Time of Fate (Wealth of Time Series #6) Page 4

  He stared at the door for an entire minute, wondering if she had an exit plan of her own. If he knew her as well as he thought, then she certainly had a plan for any potential action that might arise in her new life on the run.

  Instead of running, however, the apartment door swung open, Sonya appearing with a shotgun aimed at Martin, a bulletproof vest strapped over her chest. “What are you doing here, Martin?” she asked, eyes dancing around the empty hallway in search of any other potential threats.

  Martin remained with his hands in the air and now felt stuck that way with a gun in his face. He’d never seen so much fear and rage swimming behind Sonya’s eyes. Part of him wanted to run, but he also wanted to stay and throw his arms around her, hugging her until she suggested they run away together. He took a sharp gulp of the spit that had formed in his mouth before speaking.

  “I just want to talk. I mean no harm.”

  “Then why are you dressed like this? Why do you have a gun?”

  “To protect myself,” Martin said, confidence slowly returning. “If you recall, you shot me two times.”

  “Let it go, Martin. I didn’t know who to trust then—and I still don’t.”

  “I’m not saying you have to trust to me, but I’m not going to hurt you—you should know that by now.”

  Sonya kept looking down the hallway, a black baseball cap low on her brow to shield her eyes. “You can come in, but I am not moving this gun away from you.” She took two steps back to allow him to enter.

  Martin hesitated, his legs wobbly as he took uncertain steps to enter the apartment. From the doorway he caught a glimpse of a well-kept living room: colorful throw rugs, art on the walls, and a wide sofa facing the radio. It was a flash of nostalgia from the time Martin lived with Sonya in her 1996 home.

  “Sit at the kitchen table,” she snapped, quickly pointing the shotgun toward the kitchen and moving it back to the commander.

  Martin did as instructed, moving through the living room and to the kitchen where a pot of coffee brewed on the stove-top, its aroma filling the room. He was pleased to find the layout was the same as his, providing the comfort of familiarity.

  “Take your gun out and put it on the table across from you. If I even think you’re going to turn it on me, I’m pulling the trigger.”

  The immediate threat on his life forced a tremble back into Martin’s arms as he debated the best position to angle his body and arms as to not startle Sonya. He decided to face sideways where she could watch him grab his pistol while not having it point in her direction, keeping his right hand in the air as he spoke through his process to hopefully relax her mind. “I’m reaching for my gun and will keep it aimed to the floor.” He grabbed it, fighting to keep his hand still and wondering if she noticed his worry. “I’m moving it to the table and pushing it across to the other side.” He did so and took a step back, relieved to have literally dodged a bullet.

  “Stay there and let me sit down across from you,” Sonya said, swiftly moving across the living room and around the kitchen table, sitting behind Martin’s pistol and promptly planting her elbows over it. “You can sit now.”

  Martin slowly lowered himself into the chair, tension thick in the air and pounding on his head.

  “What do you want from me, Commander?” she scoffed, clearly pissed that Martin was sitting in her apartment.

  He believed nothing he said would be well-received, even if he offered to say “nevermind” and leave. So he decided to see where a normal conversation would lead them, keeping in mind that he now had to convince her to come with him. Killing her was off the table for the time being.

  “How have you been?”

  The question clearly caught her off guard, her eyes twitching toward the door as if she expected someone to barge in for an ambush. She remained silent for an awkward amount of time.

  “I’ve had better days—a better life.”

  “You’ve really turned this place into a home,” Martin said, looking around. “I think about you often . . . not just our romance, but just in general, and hope that you’re okay.”

  Sonya rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought back on our time together,” Martin said, forcing a coy grin.

  “Martin, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you, what we had was nothing of significance. I ran through that same routine with plenty of other recruits before you. I was just doing my job—you’re the one who can’t let that go.”

  “Was it your job to get that medicine for my mom? Or to come cry at the hospital after my accident?”

  “Just because you were a mission doesn’t mean I have no soul. I lived with your mother—that was part of the job. I grew fond of her and didn’t want to hear of her pain if there was something I could do to help.”

  “How kind of you. Do you ever miss your old life? You had it made when you were a Road Runner, back when you had a truce with Chris to leave you alone. I don’t understand your change of heart. You used to threaten him you’d kill yourself if he tried to interfere with your life.”

  “Only until you tried to kill me. I may be on the run from both Chris and the Road Runners, but it was the Road Runners who made me run in the first place.”

  “Why did you pick the Great Depression to hide?” Martin asked. “Seems like you could have gone anywhere.”

  “It’s easy to hide here—people are so down on themselves that they don’t pay attention to the world around them. Enough with the interrogation. The real question is, how did you find me?”

  “I made a vow to bring an end to this war, and that’s what I plan to do. You know we have the best talent around; finding you was by no means an impossible task.”

  Sonya’s grip tightened on the shotgun, and Martin thought for sure she was done with this conversation—and his life. But she never pulled the trigger, instead shaking her head as a lone tear rolled down her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Martin asked, wanting to reach out and grab her hand for comfort, but was terrified of making any sudden movements.

