Chapter Forty
Ember
The trade-off happens a six-hour drive from the compound. I sit in the backseat with Tobias, who—for once—isn’t on his laptop. Cain sits in the passenger seat, doing something on his phone, and Greyson’s behind the wheel.
I’m surprised he didn’t stay behind with Scarlett.
But then, why should I be? Max didn’t even say goodbye to me. I don’t think Scarlett’s worth as much to Greyson as either of them believe. Just like I wasn’t worth shit to Max.
Good fucking riddance.
“So, Alina,” Toby says after the first few hours. I turn slowly, my glare making it perfectly clear that I’m in the mood to rip out his eyeball with my teeth. “You, uh…”
“If you’re going to put me through the misery of hearing your voice, at least have the courtesy to formulate full sentences.”
Toby’s jaw tightens. “You knew Alina?”
“What gave that impression?” I ask sarcastically.
“You knew Alina,” he says more carefully. “And you protected her.”
“No shit, Sherlock. Are you done? Can I please go to my death in silence?”
“Jesus Christ, you don’t have to be such a bitch about everything,” Toby snaps.
In return, I wrap my hand around his neck and slam the side of his face against the window. Hard enough that the glass would crack, if it wasn’t bulletproof.
“You want to see me being a bitch?” I ask quietly. “For every sound you make for the rest of this ride, I will break one of your fingers. You need them for your work, don’t you? Maybe I’ll even cut them off.”
“That’s enough,” Cain says. “If your concern is Alina, I can assure you she’ll be very well taken care of. I suppose there’s no harm in telling you now: Tobias has selected her as his Chosen—”
He doesn’t get to finish. The words register faster than I can truly process them, and something inside me just cracks. After everything I’ve done is to protect Alina from men like Dagon, she’s been earmarked by one?
Tobias will have a hard fucking time claiming Alina if he’s dead. I might not have my weapon in hand, but after years with the man I’m about to be handed back to, I don’t need one. I am the weapon.
I slam Toby’s head against the window two more times in rapid succession. I’m going to cave his fucking skull in. If this is my second-to-last act in this world, I’ll die at peace.
I’ m going to–
Then, I hear the click of a gun cocking. I turn my head, seeing Cain pointing the pistol at me. “I said,” he repeats slowly, “that’s enough. I don’t like having to say things twice.”
“You won’t kill me,” I say with a sardonic laugh. “You need me alive, or Dagon will kill your precious Chosen.”
“I need you alive—nothing was ever said about you being unharmed. I expect walking over to Dagon will be quite painful with a bullet in your kneecap, and he doesn’t strike me as the sort of man to carry you.” Cain lowers the weapon until it’s aimed at my knee. “Enough.”
“If you shoot me now, the bullet might hit him.”
“I’m an extremely good shot.”
Reluctantly, I release Toby and scoot back to the other side of the car. I can’t very well execute my plan with a bullet in my knee.
Which means I’ll have to find some other way to ensure Toby can’t get his hands on Alina. I might have to resort to becoming a ghost and pulling a Poltergeist on him. Cain doesn’t move the gun. “Next time, I won’t warn. I’ll shoot. I’m not Max—I don’t give a fuck about you. Got it?”
“Yes,” I hiss.
“Good.”
The rest of the ride is taken in silence.
The meetup is at an abandoned bridge in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere. I suspect that we’re at a state line right now; a lesser known one marked only by the rusted grates at the midway point in the bridge.
On the other side of the open gates is an entourage of vehicles. Dark SUV’s, all of them. I feel Dagon’s presence long before I see him step out of the car. The air is saturated with the oppressive darkness he always emanates.
For once, my heart doesn’t speed. My plans are in place. I have no qualms; I know what needs to be done. My skin throbs with pain, as if in acknowledgement of what I’m going to do.
Cain exits the car swiftly. Greyson meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, then looks away. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.
“Please,” I scoff. “Don’t insult me.”
My car door opens, and a gun is shoved in my face. “Out,” Cain growls. “Don’t make a scene. Be a good girl. I will shoot you if I have to.”
I get the vague sense that he might not want to, though. Otherwise, he would’ve shot me when I was ready to break all of Tobias’s fingers and bash his head until it exploded.
I get out of the car. At the same time, one of the doors to the SUV from across the bridge opens, and my skin chills as Dagon steps out. It’s cold outside, but that’s not the reason a shiver wracks through me.
It’s because I’m seeing him again, but that’s not the only cause. It’s because I know I’m dead, no matter what happens. If he doesn’t manage to kill me in time, I’ll do it myself.
After being free from him, even if it was only for a short period, I can never again go back to enduring him. Not when the one person who convinced me I could trust him betrayed me and couldn’t even look me in the face as he did it.
A boyish grin spreads on Dagon’s face as he sees me. We’re at least fifty feet apart, yet I notice everything about him in detail, as if he were directly in front of me. His blue eyes have blue circles beneath them, signaling his lack of sleep. His hair is imperfect. His tie is a bit off.
He’s unraveling at the seams. Good.
Cain grabs my arm and presses a gun into my side, just as Greyson exits the car and comes to stand beside him.
“Where’s Azalea?” Cain calls out.
“You’ll see her after I have Ember back,” Dagon replies. “The sooner the better. She’s got a lot of wounds that need tending to. If you delay, it’s quite possible she’ll bleed out.”
“Cain,” Greyson murmurs. “Something’s not right—”
“I want to see her now,” Cain roars.
Dagon smiles. “Let me do you one better.” He knocks on the back of a SUV.
One of the windows rolls down, and then, a chilling, ear-splitting scream is released.
A woman’s in there, alright, and she’s being tortured badly.
