1. Lee
Lee
Bash walks me to the car, his steps slower than usual, like he’s stalling for something. Maybe he thinks I’ll crack. Or he’s hoping I’ll spill my guts or cry a little. God, he should know better by now.
So much for a wild girls’ night.
Marge and Georgie lasted through two nonalcoholic drinks before disappearing with their husbands.
I can’t say I blame them. They found everlasting love. I’m happy for them. I think. No. No. I definitely am happy for them.
“You gonna tell anyone what really happened with Julian?” Bash asks, like he’s casually wondering if I want fries with that.
My chest caves inward thinking of him. My heart threatens to follow into the pit, but I shove the ache down. I can’t let anything stand in the way of what I’m going to do. I’m too damn close.
“Not much to tell. Julian’s not the right person for me. It was for the best.” I stretch my mouth into something that might pass for a smile if Bash didn’t know me so well.
Bash scoffs.
“I don’t know if he agrees.”
Yeah. That makes two of us.
I flash him another grin I don’t feel and dig in my purse for my keys, pretending this whole conversation is beneath me. My fingers find the metal ring, and I absently reach for my phone too.
No notifications.
Because why would there be? This is the life I chose. Vengeance doesn’t leave room for good-morning texts or someone waiting up for you. Taking down the men who ruined my entire world is a full-time job.
I tell Bash good night and slide into the driver’s seat.
Taylor Swift fills the silence the second I start the engine. It’s a heartbreak anthem, and the irony isn’t lost on me. Of course, it’s about pretending you don’t have a broken heart. I crank the volume until the bass rattles the rearview mirror then pull onto the street.
It’s not until my second turn that I notice the car behind me. Blue sedan. It’s so unremarkable it could be anyone. Except it was parked on the street in front of the diner earlier, and now it’s behind me.
I take a left.
So does the sedan.
I glance in the mirror. The car is too close to be casual. I take another turn at random. This has to be my stupid nerves.
The damn blue car is still with me.
Shit.
Leather creaks under the grip of the steering wheel. I could be imagining it.
Paranoia’s a nasty little bitch, and she lives rent-free in my head these days. But I’ve learned to listen to her. She’s the reason I’m still breathing.
I make one last turn.
The sedan drops behind another car then shoots through the next turn and disappears.
Okay. Maybe it was only paranoia, then.
I turn into the run-down service lot behind my warehouse and hit the remote. The garage bay groans open beneath the building. By the time I kill the engine, my car is hidden from the street.
From the outside, the place looks abandoned: rusted siding, blacked-out windows, and the kind of building no one bothers looking at twice. That was the point when I bought it.
The first floor is warehouse space divided into three parts. One section stores equipment I can’t risk having traced back to me. Another is for far more nefarious endeavors. The third floor I have decked out for poker night. Even us criminals need hobbies.
My apartment sits above it, completely renovated with four bedrooms, a gym, a chef’s kitchen I barely use, and an office wired into every camera and security system on the property. Home, if a place this full of secrets counts as one.
I take the private stairs two at a time and slam the apartment door behind me. I lock it then I’m assaulted by the quiet. It’s the kind that makes your skin prickle.
“Jasper?”
My cat answers by leaping out from behind the couch like a tiny assassin. I yelp. He meows, black tail twitching like he’s proud of himself.
“Stop that, sir. I’m already on edge. I don’t need your unhinged scare tactics right now.”
He just stares behind his long white whiskers, unbothered. I put up with his terrorism, because he’s a little ball of adorable.
I toe off my heels, drop my purse on the counter, and walk into the dark kitchen. For a second, I consider pouring a drink, but what’s the point? It won’t fix anything. It won’t stop the ache.
The fridge squeaks open, and I stare inside like the answers to all my problems might be hiding behind the orange juice. It’s basically empty just like me.
God, I hate being like this. Being all vulnerable and sad doesn’t mix with revenge.
I slam the fridge shut and open the cabinet instead. There’s a stash of emergency stakeout snacks hidden behind a box of protein bars I keep buying and never eat.
The sour gummies crinkle under my unnecessarily tight grip. I carry the gummies down to my office and wake up my security system, already pulling access to the city cameras along my route home.
Jasper circles my legs, tail flicking.
“What? You can’t be mad at me, too, buddy. You’re my number one guy,” I mutter.
I drop into my desk chair, type in the security override code, and pull up the exterior camera feeds. I rewind the footage. Sure enough, the blue sedan with no plates sits at the curb. I zoom in but can’t see beyond the tinted windows.
My phone vibrates.
Unknown number.
My blood goes cold.
“Agent Leighlan,” I answer.
“Kid, listen to me. I tried my fucking best, but it’s over. They’re coming for you. Light the place up, grab Jasper, and get out. Julian’s waiting down the street.”
“Elliot? What the hell are you talking about?” I demand, already shoving away from the desk and grabbing a spare pair of boots that are by the door.
“Director Fuller knows. We’ve been watching you for the last six months. You need to go. Now.”
I don’t have time to scream at him. Later, though. If there is a later.
Lunging for the underside of my desk, I flip the hidden switch. Heat blooms from the burn drawers built into the far wall.
Jasper growls low like he understands.
On my monitors, drives begin wiping themselves clean, folders vanishing one after another.
I shove a deeply offended Jasper into his carrier, throw my emergency go bag over my shoulder, take one last look around, and bolt for the front door.
The black car is already there.
Julian stands outside the passenger door in his suit, looking like a goddamn fragrance model. I scan the street, expecting agents to jump out at me at any second.
Then I run to him.
I skid to a stop in front of him, breathless, and look up into his ice-blue eyes.
“I don’t think I can trust you to help me,” I say, voice shaking.
His eyebrow lifts, but he opens the door anyway.
“This won’t help with that,” he replies.
He grabs Jasper’s carrier and sets it on the leather seat. Then he cages me against the door with his weight.
I slam both palms into his chest, but he doesn’t move an inch.
A sharp pinch bites into my neck.
My hand flies up, useless against his weight. I’m too late, because his grip is already locked around the syringe.
His jaw tightens as his thumb presses down on the plunger.
“But it might keep you alive.”
“Julian, what the fuck?” I think I say. I definitely want to say that and so much more. Most of it involves creative threats of bodily harm. What an asshole.
My knees fold. Julian catches me before I hit the pavement and lowers me into the passenger seat beside Jasper’s carrier.
The last thing I see before the darkness takes me is a black SUV turning into my alley and Julian reaching beneath his jacket for his gun.