Assassin In My Bed Read online

  But then, he had a purpose. He was growing stronger, faster, more cunning, all in the name of saving lives, of defending the freedom of the country that took him in when he was a child. Now, his gains are earned in the cushy, air conditioned gym where he works as a trainer. They are the result of boredom between clients, made from mindless, soulless weightlifting repetitions.

  Zane splashes aftershave on his freshly shaven face, then dresses in dark gray slacks, and a black button down shirt. Out of habit, he almost grabs his baseball hat. But he won’t be needing that today. VC Solutions is sending a car to take him to the job interview. He won’t have to worry about being around the general public and getting recognized.

  After so many years of living on his own, it’s strange to walk downstairs and hear the sounds of another living person. In this case, those sounds are the whir of Zane’s mother’s oxygen machine, and the soft padding of her stockinged feet. Nora, Zane’s mother, moved in with him last month. She nor Zane could afford the mortgage on the house Zane had bought her at the height of his fame. No other choice remained. So, Zane insisted they sell the house and she move in with him, ensuring that Zane would never hear the end of this shortsighted business decision.

  In addition to the sounds, Zane also smells something. A smoky scent wafts up to his nostrils when he’s halfway down the staircase. Zane recognizes it immediately.

  “Mati, are you crazy?” Zane asks as he bounds down the stairs.

  He finds Nora in the kitchen, a burning cigarette hanging from her lips as she waits on the coffee to brew. Green, translucent tubes run from her nostrils to the knee high canister of oxygen in the neighboring hallway.

  Nora throws out her hands, her wrinkled face scrunching in confusion. “What’s with all the yelling at this early hour?”

  Zane marches up to her, and plucks the cigarette from her lips. He stubs it out on the bottom of his shoe before throwing it into the sink. He glares at his mother sternly, causing the diminutive woman to place her hands on her hips defiantly.

  “Can I not have one pleasure in this life?” Nora asks.

  “Not when it can blow us both up,” Zane says through his teeth. “Let me teach you a very simple concept. Oxygen is flammable. You were this close to having your face melted off. You want pleasure? Eat a cupcake.”

  “Ach,” Nora throws her hands at him. “You have too many rules in this house. Have a seat. I’ll make you breakfast.”

  “I only have time for coffee.”

  Nora focuses her deep brown eyes on her son, letting him know she means business. “You can sit for that.”

  Zane watches his mother’s back as she pours a cup of coffee, stirring in the cream and sugar just the way Zane likes it. From behind, she still looks like a young woman. It’s the long, cascading black hair that makes her appear so youthful. As a child, Zane adored his mother’s hair. It was soft, impossibly dark, and perfect for a toddler to twirl around his finger. Though he’ll never admit it, he’s happy to have her here.

  Nora carries two mugs of coffee to the kitchen table and sits across from him. “Big day today,” she says, taking a small sip. “Are you nervous?”

  Zane teasingly raises his eyebrow. “Not until you said something.”

  Nora rolls her eyes with exaggeration. “And everything is my fault,” she says with perfectly executed sarcasm. Her face softens. She reaches across the table to take her son’s hand. “They will be fools not to hire you, my son, the American hero.”

  Zane cringes inwardly. He takes a sip of coffee to hide the discomfort on his face, but Nora still notices.

  “You shouldn’t be ashamed of your accomplishments,” Nora says. “You should be proud.”

  “Proud,” Zane sighs. “I was proud. Too proud. And now, here I am.”

  Nora narrows her eyes, her pupils dark and gleaming. “Your past belongs to you, son. And something you own can’t define you. You have all the power.” She cradles his face in her palm. “You have a bright future ahead.”

  “I’ll just be happy to work somewhere other than the gym.”

  “Yes.” Nora leans back in her chair, nodding. “A stable paycheck, benefits. The wife will follow, then grandchildren for me.”

  A horn sounds outside. Zane takes a last sip of coffee, and kisses Nora on the cheek. “Whatever you say, mati,” he says, then heads to the door.

  “They can’t come to the door like a normal person?” Nora calls behind him.

