Chapter 21
JUSTIN
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I turn recklessly onto the freeway and open the throttle, accelerating into the straight, the bike growling between my legs. Dropping down low over the tank, my eyes flick to the needle creeping up the speedo, the Ninja eating up the road.
Anger wells inside me, burning a hole in my belly.
It seems I’ve spent most of my life in this revved state.
Activism was the air I breathed growing up.
My parents believed I should be informed, so Disney videos were replaced by undercover footage of slaughterhouses and fur farms. In school, the principal made me remove the animal rights sticker—DO YOU FEEL LIKE DEATH WARMED UP?
HAVE A HAMBURGER—my mom plastered on my backpack.
Visitors to the house were simply reflections of my parents. They spouted the same phrases and their eyes glittered with the same injustices. I was molded so thoroughly I had no idea how to reshape myself. Or if I even wanted to.
I crouch even lower behind the windshield, the passing scenery a blur, the cold steel of the gas tank against my chest steadying me.
I remember turning fifteen and strolling into a steakhouse, ordering chicken wings for starters, pork ribs for my main meal.
In the gutter outside the steakhouse, I heaved it all up, a pathetic figure in a puddle of vomit and remorse. I never touched meat again after that.
The anger though, hasn’t dissipated. Now it seethes just below the surface of my skin, a kind of simmering rebellion that never reaches boiling point.
I ease off on the accelerator and throttle down, the muscles in my back groaning as I uncurl myself from my crouch. I have to do something. Everyone has an assignment. I’m the only one chained by inaction.
I recall a whistleblower’s report that landed in Kane’s inbox.
After verifying the credibility of the informant—we’ve scrubbed a lot of operations because we didn’t trust the source—Kane forwarded the report to me.
Unfortunately, we had to put it aside because of the constraints of other commitments.
Feeling the fever of resolve flush through me, I veer off at the next exit.
Kane won’t be happy with me, but that’s a stale song.
Finally, I’m doing something. Something that will make a difference.
All I have to do now is convince an old friend that that difference is worth the risk of his freedom.