Page 10 of The Blonde Who Came in from the Cold (The Blonde Identity #2)

King

King watched her go. More angry than embarrassed.

Legacies are fickle things. Sometimes they’re buoys and sometimes they’re weights, and King knew that as long as he lived

in the shadows of all the Michael Kingsleys who had gone before him, he’d have to deal with unfair expectations—both the good

and the bad.

Maybe that’s why he stood there, almost envious of the girl who got to be the only Alex Sterling.

He watched her turn right, toward the barn, instead of left, toward the barracks. It was full dark and the base was sleeping.

They were scheduled for a run at five a.m.

“Where are you going?” he couldn’t help but call after her.

She stopped and spun. “Where do you think?”

“It’s late.”

“I’m busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“You know... places to be. Things to hit...”

He watched her push into the big building that served as the Agency gym. It was the oldest building on the base—a barn that

was part of the original homestead. It should have been locked at that hour, but that didn’t seem to matter to Alex Sterling.

He should leave her alone, he told himself. Let her get caught and kicked out. Let her get hurt and kicked out. Let her be

so tired she couldn’t function the next day... as long as she... yeah... got kicked out. He absolutely had no reason

to follow her. And yet...

She was working the heavy bag, leg arching gracefully through the air before making contact and spinning smoothly in the other direction, when he got there. She had to have heard him, but she didn’t fidget—didn’t turn.

Not until he asked, “Who’s Zoe?”

She stopped and found his gaze in one of the mirrors that lined the wall. “Who’s Nikolai?”

She didn’t know. He didn’t know why, but the thought was almost soothing.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” King was relieved when his face didn’t betray a thing. Maybe because he actually

was good at this—highly trained and exceptionally intuitive. A natural. Or maybe it was just a wound that was so scabbed over

that he couldn’t even feel it anymore. “You shouldn’t be in here by yourself.”

She wiped the sweat away from her face. “And why’s that, exactly?”

“It’s not safe.”

She gave the bag a roundhouse kick, probably because it was closer than his head. Then she pointed to her surroundings and

said, “Spy school.”

“It’s not called—”

Alex kicked the bag again, and this time it almost swung free of the hook. “Do you think I don’t know that?” She didn’t even

try to keep her voice down. “Of course you do. You think I’m too stupid to be here. You think I’m too stupid to live.”

She pulled back and hit a speed bag as hard as she could. It bounced back because that was its job and she dodged it expertly,

because that was hers, but King lunged forward and grabbed it—as if that was his. But it wasn’t.

“You’re going to get hurt.”

She was up on her toes and leaning close. “Too. Late.” She was covered in bruises—they all were. But that wasn’t what she

meant and he knew it. Some people choose this life because they’re running to and some because they’re running from , but for most... it was both. Suddenly, he wanted to know what thing had hurt Alex Sterling; he wanted to hurt it back.

“Come on.” She stepped back and bounced on the balls of her feet a few times, keeping her blood pumping and her energy up. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

After six weeks, King was fairly certain she knew exactly what he had, but before he could say so, Alex went for his teeth.

It served him right for smiling.

“What’s the matter? Afraid of getting beaten up by a girl?”

She flicked him on the end of his nose, and he blew out a breath of frustration.

“I’m not going to get hurt by you, Sterling.”

“Yes, you are. Because I’m going to punch you in your perfect face.”

“You’re not—”

“On the count of three.”

“We have an early workout in the morning—”

“One.”

“I’m trying to help you. This isn’t a place where you can ignore rules and—”

“Two.”

“Will you listen to me? I get that this is a game to you, but it’s not to me! This is life.” His life. “And death...” Did his voice crack? King didn’t know—didn’t necessarily care. He just knew that—“If you can’t appreciate

that fact—”

“Just to be clear”—Alex stopped bouncing—“I’m not going to say three and then punch you in the face. I’m just going to hit you as hard as I can and—spoiler alert—I can hit pretty hard.

For a girl.”

Maybe King could hog-tie her and put her on the bus? She’d be cold overnight, and she might need a bathroom eventually, but

it was for her own good because she simply couldn’t understand what she was signing up for. She had no idea what she was about

to give up.

“You appear to be under the misperception that a life in the clandestine service is some kind of movie. Fast cars and tuxedos

and ball gowns, but—”

Then she punched him. He actually staggered back a half step, momentarily stunned. “I got my first black belt when I was twelve.

Or didn’t you read that in whatever file you pilfered?”

He touched his lip and his finger came away bloody.

Alex looked like she was wondering if she should feel bad—maybe apologize.

They were on the same side, technically.

Officially. But she also had the look of a woman who had been fighting her own, personal demons since she was old enough to know what the words meant.

She looked relieved to finally have one who could hit back.

So she hit him again. “You want to fight, let’s fight.”

“Sterling—”

She pulled back to hit him again, but that time, he blocked it, and Alex gave him a look that said, It’s on.

