My eyes were on Kage’s, but my attention was lasered in on the bulge in his waistband and the press of my gun between my hip and the small of my back.
“Personal is personal, business is business,” I said coolly. “When we’re working, you are an employee.”
Kage’s eye twitched again.
“I assume the Deacon and Beatrix accounts were also your doing.”
“I did what had to be done. Sentinel was getting antsy after Magda turned out to be a dud.” He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me what’s so special about that painting after all?”
“Keep it a mystery. Makes life more interesting. The question now, of course…” My voice softened. “Is what to do with you.”
I did not tolerate traitors. I didn’t care if they were friends, family, or someone who saved my life.
Once they crossed that line, they had to be dealt with.
Silence pulsed for an extra beat before Kage and I pulled our guns and fired at the same time.
Gunshots exploded, followed by the clang of metal striking metal.
I ducked behind the rusted skeleton of a car, my heart drumming, my pulse alive with adrenaline.
I could easily end him with one shot. His aim was good; mine was better.
One shot, however, was too easy for such a big betrayal.
I wanted it to hurt.
“You’re not going to kill me,” Kage called out. I saw his reflection in the windows of the car opposite me. He’d taken cover behind a truck near where’d been standing, but his gun and a sliver of his jeans peeked out from behind the old metal frame. “Not here. I know you. You’re probably thinking up ways you can torture me right now.”
I didn’t take the bait. I wasn’t going to shout across a junkyard like some B-list actor in an action movie.
My phone buzzed with a new text.
I would’ve ignored it given my current…distraction, but a warning instinct tugged at my senses.
Something’s wrong.
I flicked my eyes down at the screen for a millisecond.
Brock: 23, District Cafe
My brain automatically translated the company code into a full message given the context.
Incapacitated, need eyes on Stella ASAP. We’re at District Cafe.
Panic like I’d never known coiled my spine and spiked in my blood.
Something happened to Stella.
He didn’t say it, but I felt it. The same warning instinct that’d compelled me to check my texts in the middle of a goddamned gunfight rang the alarms so loud they nearly drowned out Kage’s voice.
“It’s not going to happen,” he continued. His voice was harsh with excitement and a tinge of regret. “Only one of us is making it out of here alive, and it’s not going to be you.”
I made my decision in an instant.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” I stepped out from behind the car frame.
Kage left his hiding place and aimed his gun at me, but I pulled the trigger before he could fire.
The gunshot echoed in the empty junkyard, followed by three others.
One to his chest, one to his head, and one to each kneecap in case he survived and foolishly decided to continue the fight.
He staggered, then toppled to the ground.
I kept my gun aimed at him as I walked over. The soft rustle of grass gave way to the crunch of gravel until I stood over him.
Eyes blank and wide open, mouth agape. Blood pooled beneath him in a growing puddle and stained the ground with dark crimson.
I didn’t have to check his pulse to know he was dead.
A decade together gone in minutes, all because he’d resented me for his choices.
I stepped over Kage’s dead body and returned to my car.
I didn’t have the time or capacity for more sentimentality. Anyone who betrayed me was dead to me, literally and figuratively.
By the time someone, if anyone, found Kage, his body would’ve been picked apart by wild animals.
Kurtz was the only person who might be a problem, but he wouldn’t say a damn thing. A dead Kage was useless to him, and he wouldn’t risk his own neck to point police in the right direction.
Since I was Kage’s employer, I would have to figure out a good story to tell the authorities and the rest of the company, but that wouldn’t take long. I’d figure out the details later.
23.
Brock’s message replayed in my head as I gunned it out of the junkyard. My panic spiked again, mixed with a healthy dose of fear.
When I hit the main road, I’d already forgotten all about Kage.
The only thing that mattered was Stella.
48
CHRISTIAN
My warning instincts from earlier clanged louder the closer I got to the cafe, and they curdled into dread when I arrived to find Brock puking his guts out in the bathroom.
There was no Stella in sight.
He managed to outline the basics of what happened before he went back to heaving over the toilet.
I didn’t bother interrogating him further. Every second counted, and he was in no shape to stand, much less speak.
Instead, I went straight to the counter, my blood like ice water in my veins, and demanded to see the security footage from the past two hours.
Five minutes of splutters and tedious protests later, the cafe manager pulled up said footage in his cramped back office.
My heart thrummed as I watched the grainy scenes play out onscreen.
Stella and Brock entered. They placed an order at the counter and sat at separate tables before her family arrived.
Despite the gravity of the situation, I felt a pinprick of pride at the way she took control of the conversation. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could read their body language.
After her family left, Brock approached her again, but his steps were shakier than when he’d entered. He and Stella had a quick exchange before he rushed off to the bathroom. A minute later, she stood and swayed then sat back down. Her face was pale, and she looked like she was having trouble breathing.
My knuckles turned white against the back of the manager’s chair.
Someone had to have drugged her. That was the simplest, most plausible explanation.
The urge to step inside the screen and comfort her, then pulverize the bastard who’d done that to her, overwhelmed me.
Stella stood again and stumbled toward the door. She was right by the exit, and she only made it a few feet before someone came up behind her.
My senses went on high alert.
I stared at the figure. Tall, baseball cap, dark jacket.
They paused by the exit, then left at the same time.
I couldn’t see the full scope of what happened due to the angle, but the way the figure’s shoulders shifted, the jacket in the middle of summer, the careful way he kept his face turned away from the camera…
He had a gun. I was sure of it.
I was also sure I’d seen that jacket before.
My pulse roared with lethal certainty.
“Rewind the tape,” I ordered. “Stop.”
The video paused where Stella and Brock placed their orders. The same figure stood next to them at the counter. He paid for his drink in cash and drummed his fingers until Brock turned his back to say something to Stella.
What happened next took only a few seconds.
A casual reach inside his jacket, a quick tap of what looked like two tiny packets into Stella’s and Brock’s mugs, and a return to drinking his coffee.