Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Simon had made the walk through the Organization's headquarters hundreds of times, but today the familiar route felt like walking to his own execution.
All because he'd failed to execute someone else.
How messed up was that?
About as messed up as most other things in his life, if he was being honest with himself, which he rarely was.
Shoving the thought aside, he approached Reuben's office. He could hear voices from inside. Multiple voices.
That wasn't good.
Simon knocked once and entered without waiting for permission. He knew he was being expected, after all.
Three sets of eyes turned to him.
Reuben sat behind his desk, fingers steepled. Harmon occupied one of the leather chairs, his perpetual scowl deeper than usual. And in the other chair sat a woman Simon was never happy to see.
"Riley," he said, his voice carefully neutral.
The head of Internal Affairs stood, smoothing her charcoal suit. She'd been a hunter once, before an injury ended her field career. Now she hunted hunters, looking for signs of compromise, corruption, or worse.
"Hale." Her smile was sharp as glass. "We need to talk."
Simon's gaze flicked to Reuben, whose expression gave nothing away. "About?"
Riley produced a tablet from her briefcase, swiping to bring up an image. "This was taken six hours ago. Care to tell me more about what I'm seeing here?"
The photo was grainy, shot from a security camera at a bad angle. But it clearly showed Simon carrying a figure wrapped in a UV blanket. Charlie's hand was visible, clutching Simon's jacket.
Simon's mind raced through lies, explanations, deflections. None of them would work. The evidence was right there.
"You want to explain why you're playing taxi service for vampires?" Harmon leaned forward in his chair. "That's your target, isn't it?"
"It's not what it looks like," Simon said.
Riley's eyebrows rose. "Really? Because it looks like you're aiding and abetting a known vampire. One you were specifically assigned to eliminate."
"I was gathering intelligence—"
"By carrying him to safety?" Riley pulled up another image. This one showed Viktor's van. "We tried to track the vehicle but weren't successful. Whose van is this, Hale?"
Simon kept his face blank, but internally he cursed. They'd been sloppy. Too focused on Charlie's injuries to worry about cameras. "I can't say."
Riley shot him an incredulous look. "You can't or you won't?"
Simon said nothing, knowing there was nothing he could say.
Riley set the tablet on Reuben's desk. "Let me summarize this. You failed to eliminate your target. You were then seen providing aid to said target. You helped him escape in a van. And you've been radio silent for the past six hours."
She turned to Reuben. "This requires immediate suspension pending psychological evaluation. He's clearly been compromised."
"That won't be necessary," Reuben said quietly.
Riley's head snapped toward him. "Excuse me?"
"I'll handle Simon personally." Reuben's tone left no room for argument. "This is a specialized situation requiring specialized oversight."
"Sir, with all due respect—"
"With all due respect, Riley, there are aspects of this case you're not cleared to know." Reuben stood, and despite his age, his presence filled the room. "I trained Simon. I know his methods. If I say I'll handle it, I'll handle it."
Riley looked ready to argue, but Harmon touched her arm. "Reuben knows what he's doing."
The two shared a look Simon couldn't interpret. Then Riley gathered her tablet, her jaw tight with suppressed anger.
"Fine. But I want a full report within twenty-four hours."
"You'll have it," Reuben said.
Riley left without another word, her heels clicking sharp against the floor. Harmon followed, pausing at the door.
"Whatever's going on here, fix it fast." He shot Simon a look of pure disgust. "I don't care what makes you special, Hale. No one's irreplaceable."
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Reuben moved to his cabinet, the one with the good whiskey and the weapons older than Simon. He didn't speak for a long moment, just stood there with his back to Simon.
"Is it happening?" he asked finally.
"Is what happening?"
"Don't play stupid with me." Reuben turned, and for the first time since Simon had known him, he looked old. Tired. "Are you going native?"
The words hung between them like a blade.
Simon's jaw tightened. "I'm not going native."
"Then how do you explain all of this?" Reuben gestured widely. "Carrying vampires to safety? Refusing to share intel?"
"It's not like that."
"It's exactly like that." Reuben's voice hardened. "You've abandoned your post. Just like Richardson did. Just like Keane."
Simon swallowed. He didn't need to be reminded of those hunters' deaths.
"They forgot what they were," Reuben said. "What we made them to be." He moved closer, and Simon could smell the whiskey on his breath from the drinks he'd already had today. "They thought they could walk the line. Thought they could be something other than what we trained them to be."
