66. Cole
COLE
Blood tastes like pennies.
Funny—you never notice the taste until someone gives you a reason to.
I roll another mouthful across my tongue before spitting it onto Gabriel Reyes’ polished concrete floor. It lands a few inches from his fancy fucking shoes.
He doesn’t even look down.
Disappointing. I’ve been trying to annoy him for the better part of an hour. Nothing. The man has all the emotional range of a church pew.
He stands in front of me with his sleeves rolled to his forearms, one hand resting in his pocket like this is a business meeting instead of an interrogation. Immaculate. Unhurried, like he has all the time in the world and I’m just today’s entertainment.
I know better. My friend Gabriel wants something—and it’s something important if he’s spending this much time working me over, trying to weaken me so I give him whatever it is.
All I have to do is keep bleeding until he shows me where it hurts.
Just when I think he’s going to start going at me again, he says, "Clara Whitlock.”
So that’s where the bruise is. He figured out who the girl in the notebook is. I smile slowly through split lips. "Who?"
His fist connects with my face.
My head snaps sideways. Pain explodes across my cheekbone, bright and clean and almost refreshing.
I spit blood onto the concrete. "That's no way to ask a question."
Gabriel pulls my head up by my hair. "Clara. Whitlock."
I work my jaw. "You seem tense, Gabriel. If you need to get laid, I can suggest a girl or two you’d like. You can get aggressive with them too. They won’t mind."
His hand closes around my throat, not enough to choke me but enough to remind me that he could. "Clara Whitlock is the girl in the notebook."
"So you found her." I study his expression and catch the faintest flare of his nostrils. No—he didn’t find her. Someone else did. And there’s only one person tangled in this who’d send Gabriel Reyes down here to ask questions.
Mandy Reed.
My smile spreads slowly. The pain barely registers now. This is too fucking delicious. "And how is our little vigilante?"
His face goes blank.
Got you. My smile widens. “So our Mandy figured it out.”
Gabriel punches my solar plexus. "This isn't about Mandy."
When I can breathe again, I chuckle. "Everything eventually becomes about Mandy."
"Is Clara in danger?"
I stop smiling—not because of the question, but because finally I understand why he's here.
Gabriel doesn't know.
He has Clara's name. He has the date. But he doesn't know what the picture is supposed to become—and Gabriel Reyes hates uncertainty.
I lean my head back against the wall. "Define danger."
He crouches in front of me. "Is someone coming for her?"
I look at him. There are moments in life when God places a gift directly into your hands. This is one of them. "Yes," I answer quite honestly.
The word changes him—barely, but I see it. His shoulders go still. His eyes sharpen. His entire body seems to pull inward, all that legendary Reyes control concentrating into something lethal.
"When?" he demands.
I smile. "I think you already have that information."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
This time he laughs, but there isn't any humor in it. "You expect me to believe that?"
I shrug. "I don't particularly care what you believe."
He yanks on my hair. "Who is coming for Clara Whitlock?"
Wincing, I look him in the eye. "I told you. I don't know."
"Bullshit." He releases me and steps back.
"Not everything went through me, Gabriel."
His eyes narrow. "Thomas Ashford?"
Now that is interesting. So they've gotten further than I thought. I let my silence answer for me.
Gabriel catches it.
Of course he does.
"Fuck," he mutters as he turns away.
I watch him pace once across the tiny cell. Three steps. Turn. Three steps back.
He's thinking, trying to determine whether the information he has is enough to justify doing something spectacularly stupid.
And suddenly I know exactly what that something is.
I nearly laugh. No—surely not. Even Gabriel isn't that reckless.
But I have to find out. "You're going to take her."
He stops.
I stare at his back. Then I actually do laugh—low at first, then louder. The sound bounces off the concrete walls.
Gabriel turns, his face stone cold. "What the fuck is so funny?"
"You." I laugh again. "You're going to rescue Clara Whitlock."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
He steps toward me.
