15. Chapter 15 #2
Addy: You sound very sure of yourself for a man texting me from an encrypted mystery app.
Oh yeah. There are very few things I’m not sure of where you’re concerned.
Addy: This feels like the part where I’m supposed to panic.
Addy: So is this a conversation or an ongoing situation?
You really think I’d let you slip through my fingers? After all the trouble I went through to get this set up?
Addy: I could just not answer.
Do you know how easy it was to find you?
Addy: Again, kind of creepy.
It was about as easy as it will be to make sure you’ll never ignore me. At least not for too long, I know you can be stubborn.
I’ll make it worth your while.
Addy: You’re very confident.
I’ve been paying attention.
Don’t overthink it. We’ll take this one step at a time.
Addy: Apparently, you don’t know me as well as you think.
Addy: I’ll be doing nothing but overthinking this.
Talk soon. Don’t miss me too much.
Addy: Yeah, don’t think we’re in any danger of that.
A few seconds after her last message, her status went dark. She didn’t yet fully grasp what she had stepped into.
I stared at the screen for longer than necessary, my thumb idly resting against the edge of the phone. The app felt different now — less like a tool and more like a live wire that had just been connected.
With the letters there had been distance but this was a kind of proximity she couldn’t easily dismiss. This was the knowledge of being able to reach her in seconds if I wanted to. She’d opened the door and I’d stepped right through, making myself at home.
I wondered what she was doing now. Had she tossed the phone aside and paced her apartment or flopped back on her bed, laughing at her own recklessness? Had she replayed the exchange line by line, telling herself she wasn’t affected while cataloguing every word anyway?
Addy would tell herself she ended it. Tell herself she got the last word in.
I turned the phone face down on the thin mattress and leaned back against the wall, listening to the sounds of Blackwood settling into its version of night. Somewhere down the block, someone laughed too loudly, a guard barked an order and metal shifted. The usual.
Nothing had changed.
And yet …
Tomorrow, my little devil would wake up with this sitting under her skin — quiet, but persistent. She would have the knowledge I was real in a way I hadn’t been before. She would be aware this was turning into something she had no control over and couldn’t contain.
I didn’t need to message her again tonight. The door was open now, and sooner or later, curiosity would draw her back.
And when it did, I’d be right here.
I stood near the back wall of the block, angling my shoulder just enough to see the corridor’s reflection in the metal. I pitched my voice low enough for it to blend into Blackwood’s familiar soundtrack of containment: shouting and steel. I’d memorized it years ago.
It was the rhythm of a place convinced it owned me.
Blackwood stripped men down to their true selves. Most didn’t survive the process unscathed but Kyrill did. That’s why I noticed him and that’s why I chose him to be my right-hand man.
“It’s moving faster than we anticipated,” I explained. “Hunter’s ahead of schedule. Every camera, every log and every failsafe has been patched. He’s already running test breaches.”
Kyrill’s expression barely shifted, but his attention sharpened.
For a brief, uninvited moment, I remembered the first time I had seen him.
The yard had been full of commotion that day.
There were too many men, not enough space, and too few consequences for stupidity.
I’d been leaning against the fence, watching a fight break out and waiting to see how it would play out, watching to see who was worth noticing and who was worth adding to my collection.
Kyrill had joined the fight late. One of the larger inmates, who was both stupid and aggressive, with blood already dripping down his face, had turned on him, swinging wide. Kyrill didn’t dodge. He stepped in and took the fucking hit. Then he ended it with brutal efficiency.
There was no wasted movement or unnecessary theatrics. The man hit the ground and didn’t get back up.
Everyone else hesitated, but not Kyrill. He simply wiped the blood from his mouth, glanced around once to assess the situation and walked away, as though he had never doubted the outcome.
That was the moment I’d decided to recruit him.
“Our outside network is set,” I continued. “The Baltimore route is compromised — too much visibility — so we’re pivoting south. Transfer vehicle changes twice. Third handoff is off-record. No comms, no witnesses.”
“So the exit point will be Florida?” he asked.
I nodded once. “The yacht’s confirmed, and the crew’s been vetted. Once we’re on the water, it’s gone. Puerto Rico by morning.”
Kyrill gave a short, unamused huff of laughter. “About fucking time.”
“About fucking time,” I agreed. Then, after a beat, “There’s an adjustment.”
That got his attention.
“Not to the extraction. The timeline holds. We’re just, ah, … We’re adding a stop.”
Kyrill studied my face, trying to decipher why I had made this decision. He’d known me long enough to understand the difference mattered. “How long?”
“Brief.” I shrugged. “Non-negotiable.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t add variables this late.”
Kyrill was one of the few people who spoke to me like that.
Not because he forgot his place, but because I had given him one.
He’d stuck with me through worse decisions than this.
Trusted me when trust was hard to come by and bled when I asked him to.
And I had done the same for him. This kind of bond doesn’t form accidentally.
“I do,” I corrected mildly, “when the variable matters.”
Silence stretched between us. Kyrill finally nodded, deferring to my decision. “What are we picking up?”
I didn’t answer right away. Because whatever I called her out loud would be a lie. “Something that doesn’t belong where it is … and won’t stay there much longer.”
Kyrill’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Security risk?” he asked.
“For anyone else?” I swayed my head from side to side. “Probably.”
“For us?” he pressed, one brow quirked.
I met his gaze fully then. “No.”
He gave me a sharp nod. “I’ll reroute the secondary transport. Make sure the stop doesn’t register.”
“Good.” Kyrill leaned back against the wall. “Since when do you pick up trophies on the way?”
I allowed myself the smallest pause. “This isn’t a trophy. It’s an inevitability.”
He didn’t ask anything else, merely nodded again, and clapped me on the back. “You’re the boss. I trust you.”
When he walked away, I lingered, my gaze fixed on nothing as I contemplated this latest addition to our plan. I didn’t need confirmation to know where this was going.
My little devil thought curiosity was her flaw. She had no idea how neatly she’d stepped into a plan already in motion, how little room there was now between where she stood and where she would end up.
I hadn’t told Kyrill why the stop mattered but he surely had his guesses. He knew me better than perhaps anyone else.
I wouldn’t tell Addy either. She didn’t need to be scared or involved in any of this. I would take care of this the same way I would take care of her from now on.
All she needed to do was to be exactly where I was going to pick her up.
And soon — very soon — she would be mine.
Addy: On a scale from one to “I should not have done this,” where am I right now?
Somewhere between “interesting decision” and “predictable outcome.”
Addy: Rude.
Accurate.
Addy: You’re very comfortable talking to me like this for someone who orchestrated a whole production instead of just saying hi.
You do know I’m locked up, right? Not like I could pop over for a fucking coffee
Addy: Semantics.
Addy: So what happens now?
Now you decide whether you’re going to pretend this is casual or admit it isn’t.
Addy: And which do you prefer?
I don’t have a preference.
But I already know which one you’ll choose.
Addy: You’re impossible.
And yet, here you are. Still typing with your pretty little fingers.