Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Christian
Imove through the trees on silent feet, cursing Fabian for sending me on this job.
Sure, let’s send the man with prosopagnosia to kill or kidnap someone. Such a smart plan.
But who am I to tell my boss—the man who saved my life—no?
Even if it feels like there’s something wonky about this.
Don’t start doubting him now, Christian.
Reaching the edge of the trees, I pause. My eyes sweep across the sleepy town of Widows Peak.
A town that isn’t on any map.
A town whose name I'd never heard before the other night.
A town that’s protected from outsiders.
A town I had to hike miles and miles to reach so that I wouldn’t alert anyone to my arrival.
Honestly, I have no one to blame but myself.
After being woken from a dead sleep by a phone call from a stranger. A woman who claimed to know me.
Mariana.
Something flutters in my chest at the thought of her name.
But not recognition—never recognition.
I hadn’t been able to go back to sleep as I racked my brain, trying to figure out who the hell the woman was.
I was waiting for Fabian in his office when he arrived, and he’d been very interested in what I had to tell him.
He’d shown me a picture of the woman, watching me closely. I’d looked over the facial features and decided she was pretty, but as per usual, there was no recognition.
There never is.
I was shot in the head thirteen years ago—by this Mariana, if Fabian is to be believed. I have no reason to doubt his words, but something about it doesn’t ring true.
It had taken me three years to recover fully, but I’d come out the other side a different man. Or so I’m told.
My past is almost completely blank. If I think hard enough, I can remember the love of my parents. Then from another man and a girl.
I never remember their names or anything about them. I never see their faces.
I could pass them in a crowd and never recognize them. Not just because I don’t remember them, but because the gunshot made me face blind.
They say it’s only moderate as I can distinguish features, and I can tell someone’s face differs from the person they’re standing next to. But I’ll never recognize a face I’ve seen before—no matter how many times I see it.
Prosopagnosia caused by a traumatic brain injury.
Hell, I can’t even tell you what Fabian looks like, and I see him daily. I can describe his face when I’m looking at it, but the moment he’s no longer in sight, I can’t recall a single detail.
I can no longer rely on my eyes to tell me who someone is. Now I have to rely on other cues—their voice or gait. The cadence of their words. Their scents.
It’s a pain in the ass, but I’ve learned to live with my limitations over the ten years since Fabian took me back under his wing.
He gave me back the job he said I held when his father was still alive.
I was treated almost like family, helping him lead the cartel and cleaning up any messes he needed me to.
The mess that needs cleaning up now is Mariana Celine Vallejo Gomez—Fabian’s half-sister. Or Luna Salazar, as she’s now known.
He says she’s a threat to everything he’s built—that we’ve built.
I don’t understand how one woman—an omega at that—can threaten an empire, but I’m basically just a grunt. What do I know?
That something isn’t right about his story.
I push away the thought, unwilling to give it any attention.
I have no reason to doubt Fabian. I’ve never doubted him once in ten years, so why am I suddenly having these traitorous thoughts? Thoughts that could see me dead—for real this time.
Shaking my head, I slowly make my way through the town, sticking to the shadows.
It’s the early hours of the morning, a few hours before sunrise, and most people are sleeping, but I know better than to take my chances.
Fabian would prefer if I were to take her and bring her to him, but if I can’t, then I’m to kill her.
I balk at the idea, and I don’t know why.
I don’t remember her. She’s no one to me.
Except possibly the person who shot me.
I finally reach her house and glance through the windows to make sure there isn’t any movement. When I look through the window beside the door, I see an alarm panel, but I don’t see a light saying it’s armed.
That doesn’t mean it isn’t, but I can hope it’s not.
All the windows and doors are locked, so I pull out my lock picks and squat beside the back door. This would be easier if I had some light, but I can’t chance anyone seeing the light and coming to investigate.
I’m not sure how Fabian knew which house was hers. His knowledge of Widows Peak was shaky at best, but he knew for sure I’d find her in this home.
It makes little sense, but so much about this situation doesn’t.
He couldn’t even tell me if she lives alone, so I have no idea what I’m walking into.
It takes longer than I’d like for me to get the door unlocked. I open it gently, waiting to see if an alarm sounds. Everything remains silent, but I can’t count out a silent alarm.
I also can’t spend too long worrying about it.
I need to get in and get out as quickly as possible.
I still don’t know if I’ll be kidnapping her or killing her.
I don’t honestly know if I can do either.
The door closes as quietly as it opened, and I’m thankful Fabian’s sister seems to take care of her house.
A quick reconnaissance of the first floor reveals no bedrooms, so I move up the stairs. A set of double doors draws my attention, one door slightly ajar.
It’s not enough for me to fit through, but I can hope it’s as silent as the back door as I open it further.
The room is mostly dark, but there’s enough light to make out three bodies in the bed.
Shit.
It looks like kidnapping probably won’t be an option.
Hell, I’m not sure that shooting her is either. Even with a silencer, if either of the other two is a light sleeper, it might wake them.
Fuck Fabian for not having this intel.
I move silently across the room until I’m standing at the end of the bed.
A woman is tucked between two men. Her hair is dark, but there isn’t enough light to tell if it’s the mahogany shade of Luna’s. Her eyes are closed in sleep, but there isn’t enough light to be able to tell what color they are, even if they were open.
Pulling out my phone, I hope the screen is dim enough not to give me away as I pull up the picture of my target. I lift it so I can glance between it and the woman’s face.
I’m fairly certain this is Luna, but I can’t say it with a hundred percent certainty.
Fuck it.
I need to hurry and get the fuck out of here.
I swap out my phone with my gun, lifting it until it’s aimed at her head.
I haven’t been able to tear my eyes off her even once. I know I should check to make sure that both men are still sleeping, but I just can’t look away.
Straightening my shoulders, my finger finds the trigger.
I can’t hesitate.
I need to pull the trigger and end her life before getting the fuck out of here.
I take a deep breath, involuntarily sucking in the scents of the room.
Citrus and oakmoss.
Burning embers, cotton candy, vanilla, and a hint of scorched sugar.
Cacao and orchids.
I freeze as the last scent hits my senses, a hint of familiarity to it.
It dances along the edges of my mind, as if trying to remember something that’s no longer there.
Once again, I find myself wondering what details Fabian left out of the story he told me.
Something isn’t right here.