CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
AINSLEY
I ’m a murderer, five times over. That’s a disturbing line on a résumé, not something I should lead with in any type of icebreaker, and definitely not one of those weird-things-that-become-your-perfect-niche traits.
If I had been raised by normal, law-abiding citizens, it would likely be a detail that fractured my soul. Oddly, it seems to be precisely what I needed to render myself whole. That and the men surrounding me, who clearly view a houseful of carnage as just another day at the office.
We’re all a bit deranged, I suppose. Some would say there’s a flaw in our code. But I think maybe that old adage— The road to Hell is paved with good intentions —is an excellent way to sum us up.
Good intentions being a loose concept.
I don’t buy into the narrative of evil being snuffed out by good. Dark eclipsed by light. Wrong vanquished by right.
That’s all surface-level fairy tales, created by those who reside on the outskirts of the dismal shadows. I bet a lot of heroes toe the line, battling the ferocious demons inside them as vehemently as the enemy. And when they finally spear the monster who has haunted them, it’s those inner demons who propel them forward. Those wars aren’t waged in a moral dichotomy. It’s survival of the fittest in the pits of Hades.
And the winner places the candle on the altar. A solitary flicker of illumination.
I’m not justifying. Or painting myself as the heroine of anyone’s story. There is nothing pure or good or virtuous about what I did. While the fuckers certainly didn’t deserve to inhale another breath, I didn’t kill them as a service to mankind. They’d molded me into a savage. Maybe I always was one, or maybe it was a gradual metamorphosis that occurred one tormenting day at a time. Either way, I’d garnered enough demons along the way to out-evil them.
In a twisted way, I’m grateful. Because if I were good, I’d be guilt-ridden.
As it stands, I’m simply a more victorious villain.
And I’ve found belonging with a tribe of antiheroes who unravel every strand in the fabric of that good versus evil narrative.
Home.
We caught a helicopter ride back to the airport where we’d left our jet, and now we are en route to my house—my old house. It’s a dicey expedition. Gage isn’t permitted in that town. And I’m wanted by a whole host of people guarding that property. So, the card-in-the-clock epiphany is a mixed bag. But what isn’t at this point?
We’ve been piecing together a puzzle. It’s a collage of various orange items, ranging from butterflies to vintage ads. Gage brought it along because he knows puzzles calm me, and he was concerned about how my post-murder mental state would be. He’s taken it upon himself to color my world in tangerine bliss whenever he can. That’s not surprising because while he was always sweet and considerate, he’s turned out to be more attentive than I realized he was all those years ago.
Maybe it’s maturity or that we were separated or that he was never granted the freedom to wholly act on it when we were young. Or perhaps it’s all on me, and living an existence from a bloodstained altar has opened my eyes more fully to simple pleasures. I’m sure those are all valid explanations in some respect, but the greatest factor in him upping his pampering game is likely the mark of the three women who softened him before my return.
And the men who are equally sweet.
Liam and Ty sit across from us, quietly sifting through pieces.
“I put a call in to Cole,” Wells begins, sauntering back to us to take a seat catercorner from me at the table, and realization dawns on him that I don’t know who he’s talking about. “Agent Matthew Colehorn. He’s an FBI agent we work with, like Vargas. There’s too much speculation around Vargas right now to use him for anything regarding the Morelli family. Cole does some work for us and KORT. He’s going to secure me a twenty-minute window for access, but I want you and Gage to stay with the plane.”
“Fuck that,” Gage hisses at the same time I submit an emphatic, “No way.”
“Coulda told ya that was coming.” Liam chuckles because Wells is pinching the bridge of his nose, dangerously close to blowing a gasket.
The harmony of puzzle time is slipping away.
“Not one goddamn compliant person in this family,” he rants, yanking out a cherry Tootsie Pop and wielding it like a sword. “You’re all going to put me in an early grave.”
“I’m pretty fucking cooperative,” Ty objects, clicking in a yam-colored flip-flop and slinging an indignant scowl at the Chief.
By the wild emeralds he’s met with, it’s safe to assume Wells disagrees.
It appears he only has enough energy left for Gage and me though, so he docks his leer there. “It is risky enough for us to infiltrate a house that is being surveilled by the Bureau and guarded by Morelli foot soldiers. But you two being anywhere near there is—”
“This argument is a waste of fucking time, Chief,” Gage breaks in, glowering over the rim of his coffee cup. “At least where I’m concerned. I was planning to leave Wicked with Ty—”
“Judas,” I hiss, glaring at him.
