Chapter 23
Ava
Liam had been over at Owen’s apartment every night this week. And I was starting to crash out over the lack of sleep. But not Liam. He seemed to run solely on laughter and mischief just fine.
More than once, we had fallen asleep on the living room floor in the witching hours, and I was starting to feel the effects on my body.
I stretched up and lowered to touch my toes, hoping to stretch out my aching back while the old kettle in the FBI breakroom droned on for what felt like hours, without coming to a boil. I was at the point of sponsoring them a new one, just to get my tea at a decent hour.
It was already late afternoon, and all day I’d been meaning to make myself and Owen a cup of herbal tea, to help with our tired, sore muscles.
“Woah, I get enough ass, thank you very much. I don’t need yours in my face too.”
I jumped up at the sound of Liam behind me and couldn’t help but laugh at the look on his face.
“That’s such a lie, Taylor. If you were getting so much ass, you wouldn’t be spending all your time with Owen and me.
” I frowned as I took him in. He’d been holed up in the lab, and I hadn’t seen much of him all day.
“Is that blood on your collar? And are you still wearing yesterday’s clothes?
” He’d left the apartment before sunrise, but apparently never made it home to go shower.
“Yeah, I had an errand to run this morning, and it took a little longer than expected. I’ll shower when I get home.” He tried to flip his collar over to hide the blood. At my raised brow, he added, “A nosebleed, is all.”
He poured himself a coffee while I still waited on the darn kettle. “Will you be coming over again tonight?”
“Sick of me already?”
Before I could answer, Owen popped his head into the door.
“We have an update. Get your asses in HQ.” He disappeared, but then popped his head back in, looking Liam up and down.
“What the fuck is up with you, man? You look like you’ve just stumbled away from a bar fight.
You do have a shower at home, don’t you?
Go get your shit together. We’ll brief you tomorrow. ”
Liam downed his coffee and mumbled, “Aye, aye, Captain,” before jogging out the door.
I grabbed a mug and poured myself a coffee, switching off the kettle to put it out of its misery, before heading to the boardroom.
Everyone was already gathered around the boardroom table, except for Liam.
Emerie rolled her eyes at me. “The queen has arrived. You may proceed, boss.”
“I’ve been upgraded,” I mumbled sarcastically, more to myself, since no one else in the room would understand.
I curtsied while pulling a face, and Emerie turned away from me to hide the slight smile I managed to pull from her. I was slowly but surely getting a glimpse of the real Emerie beneath the mean girl facade.
Owen switched on the large monitor. “Varon’s art informant has a junky son who ended up in jail last night. I got him out in exchange for this.” A screenshot of a text message appeared. Owen was practically pacing back and forth with uncontainable excitement.
“Is that…” Emerie raised out of her chair, squinting at the screen.
“An invitation to the Collector’s auction,” Owen practically beamed.
I glared at it. Could it be?
The energy in the room shifted. A low hum of excitement pulsed through the air, accompanied by a sense of nervousness like you would find in a pre-game locker room.
“We have a date. It’s four months from now.”
“Do we have a location?” Syntax asked, flipping open her laptop, ready to get to work.
“No, not yet. That is only supplied two days before the event it seems.”
“It could be anywhere in the world,” Emerie frowned.
I felt the shot of adrenaline pump through my system at the thought of finally catching the Apparitions, or the Collectors, or whoever the hell they were. “We’ll be ready.”
A few hours later, Owen, Liam and I, were parked on Owen’s couch, watching a movie that no one seemed to take in.
Liam tried his best to stay awake while Owen and me were busy planning another takedown in our heads.
We had a rule of not talking about work while at home, but that rule had come to bite us in the ass.
Both of us were crawling out our skin, but neither was inclined to break our solemn rule. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow.
“I was beer pong champion in college,” Liam said with a yawn, watching the scene of a high school party gone wild.
“And I’m the beer pong champion of our division.” Owen grinned.
Liam sat up straight. “Wait. The FBI has beer pong tournaments? How did I not know that?”
“Just our division. Every five years. The last one was before you transferred here.”
“Well, when will I be able to take the title from you?” Liam grinned.
“Never. But the next tournament is next year.”
Liam glared at Owen. “Seems like someone needs to deflate that ego of yours. Teach you a lesson in humility.”
Owen laughed. “And who will that be? Can’t be you. You’ve never had the bite to back up that bark.”
Liam shifted in his seat, ready to tear into Owen, but I held my hands up between them. “Boys, boys, boys. There’s only one way to settle this.” I grinned broadly and jumped from the couch. I got all the mugs and glasses from Owen’s kitchen and placed them on the dining table behind the couch.
“Now you’re talking!” Liam laughed excitedly, jogging to Owen’s fridge to get the beer.
Owen sauntered over to the table, doing stretches like a seasoned athlete about to obliterate his opponent, while I arranged the cups and put on the music—starting with Eye of the Tiger. It was all a little dramatic, but exactly what we needed to occupy our minds.
