SWNOVELS A Game of Hearts and Heists: Chapter 19
The days blur. An exhausting haze of training, the bathhouse, eating—food, not Quinn, sadly—going through the house and packing the last few boxes, and researching. With a week to go, Stirling has already sourced all the supplies we need for the hike across the city. Food, sleeping and kit bags, medical supplies from Quinn and weapons. Remy has located Old Palace schematics that are newer than the ones the Queen gave us and located a tunnel we can use to enter below the palace. Quinn thinks we should be undetected, and Morrigan also gave the thumbs up. Which means we have an entry point for the mission. Stirling and I don’t, however, have a house to go to once the mission is complete. The unease creeping into my gut is growing into an ugly noose. I’m sure we can sofa surf for a few days when we’re back, but after that, we’re going to need to sort a new place to live.
Between some Border Walker Stirling knows and Morrigan’s knowledge of the palace, Remy is busy deciding the best route to break in and get out, as well as how to combat the security runes both on the inside and the outside of the palace.
Jacob, however, is having less luck. Given he spends most of his time racing, he doesn’t have any contacts inside the Border, so getting accurate information is trickier for him.
This evening I find him with an array of spanners and bolts surrounding him, his hands surrounded by pearlescent flames deep in my bike’s engine.
“Should I be worried?” I say as his head pops up.
“Upgrades, you’re welcome.”
“Thanks? Do I owe you beer for this, or should I purchase an upgrade on leathers and a helmet?”
“Maybe both. I had to think. I’ve not found much on transport. Had to put my hands to use, fixing something to give me the headspace for ideas.” He grins, and I help him tidy away his tools.
“Quinn has talked me through most of the basics. Carriages are few, most broke during The Tearing, and bikes are few and far between, too. She said it was like an EMP went off and fucked all the electrics. Which is not proving helpful to me.”
“But there’s hope?” I ask as I put the last tool away and we make our way inside. Morrigan sits in the corner of our planning table, her nose buried in a book with a pile next to her, and Remy is levitating moving cog parts made of copper thread in front of her. Stirling and Quinn are already on the training mats.
“There’s always hope. I’m thinking I’ll try to salvage a carriage while you’re actually inside the building. I’m not wild about splitting the team up, though.”
“Hmm, me neither. But at this point, I’m not sure we have a choice.”
He takes his tool box and dumps it with his belongings and joins the rest of the group in the middle of the warehouse.
“Tonight, ladies and gentleman, we’re moving onto weapons training,” I say and shift on the spot. This was the session I’ve been dreading. It’s one thing practicing with arms and limbs, of which most of theirs are now a delightful mottled mosaic of purple and green bruises. But when you add weapons in, I’m expecting chaos.
“We’re going to start with close combat this evening. I’m going to pair you up differently. Morrigan, you’re with Quinn. Sister, you’re with Remy. And Jacob, you’re with me. I’m doing this because your attacker may not be the same size and weight as you, and you need to defend yourselves against whoever we’re attacked by.”
“Yeah, most of the militia are male, or they were when I still lived in the Borderlands,” Quinn says.
“Close combat, small blades.” I roll out my blade case along the table and gesture for everyone to pick up a blade of their choice.
Once everyone has a blade, I turn to the group. “This is where we put all the blocks we’ve been practicing into play. These blades are real. They’re sharp, and you will fuck yourself up if you don’t block effectively.” I draw my blade across the pad of my finger and let my blood spill onto the mats.
Quinn is skittish. Her feet dancing. She needs to get a grip because Morrigan won’t hold back. I wonder briefly if I made the right choice switching the pairings, but I know without a doubt that we could get attacked by anyone in the field. Of any size. The team needs to be prepared.
“Block with your bones, not your blood. And to up the ante, the first one to draw blood gets to skip the plunge pools tonight.”
“And the loser?” Jacob asks.
“Hundred burpees.”
A low whistle rips around the room. No one wants the burpees. Literally no one. But they truly are one of the greatest body exercises. And if this lot isn’t fit enough by the time we head into the Border, then it will be all our asses on the line.
Quinn’s eyes widen and then narrow, a dark smile spreading across her lips. I can smell the fight in her. There is nothing sexier than an angry Quinn, all pent up and ready to murder.
My body reacts to her. It yearns for her, urges me forward. But I refuse. We haven’t slept together since the first night at the plunge pools. Something shifted between us that night and now we’re… I don’t know. Different. Before, it was just lust and hate. But the more I get to know her, the more I doubt all my game plans. I don’t want to ruin her anymore. If I ruin her, I ruin my heart.
“One attacker, one defender, now is the time to put all your skills and drills into practice. Ready? Go,” I bark, and the room ignites into a rush of blade swings, jabs, and grunts as bodies slam into each other. The clatter of metal knives dropping to the floor echoes around the warehouse. Good. That means they’re successfully disarming each other.
