Page 2 of Retribution

The new guy laughs, and Jay gives him another sideways glance.

“I can see why.” He isn’t getting Jay’s silent message. Over the seat, he’s scanning my dark ponytail secured near the top of my head down to my Lululemon pants. “What are you, anyway? You’re like, exotic or something. I can’t put my finger on it.”

Giving him a cold stare, I say, “Your fingers don’t belong anywhere near me.” Compared to me and Jay, this kid is as pale as a ghost.

“You’re getting fired, man.” Jay shakes his head and adjusts his hands on the steering wheel as we merge into heavier traffic. “If you keep talking, you’re going to end up in concrete shoes at the bottom of Lake Michigan.”

The only bit of color in his face disappears. At least the new guy has the good sense to take Jay’s comment seriously. He’s probably in his early twenties, a kid looking to make a quick buck. Everything about him reminds me of someone I don’t want to remember but can never forget.

“That’s not a real thing.” His voice quivers.

“They’re all real things,” Jay says. “You don’t mess around with these people, Paul. The stereotypes, the rumors, the shit you see on TV—most of it is taken from someone’s real life.”

Ah, a name.Not that I’ll need to remember it after the conversation we’re having.

The car glides to a stop in front of my four-story brown brick apartment building. The trees lining the street are mature, hanging over the sidewalk and road. The streetlights work, and the front door has a security guard. Not that I need one of those. I chose this neighborhood on purpose. It’s not too run-down, but it’s not new and shiny either. Carys has offered to let me live with her outside the city. I can’t, though. While it might make aspects of the job easier, it would make others infinitely harder.

“I didn’t mean anything by my comments.” Paul’s voice is uncertain.

He isn’t as big as Jay and, standing up, he and I are about the same height. I’m maybe ten years older than him, but that gap is massive right now. I’ve been on this job with Carys for almost a year, but in some ways, it’s my whole life.

“You’re not cut out for this, Paul. Quit before someone kills you.” I’m half out the door when I turn to Jay and say, “Tell Carys I have some personal business. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“Your brother?” His brown eyes are full of sympathy.

“Yeah.” I give a curt nod. “Anniversary of his death.”

“I’ll let her know.”

I slam the door behind me and enter the building, waving to the security guard at the desk. In the elevator, I put my hand over the phone in my pocket. How much time will I have?

At my door, I slide the key in the lock. My steady hands belie my racing heart as I slip inside. I flip all the locks in place and tug the phone from my pocket.

It’s been almost six months.

Airport. Two hours.

Glancing at the current time and when the text was sent, I’m pretty sure I can make it. It’s going to be tight. Opening the entryway closet, I grab the prepacked bag and then undo the locks on the door.

I disappear into the night.

Chapter Two

Malik likes meeting at the same hotel, same room, every time. It’s a midlevel chain in a midsized city. Everything about the meeting is constructed so I don’t have the run-in we dread. Being undercover and seeing someone from either version of our lives is one of the few things that makes people like me wake up in the middle of the night, covered in sweat, making sure there isn’t a bullet lodged in our brain.

When I slip into the hotel room, the scent of stale cigarettes hits my nose. The rooms need to be renovated, but I never question Malik’s desire to meet here. This is his area of expertise, not mine. He stops pacing when the door clicks shut behind me. His dark face and eyes soothe my unease.

He scans me from head to toe, assessing. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to make it.”

“Your message didn’t come at the best time. Carys let me take another meeting today. It was a waste of time though.”

“Like the last one,” he says, finishing my thought.

I shrug. “It’ll come. She’s giving me more and more authority.”

“So that explains why you’re dressed like a ninja supermodel.” His smile is half-hearted. “What have you got for me?”

Twisting, I swing my black bag forward until I can dig into the pocket for the latest USB drive. It’s full of whatever documents I’ve managed to get off devices in the office, screenshots of texts and emails, anything that might have a shred of evidence to build a case against Carys. I hold the device between my fingers, flipping it over and over.

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