  “No cigarettes,” Zane yells over his shoulder.

  *

  The car parked on the curb outside of Zane’s house isn’t at all what he expected. He stops on the porch and squints in confusion. In truth, he’s not sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t the garishly shiny red corvette that's causing his neighbors to stare out of their windows. This suburb on the outskirts of Raleigh is rather affluent, but even still, this display of wealth feels vulgar. A younger version of himself would’ve been ecstatic to ride in a car like that, to see just how fast it could go. But Zane knows just how dangerous his old way of thinking is. He can’t chase pleasure and adrenaline highs anymore. He knows the consequences of that all too well.

  A man, sharply dressed in a black tailored suit, with a stylish man bun on top of his head, rolls down the window.

  “Mr. Celick. I’m Jacob. We spoke on the phone.”

  Zane gives him a nod in confirmation.

  “What are you waiting for? Hop in,” Jacob says.

  Zane lowers his head to hide his face as he walks around to the passenger seat of the corvette. He knows that this won’t do any good. Any of his neighbors could recognize the enormous Bosnian from a mile away. As he slides across the black leather seat, he imagines what those neighbors must be thinking, that Zane will soon start back up with the loud parties, and dangerous drag races on their quiet suburban streets.

  After shaking Zane’s hand, Jacob looks at him expectantly.

  “So, what do you think?” Jacob spreads his arms out, gesturing to the car in front of him. “You ever been in a corvette before?”

  “Once or twice,” Zane says. He leaves out the part about wrapping a vintage corvette around a telephone poll. Lucky for him, he was so drunk, he didn’t get hurt. Zane gazes over the sleek console. Though he refuses to be seduced by it, Zane can’t help but marvel at the beautiful piece of machinery he’s sitting in.

  Jacob puts the car in drive, then peels away from the curb. The squeal of the tires echoes through the idyllic, tree lined neighborhood.

  “Zero to sixty, just like that,” Jacob says with a snap on his finger. “Go ahead and settle in. It’s a two hour drive.”

  “I’m sorry?” Zane asks. “I thought the office building was downtown.”

  Jacob gives him a sly smile. “You aren’t going to the office building. You’re going to the private compound of Vincent Connor himself.”

  The nerves Zane’s been trying to hold down bubble to the surface. “I’m meeting with Vincent Connor? VC?”

  “The one and only,” Jacob says. Zane notices a slight southern twang in Jacob’s accent, and figures he must be a local.

  “No, that can’t be right,” Zane says, shaking his head. “You said in the emails that it was only a security job.”

  Jacob cocks his head to the side. “It is security, in a sense. A very specialized sort of security. Something that’s aligned with your unique talents.”

  They drive away from the city deep into the North Carolina countryside. Jacob keeps up the conversation with an upbeat attitude. Jacob is easy to be around, even if he’s a bit of a blowhard. Zane smiles and nods along, but he can’t stop puzzling over Jacob’s words. My unique talents? What’s he talking about? All I know how to do is kill people or give them six pack abs.

  They haven’t seen a house for miles when Jacob turns off of the main road onto a nondescript gravel path that cuts deep into the woods. The corvette handles smoothly enough over the uneven earth. At first, dense forest flanks them on both sides. The
n suddenly, a massive clearing with several buildings open up. It’s so deep in the forest, it would never be seen from the road. You could only find it if you knew it was here.

  A chainlink fence runs around the perimeter of the compound. Through the fence, Zane sees what looks like an obstacle course with a dozen or so men and women going through it. They climb over steep walls, swim through mud, and hurl their bodies up ropes. It reminds Zane of basic training.

  “Training ground for new recruits,” Jacob explains. “Even though we’re a private company, our mercenary and security training is right up there with the Navy Seals.”

  Zane tries not to bristle at the comment. While he was overseas during his service, the brigades from private companies like VC Solutions proved to be a real pain in his ass. Yes, they were as strong and tough as any government trained soldier, but the culture was different. They didn’t place as much importance on loyalty, and a duty to take care of one another, like Zane and his team did. They were just going after a paycheck, trying to get ahead to get a promotion.