And Wells piggybacks on that with his own one-word admonishment. “Treason.”
“I gotta go with the Chief on this one,” Liam pipes up without a trace of humor. “We already pushed our luck by flying over the town last month.”
“Pushed our luck how?” Gage growls, beefy arms crossed over his ballooning chest. “We all agreed it was a goddamn loophole.”
“We agreed to back you up because we always will,” Ty interjects with a scoff. “But if we needed to make an emergency landing or anything else went wrong … Christ, you fucking worsened those chances by throwing Willie Petes into the mix. Even without that, if charges had been brought against you for being in that airspace, the loophole in that contract would have done jack, and you know it.”
“We were in breach,” Wells summarizes. “Plain and simple. But it was a somewhat-justifiable risk in response to their taunts and after the years we waited to retaliate against them, but this—”
“Fuck,” Gage mutters, and I feel that in my bones.
That sucks. For him .
“So, leave Gage with the plane, and I’ll go with one of you,” I reason, squeezing Gage’s tense thigh beneath the table so he doesn’t interrupt. “I can have us in and out in under three minutes.”
“Also against our contract.” Wells chomps on his sucker while rubbing his forehead, the weight of everything he’s shouldering dragging his features down. “Other than Gage, if the guys and I are caught and apprehended, it will end like any other botched job. We’ll get hauled in, they won’t find us in the system, we’ll call our emergency CIA contact, and within an hour, we’ll miraculously vanish. That’s how this works. Because we do the government’s bidding in the sordid places they can’t reach. We’re assets. But if we were brought in with you, not only will you be put away for life, but it also wouldn’t matter that Gage wasn’t with us. They know the four of us are a team. You are a neon sign that we violated our contract, so that emergency lifeline will be nonexistent. They’ll deem us traitors and cause us to vanish in a much more permanent capacity.”
I hear everything he’s saying and understand I should let it go. I’m not even sure why it matters if I get to go with them, but this feels like a loss.
Gage leans forward, elbows resting on the table, hands scrubbing over his face as he mumbles a string of unintelligible expletives and a crystal-clear, definitive, “Not happening, Ains.”
“I told you once that we were all captive to this life in ways. This is part of that.” Wells sits back in his seat, not relaxed, but resigned. “I will not risk any of you. We’ve come too far, survived too much, to go down for some piddly shit with our original CIA contract.” His gaze shifts between Gage and me. “What difference does it make who goes, if in the end, we—our family, which includes you—steal everything from them?”
I bite my lip, debating what my hang-ups are and how to phrase them, eventually settling on a dose of vulnerability I never could have shared a couple of months ago. “So much was taken from me in that house. It was like a coffin. I thought for sure I’d die there. Most days, I wanted to.”
Unshed tears sting my eyes with that admission, so I stall for a beat to regain my composure. It’s fruitless. My chest shudders as the defeat of those years parks on my lungs, like an anvil, and I decide to push through it. “Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but I guess I thought revisiting it now that they’re gone would help me feel empowered.”
Ty becomes visibly choked up, rising and moving to the bar to pour himself a drink, which twists something inside me. Gage is unusually silent, tucking me into his side. Even Liam’s eyes are glossy. It was one thing to see them eradicate a houseful of assholes on my behalf, but this—the emotion attached to my pain—is almost too much to bear. Consoling and cutting, all at once. I don’t want to fall apart or be seen as weak. And I definitely don’t want Nick, Tony, or my father to rob these men of any semblance of peace. Not even when it’s rooted in me being important to them.
Wells reaches over and palms my head, such a considerate, mentoring gesture. He really owns the fatherly leadership role. He’s not much older than me, and yet his words and care and perspective on a situation blanket me in the same warmth that George’s did. It’s as if even my cells know that with him at the helm, we’ll be okay. If he sees a way out, there must be one. He’s one hundred percent deserving of his Chief pedestal.
“I get that,” he soothes. “But I want you to be empowered because you survived it. Escaped it. And you have a new houseful of people who love you. There’s no need to ever go back there again. Let us take this from you.”
He always says so much between his words. There’s no need to ever go back there again. Let us take this from you has nothing to do with the burden of obtaining the card and everything to do with him offering to carry my pain. Like the W etched on Gage.
So many emotions wash over me, a deluge of conflicting feelings. Though most are simply centered upon the acceptance this family extends to me. Sometimes, it’s still hard for me to believe it’s real. A little voice urges me to proceed with caution because if things ever go awry, I could end up as the lamb again. But I recognize that as the remnants of the fear and terror I donned for years. No matter what happens in the future, these men aren’t that. In my story, they really are heroes.
