Mary Anne couldn't stop taunting me with the past throughout the ride. But I bared it and we finally reach my hotel room. She slowly removes the jacket I lent her and makes herself too comfortable by kicking her heels. She then withdraws a cigarette case from her purse as she trudges toward the living area.

"So," she starts while taking a seat on the sofa, "what is it that you're busy trying to find this time, huh? I heard some stories about you—some too good to be true—like the fact that you were dating a mundane and Falcon messed with her. It made me laugh, honestly. It felt pathetic but I wonder if you've gone soft or what." Smiling, she outstretches her legs toward the coffee table and props one foot over the other. "So, who is she? Tell me about her and maybe I'll consider answering your questions."

I set the briefcase I've retrieved from the bedroom and lay it on the coffee table, then a gun from my jacket. Intrigued, Mary Anne glances at them in turn, a cigarette wedged between her lips and a lighter in her hand.

"Are we really doing this?" she asks in German, one eyebright lifted slyly.

"The choice is yours; consider me being generous," I deadpan. With my arms crossed on my chest, still standing while facing her firmly, I go on, "What happened in Denver twenty-three years ago? I know your sister, Vile, was sent to execute a mission but she suddenly disappeared. Then you, and my brother... were sent to retrieve an asset that belonged to the Pentagon. I wanna know what it was all about."

Mary Anne's round jaw ticks but she doesn't lose he'd composure entirely. Slowly, as though she's once again the captain of her own ship, she uses her gold lighter to light up her cigarette. When the tip glows ember, she takes a swig and expels the smoke in a gentle puff.

"You want some?" she asks bout the cigarette.

"No," I reply.

But I swear I'm fighting the urge right now.

"See? Softie," Mary Anne taunts with a grin but soon she gets serious. "We were trainees, Adrian. I was seventeen and your brother was sixteen. And as you said, Vile was supposed to lead the mission, but she... well, died." Rolling her eyes, she shrugs, as though the thought makes her want to even scoff. After a second inhalation of her cigarette, she adds, "The Pentagon doesn't offer full disclosure to the trainees; we were just a means to an end. If you want the answers, you know who can give you that since our mentor, Luciano, unfortunately, died tragically by your hands."

I grit my teeth. I hated Luciano. He was pure blood lust—Falcon's predecessor. In fairness, I killed him cold-blooded because he was a mole. It was an excuse, of course. He beat the kids to a pulp, calling it discipline, and so Mary Anne and I wanted to put an end to him by any means.

I was fifteen by then.

While taking a seat across from Marie Anne, I say, "How was Rogelio connected to the Pentagon? What was his relationship with Keiser?"

Keiser is the Head of the Pentagon, the man whose real or full name is buried deep into the unknown. I've heard only his voice, but his power could move the mountains. No one speaks of him in the Pentagon, but everyone answers to him. He's more influential than twenty Roberto Castles combined.

He's the Pentagon.

What I don't understand is why was he looking for something left in my childhood house in Denver, Colorado. It's true that Rogelio, my stepfather, was a drug dealer and a spineless crook who could've crossed any kingpin's radar, but for the Pentagon to put a whole task force just to capture him?

Something doesn't add up.

"Your stepfather had something that belonged to Keiser. I Don know what it was; I didn't get to see it. And honestly, I do not give a shit," Marie Anne says calmly.

It still doesn't make sense to me, damn it! I know how Keiser operates. Things are never black and white with him. None of the missions I've been given were clear without a riddle, or plain without a maze.

He's tenacious. He enjoys playing God, moving people like pieces in a King's Chase board. So it can't be simple. There's something there. Something bigger than what Mary Anne possibly believes.

"And how did my brother die?" I ask her, and for once she looks undecided on whether she wants to keep the interrogation going or not. Why? "Roberto Castle was in Budapest when Luciano took you and Falcon to Denver. Who the fuck killed my brother, Blossom?" I snap through clamped teeth.

