Page 11 of The Hitman

Chapter Eight

Callie

T he car is silent as Jackson drives us away from the city.

Leo dozed off in the backseat halfway through, his cheek pressed to the window, arms curled around his stuffed dragon Jaxon had grabbed from the wreckage.

We’re heading west—away from the city and the glittering skyline. Away from the smoldering heap of what was supposed to be my temporary home.

Jaxon’s palm is warm when he places it over my bouncing knee. The blood of the man who wanted him dead is dried in the creases of his knuckles, but even if he’d washed it away, it wouldn’t change what happened.

It certainly doesn’t change the fact that he lied to me.

I pull away from him and curl my knees into my chest for the rest of the drive. I have no idea where we’re headed, but when we finally stop, the only light in the area comes from the car’s headlights bouncing off a massive slab of stone.

Jaxon reaches above our heads to punch a code into an unmarked panel, and the ground rumbles beneath us. Part of the bluff yawns open, and my jaw drops.

A bunker. An actual underground bunker.

I’m not sure how I could be surprised after what we just survived, but somehow, I am.

“Where are we?” I rasp.

“Somewhere no one will find us.”

“Right,” I retort, unusually snappy. “Makes sense, given you’re a spy and all.”

The cave entrance shutters closed behind us, and Jaxon sighs before cutting the engine. Leo’s snoring softly in the backseat, but he lowers his voice, anyway. “I’m not a spy.”

I whirl on him, betrayal flooding every inch of me. “I don’t care what you are. You put us in danger with little more than security cameras and a single guard as a shield. What were you thinking?”

“I had everything under control.”

“Is that what you think?”

His stare is distant as his fingers curl around the steering wheel, knuckles blanching.

“I’ve been tracking Volkov for weeks. I don’t know how he slipped past me, but it doesn’t matter now because it’s over.

We’re safe. Isa will recover and wake up without fear of retaliation, and we can all move forward together. ”

I laugh, hollow and furious. “Together? You’re out of your mind if you think I’m staying anywhere with you.”

My blood runs cold when he doesn’t respond.

“I’m going home, Jaxon,” I say more firmly. “First thing tomorrow morning, and I don’t care how you have to make that happen.”

His jaw sets, lips tightening, not in anger, but in something colder. Something final. And when our eyes meet, the air shifts. The warmth I’ve seen in him when he’s holding Leo or grinning at me after I’ve made him laugh is replaced by something darker. Not unkind. Just… unwilling .

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” I whisper, a chill curling up my spine.

Eyes softening, he reaches for me, but I jerk away.

“Please, Callie. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he says, voice low and wrecked. He brushes the back of my hand with his finger. “I don’t want to lose this.”

I glance back at Leo, torn over leaving him and struggling to accept that the safe haven the three of us built is no longer.

“I need some space.” I pop the car door open, the urge to breathe, to move, to be anywhere but trapped in this car with him, overwhelming me.

The air in the dark cave is thick and pungent with the tang of dirt and stale water. I wind my arms across my middle, but the subtle warmth is a poor substitute for the comfort I desperately crave.

Jaxon gathers Leo in his arms, tucking the stuffed dragon under one arm before shutting the car door behind him.

Leo melts into him, instinctively curling against his chest with his feet dangling at Jaxon’s sides, and in the dim light of the tunnel, I lock eyes with the dangerous, formidable man I thought I knew.

And yet, as he steps closer, I’m given a glimpse at the quiet ache of someone carved from violence, still learning how to hold something soft.

“This way,” he says before leading us down a dark hall toward an automatic door.

The stuffy darkness of the cave is a dizzying contrast to the hidden fortress we enter, which reeks of steel and survival.

Gunmetal-gray walls and harsh overhead lights greet us. We pass a wall of security monitors before reaching a central room with a small kitchen area, two cots, and a sleek metal table and chairs.

A hydraulic whine sounds before the exit door lowers, closing us in like prisoners in a cell. Light-headed, I press a hand to my tightening chest and start to pace while Jaxon tucks Leo into one of the cots.

As if sensing my panic, Jaxon nods toward the door to my left.

“There’s a medic room through there,” he says. “Go catch your breath. Scream if you want. Either way, I’ll come find you when I’m done here.”

He turns back to Leo, who mumbles sleepily while tucking the blanket Jaxon covers him with beneath his chin.

I want to tell him not to bother coming after me. That I’ve made up my mind about leaving, and there’s nothing left for us to discuss. But I stop just before the exit and look over my shoulder.