  Sonya shrugged, leaning back, keeping that tight grip on the shotgun. “It’s like I’ve reached a dead end. I’ve worked so hard to scout locations and find somewhere to live in peace. But here you are. All I’ve wanted since I ran was to be left alone, but I have to call and check in with Chris every week to let him know I’m still alive and breathing. Like I’m his fucking life support. That call is planned for later tonight, by the way—maybe you want to hang around and say hello so you can both have a good laugh about me.”

  “Sonya, that’s just not true, and you know it.”

  “Then why are you here?!” she snapped, freeing a hand and slamming a fist on the table. “Both of you have been harassing me and I’m so sick of it. I’m trapped in this apartment all day every day, can’t even go out for a walk in the park because I have to constantly look over my shoulder—even when I know I should be safe, which I’m clearly not if you found me so easily. I don’t doubt Chris has eyes on me too. Time travel has ruined my life. The Road Runners once brought me joy and purpose after my dad completely fucked my life, but ever since Strike decided my life was worth the cost of killing Chris, I’ve had a hard time finding the will to live.”

  “That’s a funny thing to say, considering how far you’ve made it surviving.”

  “Surviving and living are two different things, you should know that. All those years you wasted after Izzy died and your divorce, drinking and drugs every night . . . that’s not living.”

  “Fair, but it’s really not surviving, either. You could say I was trying to kill myself with all of that. I only went to work so I didn’t have to live on the street. I’d go right back home, no friends, no family aside from my mom, and trap myself in my apartment.” Martin looked around with a grin. “I guess we’re not that different after all.”

  Sonya nodded, removing her hat and dropping it on the table, running a hand through her hair. “I suppose we’re not. I’ve def
initely had suicidal thoughts since this all started, but those have dated back to childhood. Watching my mother get murdered then tossed away like a piece of trash screwed me up from the start. I’ve had time to reflect on my life—really all there is to do when you’re trapped inside—and that’s definitely what formed all of my trust issues with the universe. It’s funny, even when I lived in the future in Chris’s penthouse suite, I still had these dark thoughts creep in. The unlimited shopping sprees, fancy dinners, dates with the most handsome men Chris knew. It was all designed to give me a sort of superficial pleasure. But people don’t understand that the simple ability to do as you please, live wherever you want with whoever you want—that’s the real wealth.”

  Martin nodded, pleased to have Sonya pouring out her heart. He hoped to flip that vulnerability around and use it for good. “Look, Sonya, I want to end this war. I want Chris dead and dismembered. And I want to achieve all of that without harming you. I didn’t come here to kill you—I came to reach out a hand and bring you back to the Road Runners. I can protect you, hide you, you name it. You can live in my house—our house. It’s fully guarded and no one gets inside unless I say so. We can work on this together and move beyond the ugly ending that you previously had.”

  Sonya shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. I heard about the ultimatum that Chris gave the Road Runners, making them choose between you and Strike. Pure chaos. If I returned, I know there would be plenty of Road Runners wanting to hunt me down.”

  “No one will know. Just myself and the security team.”

  “And what if someone on the security team wants me dead? Or the Council? I know how this works, Martin. You’re the commander—lots of people already know where you are and why you’re here right now. That alone is already too many people. And how many people are in this building right now? Probably hiding near all the exits, right?”

  Martin fell silent, letting his gaze fall to the table.

  “You forget I spent a very long time with the Road Runners and had friends in high places. I know how it all works. The commander doesn’t just get to hop on the jet and fly across the country because he feels like it. And I’m sure it’s even more strict since Strike was killed. How many people are here, Martin? Don’t lie. Twenty? Thirty?”

  Martin licked his lips, now wishing he was the one who could bolt out of the room. Out of this life. “Twenty-four of us have been living here for the past two weeks.”

  Sonya grinned, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. You sick bastard. If you actually loved me, like you claim, then you’d know to leave me alone. You’d let me live my life. I’m going back with you today, aren’t I? I don’t have a say in the matter.”

  “I’m not forcing you to do anything,” Martin said in the flattest voice he could muster. He felt like an amateur poker player who got caught trying to bluff a veteran. His hand was in the cookie jar and he had nowhere to turn.

  “Right. It’s not you who will force me, but one of your people waiting outside. Let me guess, you planted others at this location all throughout time, didn’t you? That’s what a good, well-planned mission would look like.”

  Martin pursed his lips, several beads of sweat forming on his head, unable to wipe them away in case Sonya decided his movement warranted a death penalty.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Well, you’re the commander, so you can stand up and leave, and order everyone else to go with you. Then never come back here.”

  “I wish it was that simple. This mission was authorized by the Council—my team has strict orders to carry out this mission regardless of what happens to me.”

  New tears welled in Sonya’s eyes, streaming quicker down her face. “You truly surprise me—always have. I never thought I’d see the day where you turned into the enemy, but here you are, sitting right at my fucking table.”

  “Sonya—”

  “Shut your mouth, Martin. You can’t sweet talk your way out of this now. You’ve dug your grave, and now you must live with it.”

