Page 47 of Escape into the Night

“You're the fucking mole?!” Taz shook his head and scoffed again.

“Should've known it was you causing problems.” Todd stopped a few feet away, his arms crossed and his lip curled in disdain.

“Didn't take you long to bite, dipsicle.”

Todd’s hands flailed as he wailed his offense. “Because you're sloppy. You always have been. Half the shit you touch should have been the job of someone more competent!”

“Oh, competent? Like you? Mr. I can't even script my way out of a wet paper bag. Please, fuck all the way off, asshat.”

“I can too!” Todd took another step forward as his eyes flashed in anger. “You don't deserve this job! You deserve a jail cell! But no, you're the fucking Golden Boy with a buff boyfriend to hide behind.”

Anger flared in Taz’ chest. “Is that why you sold out? Because you're fucking jealous?!”

“You got handed everything because of who you fucking know! You aren't a real agent. You're a fucking charity case—a PTSD-ridden waste of a position that should've gone to someone actually qualified for the job!”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Taz said the words to himself often enough, but it hit different when Todd fucking Jerring was the one spitting the venom. “That was all it took to make you betray your country?”

“You think this country gives a shit about people like us? Do you really think anyone in that building gives a shit about you?” Todd laughed, a sinus-y sound that sent a shiver down Taz’ spine for how cold and humorless it rang out, echoing through the abandoned car park. “They chew us up and spit us out for fun. I'm just making sure I am on the right side of things when the house of cards collapses. I call it job security.”

Taz took another step closer as his pulse roared. “You are a sick fucking coward.”

“Says the guy hiding behind his boyfriend’s badge.” Todd’s mouth twisted into a facsimile of a smirk.

He swung without thinking. The punch cracked against Todd’s jaw and sent him stumbling back as pain shot up Taz’ arm. He swore and shook out his hand, unaware of how much of a mistake the momentary distraction was. Todd recovered his footing and lunged. Taz barely had time to raise his arms before Todd slammed into him, driving them both into the concrete pillar. Another lightning strike of white hot pain exploded down Taz’ spine and drove the air from his lungs as he scrambled to throw Todd off balance, their bodies hitting the damp asphalt as they grappled for dominance.

For all the shit Taz had talked about Todd over the months, the fucker was strong. Strong and mean. He fought like someone who’d dreamed of putting Taz in the dirt. The blows rained down with merciless force and then a knee drove into his ribs and robbed him of even more oxygen. Fingers clawed at his throat as Taz gasped and struggled to shove Todd’s body off. Theyrolled, grunting and cursing, until a glint of silver flashed in the macabre light. A knife. Todd had a fucking knife. He reacted a second too late and the burn of the metal slicing the flesh of his forearm made him cry out before survival instincts took over. He grabbed Todd’s wrist, twisting hard as they wrestled on the hard scrabble ground.

It was kill or be killed. He didn't know how it happened, but the blade wavered, warped, twisted in and out of the shadows tangled between them and then it disappeared—right between Todd’s ribs. His face froze in horror. His eyes went wide. His mouth opened, a twisted maw gasping around a silent scream. His body convulsed. And then he went limp, becoming dead weight as sticky hot liquid pulsed over Taz’ hand.

Taz scrambled back, his breathing labored as the realization and panic slammed into him like a tidal wave.

“No. No. No, no, no.”

Todd convulsed again, wheezing out a sick, horrible, wet sound before growing still. Completely still. Too still.

Taz’ breath hitched in his throat before a gut-deep retch overtook him. His hands quaked. His mind screamed at him to move, to run, to disappear, but shock kept him frozen in place as his vision pulsed and swam and threatened to go dark. Blindness would have been preferable to staring at the unmoving body in front of him. He had just killed a man. Even in self-defense, even knowing Todd was the mole, it didn't change the horror gripping his chest in a vice.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, this ain’t good.” The oddly familiar voice reverberated through the garage as footsteps clattered over the pavement. Taz barely registered the sounds as his gaze remained locked on the slowly growing pool of blood creeping closer to his shoes. Hands gripped his shoulders and shook.

“Taz. Taz, listen to me, cher.” Beau? That didn't make sense. Nothing made sense.

“D-did you f-follow—”

“Of course we followed you, sweetheart.” Beau crouched down in front of him, his affable expression turned grim in the dim lighting. “Taz, we have to go.”

Taz stammered but no words came out as he watched the other man, the bigger man, crouch down and check for a pulse. His silent shake of the head sent Taz spiraling even harder. Beau answered with a silent nod before hauling Taz to his feet by sheer force.

“Clean it up, Ty.”

The larger man grunted in reply as Beau dragged Taz away on uncooperative feet. His legs were unsteady and his stomach lurched violently, but he couldn't look away. He couldn't make himself look away. Even if he could, Taz had a feeling those dead eyes would continue staring through him. Staring right through his soul to find all the other dirty secrets he tried to keep hidden from the world. The last thing he saw before his world went dark were those empty, bottomless eyes. The unseeing, all-seeing eyes of a man he’d killed.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Caleb

Itwasallhandson deck at the Gendry household. The place looked like a war zone—if the battlefield had once been a home improvement store before the first shots were fired. There were half-painted walls, sections of exposed drywall, and tools scattered around floors and counters like the forgotten weapons of an abandoned campaign. In the larger living room, because of course they had two, a ceiling fan hung at an odd, defeated angle. If Caleb weren't so busy organizing the response to a national conspiracy, he'd make a joke about it being a true sign of a house in crisis. Except he was too busy for jokes. Too busy saving everyone’s asses.

The two-family home was packed to the gills. The crowded space hummed with urgency. Ringing phones, the rise and fall of voices, laptop keyboards clicking away in damn near every room. Theo, yanked out of hiding, bounced between two of the aforementioned laptops. With Taz having a personal crisis of his own, Theo’s presence was a calculated risk born of necessity. Connor was naturally glued to his side. In the corner of the smaller living room, Beau and Ty spoke in rapid-fire Russian toa pair of men who looked like they gladly chewed broken glass for breakfast. Cay gave them a wide berth. He never imagined mingling with mercenaries on his bingo card, but here he was, smack dab in the middle of it all.

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