The night was dark and still. There was nothing but one lone bulb and the filtered rays of moonlight shining down like spotlights

as they danced across the dusty floor. It was a ballet of punches and parries, kicks and thrusts. She was warmed up and dressed

for a workout, and he was fighting cold and in street shoes, but that didn’t matter.

“I never said you weren’t good enough,” King said after she landed a blow to his stomach and he stumbled back, unsteady.

“Pretty sure you did.” Alex charged, trying to take advantage of the moment, but he shifted his weight and pushed, sending

her wide and making her angry.

“I said this is the real world. People get hurt, Sterling.” He was breathing hard, even though he’d hardly moved. “They die.”

“There are stars on the wall at Langley. I know.”

“You don’t know!” She lunged for him, but she telegraphed the move and he caught her, forearm tight against her throat, as

he leaned close and whispered, “You’ll never know until you’ve lived it. And by the time you’ve lived it, it’s too late.”

He felt her go still in his arms. “Say mercy,” he whispered in her ear, and Alex choked out a snicker.

Then she kicked him in the shin and slipped his hold. “Never.”

“You fight dirty,” he told her, hobbling slightly.

“I fight to win.” She charged at him again in a flurry of punches, but he blocked every one, blow after vicious blow until

she stopped—momentarily stunned and suddenly furious. It was like she’d finally realized—

“Hit me back.”

“I am.”

“You’re pulling your punches. Stop it.”

“ Never. ” It was fun, using her own words against her, and something about it snapped something inside of her. She charged, but he

dodged her, and that made her even angrier, which made King feel even more certain.

“See? This!” He batted away her kicks and felt her form get sloppy. “You’re emotional, and you take everything personally.

That makes you volatile and—”

“Call me a hysterical woman.” Alex was breathing hard, but the look in her eye was even harder. “I dare you.”

He caught her arm, pulled her tight, and whispered, “Say mercy.”

So she flipped him.

All the air whooshed out of his lungs when King landed—too hard—on the mat, but the most painful thing was the way she stood

over him, looking down and mouthing oops as he frowned up.

Her hair was dark with sweat, and her eyes were bright with rage. She looked like some kind of avenging angel—mythical and

revered—and he wanted to tell her that she was the one who was wrong to doubt her place there. She was smart enough. She was

strong enough. She was scrappy and resourceful and—

She was going to get them all killed.

“You don’t scare me, Mr. My Grandfather Founded the CIA .”

“Well, that’s not accurate at—”

“I’m not scared of you! Or Merritt. Or anyone here. And I’m not afraid of anything out there .”

“And that’s the problem!” He rolled and swept a leg, knocking hers out from under her, and she crashed to the mat beside him.

“Nothing scares you, and you should be terrified.” She moved fast but he moved faster, and he caught her fist before it landed.

“I know this world, Sterling. People die. The people you love die. I’m telling you, it’s not like the movies. At least not

the kind with happy endings.”

Alex was flat on her back and King was on top of her, a hand on each of her wrists, pinning her down.

He could feel the rise and fall of her chest, see the green of her eyes.

Her cheeks were pink and she looked like how sunshine feels, and all he wanted in the world was to never lay eyes on her again.

“Say”—he banged her hands against the mat—“mercy.”

If she’d had any sense, she would have done it. If he’d had any sense, he wouldn’t have cared.

“I’d rather die first,” she ground out, and King felt the fight leave his body—a subtle snap and then the tension ebbed away

as he told himself he didn’t have to save her.

He just had to not care.

“Good.” He pushed away and collapsed on the mat beside her. “Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen.”

He watched her struggle to sit upright. He heard her draw a ragged breath. “Why do you hate me so much?” Her breath came hard,

and she blinked like she knew there might be tears there. “Is it because my family isn’t important enough? Fairies didn’t

visit me in the cradle and bless me with divine arrogance or—”

“Because you’re too beautiful.” He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words were out now and floating around the room. He wanted

to shoot them out of the air, break all the windows and let them fly away on the wind. But he couldn’t, so he ran a hand through

his hair, frustrated and angry with himself—with her.

“What...”

“Spies disappear, Alexandra.” Those weren’t King’s words. They were his father’s. And his grandfather’s. Those words had been

handed down for centuries, and he was just the messenger. There was probably a tablet someplace in Langley. Somewhere, they

were carved into stone. “Spies blend. They fade into the background and slip through cracks, and believe it or not, that’s

not easy to do when you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“But...”

“You stand out. And you’re reckless and dangerous and arrogant as hell, and you’re going to get someone killed someday. I

just hope I’m far away when it happens.”

They were still too close. Her eyes were too big and her breath was too warm, but he couldn’t help but press against her—nothing but sweaty skin and stares like lasers and two pounding hearts in the shadows when he whispered, “Say mercy.”

But she didn’t.

Not for a long, long time.