I can't stop smiling. This is better than anything I could have planned.
No—that's not true. It is exactly what I planned, just with fewer intermediaries and a higher likelihood of success.
Gabriel stops right in my face. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Grinning, I shift against the wall, the chain scraping concrete.
"Let me guess. You can't tell the Whitlocks because you don't know enough.
You can't prove there's a threat. You don't know who inside their security structure can be trusted.
And you certainly can't walk up to James Whitlock and say, Hello, sir, I'm Gabriel Reyes.
Our families have hated each other for generations, but I was hoping you'd believe me when I say someone’s going to take your favorite niece.
I can just see how that conversation will go. "
His jaw flexes.
I laugh again. This is too entertaining. "So you're going to take her."
"I'm going to make sure she's safe."
I study him, this arrogant bastard. For years I've watched the Reyes and Whitlocks circle each other. Old grudges. Old money. Old blood. Neither family willing to strike first because both understand what it would cost.
Wars like that don't begin because someone wants one. They begin because someone creates a situation neither side can walk away from.
A Whitlock girl disappears.
Evidence points toward the Reyes.
The Whitlocks retaliate.
The Reyes answer.
After that, nobody remembers who threw the first punch, only who they're supposed to hate.
And now Gabriel Reyes is volunteering to remove Clara himself.
I couldn't have designed it better.
My amusement must show because Gabriel grabs my shirt and hauls me forward until the chain snaps tight. "If this is some kind of setup—"
"What are you going to do?” I bare my blood-stained teeth. “Keep me prisoner?"
His eyes could freeze hell.
I smile. "Too late."
"Is she supposed to die?" he asks.
I consider him. "There are worse things than death. Just ask Mandy Reed."
He jerks me up, the chains rattling. "What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means Clara is more useful alive."
"For what?"
I smile. "I guess you’re going to find out."
Gabriel hits me again, my lip splitting open deeper.
I taste blood and laugh. He wants me frightened. That's the problem with men like Gabriel. They think pain changes the truth. Pain only matters when you have something left to lose.
"Was Ashford supposed to take her?"
"I don't know."
"Was he supposed to hurt her?"
"I don't know."
"Kill her?"
"I don't know."
Each answer makes him angrier.
Good—angry men act.
Scared men act faster.
Gabriel Reyes angry and scared? That's the man I need.
He turns toward the door.
I wait.
Three.
Two.
One.
"Gabriel."
He stops, but he doesn't turn around.
"If you're going to protect her…"
That gets his attention. He looks over his shoulder at me.
I let my smile disappear. This part needs to sound real, because it is. "Don't trust anyone."
His eyes narrow. "Meaning?"
"Whitlock security. Ashford. Police. Anyone who knows her movements."
"Why?" he bites out.
I let the silence stretch before I let the bomb drop. "Because somebody already does and knows how to use it against her."
He stares at me. I can practically see the possibilities assembling behind his eyes. Threat assessments. Routes. Vehicles. Safe houses. People he trusts. People nobody knows he trusts. He's already planning it.
Beautiful.
"Anything else?" he asks.
I look down at my chains and then back at him. "One thing."
"What?"
"If you take Clara Whitlock"—I pause—"Make damn sure nobody knows it was you."
His face changes, just slightly.
Suspicion.
Good. I smile again and add, "Because her family won't ask questions first."
He stands there another second before he walks out.
The steel door slams. The locks engage.
I wait until I can’t hear his footsteps down the hallway.
Then I lean my head against the wall and close my eyes.
For five weeks, Gabriel Reyes has believed I'm his prisoner. Poor bastard. He thinks locking me in here stopped me from blowing everything to hell.
The bomb? Not Clara Whitlock. She’s the match.
And if Gabriel Reyes puts his hands on her himself? I don't even need to strike it. He will.
I close my eyes and imagine the fallout. “Boom,” I whisper, smiling.