Chapter Fifteen
Greyson
“Don’t know the last time we went on an op together,” I comment, glancing over at Cain.
He’s seated in the passenger seat of the SUV, typing away furiously at the computer on his lap.
In the corner of his screen is a grainy, live-stream image showing a laboratory with linoleum flooring and gleaming countertops.
A woman in a lab coat stands at one of those counters, working on something indistinguishable.
When Cain doesn’t respond or otherwise acknowledge my existence, I ask, “Stalking your Chosen?”
Cain turns to pin me with a deadened look, warning dancing in his cold gaze. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Neither is this bullshit assignment you brought me on,” I reply blithely. “And yet, I’m driving us to deal with body disposal of all things.”
“Not body disposal, witness disposal,” Cain corrects calmly. “Blue team fucked up their op, and I don’t trust anyone else to deal with the situation properly, so it’s down to the two of us. It shouldn’t take more than an hour—though I do have a pitstop to make while we’re in the city.”
The screwed-up operation in question took place at a restaurant, and it should’ve been simple. Poisoning a target’s food and getting the fuck out of dodge. Two Nighthawks were sent; one to run the op, one to run interference and backup.
A line cook noticed the operator slipping powder into the target’s soup, and when that man died a very bloody death just minutes later, that cook probably put two and two together.
I’ve seen video footage of the cook watching our agent poison soup.
In the unlikely case that the cook hasn’t realized what happened, he will eventually, and then that’ll mean problems.
One of the advantages of being a Nighthawk is that nobody knows who you are; every Nighthawk has been carefully wiped off the face of the earth, down to their rap sheets, fingerprints, and even birth certificates. A threat to the anonymity of any operative is a threat to our organization.
“What’s the cook’s address again?” I ask.
“Trailer park on the south side of the city. He’s trying to work his way out of that shithole.” Cain cracks his knuckles. “Soon enough, he won’t have any problems left.”
“You make it sound like we’re doing this guy a favor.”
Cain turns to look at me. “And you’re starting to sound like your chosen is turning you soft.”
“I’m not fucking soft,” I mutter. Not to anyone that isn’t her. “But killing someone isn’t akin to freeing them from the problems of life. It’s taking them out of this world. I don’t have many morals, but even you have to be able to admit that killing innocents is fucked up.”
“To me, killing an innocent feels no different from killing a guilty person.” Cain blinks. “Well… there’s no satisfaction with killing innocents, but that’s about it.”
Scarlett thinks I’m horrible, and in some ways, she’s right… but I truly pity the woman that Cain has set his sights on. She’ll bear the full brunt of his psychopathy and sadism.
“What did you say to Scarlett the other day?” I question.
She was shaken for the rest of the day, and didn’t sleep well that night.
Cain getting into my apartment unnoticed marked a serious security failure on my end.
He has no business being anywhere near Scarlett—not at this fragile state in our relationship, and certainly not when she has nightmares about him regularly.
“Nothing of importance,” Cain replies. “I merely suggested she accept her place here and not make things too difficult for you… lest I have to intervene.”
“If you intervene, I’ll start causing problems,” I say harshly. “And if I decide to kick up trouble, one of us isn’t walking away.”
Cain chuckles. “I’ve always enjoyed your presence, Greyson, and I’m quite well aware that getting into a battle of wills with you wouldn’t end well for me… or for the Nighthawks, so I won’t. But I will tell you to have caution and care. I make an excellent friend, but a horrible enemy.”
“You don’t know what friendship is.”
“Maybe so, but I do know what loyalty is. I also know how to be a strong ally. If you want to survive, you will not take our alliance for granted.”
The two-hour drive culminates in a somewhat anticlimactic op.
Cain has a description of the trailer we’re looking for, which sits in a park far too close to a trash landfill for comfort.
The cook is snorting a line of coke when I bust in…
making it clear why he can only afford to live in a trailer.
He dies with a rolled-up dollar bill still shoved halfway up his nose, and an eternal expression of shock plastered on his face.
I sigh at the lack of excitement, and make my way back outside, where Cain’s standing next to our car, gazing around in case any witnesses come traipsing by. None do—the air is dead quiet, and the park is all but abandoned.
A piercing screech tears through the stillness, so sharp it makes my skull ring. For a heartbeat, I can’t place the noise—it’s so jarring it makes everything blur—until I realize the sound is coming from the car.
Cain is already moving. He wrenches open the passenger’s door and digs into the glove compartment, his motions fast and precise. There’s a flash of metal and glass in his hand as he withdraws a high-tech tablet, no bigger than my palm, which is lighting up red and emitting the horrible sound.
That’s when I realize what the alarm signifies, and panic overcomes every inch of my being, pouring out from my very soul.
This isn’t just any alarm, it’s the alarm. The one that’s never supposed to sound; the one that means someone has breached the fortress.
Cain’s gaze flicks up, locking onto mine. For a suspended breath, the world seems to drop out from beneath me.
The fortress is under attack. Our fortress.
But what’s truly horrifying is that Scarlett is there. Exposed. Isolated at her greenhouse. Possibly right in the line of fire, with nothing to shield her but the walls I thought were unbreakable.
A chill settles over me. My body wants to sprint, to tear the world apart until I’m back where I belong, but I’m rooted in the dirt of a goddamn trailer park, too far away from the fortress to be useful.
While the only thing that matters to me is in mortal danger.