Page 15 of How Much For a Life of Lies?

I exchanged a glance with Zach and nodded, focused on what came next, trying to stay cool, and this close to Clarke but there was a nagging sense of unease, a warning whispering at the back of my mind. Maybe I should have told Zach everything, exposed all the bits of me I hid from the world. If Clarke was like my dad or my many fucked-up uncles, then he was more dangerous than Zach might imagine. He was a predator, a man who thrived on chaos and violence, and I knew firsthand the extent of my father’s cruelty. So why would Clarke be any different? Should I have told Zach? Would it make a difference now? I’d mentioned booby traps, I’d told ops to run a sweep. The site was as clear as it could be once we’d neutralized the guards.

I caught Zach’s arm, squeezing it, gesturing at our feet to remind him to check for trip wires. He frowned at me. He knew that, and didn’t need me to remind him.

Careful. I squeezed again as if I could emote that silently.

“Heat signature on first floor,” Comm announced.

I ensured that I was first inside, and we cleared the downstairs, as if my experiences would be enough of a shield for him to get out. It was on me to keep Zach safe.

Until I saw the side room with the floor-to-ceiling pipes.

Ropes.

The blood.

Tied up there, unable to move, an auction for who got me tonight, my ten-year-old body shaking in fear, or fourteen when I was dead to it all. One by one, they’d fight over me, or another. My uncles, the random men who paid… said they’d treat me right, laughed, and instead…

Stop.

My heart beat so loud I could hear it, a rush of blood to my head. I felt the red mist descend, clouding my vision with a haze of fury and sickness. Trapped in a whirlwind of emotions, I had to break free if we were getting this done. I headed up the open wooden steps with caution, Zach covering my six; I couldn’t shake the dread clinging to me like a second skin.

I covered the landing as I snuck up backward—no sign of Clarke—but I heard the muffled voices of a TV show, canned laughter, and I crept along the corridor, passing the bathroom, and to the bedroom door where the TV was as Zach cleared the north wing. This was where I’d wait for Zach, and we’d work as a team. I wouldn’t step inside and take Clarke down on my own.

A figure lurched out of another door, the unmistakable shape of Clarke and beyond him a study—I hadn’t kept moving, lulled into thinking he was in the bedroom, the red mist making me slow. He was on me in an instant, shoving me back, as I tumbled down a few stairs, catching myself on the banister, as he went for Zach with a gun in one hand, a knife in the other. The stench of alcohol and drugs hung heavy in the air and Clarke’s laughter echoed off the walls, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. He was clearly high, but not weak, and he was too close for Zach to bring up his gun as Clarke stabbed at him and he stumbled backward to get out of the way.

I flew at Clarke and we collided in a flurry of blows as I bludgeoned him with my gun. We grappled with each other, and all I could see was my father and the men he’d left had hurt me. Clarke wasn’t a small man—just like my father had been a giant to ten-year-old me. He defended himself and attacked me even as Zach was up and yanking at his throat. With each strike, I felt the weight of my past bearing down on me, threatening to consume me in a whirlwind of pain and despair.

He tumbled back into Zach’s hold, falling on top of him, twisting and rolling on the floor. With adrenalin-fueled fury driving me forward I was on him in an instant, punching his face, hearing bones crack, watching blood spurt after each crunch. Over and over, my fists flew, and I barely realized what I was doing as Zach yanked me off. I crouched to retrieve my gun, and Clarke rose, swaying, blood everywhere, worse when I shot him between the eyes, then again center mass.

Just to be sure.

Relief pushed aside any remorse or regret that I’d fucked up as I imagined the bullets in my father’s head. But only for an instant, as the pool of blood spread closer to my boots, and I took a step back, trapped between the blood and the wall.

“Fuck!” Zach shouted, and shook me, and I didn’t argue. “Jesus,” he added, propping me against the wall. Then he jumped over the blood, landing lightly, ignoring me as he headed into the office to carry out the next stage—plugging the Sanctuary device into the computer setup to get access. He was all business now, reporting the shooting to ops, and providing the details necessary to get us out as I stood there, staring down at the man who wasn’t my father.

When Zach came back out, he stared at me, a silent question in his eyes, but I met his stare with a steady gaze of my own. There was no need for words.

He’d seen everything.

Our partnership was over, and hell, I was finished. No way could we spin this as anything but an execution. The temper, and revenge on someone who’d been dead a long time had petered out to nausea, but at least Zach was professional enough not to dissect what had happened, and keep focused on the task. He would have already pivoted, knowing we couldn’t deliver Clarke, but we could get his network, take down the peripherals, do something real with the information.

Take out evil at its source.

We made our way back through the yard to our SUV, the night air cool on my skin as we returned to our hotel rooms. Zach was quiet, same as always, and I couldn’t string a sentence of my usual sarcasm together. I knew the shit was going to hit the fan when he followed me into our suite and slammed the door behind us.

“What the hell was that?” he growled.

“Fucker traffics kids.” I went on the defensive. “You wanted me to go easy on him?”

The lies dripped from my tongue as easy as breathing, and I turned my back on Zach, slipping off my jacket, letting down my guard, thinking he’d leave. I went to the window, cranking it open to get some air, but the fucker didn’t go.

I can’t breathe.

I inhaled great lungfuls of air, my hands pressed to the windowsill, my eyes unfocused on the parking beyond, and Zach was silent.

Probably watching me.

And after I’d gone off book and fucked up, he might even have his gun trained on my back.

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