Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Liam

L ater as the moon slipped through the clouded night sky, Liam crouched in the shadows, his breath measured as he scanned the moonlit tendrils of fog that curled around the ancient stone arches. He had Becks tucked away, where she was safe. The runes carved into the rock pulsed with a forgotten power, casting an eerie glow that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. This place, where humanity had once teetered on the edge of extinction, now set the stage for another kind of warfare—a battle of wits and wills.

"Marcus," Liam said, the name tasting like betrayal on his tongue. He spoke it into the silence, watching as his former handler emerged from the mist, his salt-and-pepper hair almost silver under the moonlight.

"O'Shea," Marcus replied, his voice a low rumble, heavy with secrets. "I was so hoping to avoid a direct confrontation with you. My people lost you in Oxford. You've become quite the ghost."

"Learned from the best, didn't I?" The words were laced with sarcasm, but the underlying tension was palpable. Liam's eyes remained locked on Marcus, reading the micro-expressions that flickered across the older man's face.

"Is that why you're here? To haunt me, or have I become the prey to your predator?" Marcus ventured a step closer, his body language guarded yet deliberate.

"Cezar Baro," Liam stated flatly, allowing the name to hang between them like a guillotine's blade. "What's your game, Marcus? You've always been one to play one side against the other, but this is next level."

Marcus’ gaze held steady, unflinching. "I did what I had to do. MI6 isn't what it used to be, Liam. You know that better than anyone. Too many politicians with delusions of being James Bond."

Liam felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, the instinctual readiness to engage in combat. Yet, this confrontation demanded restraint—a chess match rather than a street fight. "You've thrown in with the Wanderers, with Baro. Why?"

"Survival," Marcus answered, his tone suggesting layers that went unspoken. "Sometimes, the lines we draw in the sand are washed away by the tide. We must adapt or perish."

"By throwing in with terrorists?" Liam asked, the emotional control he valued was being strained to its limits. Betrayal wasn't just a fear; it was a razor-sharp reality cutting through the fabric of his trust.

"Look beyond the surface, Liam. There's more to this plot than the obvious threads." Marcus tilted his head slightly, the scar above his right eyebrow catching the light. "You're not the only one who wants to see an end to Baro's machinations."

"Then come clean," Liam urged, stepping out of the shadows. "Help me take him down."

"Words are wind, actions are truth," Marcus countered, his eyes reflecting a depth of regret. "Watch your back, O'Shea. Trust no one."

With that cryptic warning, Marcus melded back into the fog, leaving Liam alone among the arches. The implications were clear: his former agency might be compromised, and the ground beneath him was crumbling. The seductive dance of espionage had turned lethal, and his next steps would need to be both cautious and bold.

He withdrew into the darkness, the weight of impending danger winding around him like the coils of a serpent, squeezing too tightly for him to breathe. But Liam was no stranger to constraint, to the push and pull of power dynamics. His job was clear—protect Becks and stop the Wanderers. He would not fail, for in this shadowy world, it was dominance—of will, of mind—that spelled the difference between victory and oblivion.

He left, retreating to the safety of the small office suite they’d found earlier in the day. He’d left Becks there working away while he reconnoitered the area, met Marcus, and began to formulate a plan.

Liam's fingers traced the contours of the ancient script scrawled across the documents, the dim light of the office casting long shadows over his taut expression. Becks hovered at his shoulder, her breath against his ear as she peered over the cryptic papers that now pointed them toward Istanbul.

"Can you make anything out of these?" Liam's voice was a low growl, the dominant timbre underscored by tension.

"Symbols, equations... They're similar, but not quite the same. I’m sure they’re leading us to Istanbul. There's something there we're not seeing yet." Becks' reply was measured, despite the quiver that betrayed her underlying unease.

"Then that's where we'll head." Liam's decision sliced through the uncertainty like a whip-crack in a hushed room, sharp and commanding.

The decision made, their course set, Liam knew there was one more bridge to cross before they could dive deeper into the shadows. He pulled his encrypted phone from his pocket, his thumb hovering over the contact for Cerberus. Trust had become a luxury they could no longer afford. It was hard not to trust those who had given him a home when he left MI6, but the risk was too great and the clandestine world into which they had been plunged could potentially be tainted.

"Going off grid," he murmured into the device after a brief connection, his message succinct, leaving no room for questions or doubt. "Trust is a currency spent. Contact when able." He ended the call.

"Are we ready for this?" Becks asked, her voice barely audible, her violet eyes seeking reassurance in the blue steel of Liam's gaze.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Liam assured her, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips, intended to temper the gravity of their situation. "I’ve got you in my corner. I like my odds at winning this game a lot more than theirs."

"Don’t they say the queen is the most powerful chess piece?" Becks asked, her newfound confidence in her abilities beyond the classroom lending strength to her words, infusing them with an undercurrent of erotic promise.

Liam smiled at her. “Don’t get too big for your britches, baby, lest I force you to surrender them to me.”

He chuckled as she blushed. Their bond, forged in the fire of shared danger and deepened by the roles they embraced within the lifestyle, had become their anchor. As they prepared to step into the unknown, they drew comfort from the certainty of their connection, the trust between them absolute, unshakeable—a rare thing in the treacherous game they were about to play.

With a final glance at the office that had revealed so much yet held back even more, Liam took Becks' hand, their fingers intertwining, and led them away from the safety of known territory into the night's embrace.

The plane engines hummed low and steady, the sound amplified as Liam leaned back in his seat. They’d been in the air for nearly an hour, yet he could feel the tension thickening around him and Becks like a tightening net. Their flight to Istanbul was supposed to be quick, with one simple connection, but as soon as he’d seen that familiar sharp-nosed face boarding in Berlin, his instincts had kicked into high alert.