  Martin gulped, convinced the slug would knock his lights out in just a few moments. Ironically, the only person he had any desire to say goodbye to sat right across the table.

  “I’m leaving this apartment when I say it’s time,” Sonya snarled. “Now tell me, what is the plan? We all get on the jet and sing ‘Kumbaya’ while we fly to Denver? I know everything is planned to the final detail. Humor me.”

  Martin’s throat had tensed shut again, and he had to fight to simply get the words out. “They’re going to kill you.”

  Sonya snorted. “Shocker. Are you just now realizing that you’re the pawn in this game they’re playing? Or have you thought you were calling the shots all along? Now I have to wonder if I was also the pawn, sent to recruit the man who would one day be used to capture me. The circle of life, I suppose. We just use each other until death, then move on to the next valuable person.”

  Martin felt tears of his own forming, blinking rapidly to not let them appear. The tension in the apartment brought the stillness of impending death, the sensation crawling over his skin like spiders. He tried to piece together all the actions and decisions that led to this exact moment, but his mind was too scattered to make any true sense of it. The Council had essentially forced this mission, but not necessarily him as the one to do it. Did they know he would volunteer, knowing he couldn’t resist the opportunity to see Sonya in the flesh for what would be the final time? Did they care if he was killed on this mission? They had been so strict with the rules about guards never leaving Martin’s side, until this most dangerous portion of the mission.

  The walls closed in around Martin, his heart rate and breathing increasing by the second. “Sonya, we can run together. I can buy us time to get out of here.”

  She shook her head vigorously side to side. “I don’t think so—this is the finish line. I can’t even be mad at you. We were both pawns in this war, used with and against each other. The Road Runners are brilliant, I’ll give them that much. Don’t you see, this only ends one way—with me dead. You admitted you can’t even control the people they sent with you. They picked someone just smart enough to be called a commander, but dumb enough to not realize he was being played. Combine that with your emotions for me, and it was the perfect storm. Once I successfully recruited you, that was checkmate as far as the Road Runners were concerned—just a matter of figuring out the logistics to make it all work and appear like a natural occurrence. Bravo, Road Runners, you win!” she screamed, followed by a psychotic laughter that echoed her father.

  “Sonya, please. At least let me try to talk my way out of this with everyone outside.”

  “I already told you, I’m leaving when I decide it’s time. I don’t need your help running. Did your people even think of the roof? I have exits all over this place, on purpose. You still haven’t told me the rest of the plan, and I need to know before I leave here.”

  Martin nodded, conceding this mission, conceding his life. If he made it back to Denver, he had no idea how he’d face the Council or the membership again. Sonya had planted too much doubt about his actual role in the organization. Did the other commanders secretly agree to a pact to get rid of Chris, despite their clear opposition on all their group phone calls? They were the ones who endorsed Martin and ensured him a victory. It had grown clear that the organization as a whole had no problem eliminating one or two members if it guaranteed peace.

  “The plan . . .” Martin said, convinced these would be the final words spoken of his storied life. “The plan is to kill you, then kill Chris before he has time to realize you’re gone.”

  “Does that mean there are people already waiting for the word of my death?”

  Martin shook his head. “Not exactly. I’m supposed to go kill him. I’ve been in contact with an old friend from Europe, Steffan Privvy. He’s going to freeze time for us and allow me to face Chris one-on-one.”

  Sonya nodded. “It sound
s so simple when you put it like that, but we all know how many factors are out of your control. My life is one. Your life is another. Things have to fall into place so perfectly, and here you are, knocking on the door of your destiny to be the greatest commander in the history of an organization you know nothing about. The world is a beautiful, romantic place, isn’t it? Do you ever think about fate, Martin? Have you ever taken the time to look at the map of your life and see how everything fell perfectly into place to land you where you are today?”

  “Sure, sometimes.”

  “I do it all the time. Every single day. When I wake up in this shitty apartment, in this shitty year, I wonder, what on Earth brought me here? After I graduated high school I could’ve gone anywhere. Could’ve moved to Australia and started a new life. But I was so sheltered, afraid to take such a wild gamble. And I hated my dad, so when the opportunity arose to join the organization that hates him as much as me, I dove into their open arms. That was my first mistake. But here’s what I’ve realized: they already knew. The Road Runners have a copy of your map, you see. They study lives, see what paths lie ahead for everyone they recruit. They’re patient—always playing the long game. They have to since they can’t match the resources Chris has.

  “Once I was inside the Road Runner bubble, my pathway was already set for me without realizing it. I had the impression that I was directing my own life, but they put tracking chips into us, for God’s sake. I wasn’t in control of anything. They always know to set up their pawns for the best position possible to further their agenda. Whoever is calling the shots knew this moment would come, but they can’t account for what will happen in the heat of the moment. What happens if I shoot you? Then there is no one to encounter Chris with time frozen—back to square one. Either way, I don’t make it out of this building alive.”

  “Sonya, I can help. Just let me. Please.”