Page 96 of Run, Little Rabbit

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” I ask Veon.

“Probably,” he replies without taking his eyes off the crowded floor below us. “At least three assassins and two groups of thugs. I think leaving might be wise.”

“Agreed.”

Veon flicks a quick glance at me, and I don’t miss the surprise fluttering in his baby blues. “Don’t fancy your chances against them?”

“It’s flattering that you think I have any chance against the skills waiting for us down there, but no. I’m not that good.”

He hits me with another stare, and there’s something a little warm in their depths, something honest and trustworthy. “You’ve got me, too. I’d protect you.”

Something clenches in my chest at his words, and I believe him. There’s so much sincerity oozing from him that I get stuck in it.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, I’d then kill you myself because you made me protect your ass in the first place.”

My jaw drops. “You’re an asshole. I can’t believe—”

My phone pings with a notification saving Veon from the tirade of shit that was about to pour from my mouth. There’s another ping behind me, but I don’t pay attention to whose phone it is. My eyes are fixed firmly on St Olga’s ads page, and what I see makes ice settle in my veins.

There’s a live location being broadcast, and the pin shows the spot exactly where Echo is standing along with the caption: Bennie Walker’s Collection of Secrets.

I turn around and see Angel glaring at his phone, presumably looking at the same thing as me and a fleeting curiosity flutters through me as to why Angel would have access to St Olga’s ad page. Did he like to assassinate people too?

But that would be a tomorrow question; right now I had work to do.

“I need a computer. Now,” I bark, hoping I can track the fucker who managed to hack into the phone.

Max stands from the sofa and rushes towards his desk. “Will my laptop do? It’s fully encrypted and—”

“Yes,” I interrupt. Fuck,anythingwould do right now. Safety protocols be damned. I could deal with the fallout later. Right now, I needed to understand how someone was broadcasting the location of Bennie’s phone to the entire collection of assassins that used St Olga’s.

Dread fills my stomach as the name of someone from my past filters into my soul like a ghost.

I log in to my VPN and try and trace the signal back, but it’s being rerouted through so many other VPNs that there’s clearly an algorithm at work manipulating my ability to trace it.

“What do you see?” Echo asks as she steps behind my shoulder.

“Just give me a minute,” I say, my tone short. I don’t mean to snap at her, but this code that’s broadcasting the location of the phone is something else. It’s elegant and creative, beautiful even, and that ghost that crept into my periphery manifests into a full-blown vision.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

“What is it?” Echo asks, her hand squeezing my shoulder.

It’s impossible. It can’t be him. He’s supposed to be dead.

But as I watch the code unfold before my very eyes, I recognise the signature. It’s the man who took me in after I fled from my home, the man who taught me and then stole all my fucking work. “Cypher.”

As soon as the word leaves my lips, all the lights cut out and the electrics switch off. The crowd on the dance floor startto murmur and complain, the noise filtering through the glass windows.

The sound of a creepy distorted music box cuts through the speakers, and white noise plays on the screens dotted around the dance floor. A laugh cackles around the room, and Max puts the speakers back on in his office so the full force of the laughter scrapes against my eardrums.

“Ladies and gentlemen, and all those in between,” the voice begins. It’s modulated, like someone is speaking through an app to transform their voice into something robotic. “In your midst are a handful of really bad people. If I were you, I’d leave before you get caught in what I’m sure is going to be an epic shoot-out. I love a shoot-out; it’s always the best bit in the movie.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “It’s him. It’s Cypher.” He always loved action movies, saying that the final shoot-out was always the most tense, exciting part of the film. I had always loved horror movies, and he used to tease the shit out of me every time I jumped.

“Who’s Cypher?” Angel asks, his voice soft and warm, and I know he’s trying to connect with me on some level, but a panic attack is creeping around the edges of my body. My chest heaves, and blood rushes through my veins.

I thought I’d killed him, but here he is, larger than fucking life. How is this even possible?

---