Page 107 of Ruthless

"Damn right," Lo agreed. "But we still have a problem with the biometrics. Even if we can spoof the retinal scan, the system requires live tissue for the palm print."

"I've got that covered," I said, setting the tablet down. "Costa owes me a favor."

Lo's eyebrows shot up. "Synthetic skin guy? Fuck, that's going to be expensive."

"Already paid for," I said. "Cost me three pennies."

Lo whistled. "Your entire collection?"

"Not quite." I thought of the two special pennies I'd kept separate from my collection—the first one Prometheus had ever given me in Bosnia, and the one he'd pressed into my palm in Milan. Those weren'tfor trading. Those were for shoving down his fucking throat when I finally got my hands on him.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the candy wrapper from the candy Prometheus had given me that first day in Bosnia. I'd kept it all this time, a fucked-up memento of the day my life changed forever. I smoothed it onto the table, the gold foil gleaming under the crimson light, impossibly intact after all these years.

Lo went still, his eyes fixed on the wrapper. He knew what it was. I'd told him once, years ago, during a mission gone to shit in Prague when we both thought we were going to die. He'd never mentioned it again, respecting the unspoken boundary, but he understood its significance.

I pulled out my lighter and clicked it open, the flame dancing in the crimson light. Lo watched silently as I held the corner of the wrapper to the fire. The gold foil blackened and curled, the flame crawling across the surface until it was nothing but ash on the polished table.

"It's time," I said simply.

Lo nodded, all traces of his usual flippancy gone. "You know what happens if you succeed, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you kill Prometheus—a Pantheon director—without sanction… The Tribunal won't just let that slide. Even with your personal reasons."

"I don't care," I said flatly. "He has Ana and I’m not leaving her there longer than I have to. Tonight, he dies, and she goes free. Whatever comes after, I'll deal with it then."

"You'll be taken to Tartarus," Lo pressed. "No one comes back from there."

Tartarus. The Pantheon's detention facility for their own. A place where ferryman who broke the code disappeared, never to be seen again.

"If that's the price for killing him and freeing Ana, I'll pay it," I said.

"There might be another way," Lo suggested carefully. "Jasper's been investigating Prometheus for years. He's convinced Prometheus has committed crimes against the Pantheon itself. If there were evidence—"

"There isn't time," I cut him off. "Every day Ana stays with him is another day she's controlled by that monster. Every day Vincent lives with a target on his back." I shook my head firmly. "No more waiting. No more hoping someone else solves this. I end it. Tonight."

"You're rushing into a suicide mission," Lo argued. "At least give Jasper time to—"

"No," I said, the word final. "Now that he knows he’s lost, he’s going to get desperate. He might hurt her. Or worse.” I shifted in my seat. “I need to tell you something. About Prometheus. About why this can't wait."

"You don't have to—"

"I do," I cut him off. "I need someone else to know what happened. In case I don't come back."

Lo nodded solemnly and waited.

"When I was eighteen, Prometheus took me to Milan for my first international solo contract." The words came out mechanical, detached, as if I was reading a mission report rather than describing my own life. My hands grew cold, fingers tingling with that familiar numbness that always preceded memories of Milan. "A political assassination. Finance minister. Clean job, but complex. High security."

Lo remained silent, giving me space to continue at my own pace.

"He got us a hotel suite. He said it was for training, for debriefing." I focused on the ashes of the wrapper, refusing to meet Lo'seyes. A sour taste flooded my mouth, my tongue suddenly too thick. "Six nights. That's how long it lasted. Six fucking nights in that hotel suite."

Understanding dawned in Lo's eyes, but he didn't interrupt, didn't offer platitudes or pity. Just waited.

"He drugged me," I continued, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. My skin prickled, goosebumps rising as phantom hands traced old paths across my body. Acid climbed my throat, and I dug my nails deeper into my palms, focusing on the sharp pain to keep from scratching my skin raw right there in the VIP room. "Expensive champagne with something mixed in. Something that made everything hazy but didn't knock me out completely. That would have been too... merciful."

A tremor started in my hands, spreading up my forearms. I clenched my fists to stop it, nails digging crescents into my palms. The pain anchored me, keeping me from sliding back into those hotel sheets, into that helplessness. "He told me I wanted it. That I'd been asking for it with the way I looked at him, the way I always tried to please him. And part of me believed him, because he'd been my whole fucking world since I was six years old."

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