Page 23 of Breaking the Code

I’ve gotta protect him.

But first I need to make sure his information is accurate.

Hours later, I lock the screens on my computers and stand from my desk. The shock of what I’ve uncovered fills me to the brim. It has only grown since I first read the message Draven posted. I stare at the dark screens for a moment, fighting with myself, fighting to keep myself from giving away any of the information I’ve found.

He needs to know it, but I’m afraid of what he’ll do with it. I’m afraid he’ll storm the Order.

I turn for the bed. I’ve been up for hours juiced up on energy drinks, salty chips, and sour candy. If it weren’t for my ADHD, I’d have no hope of ever going to sleep. I strip down and slip into bed. Despite my mind racing, the fog of sleep washes over me with ease, and I welcome the oblivion it brings.

My eyes pop open like springs as the ratcheting of a gun slide fills the air, awaking me from a dead sleep. I pull my face from the depths of my pillows as the cold, hard steel of the muzzle presses into the back of my head, pushing it back into the pillow.

“Get up!” Owen growls from above me, punctuating each word with another shove of the gun

Doing as I’m told, I spring from the bed with my heart in my throat. Once on my feet, Owen pushes me out of the room, jerking me down the hall before pulling me downstairs. I grip the banister, my knuckles white from the force, hoping to keep myself upright. I stumble with every step, praying I don’t tumble down them head first. The image plays in my head like the one you get when you’re following a log truck. I see the stairs rising to meet me with every breath.

“Find me everything you can on Draven Helvig.”

Owen’s voice is low and calm as he shoves me into the chair in front of the bank of monitors. His cadence is slow and serious. I quake and tears burn trails down my cheeks. I try clenching my teeth to quell the nerves and fear, but that only makes things worse. My hands shake as they hover over the keys, and I cannot make them stop. Nor can I make them begin the search the gun to my head demands.

When I don’t move, Owen shoves the gun against my head, straining my neck.

“I will kill you. You’re not the only smart piece of ass who can run a computer, Tavish. You’re expendable. So, if I were you, I’d do as I was told,” he says.

I nod and watch as my fingers drop onto the keyboard like a sports clip being replayed in slow motion. Closing my eyes, I ask for forgiveness. I know what’s going to happen to him. Owen told my father years ago to kill the Helvigs.

And he didn’t. At least, not all of them.

As usual, my dad screwed up. He was the reason I was in this fucking nightmare. As my fingers fly over the keys, I realize just how stupid my father had been. He wanted to be a badass. He was bad, and an ass, but he wasn’t anywhere close to being a badass.

The code flies by, and screens upon screens show me my father took the easy way out and cut corners. I remember that conversation verbatim. It doesn’t matter that I was only fucking six years old. It’s burned into my psyche like one of those Adverse Childhood Events people are always going on about.

If they only knew.

I sigh. I have the information for Owen. Typically, once he’s issued a directive, I’m left to my own devices, but not this time.

“What exactly do you want to know?”

Another shove of the gun against my temple. “Quit asking questions. That’s not your role here. I said to find me everything, and I meant fucking everything.”

I’ve got to figure out how to get out of this mess.

Knowing Owen’s temper is close to boiling over and not wanting that to happen while he holds a gun at my head, I do as I’m told. My fingers fly over the keys, digging for information I already know. Information that I’m sure is going to lead to me being pistol whipped, but I cannot let Owen near Draven.

Because even if he’s never mine, I won’t allow the Order to claim him as a casualty of doing business. That’s completely unacceptable to me.

The door opens, but I lock my muscles down, so I don’t even flinch at the sound. I can’t risk it. Not while Owen’s in this mood and has a gun to my head. Whoever is at the door pauses, probably as freaked out as I am. Or maybe not. Depends on who’s standing there.

“Owen, you’re needed at home. There’s a problem with your wife.”

Zayn.

One of the few bright spots I have inside these walls. He’s a decent enough guy. Well, kinda. He’s got a psychotic streak when provoked, but he’s not like the majority of the Order. He’s the Order’s occasional tattoo artist and full time mercenary.

“As you can see, I’m busy,” Owen growls through his teeth.

I sit perfectly still. Cold rolls through me, leaving me trembling underneath the skin. Clenching my teeth together until I’m sure my molars will pop at any moment, I force myself to remain calm.

Pretty fucking difficult with a gun to my fucking head.

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