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It was all too familiar. The cold temperature of the metal. The heavy weight of it. The shape. Pressed to her temple. She didn’t need to see that it was a gun to know it.
He was behind her – to her right. Probably sneering, a smug grin on his face. She knew that, too, without needing to see it. Much like the gun itself, she had seen that smile on Ian Doyle’s face so many times before.
She exhaled heavily, wearily. Acceptingly. She lost. She thought she could win – she thought she had won… but she had lost. He was one step ahead of her, just as he had been for Jeremy, then Sean…and then Tsia. Too smart. Too damn smart.
Now she was here – wherever ‘here’ was – physically, mentally and emotionally tired. Drained. Willing to die, and hoping he would just get on with it.
She could feel the bruising on her chest from where his bullets had hit the Kevlar she had worn. He got the drop on her. She had turned, in surprise, and – she was quick on the trigger herself, but by God he fired fast. She wished, right now, that she’d left the Kevlar behind along with SSA Emily Prentiss when she walked out of the BAU briefing, leaving that life and stepping into the lion’s mouth. Had she done that, then it would all be over right now. She would be at peace. Finally, and for the first time in forever: at peace.
But that moment had passed now. She had lost that battle… but she was damned if she was going to lose the war as well. And if she did lose the war? Then she hoped to take him down with her.
But she was HURT. Her chest burned from the brand he had seared into her flesh. It ached and it stank, and every time she breathed, the fabric of her shirt irritated and stuck to it. And she was tired. She hadn’t slept in weeks. She had lost her oldest and dearest friends. And were it not for her new friends, her new family at the BAU, then maybe she would just lay down and die. Declan was safe. He was still secret. But lying down to die had never been in her genetics.
She knew her team would be doing everything they could do find her. She had left a few crumbs for them… and Fahey was the big piece of the puzzle. May he rest in pieces. She knew they would find the photos – the photos that she had created to fool Ian into believing Declan was dead. And she knew they’d be able to track the location. She knew it. And Ian wasn’t one step ahead any more. All she had to do was buy time. Just a little more time.
She just had to fool him a little longer. She just had to make him believe she had no hope left. So when she heard him coming now, she blew out a breath and let her shoulders sag. She stared ahead, hopeless and beaten. Resigned to her fate. She could do this. She lied to that bastard for eight months – she could do it one more time.
She heard the gun cock beside her ear. And she allowed herself to accept death. After all, to lie convincingly, one had to pretend it was the truth.
“When Fahey told me you were in the city, he said you already knew where I was. If that was the truth then you know what this is about.”
She listened to his words. She didn’t fight back.
“Game’s over, love. Time for your last confession.”
She opened her eyes slowly. Let her voice convey defeat. Acceptance. Resignation. And she played the one card that she knew would get to him: Declan. “Take me to where he died. I wanna see it.” She croaked.
She felt the hesitation in him. The reaction at the non-mention of his son: the son he thought was dead. And she heard the gun being made safe again. She resisted the urge to show relief.
“What the fuck do you know about where he died?” Ian whispered, his voice pure threat.
“I saw the photos too.” She replied. “I want to see it.”
Ian scoffed behind her, but he didn’t cock the weapon again, and Emily could sense his hand wavering.
“I loved him too, Ian. Let me see it.”
Then, in a breath, he was in front of her, crouched face to face, his hands grabbing her shirt and pulling her close. She groaned as the movement awakened the burning pain on her breast.
“It’s your fault he died you bitch!” he spat, saliva catching her cheek as he spoke. “You wanna die where he did? Then you’ve fucking got it. I’ll throw you in a fucking dark corner and blow your brains all over the same fucking wall!” His eyes were wild with fury and grief. “HE WAS A LITTLE BOY! AND THEY SHOT HIM IN A COLD FUCKING BASEMENT!”
“You’ve done worse.” She reminded him softly.
