Page 68 of Gates of Tartarus

“Allegedly,” Smith interjects flatly.

“Of course. Allegedly,” Donovan agrees, just as flatly. “The reports indicate that they suffered concussions, broken wrists...”

“One had broken ribs,” Smith continues, voice still very level. “Unfortunate. It seemed they were celebrating, spending a large amount of cash for two police officers.”

Donovan nods in agreement. “Apparently, they were bragging about selling someone out to the media. No names were involved, of course.”

“What bar?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Oddly, the 18th Amendment. They were apparently trying to use some of their earnings on extracurriculars beyond their normal scope. They were wasted when they showed up, and weren’t permitted to stay once the staff realized how drunk they were. One of the employees overheard some concerning talk and decided to report the information to... the proper authorities. But the officers made poor choices on the way home, walked down an alley with no cameras, though we’re not sure why, and were set upon. A staff member from the bar found them and transported them to the hospital, and Markel and Posta were so drunk that they had no memory of the event. Of course,” Smith adds as an afterthought, “I’m sure the multiple blows to their heads didn’t help.”

I can’t focus. I’m not sure what to do. On the one hand, Smith is saying that we’re not friends, that our team has been something of a failure so far. On the other…

Donovan moves some papers in front of him, then meets my eyes with a thoughtful cant to his head. “Apparently the 18th Amendment staff was able to get some of the incriminating speech recorded on a phone. Not everything, of course. But enough to put the nail in the coffin on those two coming back to work.” His lips press in a smug, satisfied sort of line. “Not that they’d be able to do much, what with their injuries.”

“Walker…” I say on a breath, but he gives a miniscule shake to his head before flicking his eyes toward Smith.Right.

“So… where are we with... I don’t know. With everything, I guess.”

Smith frowns. “Running down the list? Tennireef is in D.C. for the foreseeable future.WithGomez. Since we’ve been completely blocked from the CDS books following our little tête-à-tête, there’s no database we can mine in the future when and if we hit any problems. Both GomezandTennireef strongly indicated that, once their deal goes through,he’llbe our new contact point for any information regarding CDS. Which means that, at some point, he’ll get a full read-in on Babylon.” Smith sighs and rubs his face in frustration. “I cannot stress how disastrous that would be, given his suspected ties to Kronos. My only guess as to why Gomez hasn’t read him in already is because it’s her poker chip. Without that over his head, she has no foot in the game.”

Jonah interjects, interrupting Smith, who frowns. “So Gomez is holding her knowledge of Babylon over Tennireef’s head? In which case, is his end game to get information on CDS or Babylon?”

I shrug. “Probably both. He loves power. Loves favors. Loves being in the know. Stacks it up like Scrooge McDuck.”

Jonah mumbles, “I can’t go on like this! Losing a billion dollars a minute! I’ll be broke in 600 years!” and I flash a quick grin at him, which quickly falls away under Smith’s glare.

“Anyway,” I continue, suitably abashed, “neither is a good option. He gets an eye on the CDS research and he has some potential to tap unknown power. He gets read-in on Babylon…”

Smith shakes his head. “That can’t happen. There are... well, a little side project to this task force, at the moment, is to derail Tennireef’s road to the White House, per Babylon’s request.”

“Youcan’tbe serious,” I reply, shocked. “What the... We can’t get involved in election fraud.”

Smith looks surprised. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t explain that well. As we’re doing this work, they’ve just asked us to keep our eyes and ears open for anything that may put a bump in the road for him. If there were a way to have access to pillow talk…”

I blanche, and Deo looks murderous. “You cannot possibly be suggesting what it sounds like you’re suggesting, Smith,” he says, death in his voice, and Smith fumbles over his words.

“Christ. Not you, Reed. Not you. I’m wondering if we could maybe get something set up with Chantalle. Some sort of long-game honeypot.”

Breathing out slowly, I release my white-knuckle grip on Jonah’s hands. “Ohhhhkay. I think maybe it’s time for a break. This is all getting...” I wave my hands around in frustration.

Smith shakes his head. “This is what I’m talking about. This is why we keep getting nowhere. Reed, I know you guys did this differently before, but it can’t work that way now. We can’t all randomly decide how the day goes. IknowI’m coming off as an asshole here, but we have an actual agenda, and we can’t pause it every time you get a little overwhelmed.”

The temperature in the room plummets, and I stand, pressing my hands against the table, talking long, deep breaths. “Excuse me?” I say viciously. Smith straightens as well and levels a stern glare on me. Waves of intimidation push out from him, battering me, and I smirk. “Yousuuuuuckat Pushing,Smith,” I bite out. “Maybe if you took your own advice and actually practiced it once in a while with Jonah and me during our sessions, you’d have some control. But right now, you’re not the bull, you’re the fucking china shop.” And, grabbing his emotion, I flip it and shove it back at him. He sways gently, like he’s standing on a rocky ship, and he bares his teeth at me.

“What the fuck, Reed?” he asks angrily. “That’s off limits.”

“Oh, soyoucan push out whatever fucking emotion you want, and I just have to take it, but the moment I stand up for myself you’re crying to mommy? Well boo-fucking-hoo, but I don’t think so,Boss. You’re sitting here saying I can’t take a break when I need to because it ruins the ‘agenda’ when I get ‘a little overwhelmed’? You have nofucking ideawhat you’re talking about, what I go through every day, what it’s like to be around all ofyouforhours and hours on end.” My skin is rippling in goosebumps, hair standing on end with the electric anger pumping through me, fueling me, and I realize how much I’ve been keeping walled up, and for how long. Other than the daily training sessions for my control, the things I’ve been working on most are my shields, layer upon layer of protection for meandfrom me. I’ve been bundling and burying emotion after emotion for weeks.

I stare at Smith, a dark idea entering my thoughts. That happens when I take in too much anger, when I’m tipped over into red. “You think I’m ‘a little overwhelmed’? I’m in a fucking madhouse 24/7, and I just need to be okay all the time?” I say again. “Fine.Youhandle this shit for a while then.” Andpullingas hard as I can, I yank emotions from Donovan, Jonah, Deo, the surrounding immediate area, and myself, and Ishovethem as hard as I can into Smith, who falls back into his chair, veins bulging on his face, neck flexed taut, eyes wide and wild. “Feelingoverwhelmed, Smith?” I ask with faux concern. “We’re too busy at the moment to break for any reason, so please, continue.” He just sits, mouth agape, like a fish, trying to grab onto his thoughts under the onslaught of emotion I’ve shoved into him. “Come on now. Chop chop. We don’t have all day for you to work through your shit.” He’s shaking now, trying to sit upright with a noticeable effort. “If it’s so easy,OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, Smith!” I spit out his name like poison, and I’m so focused on him, with all the anger in me, that it takes me a minute to realize Jonah is gently tugging on my hand. He looks a little pale, not his normal sun-kissed skin, and he’s frowning gently at me.

“What?” I snap out.

“That didn’t feel good, Kai,” he says, reproach lacing his voice, as though he doesn’t want to say it, but has to.

Startling back, I take my focus off Smith and look at Deo, Walker, and Jonah, all of whom wear matching, slightly pained expressions. I immediately let go of all of the anger, pulling it back into myself, and pushing what other emotions I can back into the guys.

“I’m sorry,” I say frantically. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just got so pissed off... I’m sorry, Jonah. Walker, are you okay? I’m so sorry. Deo…” My voice catches on the last word. I never,neverpull from Deo, and his face is grim.

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