Blood from Jaxon’s wound has completely soaked the cloth he tied around it, but it doesn’t faze him. He’s too focused on putting Chancy in a spot where Leo will see him when he wakes and making sure the covers are wrapped around his little bare feet.

I wish watching a grown man fussing over the placement of a stuffed animal while caring for a child who isn’t even his didn’t move me as much as it does, but here we are.

“Uncle Jax?” Leo murmurs, peeking one eye open before sitting upright.

“Hey, buddy.”

Leo stares at Jaxon’s injury, and the blood splatter still marking his skin. To Leo’s credit, he remains relatively calm. And for a moment, a sense of pride replaces the anger and betrayal warring inside me.

“I’m scared…” Leo sniffles as he braves a glance around the bunker. “Where are we?”

Resigned to the truth, Jaxon takes his nephew’s hand. He mutters softly to him while I slip away, giving them a moment of privacy.

Jaxon

I hadn’t realized just how much I needed to be alone with Leo. How deeply I needed to apologize for endangering his life. And yet, the little shit still wrapped his arms around my neck, rambling on about me saving him and Callie like I’m some kind of hero, even though I’m not.

But I’ll admit, I really needed that hug.

It’s quiet when I enter the med room after waiting for Leo to fall asleep.

“You didn’t lock the door,” I say, letting it close softly behind me.

Callie doesn’t flinch. Just keeps her arms crossed as she leans against the metal worktable. Her stare is distant, with eyes that are red and glassy, but not weak. Never weak.

“Would it have mattered?” she asks.

I glance at the supplies she’s laid out—gauze, antiseptic, and a pre-packaged needle and thread. All neatly arranged, like she’s trying to bring order to the chaos I’ve dragged her into.

“Yes,” I say. My boots echo on the tile as I move closer. “But also, no.”

Her shoulders stiffen, and I see the tears she’s fighting like hell to hold back before I hear the sharp inhale she tries to hide.

When I lift my hands to her cheeks and tip her face to mine, her tears spill anyway.

“Yes, because I would’ve bled out waiting for you to open it.” My thumbs swipe at the evidence of what I’ve put her through. “And no, because we’re not finished, Callie. I know you feel it, and I do, too.”

She shudders at my touch, her fight breaking under the weight of all this wreckage between us.

“I’m so mad at you,” she whispers.

“I know.” My forehead meets hers, and I breathe her in. Warm and alive. Sweet and seductive. So perfectly her. “And as much as I wish you weren’t, it’s okay that you are.”

She’s trembling, every breath a question she can’t voice. But I can be patient for her. I’ll wait as long as it takes for her to gather her thoughts and be damn grateful she’s letting me touch her at all.

“I-I don’t know what to do from here,” she says. “I don’t know what any of this means or how to feel.”

“Then we don’t figure it all out tonight.” I straighten just enough for her to see the sincerity on my face. “We start slow. You can help me with this if you want”—I motion to the makeshift tourniquet on my bicep—“and ask me whatever you need to. And this time, I promise to give you the truth.”

“Okay.” She hugs herself as she steps back, and that one tiny motion becomes a vise around my heart.

“Okay,” I echo, smiling faintly after removing my shirt and tossing it to the ground.

Her gaze roves across my chest and abdomen, noting every scar and mark. And as much as I crave those eyes on me, I’d prefer it not be while I’m covered in another man’s blood.

She follows me to the sink where I begin by unwrapping the scrap of cotton I tore off an old shirt before we left to see how deep the gash is. Blood has soaked all the way through, clinging to the material with thick, dark clots when I pull it away.

Callie swallows hard, probably hoping I won’t notice her face going pale.

I chuckle softly, because I definitely do.

Even now, she’s trying to be brave. Still trying to be strong for me, even through her anger, and I admire the fuck out of her for it.

“New plan.” I nod to the chair beside the table. “You sit your pretty ass over there, and I’ll take care of everything.”

Her brow creases when she follows my stare, then turns back to me. “You’re going to stitch it yourself?”

“Relax, baby.” I flash a smile in the hopes of disarming her, even a little. “I could do this in my sleep.”

I see the weight of what I’ve said when it hits her. The kind of life it implies. The scars it confirms.

She doesn’t say anything as she moves to sit down, but then, she doesn’t have to. Because somehow, for some reason, she chooses to stay.

And that’s all that matters.

I finish cleaning out the wound and lightly pack it before grabbing a couple of rags and scrubbing my face, chest, and arms. I return to the table, and after opening the supplies I need, I angle my body away from her and pierce my skin with the needle.