38 - Andre
~ 38 ~
ANDRE
The plan worked better than expected, with everyone out of the manor. We figured there might be stragglers. A few men from each group that stayed behind, to watch over things while the rest of their crew went to the docks.
Instead, they all went — every last one of them, from what I could see. Men like this were traditionally restless. They got stir-crazy, and hated to be cooped up in the same place for too long. Even a place as beautiful as this.
I encountered not one person on the way up to Roman’s soon-to-be chambers, which were of course the best in the mansion. An entire wing had been dedicated to him and his crew, and they’d been diligent in searching it top to bottom before his arrival. There could be any number of cameras, or listening devices, or even worse. Much, much worse actually, when it came to this kind of business.
Slipping into the suite unseen was easy. Scoring the one keycard that actually opened his door, was not. We’d had to sneak it out of the pocket of Raif’s jacket, and into the replicator during the one time he took it off, which was when he went to the bathroom. Even there, the man was so efficient in doing his business there wasn’t enough time to run the cloning program. Not without Kayden barging in there to distract him, asking countless annoying questions that had nothing to do with dinner and everything to do with keeping him occupied.
In the end, we barely pulled it off. I knew this the moment I held up the replicated card against the electronic reader, and heard the satisfying whir of the lock disengaging.
Roman Wynter’s room was grand and palatial, as I knew it would be. The man was all pomp and circumstance, with no class and zero moral substance. Everything in his world was over the top, and I could tell by looking around that no expense had been spared. He enjoyed the best of everything, always, no matter how many innocent lives were destroyed in the process.
Just one more reason he needed to die.
His things had arrived ahead of him, as we knew they would. The locks on his bags were easily picked, so I produced the necessary tools and set to work. The whole thing took less than a minute. My feeler held the tumblers in place while the torsion bar did the rest.
Click.
Carefully I removed the charges from the bag at my hip. Blowing myself up now, this close to accomplishing our mission, simply wouldn’t do. The irony of using the same detonators that Roman Wynter had so selfishly set off all those years ago would be lost on him, I knew. But we’d done it anyway. If not for us, at least for those who’d lost their lives to his inexcusable recklessness.
Marley. Hayes. Yearwood.
My heart raced; as the names drifted through my mind. I’d thought about them so many times. But never, until this moment, did they seem this important.
Adler. Sharpe.
I glanced down at my arm. Were the names there growing warm as I repeated each one in my head? It couldn’t have been, but it sure felt like they were.
Driscoll…
My lip curled back in a snarl. Slowly and deliberately I attached the trigger line to the inside of the zipper, then closed the bag. Something made me open it again, though.
NO.
There, on the surface of the detonator, the feed wire remained unattached. And not just unattached, but broken, exactly as I’d left it.
We can’t set the trigger live.
Bishop’s words echoed resoundingly in my mind. I closed my eyes against them.
It’s too dangerous. Stick to the plan.
For a frightening moment, I lost control. I reached out and touched the feed wire, twisting it gently between my two calloused fingers. Attaching it to the zipper would be so easy, so final. It would solve our biggest, most long-standing problem, definitively, once and for all.
But there was a good chance it could also lead to our undoing.
I took a slow, cleansing breath. If and when shit went sideways, Bishop and I would be alright. We’d gotten out of much tighter places than this, against much worse odds. Yet there was also Kayden to think about. He'd given up so much to help us. He was a brother to Bishop, and a good friend who’d made sacrifices I’d never forget. Kayden was sharp, fast, quick on his feet. He might be okay.
When it came to Jocelyn though, that wasn’t a risk any of us were willing to take.
I closed my eyes, fighting back images of her lithe, beautiful body, twisting nakedly beneath mine. What we’d done was carnal. Twisted. Incredibly hot. And yet it was more than that, too. There were feelings there now, developing deep beneath the purely sexual surface. I felt attached to this beautiful, resourceful woman. Bonded in ways that I hadn’t felt with any of the short, tumultuous relationships I’d tried to keep while juggling a career as a Marine Specialist.
In a world of shit and shadows, Jocelyn was the one shining star. She’d held it together better than anyone could ever expect, even through the horrific scene at the lake. I wanted to hold her, protect her, and keep her from harm. I wanted to live long enough to destroy those who’d wronged her, and pull her through this threshold of absurdity to brighter, happier times.
And none of that could happen if I didn’t stick to the plan.
I opened my eyes and let the feed wire slip through my fingers, still unattached from the lethal charge of C-4 that would potentially obliterate the room. It would remain there, broken, dangling ominously from the inside of the zipper.
Exactly where Roman Wynter would find it.