But like any good leader, Wells must determine he needs to put his foot down due to my silence. He finishes his lollipop and tosses the stick in the trash. “This isn’t a request. It’s an order.”
Once Wells decided that we wouldn’t be venturing into Morelli territory with them, Gage and I took a nap. Yes, we could have joined the Mile High Club. It shouldn’t have mattered that the guys were wandering around. We’ve discovered that both of us appreciate the idea of an audience. But after the whole kitchen fiasco, I’d been feeling a bit more reserved. And exhausted after the last couple of days. So, we tangled ourselves up together and passed out.
It was the perfect reminder that he loves all the facets of me—from sex-club fantasies to vengeance schemes to puzzles and coffee. He embraces everything I am.
It’s midday now, and we’re still on the plane. Ty is too. Wells and Liam went alone. They’re throwing on FBI jackets and waltzing in like they own the place. That’s the master plan. At noon. On a bright summer day while kids ride their scooters and play ball in the streets. The arrogance in which they attack their missions is nothing short of astounding. But it’s well earned. If all goes smoothly, they’ll merely appear to be another set of agents doing a sweep.
I’m on the comm, waiting to hear from them so I can guide them through any issues. There won’t likely be any regarding finding their way since I explained where the office is and the grandfather clock can’t be missed. Even without the significance, it’s an imposing piece of furniture. I’d guess the card is stuck somewhere inside the glass cabinet.
I hate to admit what a genius move it was to stash the card there because that sounds like I’m offering Nick an accolade. But it was brilliant. No one entered my father’s office uninvited. Nick was the only member of his administration who could get away with being in there alone because we lived in that house. He had my father—the most powerful man in our world—inadvertently protecting the very tool Nick hoped would allow him to assume control of both families. A dick move. But true to himself.
All he ever cared about was coming out ahead of his brothers and proving to my father that he was the greatest asset to the Morelli Cosa Nostra. If I hadn’t killed him, he may have pulled it off. I can’t deny the satisfaction it brings to know that I’m the one who stopped him.
As disappointed as I am that I can’t be there, I’m relieved we’re almost done. Once Wells and Liam are back on this plane, we can fly home, assure KORT it’s over, and move on with our lives. Whatever that might entail. Somehow, I’ll accomplish what Wells suggested and never let my mind go back there again. Because for the first time in years, I have tangible treasures to hold on to, and to do that fully, I need to let go of the deadweight.
Family means sacrifice.
Wells’s voice finally drones through the comm. “We’re in.”
Equal measures of relief and anxiety plague me as my mind conjures up the drawn-out trudging footfalls. I can envision them strolling through the hallway, making their way to my father’s sanctuary. My pulse ratchets higher, breaths quickening. And when the sound of the Westminster chimes greets my ear—announcing their arrival—the scale is instantly tipped full tilt toward anxiety.
My skin crawls, and a request leaves my mouth without my brain’s consent. “Can you break it?”
“Break it?” Liam repeats back to me as Gage nods in understanding.
“The clock. Break the fucking clock for her,” Gage explains, his fingers threading with mine.
Several more seconds pass. I’m not sure if the ticking is my imagination or expertly refined hearing, but it clicks around me. Ty rubs my back in assurance while gnawing the crap out of his inner cheek, appearing as keyed up as I am.
“Done,” Liam fires back. “I jammed the pendulum. Morelli time is officially over.”
“Thanks, Liam,” I rasp.
“Anything for you, Goldilocks,” he retorts. “We won’t stop until everything is just right.”
The thought of that stupid clock not ticking is more cathartic than I would have expected. A sigh billows out of me, consolation from the destruction of an inanimate object. My head really is a fucked-up place, but I permit the solace to find me all the same.
Ty and Gage both seem to relax with me, so I’d say my face expressed every morsel of distress I felt at hearing the chimes and every ounce of calm having them gone bestows.
“Goddammit,” Wells hisses, and all my muscles knot again at the sound of his exasperation.
What if I got it wrong? What if I killed Theo too soon and we never find that damn card?
“It’s not there?” Gage asks, finding the words before I do.
“No,” Wells corrects, “it’s here.”
He stalls for a minute, indecipherable words passing between him and Liam. And my bones ache. As much as his calm command blankets me in warmth, his apprehension wrecks me.
The thought, Forever the lamb, coasts through my mind with three imagined ticks before he fills us in.
“There’s a fucking three on it.”