Chapter Nineteen #2
“I understand she grew up on your ritzy estate—not that she remembers it.” He chuckles quietly.
“She doesn’t remember you at all, and I guarantee she is no longer the same girl you knew.
She’s far stronger now, and she’s bound to me.
If you won’t willingly release her, she’ll find a way out.
And if she fails, I’ll come for her myself.
Trust me, Maximus, you don’t want that to happen.
I’m the wrecking ball that will demolish the Nighthawks.
I’m the hurricane that will destroy everything you know and care for.
” He pauses, letting that sink in. “You have 72 hours to release her. Pass on to her that she has four days remaining to return to me, or I will assume she’s willingly broken our deal and act accordingly.
If she’s not back with me by then, I’ll destroy you and the operation you work for. ” He hangs up before I can respond.
I crush my phone, feeling bits of glass dig into my skin. The pain is the only thing keeping me anchored right now.
“Brief me,” Greyson demands.
“Dagon wants Ember back.” I swallow. “And he’s willing to destroy the Nighthawks if he doesn’t get what he wants.”
I will never give her back to him, but Cain might be a different story.
If he sees Ember posing a genuine threat to the wellbeing of the Nighthawks, then he might think she’s more trouble than she’s worth.
He might try to force me to give her up.
When I refuse, it’d cause a war amongst leadership.
Greyson would take my side, as would his unit.
The Nighthawks would become divided. We just recovered from a mutiny; we can’t afford another one.
“You have to talk to Cain,” Greyson says. “Immediately.”
“I can’t just leave Ember,” I gesture towards the bedroom. “She’s asleep, and—”
“Just monitor her through cameras and motion sensors,” Greyson says, waving a hand. When I stare at him blankly, he blinks slowly. “You do have cameras and motion sensors set up around here, right?”
“I hadn’t gotten around to it yet,” I mumble.
Greyson sighs. “Get your shit together, Max. Being underprepared is not a good look on you.” He leans back. “Scarlett’s sleeping after our earlier scene, so I can hang around here while you talk to Cain. I can also call Tobias up to install—”
“No. I don’t want anyone around her while she’s unconscious.”
Greyson gives me a look of disbelief. “You either go to Cain or have him come to you. I wouldn’t trust him in the same living space as Scarlett if she were asleep.”
Fuck. He’s right. Cain needs to be briefed now, and I can’t leave Ember alone.
“Fine,” I grit out. “Don’t go in the bedroom. And don’t call Tobias. I’ll figure out surveillance shit later.” I steel myself, looking between the door to my bedroom and the front door. Fuck, I don’t want to leave Ember right now. I can’t leave Ember right now—
“Go,” Grey emphasizes. “Cain won’t be happy if he learns you kept this from him, even for a few hours.”
Twenty minutes later, I’ve laid out all the details to Cain in his office. He stares at me from across the desk, nursing a tumbler of whiskey, looking eerily composed as always. I wonder if there’s anything in this world that has the power to crack his composure.
Probably not. He’s fucking diabolical at the best of times.
“Interesting,” he drawls. “Viper obviously has a lot of worth to Dagon, in order for him to make such concentrated efforts to retrieve her. And to make threats.” A smile spreads on his lips. “That makes her very valuable to me, indeed.”
“She’s not a tool,” I snap. “She’s my chosen.”
“She is both,” Cain replies, sounding vaguely bored with my retort. “And she might well be the one viable option for permanently taking down Dagon. That makes her extremely valuable.”
“So you’ll let her stay?”
“More like I won’t allow her to leave.” Cain nods slowly. “She’ll draw Dagon right to us. If he’s dead, his operation will fall to shambles and will be primed for a hostile takeover.”
My brows slam down. “You want to get into the drug game? We’re assassins, not fucking smugglers—”
“We are whatever I say we are.” Cain’s stare is brimming with warning, silently telling me to stay in line or else. “And Dagon’s trade brings in nine figures yearly. It wouldn’t hurt to absorb that into our portfolio. The Nighthawks ought to expand outside of just killing people, don’t you think?”
“Not particularly—”
“It was a rhetorical question. Bottom line: Ember’s staying.
Let Dagon come to his death for her.” His eyes move to the computer screen, and something strange shines in them—I’d say it was emotion, if I didn’t know better.
Cain is incapable of feeling emotions. “If you don’t mind, I have my own Chosen to tend to. ”
Ah. Cain’s elusive chosen. A woman he apparently has a preexisting connection with, and is currently tormenting with some garden-variety stalking.
“You planning on ever actually bringing her here?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.
“Once the necessary arrangements have been made, of course,” he replies. “But that’s none of your concern. You have Viper to be concerned with—”
“Her name is Ember.”
“Not to me. Ember has no value or meaning; Viper has an abundance of both.” He carelessly flicks a hand.
“Now, get out, and get a handle on yourself. Your chosen will have trials to attend to in three months. And believe me when I say, you do not want her to fail. If she does, what I’ll do will make Dagon look kind in comparison. ”
Fuck.