Chapter 18 #2
“I’m not an idiot.” Hudson leans back in his chair, annoyance charging across his face, making him chew his gum extra vigorously.
“I inspected every item. Removed a few.” He eyes me the same way Trenton eyes him—with condemnation.
“So, how much longer till you get into the Atlantean cunt’s pants, Reeve? ”
My molars grind the next words down to verbal dust. “I’m trying to earn her trust, not a notch on her bedpost.”
“Answer the fucking question,” Trenton growls.
My contact lenses feel like suction cups, but I don’t blink. No, I keep my glare steady on my stepbrothers. “Sex isn’t on the table, so never. But I scored an invite to breakfast with her parents tomorrow.”
Trenton’s attention flicks to me before returning to his cards. He splits the deck and cracks the laminated papers together.
“I saw Monta at her house. Electra just found out about their connection. What if I brought you our parents’ murderer?”
“We’d love that,” Hudson says.
Trenton’s face settles into false ease and a wide smile—the exact expression he wore the day he showed up at my camper. “If I wanted Monta, I would’ve grabbed Monta. What I want is the mine, and you offered to get it for me.”
“What if I forfeited the money? Would you agree to trade Quinn for Monta?”
His smile opens like a wound. “I realize you’ve been out of the organization for some time, Cook, and only worked under me for six months before you retired, so I’ll overlook your attempt at haggling.
But understand this—negotiations happen before a deal is struck.
After that, you have two options: complete the mission or defect. ”
“And by defecting, Messiah means you get dispatched.” Hudson accompanies his unnecessary clarification with a flick of his fingers like he’s launching a paper pellet off the table.
My jaw locks to the point of pain, yet somehow I manage to growl, “If you want the mine, then keep your people—flavors-of-the-day included—away from me, or they’ll compromise our mission.
” I make sure to inflect the possessive pronoun so the twins remember that this mission is as much mine as it is theirs, even though I’m the only one risking my goddamn life.
Hudson smacks his gum around his large, white teeth. “Flavor-of-the-day,” he drawls. “Hear that, Viper?”
My spine prickles. How lost in my thoughts was I that I didn’t take a proper inventory of the room? I look behind me and meet Lara’s frigid stare.
“How much longer do you need?” Trenton asks.
“Mrs. Murphy mentioned Calanthe and Tarian are getting married in Atlantis this Labor Day.”
If I don’t give Trenton a timeline, he’s crazy enough to either send someone else to seduce Electra or kill Quinn. Or deploy a ground force onto Atlantis, which would result in a bloodbath. Though I wouldn’t mind certain Hunters bleeding, I don’t want a massacre on my conscience.
“I’ll remind you that it’s in my best interest to get this over and done with,” I remind him.
Hudson lifts a brow. “Dying is in your best interest?”
“Nah,” Trenton says. “Not the dying part. Fox’s liberation.”
“Why did we agree to Reeve’s plan again?” Hudson asks.
“Because I’m expendable.” I parrot what Trenton said to me when I came to him with my offer. “And because all I want in return is for Trenton to sign the divorce papers so Quinn can be free of him.”
“And let’s not forget the eighty K you want deposited in my wife’s name in an offshore account. But who’s counting?”
My jaw aches to remind him that he lost the privilege to call Quinn his wife when he stabbed her cheek. “That eighty K is my inheritance.”
“Which you renounced…” Trenton points out. “Remember?”
For a heartbeat, I consider coming clean with Electra and entreating her to get rid of Trenton, but that would probably get me killed and her captured. The idea of Trenton or Sullivan bleeding and torturing her cramps my gut.
Turning on my brothers isn’t an option.
“If only we could just nuke the island,” Hudson muses, dragging a hand over the week-old scruff that both he and Trenton sport.
On purpose.
The Atlanteans still don’t know there are two of them. Nor do they have visuals of them, last I heard. But maybe I’m wrong, and that’s why they keep their black hair styled the same—longer on top and shorter along the sides.
Trenton grips the deck between his long fingers and taps it against the table as though to even out its edges. “Don’t we all?”
It takes me a beat to remember what the hell he’s talking about: bombing the island.
It’s been attempted in the past, and not just once.
No missile, explosive device, or skydiver has ever managed to breach the island’s atmosphere.
Metal and flesh merely fizzle against air like water on a searing pan.
Trenton finally stops toying with the deck. “If by Labor Day, you haven’t completed the mission, Fox stays married to me and tucked away in my tower until the day I die—or the day she does.”
My blood boils, and it takes everything in me to stay seated,
Hudson blows a gum bubble. “You’re giving him another three weeks? He’s been at it for two whole months.”
Trenton doesn’t bother answering. He doesn’t need to, and not because the question is rhetorical, but because Trenton Caruso answers to no one.
Some would call three weeks generous, but it has nothing to do with generosity and everything to do with desperation. As long as the mine exists, so will our immortal enemies.
“You’re right. That’s too kind. If you don’t score a wedding invite by the time Viper checks in on you next week, I’ll even out your best friend’s face.”
I spring from my seat and lunge forward, grabbing Trenton by the neck and squeezing just as two lieutenants wrench me back, nearly dislocating my shoulders.
Trenton smiles, delighting in the grimace that rearranges my features.
“Touch me again, brother, and not only does Fox not pass go, but I’ll also send someone else to seduce Electra.
Handyman was foaming at the mouth to get close to her.
After all, the Atlantean bitch did brutally kill his girlfriend last year.
He’s told me repeatedly that he’s ready to go down as a martyr to save our world. ”
Sullivan, whose passion is dissecting things—animals and people alike—is even crazier than my brothers. The only reason I didn’t lose my shit when I learned Trenton put him in charge of Quinn is because, for all his psychopathic tendencies, he has a soft spot for his daughter.
Unfortunately, it’s not soft enough to betray Trenton.
“I’ll get it done, but you keep everyone the fuck away from Electra and me, got it?”
“Or, what? You’ll quit the mission?” Trenton cocks his ugly head. “My wife’s counting on her little hero to swoop in and save the day.”
A scowl carves up my face. One that procures my cruelest stepbrother disgusting joy.
As I pivot to leave, I catch another glimpse of Lara’s face. She’s no longer smiling. I’m guessing she didn’t enjoy Trenton calling Quinn his wife.
If only she could steer his hand on the divorce papers and unlock Quinn’s cell, but Lara doesn’t have that sort of pull. Or that sort of benevolence.
I spend the afternoon holed up at the gym, lifting weights between the classes I teach. No amount of dopamine combats my sullen mood. By the time I reach Cliché, I’m wound so tight that I cave and order a double shot of vodka on the rocks.
Like a closeted alcoholic, I throw it back before Jeneva shows up. It neither makes her presence nor Electra’s absence more tolerable. So I order another.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Jeneva asks, attempting to find a subject of conversation that’ll drag me into her mostly one-sided conversation.
“Married with half a dozen kids and a dog,” comes a voice from right above my shoulder.
And just like that, my irritability lifts.