Chapter twenty nine
Nadia
Without a sound, I straighten up, eyeing the office door that sits ajar. I can see the file cabinets. I can see the wrought iron spiral staircase. Whoever is holding the gun remains silent too, listening for me, not realizing they’ve already given themself away.
I’m light on my feet, moving swiftly so that my back is against the wall, next to the door hinges. I pull my own gun from the waistband of my jeans, not daring to even breathe, just waiting for whoever’s here to reveal themself.
Footsteps down the stairs, measured and calm. Each one grating on my ears as they get closer and closer, banging the gun against the rail as they come down.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”
The voice isn’t what I expected. It’s female and annoyingly familiar. Shifting slightly, I get a glimpse between the hinges only to see Roxy standing at the end of the corridor, gun raised and steady. Not shaking and emotional. Her eyes catalog everything, trying to find where I’m at.
There’s no fire in her eyes. No impulsive rage. Just something cunning and calculating. Well, that’s new.
“Unless you’re too scared to come out and face me.” She taunts. It’s bait I don’t fall for.
“Didn’t take you for the god-fearing type,” I call out instead, using the sound of my voice as a cover for loading my own gun.
“Drop the attitude. It’s not cute.” Her voice is low, her movements controlled as she stalks closer to the office. I don’t move.
“You been down here long?” I ask casually, taking in the office. It’s a shithole down here. Needs some serious upgrades.
“That’s not your concern.” I can practically hear her jaw tighten.
“No?” I hum.
“Feels like it should be.”
She’s in the doorway now, out of my immediate line of sight. I can imagine her eyes flicking to the documents on the desk. The recognition. Because why else would she be here if not for the secrets lurking here? She’s definitely not Hades, but she might be able to lead me to him.
“Where did you get those?” She asks, not confused at all, not even pretending to be. My pulse slows because that tells me everything I need to know.
“You recognize it.”
“Answer the question.” She deflects.
“Funny,” I murmur, stepping to the side and taking aim.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” I pull the trigger.
The bullet pierces the office door and hits something on the other side, but I can’t be sure if it’s her or not.
I don’t stick around to watch. In a flurry of movement, I slide behind the desk, letting adrenaline guide me, and flip it onto its side to form a barrier.
Seconds after, Roxy sends a barrage of gunfire my way, all of it missing me.
She curses when she empties the clip, and I take advantage. I’m on my feet, not giving her a chance to regroup, and pistol-whip her across her face.
“Fuck!” She screams, stumbling back.
She sends a right hook my way, but she’s too disoriented to do any damage. I switch the safety back on and keep the hand holding the gun at my side. She always makes this so goddamn easy.
“Why are you here?” I interrogate.
She doesn’t answer, fingers twitching on her gun. I snatch it out of her hands and throw it behind me, delivering a brutal jab to her stomach, and that makes her haul over, guarding the injured flesh.
“Who sent you?”
“Go to hell.”
That flicker of irritation is back now. Good. That’s the Roxy I know, the one I’m used to. But it’s layered over something else. Something I don’t like. Something that feels a little too close to what I just read.
“You don’t just stumble into this.” She says once the pain subsides, stiffening her spine and facing
me like a real woman. Though her arm is still protectively positioned on her stomach.
“And you don’t just find your way down here by accident.” I shoot back.
We’re at an impasse, neither one of us willing to give the other information. How could we? We’ve been enemies since I got back, for what reason, I’m not sure. I haven’t done a single thing to Roxy to make her act like this towards me. In the beginning, the aggression was one-sided.
But I’m being willfully ignorant, because I do know exactly what this is about. Riven. I’m the one who had him, and she’s the one who has him now. Silence stretches between us. Thick and heavy. Charged with something that has nothing to do with Riven.
“You’ve been digging.” Her eyes narrow.
“So have you.” She studies me for a moment.
“You’re the one they want.” Her words hit like a slap. My brows pull together before I can stop it.
“What?”
“Don’t play stupid.” Her voice sharpens, fist clenching just slightly.
“You show up, things start moving again, and suddenly you’re down here in the middle of this shit?” She gestures wildly to the dusty, cramped Cathedral office.
“You think I did this?” My voice drops, incredulous. How is it possible for someone to be so stupid? Is her skull really that thick?
“You think I threatened myself? Tampered with my own fucking brakes?”
“I think you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” She huffs, nostrils flaring.
“And I think,” I step closer now, slow and deliberate.
“You’ve been here the whole time.”
Her eyes move to the Desert Eagle in my hands. The hostility between us heightens. Because now we’re just two people, one gun. Both thinking the other one is the problem.
“You don’t know what you’re messing with.” She quietly warns.
“Neither do you.”
“I know enough.” She snarls.
“Clearly not.” Her jaw clenches.
“You should’ve stayed gone.” Something sharp twists in my chest, but I crush it instantly.
“Yeah?” I tilt my head.
“Or what?”
“Or you don’t walk out of here.”
She pulls out another gun from the waistband on her ripped jeans. The threat hangs between us. Real. Not posturing or exaggerated. She means it. And that? That’s interesting. My hand shifts slightly at my side, fingers caressing the barrel of the gun, weighing my options.
