Chapter Nine Saylor #2
“You heard me. I want them dead. All of them. Every single person involved in my father’s murder.
” The words come out steady, sure, like I’ve been thinking about them for years.
Because I have. “For five years, I’ve been dreaming about making them pay.
For five years, I’ve been imagining what I’d do if I ever got the chance. ”
Blue studies me with new interest. “Saylor—”
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t tell me that’s not who I am, or that I’m too good for revenge, or that my father wouldn’t
want this. I know exactly who I am and what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“Justice. For my father, for all the people they’ve killed, for everyone they’re going to kill if someone doesn’t stop them.”
I meet his stare across the table. “You said you used to be good at making dangerous things go away. How good?”
“Very good.” His voice is careful, measured. “But I told you, I’m retired.”
“Then teach me.”
Blue stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Don’t I?” I lean forward. “I’m asking you to teach me how to kill the people who murdered my father. I’m asking you to help
me become someone who can make them pay for what they’ve done.”
“You think you want revenge, but you don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly.” I push my dessert away. “Can I have a pen and paper?”
Blue’s eyebrows raise. “What for?”
“I want to write something down.”
He nods to Wren, who appears with a fountain pen and elegant stationery, as if she’s been expecting this request. I uncap
the pen and start writing, the words flowing easily because I’ve carried this list in my head for five years.
“The one with the scar through his left eyebrow who smelled like cheap cologne and had these dead, cold eyes. The short one with the gold tooth who kept cracking his knuckles—nervous habit, like he was always ready for a fight. The tall one with the snake tattoo curling up his neck who wouldn’t stop laughing at everything, even while they were .
. . doing it. The heavy-set one with a pronounced limp who positioned himself by the door like a guard, watching for witnesses.
And the one in the expensive suit with manicured nails who gave all the orders—clearly the man in charge.
” I look up at Blue. “Those are the five I remember from that night. The ones I watched from the closet while they killed my father.”
Blue’s face has gone very still. “Saylor—”
“There were others, weren’t there? The one who gave the order. The one who planned it. The one who decided my father had to
die.” I add another line to my list. “I want all of them. Every single person involved.”
I slide the paper across the table to Blue. He reads it slowly, his expression growing darker with each line.
“You know them,” I say. “I can see it in your face. You know exactly who I’m talking about.”
Blue sets the paper down carefully. “I have a pretty good idea . . . yeah.”
“Good. Now you know exactly who I want dead.”
“Killing them won’t bring your father back.”
“No, but it’ll make sure they can’t kill anyone else’s father.” I lean back in my chair. “You said the Crow multiply. That
simply getting rid of these won’t change anything.”
Blue nods slowly. “They recruit constantly. Kill four, six more take their place.”
“Good.” I smile, and I know it’s not a nice smile. “Let’s kill them all.”
The silence stretches between us for a long moment. Blue studies my face like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“You’re serious.”
“Dead serious. No pun intended.”
“You have no idea how to be a killer, Saylor. It’s not something you just decide to do one day.”
“That’s why I need a teacher.” I gesture to him. “And you’re the best one I’m likely to find.”
“I told you, I’m retired.”
“From killing, yes. But not from teaching.” I lean forward again. “Show me how. Help me become someone who can end this. I stay here, which makes you happy, but I get what I want. A win, win.”
Blue is quiet for so long I think he’s going to refuse. When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper.
“Your father would hate this. Everything about it.”
“My father is dead because he tried to save people the nice way. Maybe it’s time someone tried the other way.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I’ll figure it out on my own. I’ll make mistakes, probably get myself killed, and accomplish nothing except adding one
more body to their count.” I shrug. “But I’m going to try either way. The only question is whether you’re going to help me
do it right.”
Blue picks up the paper again, reading over my list. “You understand what you’re asking me to become again? What you’re asking
yourself to become?”
“I understand that these men killed my father while I watched, helpless. I understand that they’re still out there, still
killing, still destroying families.” I meet his eyes. “I understand that if someone doesn’t stop them, they’ll keep doing
it forever.”
“And you want to be that someone.”
“I want to be their nightmare. I want to be the thing they see coming in their last moments. I want them to know exactly why
they’re dying.” The words come out harder than I intended, but I don’t soften them. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
Blue folds the paper carefully and slips it into his jacket pocket. “We’ll see.”
“We’ll see?” I stare at him. “That’s what adults say to children when they want to placate them without actually committing
to anything. I’m not a child, Blue.”
“I know you’re not.”
“Then don’t treat me like one.” My voice hardens. “I’m twenty-three years old. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was
eighteen. I watched my father get murdered and I survived it. I’m not some naive little girl who doesn’t understand what she’s
asking for.”
Blue is quiet for a moment, studying my face. “No, you’re not,” he says finally. “But you’re young enough to think revenge
is simple.”
“And you’re old enough to know it isn’t?”
“I’m old enough to know it changes you in ways you can’t undo.”
“Good. I want to be changed.”
Blue runs a hand through his hair, suddenly looking every one of his years. “Saylor, you have no idea what you’re asking me
to become again. What you’re asking yourself to become.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking for.”
“Do you? Because once you cross that line, once you take a life with your own hands, you can’t go back to being the girl who
sang jazz in nightclubs and worried about rent money. That person dies the moment you become a killer.”
“That person already died. The night they killed my father.”
“No, she didn’t. She’s sitting right across from me, asking me to help her commit suicide.”
“That’s not what this is.”
Blue sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion. “It’s been a long day. A very long day.” He rubs his temples. “I’ll think about
it.”
“When will you decide?”
“Tomorrow.” He stands, offering me his arm. “After I’ve had time to think about what you’re really asking for.”