  In the distance, Zane sees a small plane parked on an asphalt runway. In front of that is an industrial building, a massive, grey rectangle that stands about three stories high, much lower than the surrounding tree line.

  Jacob drives further down the gravel path, and it eventually turns to smooth asphalt. They pass through a few security stops along the way. Jacob waves his ID card at all of them, and they make it through without any problem. Zane soon realizes that they’re heading straight for that dark building. The closer they approach, the larger it seems. It looks like a dark storm cloud set against the bright blue sky. It gives Zane a strange feeling. Jacob parks the car on a side lot in a covered space. In front of that space is a placard bearing Jacob’s name, and his title, executive assistant.

  The building is eerily quiet when they walk inside. From the bottom floor, Zane can see all the way up to the ceiling. The upper floors run around the edge of the building. Everything is covered in dark, luminescent tile. His footsteps echo through the building. Zane looks back to Jacob for direction, but Jacob’s just standing there. Zane has the uneasy feeling that he’s waiting for something.

  The silence is startlingly shattered by the clang of symbols. Zane clasps his pounding heart, cursing under his breath. The clang is soon followed by a full marching band, bursting into a patriotic song. They appear on the levels above Zane, playing brass, woodwinds, and beating drums. Other people appear behind them. They’re dressed in a business casual manner, and appear to work here. Each of them holds a balloon in the color of red, white, or blue. They simultaneously release the balloons over the balcony, and they casually float down to Zane and Jacob’s feet. Two women unravel a banner that proclaims We Salute You, Zane Celick.

  Zane closes his eyes, trying desperately to convince himself that this isn’t happening. When he opens his eyes again, he can’t escape his reality. Smiling faces look down at him, clapping and cheering. This isn’t what he signed up for. He was supposed to do an interview with a security company, not be forced to endure this spectacle. Jacob slaps Zane’s back heartily, though Zane can barely look Jacob in the eye.

  The band finishes their number with a flourish. Everyone applauds, including Zane, who feels obligated to do so. Up on the balcony, one man claps louder than the rest. He’s a heavyset man in his late fifties. He has a thick, stark white mustache and matching, wiry mutton chops. The suit he wears is expertly tailored to fit over his heavy cowboy boots. Jacob nudges Zane while nodding towards the man. Zane realizes that’s Vincent Connor.

  Vincent raises his meaty arms, and the crowd quiets down. When he speaks, his voice booms throughout the building without the aid of a microphone.

  “A hero’s welcome for a true hero. On behalf of everyone at VC Solutions, it’s an honor to have you here, sir.”

  At Vincent Connor’s direction, the crowd erupts into applause again. After letting it go on for a few minutes, Vincent waves his arms, and they go silent. Vincent looks down at Zane.

  “Would you like to say a few words?” Vincent asks.

  Heat rushes to up Zane’s neck, reddening his face. He feels every eye on him. Looking down at his feet, he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

  “Uh, thanks for this,” Zane says. “I-uh, appreciate it. Really.” His voice is softer compared to Vincent’s, and doesn’t have quite the same command of the room. People applaud for him nonetheless.

  Vincent descends the stairs with a confident, if not flamboyant, gait. With every step, his head bobs a bit. Vincent approaches Zane with an outstretched hand.

  “It’s an honor to shake the hand of the man who killed Iman Hussan, may that asshole burn in hell forever.” Vincent grabs Zane’s hand and shakes it with an excessively hard grip. He also pats Zane’s back with the same zealousness. He grabs Zane’s shoulder and pulls him in close, lowering his voice. “Now, I’ve got to know. Did that piece of shit beg for his life? Did he get on his knees and grovel like a dog?”

  Zane looks to the side, his vision dull as the memory springs to life. “He was asleep. But his wives cried and begged.”

  Vincent pokes out his bottom lip. Zane realizes this isn’t what he wanted to hear. Vincent wants salacious details like the television reporters who interviewed Zane shortly after his identity was revealed. It kills Zane to acquiesce, but he needs this job. Otherwise, it won’t be long before he and Nora are moving again.

