Mr. Dark 3 (Tamed #3)(13)

We made dinner together, a simple mushroom risotto with grilled slices of duck breast and a kale salad. Among his other talents, Mark was a talented home cook, and even when we were overseas he would often spend some time learning bits and pieces of the local cuisine. Since coming home, he'd combined some of those spices into American favorites to let us both enjoy great home cooked meals. As we sat down, I grinned and took a drink of lemon water. "You know, it's going to be interesting."

"What's that?" Mark asked as he took a bit of the risotto. "Tomorrow?"

"No, that I'm not worried about anything. Either we do it right or we don't. I was just thinking though that our married life is going to be very interesting." I tried some of the duck breast, which Mark had prepared using some Korean spices. It practically melted in my mouth, and I sighed happily. "I mean, not that it wasn't going to be anyway."

"I think that would be an understatement," Mark replied. "But what exactly do you mean?"

"Well, business owners by day, taking out the criminal underworld by night, and let's not forget getting married and maybe having a family somewhere in the mix. We're going to have a lot on our hands."

Mark thought about it, then smiled. He reached across the small table we were sitting at and took my hand. "There'd be nobody else in the world I would rather do it with," he said. "And as much as I'd enjoy making love to you for the rest of the night, we probably should get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be very stressful."

Chapter 8

Sophie

We woke up before dawn the next day, after I had tossed and turned most of the night. Preparing for this ambush was different than when we'd rescued Tabby from the Confederation men at the club. Then, we'd been going off of three hours of preparation. Our entire plan was basically on the fly, and my role was to mostly try and keep myself from being blown away. Mark had been the one strapped up and responsible for dealing with the bad guys. Until I'd pulled the shotgun pistol and blasted the guy who was sneaking up on Mark from behind, I'd never expected to have to do anything.

This time was different. The two Russians we were expecting were seasoned pros. Mark was pretty sure he was better than either of them alone, but two working together would be dangerous. Therefore, he needed my help, and it was a great feeling. It was a different mental process, knowing that I was expected to try to kill someone.

Every time I closed my eyes, I could see in my mind the fight in the night club, and the feeling as I pulled the trigger on the shotgun pistol. The recoil hammered through my arms and sent my hands flying up and back, almost hitting me in the face as the unmuffled roar deafened me. My eyes would fly open, I'd be panting, and it would take me another ten minutes to try and close my eyes and get to sleep again.

Finally, around one in the morning, I dropped off into what could best be called a disturbed sleep. I won't even go into the dreams I had, full of death and violence and blood. I sat up with a scream barely contained behind my lips, and sweat dripping down my face. I glanced at the digital clock and saw that it was three fifty eight in the morning. "Fuck," I muttered, running my hand down my face.

Mark, who I thought had been sleeping but had been lying quietly on his side of our bed, turned and looked at me with concern in his eyes. "If it's any consolation, I know how you feel."

I thought back to the first time he'd told me about what his job was, and how he'd killed seventy six people so far. He had told me that for every single one of them, he had nightmares and regrets. It was one of the things that had helped me realize that despite the bloodiness of his profession, I felt that Mark was in his heart still a decent man, someone I could love. Now I was to join the brotherhood, it seemed. It was what I chose to do, but I admit I was scared that I was moving a little too fast, getting in over my head. "Does it get any easier?"

"For some of the men I used to call coworkers, yes," Mark said quietly, sitting up and next to me. "They were the scary ones, and the ones that we knew once they reached a certain level, they couldn't be trusted any more. They were the ones who came to not only tolerate but even enjoy or need the violence and the blood. They were the ones we sometimes had to take out because they'd gone fully over the edge."

"Did you ever...?" I asked fearfully. Mark nodded his head.

"Number forty seven. His name was Bob, probably not his real name, but he also worked for the Confederation. I had to hunt him down and put him down out after he'd taken out not just his target, but the target's entire family just because he wanted to."

I shivered and leaned into Mark, who held me close. We lay back down on the bed, and for the first time all night I felt some comfort. Having his arms around me reassured me that I was still normal for feeling the way I did. "How many more will we need to kill?"

Mark shook his head. "Not as many as you fear, I think. The bigger weapon will be the use of information, spying, and media exposure. If we do those right, it'll be much cleaner. But yes, some will have to die."

I decided to change the subject, all the talk of killing started to bring me down a little. "How is it you get any rest beforehand? You don't sound exhausted or blurry in the least. I thought you were asleep."

"Meditation," Mark said, squeezing me in his arms and kissing my neck. "And one other thing, at least with this idea."