All it’ll take is one move. That’s all. One perfectly timed, precisely executed move, and one of us walks out a victor; the other falls to the floor.
with a bullet between the eyes. She knows it too. I see it in the way her stance adjusts. Ready and waiting. The air feels too tight. Too thin.
Somewhere above us, a door slams open. Then, footsteps, before a silhouette I know all too well comes into view.
“What the fuck-” Riven stops dead the second he sees us. His gaze flicks from the gun to me, to the papers on the table, and then stops on Roxy and her own gun. Something sharp and dangerous shifts in his expression.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Roxy doesn’t look at him.
“Ask her.” My eyes stay on hers.
“No,” I say coolly.
“Ask her.” Riven’s jaw tightens.
“Rox,” He says, voice low.
“Put the gun down.”
“She’s not supposed to be here.” She glares at me.
“Neither are you.” I cut in.
“Stay out of this.”
“Hard to do when the gun’s pointed at me.” I tilt my head, grip tightening on my weapon.
“Put it down, both of you,” Riven repeats, firmer this time.
A heartbeat passes by. Then, two. Then, slowly, or reluctantly, Roxy lowers the gun. Not all the way. Just enough. Enough to show she’s choosing
him. For now. I lower mine as well, but my shoulders don’t relax. Neither do his.
“What is this?” He asks, eyes landing on me now. I hold his gaze.
“Depends,” I say.
“What do you think it is?” His nostrils flare slightly.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” His jaw ticks. A wave of deja vu washes over me. Where have I heard those words before? Oh, wait, the answer is standing right in front of me in the form of a pissed-off Phantom.
“You’re in a place you shouldn’t be.”
“So, is she.” I retort.
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because I know her.”
I feel as if I’d just been stabbed. What. The. Fuck. Is he really trying to imply that he doesn’t know me? As if eleven years of history doesn’t stain us, as if his fucking mark, his fucking name, his fucking soul, isn’t tattooed on my skin? I let out a quiet laugh.
“Do you?” His eyes narrow.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” I gesture vaguely to the room, the papers, everything around us.
“You have no idea what’s actually going on here.”
“Then explain it.” He crosses his arms, expression defiant.
“I can’t.”
“No, you won’t .” I don’t deny it. His frustration spikes. I can see it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his biceps flex.
“You disappear for two years.” He says, voice tightening.
“You come back, start digging into shit you won’t talk about, and now you’re down here with her -”
“No,” I cut in, stepping forward now, attention fully on him.
“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act as if I owe you an explanation.”
“You do.” He refutes.
“I don’t.”
“You’re in danger.”
“I’ve always been in danger.” I don’t think I’ve known a moment’s peace since I was born.
“Not like this.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know enough.”
“Clearly not.” His eyes flash.
“Stop saying that.”
“Then stop pretending you understand something you don’t.”
“I understand that you’re lying to me.” I go still.
“Am I?” I ask quietly.
“Yes.” He runs a hand through his hair, a tortured look in his eyes.
“About what?”
“Everything.”
Silence falls again, but this time it’s different. More personal. I search his face for a second longer than I should. Then I look away. Mistake. Always a mistake.
“You need to leave.” He says, voice lower now. Less anger and more something else.
“No.” I shake my head.
“Nadia-”
“You don’t get to walk in here and start making decisions for me.”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.” He explodes.
“And I’m trying to handle something you don’t even know exists.”
“Then tell me.” He pleads.
“I can’t .”
“Why?”
Because if I do, you’re part of it. Because if I do, they’ll go after you again. Because if I do, I’ll lose you. Because if I do, everything gets worse.
“I just can’t.” That’s not good enough for him. I can see it. It never is. His chest rises and falls once.
“Then don’t expect me to trust you.” Something inside me cracks. Small. Quick. But it’s there.
“Trust me?” I let out a hollow laugh.
“You think this is about trust?”
“I think it’s about you shutting me out.”
“I think it’s about you not realizing when you’re already in something you can’t get out of.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I don’t answer. Because I can’t. Because if I say it out loud, it becomes real. His frustration spikes again.
“Say something.” I don’t. I can’t. And that? That’s what finally does it.
“Fine,” He mutters, running a hand through his hair.
“Fine. You wanna do this alone? Go ahead.”
This time, it’s him who walks away from me.
I tell myself it’s better this way, putting this distance, this void between us.
Because one day, Olympus is going to kill me and I will take it down with me.
He can’t mourn me, lose me. I don’t want him caught in the crossfire of this. It’s not his fight to end.
“Why do you always do this to him? Why? Why can’t you see that he’s broken because of you?” Roxy shoves me.
“Let him be broken. At least he’ll be alive.” I shove her back and walk away, not wanting to hear her voice any longer.
“You think that’s what he’s doing? Living?” She laughs condescendingly.
“Greyveil Summit Psychiatric Institution. Patient 5863. Devereaux comma Riven. That’s how he’s been ‘living’ the last two years.”