Page 21 of Harris
“Yeah, but I never undermine you or us in the process. I use sex to get you to take me flying or shooting, or let me go with you guys on cute little security jobs. What you did? It was—you manipulated me. You fucked me, and you used me. You fucked compliance out of me, and then you were going to just send me home like your little booty call.”
“Now hold on just a goddamn second, that’s not fair.”
“I’m a slut, Nick. I always have been. I own it. I like men. I like sex. I like dick. I’ve never been above using sex to get what I want from guys. I had no problem being some guy’s booty call. I had no problem with some dude being my sugar daddy. But no sugar daddy ever paid my bills. I never lived with them. I let them buy me luxury shit, things I’d never spend my own money on.”
“Layla—”
“No, you shut thefuckup and listen to me.” She paused after that outburst, sucked in a breath, blinked the tears away. “You’ve always had this way of making me feel…I don’t know—like none of that mattered anymore. Like I wasn’t that girl anymore. Like I was worth—more. As hot as it was, that sex in your office—and I do not deny enjoying every second of that, being teased and edged and fucked the way only you can, Ilovedthat—you used it to put me in my place. You got what you wanted—me agreeing to go home like a good little wifey—and then you were done. Back to the important shit, to manly man stuff, saving the world. No girls allowed in this macho club.”
“That is not what this is about, Layla.”
“No?” The expression on her face cut me to the bone. “I think it is.”
“How do you figure?”
“I know I’m not as badass as the rest of your guys. I don’t have years of combat experience. I don’t have mad hacker skills or a forensics degree or—any of that shit. But I thought you saw something in me. I thought, after Brazil, I thought that we’d be a team. That eventually I’d come to be more than just a glorified secretary for you. That’s all I am, you know. I sit around, sort through paperwork and intel, collate it, and pass it on to you and your guys. That’s cool, it’s work I don’t mind doing. It’s fun, actually. And more challenging and mentally stimulating than waitressing or answering phones or whatever other bullshit jobs I used to work, and it’s certainly better than going to fucking college. I’m not cut out for any of that shit. I don’t mind what you’ve got me doing, Nick, I really don’t. But I wantmore. And I thought you were going to give me more. I thought that’s why you were teaching me to fly and to shoot and all that. Turns out you were just humoring your little girlfriend. You don’t trust me.”
I groaned, slid back in the pilot’s chair, scrubbing my face. “Fuck. Fucking goddammit, Layla.” I sat up and leaned across the space between the pilot and copilot chairs. I took her hands. “I told you when we agreed that this thing between us was a real relationship, which was a first for both of us, I told you I was going to have a hard time with it. I don’t do relationships. I never have. I never judged you on your past because I was never any better. I don’t knowhowto trust you, Layla, but I’m trying. And the thing you have to understand about me is that I’m one thing, and one thing only: a mercenary. A soldier. That’s all I’ve ever known. And all the guys on my team, all those guys back there, that’s what they are too, except Lear, really. And even he gets the basic tenet that makes the team work:I’min fucking charge. I started this company. I own it. I pay the checks. I make the calls. They all do what I tell them because they trust me to make the right calls, and I trust them to speak up if they have a legitimate concern with a decision. We’re all ex-military. We’ve all learned the importance of trusting your C-O, of obeying orders, when those orders are thoughtfully, rationally, and intelligently issued.”
“I may not have been in the army or whatever, but I get that, too. I can follow orders.”
“No, Layla, you can’t!” I shouted this, a little more loudly than I should have. Her eyes widened—I rarely raised my voice. “You never do what you’re told. You say this yourself all the time. It’s part of who you are, and I get that. And in private life, it’s cool. It’s fine. It’s cute and endearing and utterly maddening. But professionally, it’s not cool or cute or endearing. It’s dangerous. On a security job, escorting some highfalutin A-lister to a red carpet event? Fine. There’s not likely to be any real danger. Bringing you along, letting you sit in the command center and be part of things, it’s fine, then. But situations like this? We’re dealing with someone very much like Vitaly. Smart, vicious, and deadly. Playing for keeps. In a combat situation, when lives are on the line, Layla, Ihaveto be able to trust, on an instinctive, blood-and-guts level, that the people around me will number one, follow orders, number two, not panic or freeze, and number three, react calmly, efficiently, and intelligently to the circumstances. I have to trust the people around me. And yes, Layla, I trust you. I trust you in my life, I trust you with my heart. But do I trust you with an assault rifle when the bullets are flying at us? I—I can’t say that I do. Not yet, anyway. And that’s not because you’re not capable of it, but because it takes training and experience to get to that point. And me trusting you aside, I don’t want to ever put you in that kind of scenario ever again. Iloveyou. I couldn’t handle it if something happened to you. Thresh, Duke, Puck—they all understand the danger, and they’ve signed up eyes wide, head up, knowing what they’re signing up for, because they’ve each been there. Lear is different, but even he’s not a vanilla civilian who’s never seen combat.”
Oops. That was the wrong thing to say, and I realized it as soon as it left my mouth.
Layla, however, didn’t give me a chance to correct myself. “Vanilla civilian? VANILLA CIVILIAN? Never seen combat?” She went shrill, deafening.
“Layla, I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant. I know you’ve—”
“I killed Cut with my bare hands. I planned and executed an ambush with you. I kept my shit together. I followed your orders. I stayed in place, didn’t shoot until after you did, and I took down my target. Not once in the entire time I was in Brazil, with you or alone, did Ieverfreeze or panic or falter.” She turned away from me. Took a deep breath. “Nick, I just—I want to be beside you. In everything. I want to fly with you. I want to jump out of airplanes with you. I want to go on car chases and shoot bad guys with you. And Ican. That’s the thing. Ican. How many women do you think are out there that are capable of understanding exactly what it is you do, on a personal, visceral level? From experience? I’ve been shot at. I’ve seen you get shot. I’ve almost lost you. And no, I never want to go throughthatagain, but if anything happened to you, and I was just sitting around at home, on my ass? I couldn’t deal with that. I’m not a sit-at-home girl, Nick. And if that’s what you expect of me, what you want from me, then this isn’t going to work. Either you accept me as I am, you trust me, train me, and let me walk beside you no matter the situation, or…”
I swallowed hard. “Or what, Layla?”
“Or I’m gone. I can’t do this with you if you can’t trust me all the fucking way.”
“So it’s all or nothing?”
“I’m not saying you put me in BDUs and give me an HK rightnow, Nick. I’m not saying put me point next time you’re sweeping a building. I’m saying—get me to that point. In time, with training.”
I sat back, brushed the headset off. Tried to process what she was asking of me.
Could I do that? Not just teach her to shoot at targets and clay pigeons. Not just teach her to fly biplanes and Learjets for takeoffs and landings now and again, for fun. But reallytrainher to be part of the tactical team? Put her next to Thresh and Duke, in combat gear, knowing someone can and will shoot at her?
It was fucking loony.
She was from the suburbs. She was a waitress, a secretary. She was mygirlfriend; she was more than that, although I hadn’t taken any steps yet to make us more. Emotionally, the boyfriend/girlfriend thing didn’t cut it or even begin to describe us. We weremore. So much more.
And she wanted to go into combat with me?
I mean, fuck. How could I agree to that?
But if I didn’t agree, I’d lose her.
Did I think she was capable of it?
I stared out at the clouds beneath us, an eye as always on the readouts—thinking. Considering.
Back to Brazil. What she’d been through. Cut. The ambush. The car chase. She was right: she’d never hesitated, never let fear get the better of her. And in life-or-death situations, she did what I told her.