"I don't think that."
"Don't you?" Reuben's hand slammed down on his desk, making the weapons on the wall rattle. "Tell me how this is different, Simon. You were sent to eliminate a vampire. Instead, I find evidence of you rescuing him."
Simon met his gaze steadily. "Charlie isn't a real vampire."
Reuben went very still. "How so?"
"He can't bring himself to bite anyone. He faints at the sight of blood."
"And you believe this?"
"I've seen it."
Reuben laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, Simon. They really got to you, didn't they?"
"No one got to me."
"A vampire who doesn't drink blood? Who faints at the sight of it?" Reuben shook his head. "That's exactly the kind of deception they'd use. Make you think they're harmless. Different. Special."
"He is different."
"No vampire is different!" Reuben's composure cracked, real emotion bleeding through. "They're all the same underneath."
He moved to his display of weapons, running his fingers along an ancient crossbow.
"How many vampires have you killed for me, Simon?"
Simon didn't answer.
"One hundred and seventeen," Reuben supplied. "I keep track of all my hunters, but especially you. My best. My greatest success." He turned back. "Tell me, if vampires can be good, what does that make us? What does that make you?"
The question cut too deep for comfort.
It was what Simon had tried very hard to avoid thinking about ever since he'd met Charlie.
He'd eliminated so many vampires, left behind so many dust piles.
Had any of them been like Charlie?
Scared, confused, trying desperately to hold onto their humanity?
No. They couldn't have been. Because if they were...
"They were all threats," Simon insisted.
"Every single one," Reuben agreed. "Just like your present target. Whatever act he's putting on, however convincing it might be, he's a threat. He'll always be a threat."
Reuben returned to his desk, pulling out the familiar prescription bottle. "You've been skipping again, haven't you?"
Simon's silence was answer enough.
Reuben nudged the bottle toward him. "You know what to do."
It wasn't a request. Simon took the bottle, shook out two of the dark red pills. They sat in his palm like drops of crystallized blood.
Would taking these cut his link to Charlie?
They were supposed to suppress the monster inside him after all, and it was his monster that had bonded with Charlie, that had become a sire-substitute to a fledgling vampire.
"I'm watching," Reuben said.
Simon looked up at his mentor and dry-swallowed the pills. They went down hard, scraping his throat.
"Good." Reuben sat back. "I'm giving you one more chance, Simon. One. Eliminate that vampire within the next twelve hours, or you'll undergo correctional training."
Correctional training.
Every muscle in Simon's body tensed.
Initial training had been hard enough.
Without wanting to, he remembered the medical chair in the sub-basement, the leather straps cutting into his fifteen-year-old wrists. They'd pumped his veins full of anti-vampire chemicals that burned like acid, made him smell vial after vial of blood until his fangs descended against his will.
And every time they did, someone yanked them out of his mouth with silver pliers.
Pain was a valuable teacher, Reuben had said. His body needed to recognize the vampire infection as a threat to keep in check.
His humanity had been hard-won.
"You remember," Reuben said, reading Simon's expression. "How hard we worked to save you. To make you what you are." His expression softened slightly. "You're like a son to me, Simon. But that's exactly why I can't let you fall. The Organization has protocols for a reason."
Simon wanted to argue, but what could he say?
That he would rather stake himself than go back into the basement?
That seemed dramatic.
Especially now that the pills started working, dulling that ever-simmering rage deep inside him.
Slowly, the constant awareness of heartbeats faded to nothing. The sharp edges of everything softened.
And with that softening came clarity.
Of course Reuben was right. Vampires were threats. All of them. Charlie's helpless act was just that—an act. Simon had been foolish to fall for it, to let his guard down.
The lack of suppressants had obviously affected his judgment more than he'd realized.
"I'll handle it," Simon said, and the words came easier now. "The vampire will be eliminated."
"Good." Reuben pulled out a folder, sliding it across the desk. "Before you go, there's one more thing. We traced some of those false intelligence reports about your target. The calls came from a specific location."
Simon opened the folder. An address, phone records, timestamps.
"A library?" Simon looked up.
"The Riverside Public Library, to be exact. Someone there has been feeding us false information about Charlie Dracul. Making him seem more dangerous than he is." Reuben's eyes narrowed. "Find out who's been messing with the Organization and eliminate them too."
"Understood."