Stirling hops from foot to foot, grinning at me. “Ready, sister?” she grins.
“Always.”
She lunges, but she’s slow. Or at least slower than me. I spin out of the way and kick her legs out from beneath her. And then I look at her crumpled body on the floor and laugh.
“When will you learn?”
She grunts some inaudible profanity at me and scrambles up. A hot flare burning in her expression. This is the best way to beat Stirling. Piss her off enough, she makes mistakes.
She lunges again, blade out.
“Sloppy,” I tut as I lean out the way and bat her arm out of reach.
She snarls, baring her teeth, and it makes me laugh. “You know you won’t win.”
“You know you’re not going to win,” she flicks her gaze to Quinn.
Her words catch me off guard. Quinn is sweating profusely, her jaw locked in concentration. What happens when this is over? What happens if everything returns to the way it was? I don’t want that anymore. I want to ho—
I’m on my back, a knife at my throat. Stirling’s victorious smirk leering down at me.
“Found your weakness,” she says, glancing at Quinn.
“Ahh, but dearest Stirling… I found yours first.” And with that, I nudge the blade. She hadn’t noticed I’d slipped it against her side and into her ribs, just enough to draw blood.
Her eyes widen. Then she sags onto my chest and mumbles, “Wanker,” into my chest.
“You never could stop yourself gloating.” I roar with laughter and roll her off me. “That’s no plunge pool for me tonight, and,” I raise my voice, “hundred burpees go to Stirling.”
Everyone stops to see Stirling clutching her ribs. But Morrigan is so deep in sparring Quinn she doesn’t hear me.
Quinn turns to face me. And then the world slows. Morrigan’s face drops and scrunches. She realises what’s about to happen, but too late for her to stop herself.
I’m up, running, reaching for Quinn. But I’m slow. Too fucking slow, and the blade plunges into Quinn’s shoulder.
Her face pales, a strangled cry escapes her mouth, and then the entire room is silent. An eerie blanket wrapping around us as the realisation of what’s happened sinks in.
Quinn’s eyes roll, her knees go, and then she’s in my arms and I’m running her to the medical room.
There are shouts and noise behind us, but I don’t care. I need to get the blade out of her shoulder and make sure she’s not nicked anything vital.
I lay her on her front, slice through her training shirt and sports bra, letting it fall to the sides in one smooth motion.
“STIRLING,” I bellow, but she’s already behind me, holding one of the medical packs. I’m not medically trained, but the guild taught us enough to treat traumas in the field. We were always being injured, my body is littered with the scars to prove it. While I can’t operate or do half the shit Quinn can, I can assess whether the blade has nicked anything vital and if not, get it out and stitch it.
“Iodine, needle, thread and pressure wound kits,” I say, but Stirling is already ahead of me.
Morrigan appears, her face ashen. “Scarlett, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine. I know. Let this be a lesson for all of us to never, ever take our eyes off the blade.”
Quinn rouses. Tears stream down her cheeks.
“Stay still, Quinn.”
“Quinn, I’m so sorry,” Morrigan says, kneeling beside her.
“You get to hold her hand when I pull the blade. That can be your punishment.”
Quinn manages a staccato laugh, but it’s only half-hearted and edged with the hesitation only nerves can bring.
“Is it going to hurt?” she says.
“Yes,” Stirling and I say simultaneously.
“I can help ease the pain if you’ll let me. I’m not a fully qualified medic, I can’t get rid of it all, but it might ease it a bit,” Morrigan says.
Quinn nods. Morrigan stands, holds her hands over Quinn’s shoulder and bends and contorts her fingers until a pearlescent light coats her shoulder and the tension leaves her muscles.
I lean over Quinn’s body, examining the placement of the blade and the depth it’s penetrated, the position.
“It’s not fatal. In fact, it’s not even that deep. A couple of inches. You’ll be sore. But I suspect you have a potion in that shop of yours that will help speed up the recovery.”
She groans into the bed.
I find Remy and Jacob hovering, and Stirling’s ribs dropping her own set of blood on the floor where I nicked her.
“Oh, for Gods sake. Morrigan, go patch Stirling. Everyone else, out.” There’s a scuffle, but a few seconds later, the door clicks shut and we’re alone.
“You need to grip the bed. I know Morrigan has helped, but this is still going to hurt like nothing else. But I need to get it out. Okay?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and nods into the bed.
“Ready?”
“No.”
I laugh. “Good. Three… Two…”
I yank the blade out and apply the pressure dressing. She screams. It’s a piercing shriek that makes my bones shiver.
“What the fuck happened to one?”
“Never, ever go on one. If you’re pulling a blade out of someone, they’re expecting the pain. If they know you’re going on the one count, they’ll tighten their muscles and that can do more damage.”
“I knew that,” she growls. “I’m the fucking medic.”