Becks was next to him, pretending to study the in-flight magazine. She turned a page, her fingers steady but her eyes flicked sideways, barely meeting his. “You recognize him, too. I swear I’ve seen him before. Do you think he’s after us, or am I getting paranoid?”

Liam chuckled softly. “You are, but sometimes paranoia is the only thing that keeps you alive. That guy was in Paris, and he was watching us back at the gate, too.”

Becks pressed her lips into a thin line, and her gaze scanned the cabin ahead. “You think he’ll make a move here or wait until we land?”

“Depends how desperate he is,” Liam replied, casting a quick glance down the aisle. Their suspected tail had taken a seat near the back, close to the lavatories—positioned, Liam noted, with a clear view of them.

“Do you think he’s looking to intercept us before we touch down in Istanbul? Or maybe he’s waiting for backup…” He could hear the tension in Becks’ quiet voice.

Liam leaned toward her, voice barely audible. “Either way, I don’t plan on waiting to see what he’s going to do or giving him a chance to do anything else. Just like chess, there’s an advantage to moving first.”

Becks nodded, her eyes flicking to the stewardess as she passed, handing out drinks with a forced smile. Liam watched as Becks casually accepted a bottle of water, then glanced at her watch, her tone switching to something almost playful.

“So,” she said a little louder, “how long do we have until we’re wheels-down?”

Liam checked his own watch, catching her meaning. “Another hour. Plenty of time to stretch our legs.” His eyes shifted meaningfully toward the aisle, and Becks smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

When the drink service had moved up several rows, Liam leaned toward her, his voice low again. “We move to the back, act casual. We’ll get a read on him.”

Becks gave a subtle nod, and as Liam unbuckled, she did the same, both rising under the guise of stretching and heading toward the rear of the cabin. The aisle was narrow, and every step brought them closer to their mark. He could feel the tail’s stare as they passed, and he saw him shift, his gaze sharp and assessing.

They stopped just in front of him, pretending to wait for the lavatory. Becks turned, casting a sidelong glance at the man, her voice light but loaded. “Need the restroom?”

The man’s eyes met hers, and he smiled tightly. “No, this is my assigned seat.”

Liam’s gaze narrowed. The man stiffened, caught off guard.

A slight tremor crossed his fingers, betraying his nerves, but he didn’t break eye contact. Liam could see his right hand dip toward his pocket, slow and deliberate. Liam moved first, his hand gripping the man’s wrist, pressing it down as he leaned in and took the man’s wallet from his inside jacket pocket.

“Listen,” Liam’s voice was a low and controlled, “if you want to make it out of here alive, you’re going to stay in that seat until we land. No reaching, no sudden moves. Understand?”

The man’s face paled, his bravado fading as he muttered a reluctant, “Understood.”

Liam stepped closer, his voice equally quiet. “And when we land, you’re going to get off the plane first and keep walking. Don’t stop; don’t look back and if there’s anyone waiting for you, you’re going to lead them away. I’ve got your wallet. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be paying a visit to your apartment with your lovely wife and adorable children. Got it?”

The man swallowed, nodding stiffly. Liam released his wrist, watching as he lowered his hand in defeat, face sullen. They held their ground a moment longer before stepping back, returning to their seats. As Liam settled back in, he felt a small flicker of relief, but it was short-lived. The game wasn’t over yet, and Istanbul was still a long way away.

Liam navigated the streets of Istanbul with a predator's grace, the weight of his purpose anchoring each step. The city was a living organism—a tapestry woven from threads of ancient history and modern chaos, pulsating with life in the afternoon sun. He could feel its heartbeat synchronizing with the urgency that coursed through his veins.

"Keep close," Liam instructed Becks, his voice low but carrying over the din of mingled conversations and distant music.

"I'm right behind you," she replied, her tone betraying none of the discomfort she felt entering this clandestine world. Her violet eyes were wide, absorbing details like a sponge.

They slipped into a nondescript tea house, the scent of jasmine and tobacco wrapping around them like a shroud. This was where answers could be found—if one knew whom to ask. Liam scanned the room, spotting a familiar face nestled in the back corner. A nod was all it took for an audience to be granted.

"O'Shea," murmured the man known as Karim, a burly figure with eyes that had seen more than their fair share of secrets. "And this must be the infamous Dr. Ashworth."

"Karim," Liam greeted with a nod, his stance protective yet allowing Becks the space to stand on her own. "We need information about Cezar Baro and his new allies."

"Come now, Liam," Karim said, motioning them to sit, "you know the price of secrets here."

Becks felt the tension, a tangible thread stretching between the men. She leaned forward, her voice steady, "We're prepared to pay."

Karim's gaze shifted to her, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he masked it with a wry smile. "You've chosen a fierce one, O'Shea," he commented, a hint of respect lacing his words.

"Becks is full of surprises," Liam said, the pride evident even as he maintained his guarded composure.

As they left the tea house, stepping once more into the teeming streets, Becks felt the shift within her. She was no longer just an observer; she was a participant in this shadowy game. Liam's hand found hers.

"You did well in there," he said, his eyes reflecting the moonlight, sharp and luminous.

"Thank you, Sir," she replied, allowing a trace of their private dynamic to surface.

His response was a squeeze of her hand, a wordless exchange that spoke volumes. They were partners in every sense, their connection deepening amid the intrigue that surrounded them. The city might hold many secrets, but none as profound as the bond they shared, a bond that would sustain them through the trials ahead.