Up to date, I can not bring myself to forgive and forget. I just can't.

"Look." Mary Anne dismounts her bare feet and sighs heavily. After another shot of smoke, she leans over toward the coffee table letting the cigarette dangle between her manicured fingers painted in crimson red. "It's true, okay? Indeed, Don Roberto was not there but it doesn't mean anyone killed your brother, Adrian. It was an accident. I was there. I saw it."

I rile up inside. There's still an unquenchable thirst searing my every attempt to understand this.

"It doesn't answer my question," I growl. Inclining forward with anger and menace, I repeat, "Who killed him?"

"Your brother! Falcon! He killed your brother!" Mary Anne snaps, her face all furrowed now. "Is that what you want to hear? What for, Adrian? So you can go back and kill him with a clear conscious? Oh, that's so you, right? A righteous assassin? And then what? Will it bring your dead brother back? Will it make up for the lost time? Will it?"

I swallow bitterly, tightening my fingers into fists.

I know she's right. I hate that she's right.

"Hey," Mary Anne calls. I don't know when she managed to stand up and near me, but she's already where I am. With that deep, German accent of hers, she whispers, "I know it's difficult to forget the people you once called family. Trust me, I do" — I look nimbly at the way she shuffles her legs and straddles my lap — "but you don't have to punish yourself for that. What you're doing right now is punishing yourself for some other people's mistakes. Forget it. Let me help you forget. Just as we used to do before. We were perfect together. You knew me, I knew you. We didn't need to pretend. And you don't have to, Schatzi."

I feel her breasts mashing against my chest, her pussy grinding against my cock. I breathe heavily, rapidly, angrily, letting her lips linger in mine in that seductive movement she expertly employs.

"I never forgot about you," she claims. I breathe again, violently. "I missed you. I missed us," she adds, and at last, she crushes her mouth on mine, kissing me ravenously.

I don't stop her. I hold her, kiss her back, and stand up with her. Thick thighs curl around my waist, and my arms wrap around her as I carry her toward the bed where I lay her down and stay on top of her.

We kiss more, deeper, harder until I pull back to retain my inherent control.

Extremely enticed, Mary Anne pants soundly, looking up at me with sheer desire. "I want you to fuck me, Adrian. Make me yours again. Destroy me!" she begs.

I reach for the duffel bag I use on my travels. It's open, so I easily access the handcuffs that always stay inside.

"I have one last question," I say, taking her hands above her head. She smiles in full compliance, her breasts shoring on and off in a horny fashion. "Where is Vile?" I don't look at her while asking this.

"In New York, I suppose. I hear she has another mission—not that I care much about that bitchy sister of mine," she answers with scorn and the news baffles me.

Shit! I clamp my jaw, and at the same time, I cuff Marie Anne's hands together

Sighing, I sit stay still on top of her, with her between my knees, waiting for more.

After a while, I fish my phone from the pocket of my jeans and make a call. "We're leaving in an hour. Prepare the flight," I say and hang up.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mary Anne bellows when I get off of her, and eventually the bed.

"If you think I'm gonna fuck you after everything that happened between us, then you really don't know me," I say while grabbing my duffel from the bed, ready to pack for my flight back to New York. "And no, I haven't gone soft." Stuffing my shirt from last night, I glance at her wiggling in bed with so much anger and hurt, teeth gritted. "There's enough in that briefcase to buy yourself an island. You can open up a singing parlor if you want, and maybe try the mundane life for a change because I do not think that Pentagon finds you of any value now that your sister is back."

"You're a bastard! I fucking hate you! Mundane? Where is that, huh? You're here in the cold wall of Berlin once again, aren't you? Once a killer, always a killer! You can not escape this, Adrian. Never!" she yells.

And yes, Mary Anne is right. There's never a normal life for people like us. But for now, I need to get back to Arabella because she's already a part of my dark life whether I agree or not.