From the get-go, it was obvious that Owen and Liam were pretty evenly matched and rarely missed a shot.
By the third game they both were pretty drunk and even roped me in to take some of the shots for them.
We quickly ran out of beer, and I found a questionable bottle of vodka in the back of Owen’s food cupboard.
“Bingo!” I shouted and danced over to them. Liam joined me as the song changed to the macarena. It was hilarious watching him add his own little moves.
After a few more songs, I added the vodka to the cups. The rules of the game had changed. It was sudden death. The first one to miss a shot loses.
Liam was the first to take a shot, and Owen flinched as he downed the Vodka. “Jeez, that’s bad,” he coughed. “A bottle of that Beluga would have gone down better, right about now.” Owen winked at me and threw the ball without looking away from me, right into the cup.
Liam groaned as he sniffed the glass. “Volkov sure had better taste in liquor than you, my friend.” He downed the shot and made a wheezing sound. “This is going to kill us.”
I laughed, sniffing at the open bottle still in my hand and took a tentative swig. It sure did taste toxic. No way was I taking shots for them again.
“How did you know I was talking about Volkov’s vodka?” Owen had gone rigid as he stared at Liam.
Liam gave a laugh. “What do you mean?”
“How did you know I was talking about Volkov’s vodka?”
Liam pulled his face like Owen was being weird. “It was in the report.”
My stomach dropped to the floor, my grin sliding from my face. “No, it wasn’t,” I answered, barely audible over the still blaring music. There wasn’t a mention of the brand of Vodka that had been shot right by my head. And he wasn’t on the scene that night. But how…
“You were there,” Owen said, just as the thought entered my own mind.
There was no other explanation for how he would have known the name of the vodka.
Liam’s mouth was open, as if he was trying to find an explanation, but all that came out was a nervous chuckle. His eyes darted between me and Owen. “You’re way too wasted. One of you told me.”
Owen’s eyes darted over to me, and I gave a subtle shake of my head. I hadn’t talked about that night with anyone except Doctor Aspen. Everyone else had read my report. And never had I ever mentioned the name of the vodka bottle.
“You had to be there, Liam. But where…” Owen trailed off. There was confusion in his voice, like he couldn’t make sense of it, but it had already dawned on me.
There was only one place he could have been.
“You guys are crazy,” Liam laughed, but took a step out from behind the table, his eyes flickering to the door.
Owen caught it too and moved to block his way.
Liam’s face turned serious, and he balled his fists.
Pain twisted in my gut. I could see it on his face now. My suspicions were right.
Gods, no! It can’t be!
Liam put his hands up. “Beck, let’s just take a minute to think, okay?”
Owen moved towards Liam, and in a move so quick I didn’t catch it, Liam had his gun pointed at Owen.
“Liam!” I gasped, instinctively stepping towards him, my hands reached out, the bottle of vodka shattering on the floor. “What are you doing?”
“Stay back, Ava. I don’t want to hurt you.” There was pain in his voice and on his face, his hands shaking around the gun.
I struggled to keep my thoughts straight as my world tilted on its axis. Not Liam. He wouldn’t betray Owen like this.
But he had a gun pointed at Owen’s head.
“You were the other shooter. You were on that roof with Hunter,” I said, shock shaking my voice.
Liam stayed quiet.
“You?” Owen breathed, finally realising what had been eating away at my gut. He snapped his eyes shut and turned his face from Liam, his jaw clenching.
“Liam, please. Put the gun down,” I whispered, my chin trembling.
Liam pulled in a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, Ava. I can’t do that.”
I quietly pulled my phone from my back pocket and pressed what I hoped was the speed dial button for Syntax from behind my back.
“Then what, Taylor? You’re going to shoot us? Is that it?” Owen’s voice dripped with sarcasm, fuelled by the betrayal written all over his face.
“No. Just let me walk out of here, okay? No one needs to get hurt.” Liam took another step to the door, but Owen stayed put, blocking the exit.
They stared at one another for a few seconds, then Owen lunged.
Liam flung his gun across the room before Owen collided with him.
They wrestled on the ground, but I ignored it.
I ran for Owen’s gun that he’d discarded on the coffee table earlier in the evening.
I plucked it from the holster and flipped the safety off before aiming it at the radio still blaring music.
The shot rang loudly through the air and Liam and Owen broke apart.
It was deathly quiet as I lifted the gun and pointed it at Liam, at my friend. “On your fucking knees, Taylor,” I spat as tears streamed down my face.
Liam’s head sagged forward in defeat, but he pushed off the floor with his fists and sat on his haunches. I picked up Owen’s cuffs from the coffee table and threw it to him. Owen jerked Liam’s hands behind his back.
“I’m sorry, Beck. I’m sorry,” Liam whispered to him, but Owen’s jaw was set in a hard line. He didn’t bother to answer him as the police sirens stopped in front of the apartment.