The Black Wolf (In the Company of Killers, #5)(72)

“How is that an undercover mission?” she asks. “After fifteen years and a family, how is it still a mission? I’d think by then it was something very different.”

“To some, sure,” I say, nodding, puffing on my cigarette. “And that operative I’m sure loves the kids he made with his wife—maybe he even loves his wife—but a good operative, like Victor for example, can still draw the line even after fifteen years of marriage; he’ll still be able to do what has to be done when and if that time comes.”

“What are you trying to say, Niklas?” She glares at me.

I’m trying to tell you, Izzy, without outright telling you, that my brother may love you, but he will always be Victor Faust, that sometime now or later, he’s going to realize that you’re just another Claire.

“I’m trying to tell you,” I say out loud, “that there is no place for children in our world. Never has been and never will be. And if an operative gets knocked up, or knocks a woman up, that operative will have to be dealt with in whatever way Victor sees fit; in some cases, he might cut the operative loose, give him a free pass to live his life, but you can bet your ass he or she’d be watched until the day they die.”

“And in other cases?” she asks.

I shrug, pause, and then answer, “Let’s just say that just about everyone gets fixed, Izzy.”

She looks right at me.

“Except for me,” she says, searching my face for the answers, some kind of understanding that maybe only I can give her. “Why do you think Victor hasn’t pressured me about sterilization?”

“Well, for one thing,” I say, “he’s not worried about you getting pregnant because he can’t get you pregnant.”

“And for another thing?”

She waits.

But I find myself at a loss for words—I never expected to be slapped in the face by this, of all things. Why hasn’t my brother not only pressured but ordered her to be sterilized? It’s very out of character for him, so unlike Victor that I don’t think I’ve ever been as confused as I am right now.

“Niklas?”

I snap out of it and look over at Izzy.

“Like I said, he can’t knock you up so there’s no reason to worry about it.” Setting my cigarette in the ashtray on the table between us, I lean toward her. “Why are you asking me this stuff, anyway? And don’t say you were just curious. There’s more to it than that; it’s all over your face.”





Izabel





I didn’t ask Niklas about pregnancies and children because I was worried about getting knocked up on a mission, not even the Mexico mission. I will never be raped again, that is a f*cking certainty; I will kill any man who ever tries to have his way with me. But that’s not what my question was about—I was only thinking about my child with Javier; thinking about it now more than I ever have since I’m not the only person in our Order anymore who knows about him or her.

And I never would’ve asked Niklas, of all people, about any of this stuff if it weren’t for the fact that he’s Victor’s brother and knows him better than anyone. But it doesn’t come without guilt—it should be Victor I’m asking these kinds of questions, not his brother. But I can never tell Victor the truth. I don’t know why, and that bothers me immensely…I just know that I can’t.





Niklas





Izabel looks away from my eyes, shrugs her shoulders; just like me, she’s covering up the true weight of her answer. “But that is the only reason”—(liar)—“I guess going on missions like these, and the one I’ll be going on in Mexico with Nora in a few months, they make me think about stuff like this.”

Ah, so therein lies the truth—Izzy worries, probably thinks about it all the time, what would happen to her if she managed to get herself raped on one of these missions, especially these missions.

I would never let that happen…

“No one’s going to f*cking touch you, Izzy,” I say, looking right at her; she keeps her gaze fixed out ahead at the rooftops. “That’s why Victor sent me here with you, because he knows nothing like that will happen to you with me at your side.” I pause, searching her face for something still hidden and then add, “But it’s not this mission you’re worried about, is it?”

She doesn’t answer.

“Y’know,” I say, looking out at the rooftops with her, “if I had any say in it, you wouldn’t be allowed to go to Mexico.”

She looks over quickly, defensively, her lips taut.

“Then it’s a good thing you have no say in it,” she snaps.

“Hey, I understand why you want to be a part of it, but it’s the last place in the world you should be going.”

“We’ve already had this argument,” she points out. “Why do you care, anyway, what I do or where I go?”

“I don’t,” I tell her instantly, crush my cigarette out in the ashtray. “I’m just sayin’.”

“Sounds to me like,” Nora speaks up from behind, “we just need to get Izabel fixed and get it over with.”

I really hate that woman—just because I f*cked her doesn’t change that.