I served with blokes who struggled with that. It ain't easy. You're doin' brilliantly."

"Don't feel like it. I feel like there's something wrong with me."

I chuckle. "It's called having a moral compass, sweetheart."

"But I don't feel guilty."

"Exactly. Because you shouldn't. You didn't do nothin' wrong. You protected yourself. Or you could think of it as you took revenge for the girl who got raped. You killed a filthy fuckin' maggot who probably deserved a much slower and more painful death than what he got."

The bus arrives then, and we board, sitting near the back. She's close to me on these narrow seats. I feel her body heat. I'm hyper-aware of her. I can almost let myself believe this is real. That I'm really saving her. Helping her. That I'm the bloke it seems like she thinks I am.

The trip is short, and when she sees where we are as the bus trundles off, she sighs. "I just left this place."

"Well, this time, you'll be traveling with a ticket, and you'll not be drugged," I say. "So hopefully a bit different."

"Maybe." She looks at the soaring, imposing glass edifice of the Berlin Hauptbahnhof with doubt.

We reach the ticketing counter, and I pretend to think. "You know, I've got a friend who lives in Lyon. He's well-connected. He might be able to help you sort this out."

"I mean, really, I just want to get back to my family."

"Obviously, I don't know your family, but are you sure you want to bring this to them? My friend can sort this out, and you'll keep your family safe from it. These blokes ain't playin, love."

She doesn't answer right away, thinking. "I guess that makes sense. You don't know my family, though." She shrugs. "I don't know. I don't know what to do. I brought this on myself. I snuck out."

I'm still not clear on why she had to sneak out to go to the club in the first place, but I suspect she left out a few details on purpose. Doesn't totally trust me. Smart girl.

I don't want her to trust me. I want her to get away from me. But I can't let her. I need her to trust me.

Fuck me, I hate this. I hate this fucking bastard for putting me in this situation. I hate the universe for putting me in this situation. I hate myself for putting me in this situation

But, I do what I must. For her . I'll just have to learn how to live with the guilt.

"My family would be pissed if they found out I didn't call them for help."

"Dunno what to say to that one. Never had family to care like that. Good on ya for having that."

Shit. Didn't mean to say that.

"No family, huh?"

"Nah."

Here she goes with the leading silence. I know what she's doing, but fuck me if I can't help but fill it.

"I'm an orphan. I was left at the door of a vicarage when I was only a few days old.

No note, no clue who my mother was, nothing.

" I shrug. "Lived in orphanages and foster homes for the first few years, but I done a runner on ‘em when it got hairy.

Lived on the streets after that. Joined the army at seventeen, soon's they'd take me. "

"When it got hairy?" she asks.

“Bah,” I say, waving her off. “You got to know what that means, Bryn. I know for a fact the foster system in your country ain't any better than the English one. Worse, maybe."

"I've heard stories about it, yeah," she says. "Saw stuff on TV."

I snort. "What's on the telly ain't the half of it, love.

Fuckin' awful, what it is. Taught me early to keep my own counsel, and how to take a hell of a beating.

" I see her mouth open and hold up a finger to stop her.

"Nah-nah, don't. No sorrys. No, ‘oh, how awful.’ Shove all that shit back in your gob. Don't wanna hear it."

"Honestly, Rush, I can't relate. At all. Let's just say that my life, growing up, could not possibly have been any further from yours.”

I laugh. "Yeah, love, I gathered that."

She frowns at me. "What's that mean?"

"Nothin'."

"No, tell me."

"People who grew up with everything have a…

I dunno. A unique way of movin' through the world.

A sort of…what is it? An assurance, I guess.

Sort of the opposite of my type. I'm a cocky bastard, right?

I know that. But I am because I've fuckin' earned it.

I know who I am. I know what I can do. I know where I been and what I come out of.

And it's made me strong. Your lot is different.

Not better or worse, just different. You know your place in the world because you've never had to question it. "