“And I’ll do worse again!” he vowed. “They’re gonna need instructions to put your pieces back together again!” He yelled, cutting her free from the ropes that bound her, dragging her to her feet by her hair, the gun pressed against the base of her skull. “WALK!”
*
Emily recognised the basement as soon as she saw it. Ian shoved her forwards, down the steps and deeper.
“I never told anyone about him. Only you.” Ian said, his voice like gravel. “Those Korean bastards tried every interrogation tactic and I never broke. I never said a word. Not for two fucking years. Not until they showed me the photos.” He snorted in disgust. “They laughed at me as I wept. AS I WEPT! And YOU caused that, didn’t you?”
Emily’s heart raced inside her chest. “Yes.”
“There. That fucking corner – that’s where he died. And that’s where you’re gonna die, Lauren. Emily. Whatever you want to be called.” He grabbed her hair again and pushed her hard, watching as she fell to her knees on the cement. Emily turned to him, and he saw the fire back in her eyes.
“There’s something you don’t know about those photos.” She panted, climbing to her feet.
“What don’t I know?” he breathed. “WHAT DON’T I KNOW, LAUREN?!!”
“I knew what they would do to him to get him to talk about you – the CIA. I’d seen it before. I couldn’t let him be a pawn to them.”
“What did you do?” he whispered, although his eyes already knew it.
“I had to do it. I had to end his suffering before it begun.”
Ian looked like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer, his gun hand dropping to his side as reality dawned on him. “You don’t know where the photos were taken.” He whispered.
“I do.” Emily said, a sneer on her lips as she rose to her full height. “I’m the one holding the gun.”
“NO!” Ian screamed, swinging a fist and knocking her to the ground. He grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her face first into the wall.
Emily laughed, blood staining her teeth. “You want to know what his last words were?” she crowed.
Ian released his grip, in disbelief at what he was hearing.
“He said ‘I look pretty good for a dead kid, don’t I?’” Emily turned and grinned at Ian. “Then he got on a plane and I never saw him again.”
“No.” Ian breathed.
Emily nodded, stalking forwards, gaining the upper hand. “Yes.”
“He’s alive?”
“I only had to make the Koreans – and you – believe otherwise. And I did it, Ian! I fooled you. I fooled you AGAIN you bastard!”
Ian roared in fury and punched her again.
Emily spat blood to the ground. “I BEAT YOU IAN! I gave Declan his life back! I WON!”
Ian dove at her, sending them both crashing to the ground. He hit her again, feeling her flesh under his knuckles. He grabbed her throat, eyes wide and wild as he throttled her. His eyes never left hers. “I’m going to watch you die, Lauren. And when you’re dead, I’ll find my boy. I’ll find him, and kill everyone that helped you take him from me. And then I’ll bring him into the business. Teach him to kill. Make him my rightful heir. Make him the biggest bastard to be feared – all in your name Emily Prentiss.”
Emily kept her eyes on Ian as her vision began to fail. Her fingers stretched out, scrabbling in the dust, until they brushed something. She grabbed a hold of it and swung it upwards, catching Ian on the temple.
Ian fell as the chunk of wood caught him, and suddenly Emily was above him, on top of him, hitting him again and again and again.
She couldn’t stop herself. She swung that weapon over and again, fear and vengeance and emotions that she had been keeping bottled up since that first night she was in his bed, all coming out in a wave of violence.
And then she heard it in the distance: “FBI!”, and her eyes closed in relief. They were here! She dropped the weapon and exhaled. They found her and they were here! And she won. At last she’d beaten him!
She opened her eyes and looked at Ian... and he smiled at her. He smiled. Her brows knitted together – and then she saw it, felt it, the wooden stake stabbing into her belly, deep, so very deep. She looked at Ian in confusion as he stood and she fell.
She watched him go. She tried to call out, but no words came from her throat. Just blood. Just blood. Fuck. She could hear Derek, but he was too late, she knew it. She was dying right here. Dying. And Ian would find Declan…