Page 109 of Mine

As I breach the top of the mountain, I don’t pause at the clearing. There’s no time.

Double-fisting my gun, I hunker down and jog across the cracked concrete, skirting the side of the metal building. Best I can tell, I’ve come up on the back side of the hangar. A black helicopter sits on the small landing, just outside a bay. I’m careful to avoid being seen.

Cillian either hasn’t arrived or had the same idea I did—ditch the vehicle and sneak up the mountain. There’s no telling where he is. If Cillian doesn’t want to be seen, not even a thermal-imaging camera could spot him. The man is a ghost.

I strain to hear anything from the inside, but the sound of rain drumming against the metal roof drowns out everything.

Thunder rumbles in the distance as I round the corner of the building.

Parked in front is my Aston Martin. The back door is standing open. No one is inside.

I squat next to the metal door that serves as the main entry and debate my options—which are extremely limited. Only two, really.

One, I wait for Cillian and we breach together. This is the smartest option.

Or two, I breach alone. The quickest option—and therefore the one I go with.

Staying low, I open the door, raise my gun, and lunge inside.

My pulse skyrockets as the scene unfolds around me.

Carlos is holding Valerie, his gun pressed to her side. My wife, back from the dead.

My wife.

Her appearance is jarring. She’s sobbing, her face red and mottled. She’s wearing a dirty housedress that stops just below her knees. She’s even skinnier than I remember, her weak frame emphasized by Carlos, who towers over her by more than a foot.

Carlos, on the other hand, looks like he’s ready for war. His long brown hair is tied back in a slick ponytail. He’s wearing a pair of khaki utility pants and scarred brown boots. He smirks when he sees me, while Valerie’s jaw drops.

Next to them, Prishna is holding Sabine, a knife to her throat. Her eyes fill with tears the moment she sees me.

My gaze darts back and forth between the two hostages.

My wife and the love of my life.

An impossible situation.

I try to understand the scene around me.

Prishna and Carlos are working together. It’s almost too incomprehensible to process. I trusted this woman. Prishna has been working for me for over a decade. I gave her a second chance at life, opened my home to her, my life, both professionally and personally. I think of all the things she has access to, everything she’s overheard, things she’s read, printed, arranged. She knows my entire life.

Which is exactly why she got the drop on me.

Fucking idiot, and fucking bitch.

My eyes lock on Sabine, my sweet, beautiful butterfly. Her forehead is red and swollen, and a thin trickle of blood runs down her neck. Rage blows through my veins.

“Let her go.” I shift my stance, pointing the sight of my pistol between Prishna’s eyebrows.

“Who?” Carlos asks. “Your wife or your whore?”

Prishna laughs.

“Pri,” Valerie croaks, barely audible. “What are you doing?”

“Something I—we—should have done a long time ago.”

“You’re my sister ... stop. Stop this. You’re not thinking straight.”

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