Page 86 of Web of Lies
"I'm serious," he says. I tilt my head and meet his gaze in the dim light. His eyes are narrowed at me. "I'll be close by the whole time, and nothing will happen to you."
Oddly enough, I trust him. Not because he's asking me to, but because it's Kyle. Yes, he's hurt me before. But he's shown up for me, even when his intentions were twisted. But I've come to understand that his actions never came from pure cruelty. They came from fear, from obsession, from wanting me safe in the only way he knows how. And that's why I feel safe with him now. Because no matter how brutal or reckless he can be, he's proven time and time again that when everything falls apart, he's the one who will step in and pick up the pieces.
I tilt my head and meet his gaze in the dim light as he narrows his eyes at me. "Okay," I say with a faint smile, open my eyes, and turn back to face him.
"Then let's get this over with." Kyle nods.
With a quiet click, I push the car door open and step out, the folder with the fake Butcher files clutched tight in my hand. The cool night air brushes over my skin, and for a second, my knees almost give out beneath me as my feet hit the pavement.
Kyle slips out of the driver's side and circles around the car toward me. His long fingers wrap around my wrist, and he pulls me toward him. He leans down, and his lips crash into mine, soft but filled with a longing that steals the air from my lungs. His other hand settles at my waist like an anchor, keeping me in place.
When he finally breaks the kiss, his forehead presses against mine, and his breath fans over my skin, carrying the faint, clean scent of mint.
"I love you, Baby. You can do this," he whispers.
My heart flutters in my chest, overshadowing the anxiety clawing at it. "I love you too." The words tumble out in a whisper. They still feel foreign on my tongue, but they feel right. Like saying them is a step in the right direction.
With one last deep breath, I let go of him and turn toward the looming skeleton of the building. The half-finished structure rises against the night sky, sheets of plastic fluttering in the breeze.
I duck under the sagging strip of yellow construction tape. The faded black letters warning "Do Not Enter" do little to stop me. The gravel crunches beneath my boots as I slip into the building. Inside, the air smells of dust, cement, and rusting steel.
Behind me, Kyle breaks off toward the scaffolding. His movements are quick, practiced, almost silent. He'll sneak his way up the side of the building, approaching from a different angle. The whole setup is meant to trick Jackson into making him believe I came here alone, desperate, with nowhere else to turn. But the truth is, Kyle will watch the entire time, waiting for the right moment.
My steps echo in the stairwell, the sound sharp as it bounces off the cold brick walls. Each step feels heavier than the last as I drag myself up the stairs. The old concrete stairs creak beneath me, dust rising with every step.
At the top, I stop in front of the battered metal door leading to the roof. I curl my fingers around the metal handle, its surface cool against my damp palms. My heart pounds so hard it rattles my ribs, and a tight knot twists deep in my stomach.I can do this.I shut my eyes, inhale deeply through my nose, hold it, then let the breath slip out my mouth.
When I open them again, I twist the handle and push forward. The rusty hinges creak as the door swings open, and I step out onto the flat rooftop.
Scaffolding frames the edges of the building, wrapped in thin plastic sheets that ripple and snap in the wind. The city stretches out before me, bathed in a hazy glow. In the distance, the metallic clatter of cargo containers slamming into place rumbles like thunder, mixing with the restless flutter of plastic all around me.
Then, sitting on an old vent, I spot a figure. My stomach twists as the door slams shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot across the rooftop. The man shifts, and when his face turns toward me, it's like a punch to the gut.
Jackson Philips.
It's been years since I last saw him in person. The years haven't softened him; if anything, they have hardened him. That same glare I remember all too well from when I was caught stealing data from his department pins me in place.
"Riley," he says, his voice smooth as ever, lips curving into a crooked smile that makes my blood boil. "What a pleasure. It's been too long."
I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth as I force his name past my lips. "Jackson."
"Oh, come on, why the bitter tone? Aren't we friends?" He pushes off the vent, taking a slow step forward.
"I thought so." My grip on the folder tightens, knuckles turning white. "But that was before you hired multiple people tokidnap me." I lift my chin, raising a brow, letting him see that I'm not the same girl as six years ago.
A low, mocking laugh escapes him, rich with condescension. "I didn't take you for the resentful type. You survived, didn't you? Not only that, you escaped two of my men and then slipped away from Chloé Corbeau. Not many can say that." He tilts his head, eyes glistening with cruel amusement. "And the way you kept Hunt in the dark all these years? Impressive. I honestly didn't think you had it in you." His words drip with false admiration, like a predator praising prey for running fast. My skin prickles with every word leaving his lips.
Then, his gaze flicks down to the folder in my hands. "Is that it?" His voice lowers, dripping with expectation.
I glance at the documents, then back at him, holding his stare. "Yes. The identity of the Butcher. And evidence tying him to several cases. Everything you asked for."
"Wonderful," he says, extending his hand. "Give it to me."
But my feet stay planted, my arms locked tight around the folder pressed to my chest. My lungs burn with the breath I'm holding, and I can't bring myself to move.
His fingers twitch impatiently in the air, the smile on his face fading. "Riley." His voice sharpens, and the softness drains from him as his mask slips. "I said, give it to me."
I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. Beneath my oversized denim jacket, the weight of the pistol digs into my ribs. My fingers twitch, aching to reach for it, but I lock them in place. Not yet. Not until he loses control. Not until Kyle's in position.