“Not right now, you’re not.”
“It burns like a son of a whore.”
I bite my lip. “This is unlikely to be the worst injury you suffer. Not once we’re in the Borderlands.”
“Aren’t I the medic? Shouldn’t I be the one stitching me up?”
“Are you also a contortionist? Because if you’re not, good luck bending to reach this. Now lay still. I need to straddle you.”
That shuts her up. And then, she giggles. It builds and builds until she’s shivering. It’s shock, of course, settling into her system after a stab wound. Before the shock shuts her body down, I need to get her stitched. I pull the needle and supplies closer and carefully hoist myself onto the bed. I slide my thighs over her arse. Her cheeks are firm between my thighs, and it is more than a little distracting. Warmth floods my groin, my knickers immediately wet. I push thoughts of pulling her trousers down and slipping my fingers between her flesh away.
I lift the pressure dressing off and lean forward. My hands find her skin. She gasps, shocked at my touch.
“I’m going to need you to tilt up, if you can.”
As she tilts, there’s a flash of brown plump skin and the briefest hint of dark nipple, and I swear to Gods, my mouth dries. My body taut with the urge to flip her over. To run my hands over her skin. To tug her nipples until she cries my name.
This is a dangerous position to be in. She keeps her arm up. I swear she does it on purpose. I have a delicious view of one breast, and it makes focusing intensely difficult.
I force my gaze onto the wound. “I’m going to lift the bandage off. The bleeding has stemmed enough I can start stitching. This is going to sting. But you can take meds after.”
“I suppose this is what I can expect when this is all over?” she says.
I frown as I puncture her skin over and over. “What do you mean?”
She’s stopped shivering finally.
“A knife to the spine when I’m least expecting it. You won’t let the client thing go, and I won’t jeopardise my business. So I guess that’s it, isn’t it? I’ll need to watch my back for the rest of my life.”
I purse my lips. Because yes, two weeks ago, that’s exactly what I’d have said she needed to do. But now? Now I know her, now I’m not really sure what I want. I stitch the skin together, knitting it into a neat line. When I’m done, I tie off the thread and place a bandage over the wound. Then I help her upright, until we’re facing each other.
“One, I think you’ll find I’ve already stabbed you once before.” I finger the faint line a centimetre below the stitches. This scar was from when I pinned her to a wall with a blade so I could finish an assassination without her interfering or making me puke or blind. “And two, I’d never be so petty as to stab you in the back. If I was going to assassinate you, I’d do it to your face.”
There’s a moment where the space between us stills. There’s no one but us. The noise of the warehouse dulls, vanishes. Until all I can hear is her heart beat. All I can feel is her blood on my hands, the sweat between our skin. Her mouth parts, her breath heavy.
Fuck. What if the blade had been lower? What if it had caught her lung, her heart? What if it hadn’t been a shallow wound?
What if I’d lost her?
Her tongue skitters over her lips. “How many times have we hurt each other? Stabbed, punched, poisoned?”
I shut my eyes, anything to stop the yearning. “Too many to count, almost as many orgasms as we’ve given each other. I guess it’s our foreplay.”
She smiles and leans into my neck. “I always did like foreplay.”
In this moment, right here, this is when I realise how much I want her. How much I need to taste her skin, feel the caress as she wraps her arms around me, have her by my side as I fight, when I sleep, when I race. I want to fight for her, with her, win her over and over.
I want all of that, not just today, not just tomorrow, but even after this is all over.
I pull away and help her into a gown to keep her warm.
“But you won’t kill me, will you?” she asks.
“No. I stopped wanting to kill you a long time ago. Doesn’t mean you don’t drive me to fucking madness, though.”
She laughs, runs her fingers along my jawline, her thumb over my mouth, and pulls me close. But before she kisses me, she stops. Her shoulders sag like they’re weighed down with secrets and unsaid words.
“There’s something I need to t—”
The door opens. Stirling coughs.
“We need to go. We’ve got a house viewing tonight,” she says and then has the audacity to actually look apologetic for interrupting yet again.
I give Quinn a last glance. “See you tomorrow.” And I walk out, shoulder barging into Stirling as I exit the medical room. I don’t stop and march right out the warehouse.
“You are a cock blocker of the highest fucking order,” I growl at her as she catches up to me outside.
“Yes, well, this time we do have a house appointment. But why is it I cock block, again? Right, because of what you told me you wanted to do and how much I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to dive in with her unless you’re really ready.”
“Keep your fucking voice down. I changed my mind. I won’t kill her.”
Stirling shakes her head at me. “Oh great, well, you still have a giant fucking problem. When this all ends and the mission is over, what are you going to do? We’re going to go back to our lives. And if we’re not successful, what then? You’re going to have to choose the girl or the business. Because you can’t have both.”
“Then I guess we have to make sure we’re successful, don’t we?”