I’m very familiar with the sound of pain.
I know when it’s manufactured. I know when it comes from a broken bone versus torn flesh, and this…
this sounds like Azalea’s being torn apart.
Dagon’s smile drops as the window rolls up. Cain’s jaw tightens, and his eyes flash with menace.
“Send her over,” Dagon says. “Now.”
Cain gives me a rough push forward. “Release Azalea when she’s halfway. If you don’t, I’ll shoot her.”
“Thanks,” I hiss.
Dagon lifts a shoulder. “Very well.”
“Walk,” Cain snaps at me.
And so, I do. I force myself to put one foot in front of the other. I force myself to step closer and closer to my death. This feels like digging my own grave, or walking the plank, or throwing a parade for my own death, complete with a march.
Reality fades and sharpens repeatedly, as if my brain can’t choose whether to dissociate or focus. I urge it to focus—just for a little bit longer. There’s still one task that needs to be accomplished.
Dagon’s features light up with malice with each step I take. His lips pull back into a snarl.
He knows I’ve disobeyed every tenet I’ve given him, and his look promises me a world of pain. Something much worse than what Azalea’s going through.
I won’t live to experience it.
“Ember,” he purrs. “I’ve missed you, my love.”
I’m nearly at the halfway point now. My hands twitch by my sides, mimicking Dagon’s. He looks like he wants to make a grab for me.
I want to make a grab for something else.
One of his soldiers steps out of the car, pulling out a woman with a bag over her head. A bag that’s saturated in blood. She promptly tips over to the ground. He picks her up; she crumbles back into a heap. So, the motherfucker takes her by the hair, and starts dragging her forward.
I find it odd that there’s a bag over her face. Dagon ought to want to display whatever horrors he’s inflicted, not hide them.
Cain must find it odd, because he shouts. “Bag off! Fucking carry her!”
I meet the halfway point at the same moment as the guard. For a breathless, suspended moment, time stands still. Tension snaps the air taut. Reality distorts.
The guard grabs my arm at the same time he drops the girl and tears off the bag.
I catch three more men exiting Dagon’s vehicles from the corner of my eye… and as soon as I see the cruel delight stamped on Dagon’s face, I understand that Cain’s been tricked.
The woman who was being tortured in the SUV, who’s now on the ground, is not Azalea.
My suspicion is confirmed when I hear Cain release a roar of fury, and then, the bullets start flying. I expect to be one of the first to fall, but I’m not. The guard in front of me is the first to get taken out—the one who unveiled the unknown woman.
I spin around, because the bullets don’t sound like they’re coming from a handgun. Surely enough, I see a flutter of movement in the trees to my left—a sniper who’s picking off Dagon’s men, one by one.
“Ember!” Greyson shouts, firing off a bullet that lands somewhere behind me. “Get back here!”
Did this psychotic fuck actually think I’d listen to his orders?
No. My plans are laid. My hope has vanished. And there’s nothing more dangerous than a woman who’s been stripped of hope, pride, and dignity—because then, the only thing left behind is fury.
But my definition of fury has never been the typical one.
I suppose it was once, before I became who I am today.
My anger used to burn hot and spike my temper, but now, it runs cold.
Not always, but certainly when I need it to.
These days, my rage is built on calculation—on playing chess while everyone else is stumbling in the dark, playing checkers.
Greyson calls for me again—even Cain calls for me.
The small army that Dagon brought are all out of the cars and shooting at the two Nighthawks, both of whom are taking cover behind their SUV’s, only peeking out to shout orders at me or fire off a bullet.
Dagon’s men are being slowly and methodically picked out by the shooter in the trees, and I have a hunch as to who it is.
I just no longer care. My life has been truly defined by two goals: protect Alina and kill Dagon. I couldn’t do the latter before the former was achieved, but now… now my hands are no longer tied behind my back.
Noise dulls as I turn back to Dagon. He’s crouched behind the open door of the armored SUV, but as if he can see me coming, he peeks out. Locks eyes with me.
One of his eyebrows raises as he looks me over, and I see a challenge in his expression. Come to me if you dare.
Oh, I’ll come for you, motherfucker. One last time.
I slowly start moving towards him, one step at a time. Both eyebrows lift now—he didn’t anticipate this turn of events. He didn’t bank on Cain and Greyson having a shooter hidden in the forest, either—I expect he didn’t tell them the location of this meet until the last minute.
But Cain’s also very good with strategy, with anticipating people’s moves before they’re made. And I’m the prodigy who learned from Dagon’s years of cruelty.
I duck beneath the car door beside him.
“Viper,” he says, an expression of faint surprise staining his features. He calls me by my callsign rather than my name—because we both know that’s what I am right now. I’m not a human, I’m the killing machine he made me into.
The assassin with a perfect record.
Almost-perfect, thanks to Max.
“Why would you come here?”
No point in lying. “I came here to kill you.”
“Ah.” He smiles a cold, empty smile. “So, you came here to die.”
“I don’t think there can be one without the other.”
“You want to get into a deathmatch with me, Ember?” Menace flashes in his eyes. “Don’t forget, you’re still the same eighteen-year-old little girl I scraped off the pavement and turned into a diamond.”
“That girl is long gone. You broke me—”
“I forged you.”
“—and when I healed, I was missing a few pieces. I’ll never be that girl again.”
“That so?” he drawls. “Well, then. Get in the car, Viper.”
The name he bestowed on me after my first hit. The name that was always uttered with a reminder that he made me—and the name I’ve now claimed and made into my own. I’m no longer his Viper. Now, I’m just Viper.
I flash him a smile. One last time, my former puppet master.