Page 92 of Promise of Destruction
“I live only to make men like you suffer, Declan Evers, and I will take great joy in every second of your pain if you don’t make yourself useful.”
I almost laugh, but the conviction in his thick voice is hard to miss.
He believes what he’s saying. That makes him a fool, but he’s a fool with a gun, a fool who took Soren away from me. For those reasons alone, I decide to do what I set out to do.
“I have to re-code the software.” I explain, gesturing to the laptop. “And it’s not as quick as you want it to be. I will fix this, and then I will find your girl.” Dimitri nods curtly, but I’m not done. “But I will need something from you. If you help me, I’ll help you, and then you will disappear from my life, and I willneversee you again.”
“Yes.” He agrees swiftly.
“I’m hurt by your eagerness,” I mock. “The first condition is that nothing happens to her.”
I’m sure he knows her name by now, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear her name on his lips—it’s a privilege he doesn’t deserve—and the less I use it, the less he will believe she matters. My stake in Soren could be purely a property interest, though something tells me he’s smart enough to realize that’s not all I’m concerned about.
“I already told you—” He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, which gives me the smallest bit of satisfaction. I’m glad to know I am exasperating him, though my redundancy is soon to be the least of his problems.
“The second thing—” I cut him off. “Is coffee.”
He blinks, clearly surprised by my demand.
“Well, wearein Costa Rica.” He shrugs. “Neither of your requests will be an issue. Get to work.”
He is turning to go, his hand on the doorknob, when my voice stops him.
“That’s not a fucking request. It’s an order.”
His chuckle tells me he’s none too concerned by my abruptness. He works for murderers, rapists, and sadists. He may not be scared of me because he’s caught in a web of sin, but it’s not smart of him to underestimate me.
I haven’t killed anyone yet because I know this organization I’m wrapped up in is like a fucking hydra. If I cut off one head, two more will grow in its place. I don’t have an exit strategy yet.
But just because I haven’t yet, doesn’t mean I won’t kill anyone who stands in the way of what I want.
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It takes far longer than I care to spend isolating the code that has been corrupted, but I manage to find it before the Russian ever returns with my coffee.
The sequence of characters on the screen is starting to blur before me, but once I pick out the offending code, I feel a second wind start to take hold. It may even be a fifth wind by now—I don’t remember when I slept last.
I used to pull nights like this in college all the time; I didn’t sleep for seventy-two hours while I was writing the code for this software. I lived for months on espressos that I didn’t even like, whichever energy drinks I could get my hands on, and the manic energy that a person has when they’re consumed by passion.
But I don’t have passion for this project anymore. I want to burn the whole fucking program to the ground—I want to corrupt the code even more than it already is. I want to guarantee that no more lives are ruined because of what I built.
I was too selfish before to do it, and now that I’m in the perfect position to manage it, I can’t possibly go through with it.
Because I’m still selfish.
I’m still not a good man.
I’m still a monster who doesn’t want to lose his shiny new toy.
When I was younger, I was disillusioned enough to believe I was a good person. I was foolish enough to think that the world existed in black and white, that there was good and evil, right and wrong. I was naïve enough to believe I’d grow up and make all the right choices—I wanted to be ahero.
I know that I am not a hero. I never will be. The hero is created by the people around them, the choices they make. I chose darkness— temporary comfort. I chose to lie in bed withthe vilest sort of people that exist, and no matter how distant I’ve kept them, they are able to do what they dobecause of me.
I thought I would be a hero once, but I accepted my fate a long time ago.
I will die a villain.
I’ve made myself a villain in countless people’s stories—people who never even know I’m there. I am the hand that covers their mouths, the noose that wraps around their necks, the chains that bind them, the eraser that removes their entire identity from existence. I am also the only one who can write them back into existence, which is exactly what I’m trying to do when the door opens.