  “We didn’t give him the chance to beg for his life,” Zane says, his voice thick. “He didn’t deserve to.”

  Vincent nods slowly. “I would’ve liked to hear that he suffered, myself, but I understand your way of thinking.” He gestures towards a the hallway. “Let’s take this to my office.” Vincent looks around at the people overhead until his gaze lands on who he’s looking for. “Grace,” he barks. “Pour the hero a scotch. The bottle in my private cabinet. You know the one I mean.”

  Grace is a young woman, probably in her late twenties. Her hair falls in perfect blonde waves around her shoulders. She wears a royal purple blazer, and matching skirt. She’s strikingly beautiful for this office setting. Grace gives a curt nod, then runs to fulfill these orders.

  Jacob waits outside in the hallway while Zane and Vincent enter the office. The walls of Vincent’s office are covered with the mounted heads of various animals. Zane sees several alligators, a few different kinds of bears, and various sizes of reptiles. Each of their mouths are open, as if ready to sink their fangs into flesh at any moment. Though their twisted snarls are gruesome, their eyes are blank, lifeless. Mounted on the wall directly behind Vincent’s desk is the massive head of a tiger. Zane stares into the depths of the beast’s throat while Vincent speaks.

  “I see you admiring Betsy,” Vincent says, pointing back at the tiger. “A hell of time on that safari. It was such a rush taking that beast down. Boy, did she fight. You’ll have to come with me to Africa sometime. I’m itching to bag me an elephant.”

  In the tiger’s dead eyes, Zane sees a mirror. He’s beginning to feel like a conquest to this powerful man. He grips his hard thighs through his pants, trying to stay composed.

  “Can you tell me about the position?” Zane asks, as politely as he can muster. He’s already considering telling Jacob to take him back home. But he drove all the way out here, he might as well hear what the man has to say.

  Vincent gives a condescending smile. He doesn’t seem pleased with Zane taking the direction of the conversation.

  “You’re all about business,” Vincent says. “I can admire that. What I have for you is a contract position.”

  Zane shakes his head to himself. The last thing he needs is a contract position, translating to a job with limited, low paying hours. He clears his throat, preparing to politely resign himself, when there’s a light knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Vincent yells. He points at Zane. “You’re in for a treat. Just wait.”

  Grace opens the door. She’s carrying a tray of two
glasses, both filled to the brim with dark brown liquor. Zane never was a connoisseur of fine alcohol, but something tells him the liquid in those glasses is very expensive.

  Grace leans down while handing Zane his glass. Her face is heavily made up, and her blonde waves cascade around her face. She doesn’t look like an accountant or receptionist. She looks like a model.

  “I just wanted to thank you for your service, Mr. Celick,” she says in a breathless voice.

  Zane nods graciously. Grace walks over to Vincent to deliver his scotch. Vincent gives her a wry smile, then smacks her ass as she walks away. Grace giggles. Zane wishes she would’ve smacked Vincent’s face.

  “Almost thirty, can you believe it?” Vincent says after Grace leaves. “She’s my third wife, and maybe, my favorite so far. Go ahead, have a taste. Tell me what you think.”

  Zane stomach churns at the moral bankruptcy of this man. Still, politeness, and curiosity, compel him to try the scotch. It’s smooth and buttery, and goes down without any sting. Zane studies the glass in his head, considering how dangerous a beverage like this could be.

  “Good, right?” Vincent says.

  Zane nods, and places his glass on the desk in front of him. “Mr. Connor, thank you for having me.” He gestures towards the balloon littered lobby. “And for all… that. But I’m not interested in a contract position. I shouldn’t waste any more of your time.”

  “Now, hold on son. You haven’t heard me out. I didn’t call you all the way out here to be some politician’s hired goon. You’re better than that.” Vincent takes a long sip of his scotch, closing his eyes and savoring the taste. He levels his gaze on Zane’s face, smacking his lips. “How’d you like to get back into the terrorist killing business?”