Chapter 40 Ben
Ben
Dallas, Texas
Monday night
I take the hit square in the ribs, and I don’t know if the cracking noise is the sound of my bones or the chair Rook was sitting
in. Sebastian’s shoulder drives into me like a battering ram—fury, panic, and pure adrenaline wrapped in a designer button-down.
Ramirez shouts. Cybil screams. Rook draws his weapon.
I stumble back, catching myself against the table—just in time to see the laptop slide off the edge and hit the concrete hard.
It slides across the floor and crashes against a steel beam.
Not good.
Somewhere in cyberspace, there’s a bidding war over a mineral that could destabilize global security. And that laptop is the
only thing keeping us in the game.
Sebastian’s fists fly—wild, furious. More panic than precision. I’ve got newfound respect for Cybil’s combat skills. I catch
his arm before his knuckles land again, twist, and shove him off me—hard—just as Rook barrels in from the side.
Ramirez barks something sharp in Spanish—too fast to track—but it’s already too late.
Earl Edmond moves. He grabs a rusted pipe from the scaffolding and slams it into Ramirez’s arm with a crack that echoes off the concrete. The gun goes flying. It arcs once, lands with a metallic thud, and skitters across the dusty floor, landing out of reach.
For a second, everything holds.
Then . . . chaos.
The pipe clangs to the ground. Ramirez stumbles back, clutching his arm. My gaze flies to where the gun is sitting a few feet
away—closer to Sebastian than anyone else.
My pulse spikes.
Sebastian scrambles up from where I shoved him, eyes locking on the weapon. He can’t really fight, but you don’t need skills
to pull the trigger.
Don’t go for it. Don’t go for it—
He goes for it.
Cybil lunges for it at the same time.
No—
It’s a split-second collision course, a tangle of limbs and gravel and fear. Dust kicks up. Someone coughs, Ramirez shouts
again, but it’s a blur now. I’m not sure who he’s yelling at—maybe all of us.
Cybil reaches the gun first.
She rises slowly, gun in both hands, eyes hard and unblinking. Ramirez freezes. Rook stops short. Even Edmond, his breaths
heaving, comes to a standstill.
My chest rises and falls in sharp jerks. Sweat stings my eyes, but I try—I try to get her to look at me. Just a flicker. Something
to let me know she’s okay.
“Cybil,” Mr. Edmond tries.
Her grip on the gun doesn’t waver. But her eyes—they’re not as steady. They flick to Ramirez, then to me. Like she’s calculating.
Cornered and . . . deciding.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, stepping toward her. Slowly. Hands up. “He’ll turn on you, too, Cybil. You think you’re
safe with him? You’re not.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
“You’re pointing that at the wrong man.”
Ramirez chuckles low in his throat. “She’s not as stupid as you thought, Craig.”
My jaw clenches. “They’re only in this for themselves. Edmond won’t protect you. He can’t. His hands are tied, and even if
he could . . . you’re in this mess because of him.”
That lands.
Her eyes flash. But I don’t know if it’s fury or guilt.
“Cybil,” Mr. Edmond says, “don’t listen to him.”
I take another step. “He used you. Just like Ramirez used his son. You’re on the wrong side.”
She raises the gun slightly. Not at Ramirez. Not at Edmond.
At me.
“Cybil . . .”
My gaze jumps from her to Rook, who’s tracking my movement. Ramirez hasn’t moved. He’s quiet—watching her like a wolf circling
a doe.
Edmond takes a slow step. “Cybil.” She shakes her head once. “You don’t want to do this.”
“I don’t want any of this,” she snaps, loud enough that Sebastian flinches. “But I’m tired of being played. I’m tired of people using me.
I’m done being the collateral damage in someone else’s war.”
Her words hit hard. Hearing them, hearing the pain behind every syllable—it feels too real. This was a mistake. She’s right. She’s being used—by me. By the FBI. By SNAP.
I want to take it from her, but one wrong move now could get us both killed.
Edmond takes another step, voice calm but weighted. “Cybil, you don’t want this on your conscience,” he says. “You’re not
like us. Don’t cross that line. There’s no coming back.”
Cybil’s grip falters—just slightly. A flicker of something crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant.
Rook moves.
He raises his weapon. Points it straight at me.
And then Cybil does the one thing no one expects.
She pulls the trigger.
The shot cracks across the open air.
Something hits me—hard.
My body jerks. The world tilts. And then I’m falling.