Page 64 of We Are the Match
Altea shoots like she knows she will not miss.
But she has never known scarcity.
I shoot like I know Imustnot miss.
When the magazine is empty, I set the rifle down and retrieve the target. I hand it to her wordlessly, flipped over so she can see the pattern that I shot into it.
It is an α—for her—overlaid with aT, the old symbol of the Trojan cartel she was once allied with, the remnants of which Zarek obliterated on Troy. Altea survived, adapted, allied herself with new power.
But if I am right, if she is like me—
She never stopped longing for home.
For a second, the paper trembles in her hand. Something flashes in her eyes, something dark and furious and damaged—
And then she steps away from me. Sets the paper down. Lifts her rifle.
“What do you want, Paris of Troy?”
“I want a new world,” I tell her. “And I want a piece of that world.”
Enough truth, just as I gave Hana when I said I wanted Marcus out of my way.
Altea is still facing away from me, her shoulders tense, one finger ghosting over the trigger of her rifle. “Who will you be in that world? Who will Helen be?”
“I will haveher.” The words ring truer than I want them to.
I will have them all, and I will have them on their knees. I will have my revenge on all of them, everyone from Zarek to Hana to Altea to Frona to—yes, to Helen, too, even if that last thought has begun to turn my stomach. And when the power Zarek has collected around him is nothing but ashes, then—
Then he gets to die.
A tilt of the rifle as Altea checks the magazine. A click of the bolt sliding home. “And that is all, Paris of Troy? A piece of this, and Helen at your side?”
I need to know, too, if Altea grieves Lena and resents Zarek—or if she knows Lena is alive and is keeping that a secret. If Lena wanted to rebuild without Zarek knowing, she would need anyone loyal to her to keep that secret for her—and is Altea one of those still loyal?
“If Helen wants to take a more active role in this business,” I say finally. “We will need your help. Can we count on that?”
“If I say yes,” Altea murmurs. She slides the rifle to her shoulder. “That is disloyalty. That is something Zarek can kill me for. What could you and Helen possibly offer me to risk my life and everything I have built?”
I do not answer her, not with words.
Instead, I tap one finger on the paper target with her old Family symbol.
The room is so silent, so still, that the gentle brush of the paper against the table beneath it feels apocalyptic.
Altea has angled her body away from me, her face cast in shadow. “Call for your plaything, then, Paris of Troy,” she says finally. “Helen and I have much to discuss.”
Chapter 22
Helen
I arrive to the shooting range dressed in black silk and, like most women in a dress like this, ready for war.
“Darling.” Altea greets me with a kiss to my cheek and a rifle held out for me.
Paris ducks her head. “Zarek is coming later, is he not?” she asks.
Altea nods. “When he finishes with those brothers,” she says carelessly. “Do you really think they did it, Helen? Do you think a man like Marcus is capable of a bomb so beautiful?”
