36. Beck
BECK
JARED BENJAMIN – THREE STEPS AHEAD
“Well, alright, Ice Queen,” I remarked, impressed.
I paced in the back of the van behind Evander and his screens, intently scanning all four of them for anything—or anyone—unexpected.
We all were.
But for now, the only person presenting a threat to our asset was the man she was here to kill: her mark, Henry Carter Lewis.
His file read like a rap sheet, yet somehow, he’d greased enough palms to get away with all of it—including murder. And that’s why we were here. That’s why Adelaide was currently getting disgustingly chummy with the slimeball CEO of AevumTech’s biggest competitor.
Lewis orchestrated the murder of his predecessor, ensuring he took the reins of the billion-dollar corporation with as little trouble as possible.
And when Nadine’s people weren’t able to bribe him into dissolution, she requested a favour from Commander Varco.
Varco had, in turn, sped up Addie’s field insertion date.
Whether she was physically ready or not didn’t matter to him.
All that mattered was squashing her resolve to one day escape the shadow of Blackwing.
But nobody ever escaped it. Least of all Ravens and Swallows.
We all knew what this really was, though: a test. And not just for Adelaide—we were also being assessed on our loyalty and obedience, since proving to be “prickly” assets, as per Commander Varco.
“Five thousand pounds,” Addie demanded, her voice calm and unfazed through our headsets.
Van whistled. “Holy shit, Sinclair.”
Her lip twitched in response, though it was a grainy depiction through the hotel’s shitty security system.
“Done.” Lewis grinned—a cruel twist of his lips—like he was a spider, and Addie, his moth. “Ten thousand pounds—in cash, of course—is yours if you’d care to join me upstairs,” he crooned.
Ten K was nothing to him. Pocket change. And I’d bet my left nut that he had it in change, upstairs, too.
But the thing about moths is that they are experts at camouflage. At hiding in plain sight.
They’re creatures of the night—they come alive when the sun goes down.
Some are carnivorous, and in some cultures, representative of the fleeting vulnerability of life.
While Adelaide Sinclair was all of those things, she was not the moth in any situation. She was the flame. And she was going to burn Henry Lewis alive.