Page 87 of Web of Lies
"I just want to make sure we're on the same page," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. "Once I hand this over, it's done. You'll leave me alone. For good."
The smile finds its way back onto his lips. "Of course. You have my word."
"And how can I be sure?" I narrow my eyes at him.
A low, breathy laugh escapes him and makes my skin crawl. He tilts his head as if I'm a child asking something naïve. "You can't."
"Then why should I give these to you?" I spit, raising a brow, though my fingers tremble around the folder, sweat soaking through the edges of the paper.
Jackson's lips stretch into a smirk. "Because if you do, it increases your chances of walking out of here." He shrugs like it's obvious, like my life is just a casual bet to him. "Why would I kill you after you finally give me what I've wanted all this time?"
I press my lips into a thin line, biting back the words on my tongue. Because he can. And I'm a nuisance and a threat to him.
"But," he adds, voice dropping lower, eyes flashing with amusement, "if you don't hand them over willingly…" He takes a step forward. "…I'll just take them."
"I knew you wouldn't play fair," I snap.
"You know, this life isn't fair." A chuckle vibrates in his throat, lacking emotion yet mocking. "Now. Give me the fucking document, Riley."
"No." The word bursts from my throat. My hand twitches near my jacket, my pulse roaring in my ears. In one swift motion, I wrap my fingers around the pistol's grip and draw, raising it just as Jackson does the same.
His eyes narrow, the charm melting away, replaced by a predator's focus. "You're not a killer, Riley. We both know that."
"Try me."
"You?" He lets out a mocking laugh that makes my skin crawl. "You're a hacker. A fraud. You hide behind screens and codes, but out here?" He jerks his chin toward the gun in my hand, then flicks his gaze back up. "You don't have it in you."
My stomach twists, the anxiety crawling higher, threatening to choke me, but then something clicks. His words. The way he spits them out is sharp and dismissive. It's the same toneNoah and Kyle used when they pushed me during practice. They taunted me because they knew it worked. And that's exactly what Jackson is trying to do: throw me off my game.
I drag in a deep breath, forcing the panic down, pushing it into the pit of my stomach where it belongs.
"You want to find out?" I ask as I readjust my grip on the gun.
Jackson tilts his head, his smirk widening. "You're trembling," he mocks, dragging the words out. "I can see it from here. Your hands are shaking like you're about to cry. And no one's here to protect you." His tone drops lower, sharp as a blade. "I won't ask again, Riley. Give me the folder or youdie."
"I don't think so." The words cut through the night air, deep and distorted by a voice changer. The sound bounces off the concrete walls. Jackson jerks, his eyes narrowing as his body stiffens. "Two can play this game dirty," the voice drawls in a mocking singsong.
A shadow shifts along the edge of the scaffolding, moving with a fluid motion like a predator circling its prey. I hold my breath as Kyle steps into the light. He's dressed in all black, a thick hoodie hiding his broad frame, a balaclava masking his identity. His gun gleams under the dim moonlight, aimed directly at Jackson.
"Fuck," Jackson hisses under his breath, as his aim shifts from me to the hooded figure.
"You know, Jackson, you talk a lot of shit for someone with his hand shaking worse than hers." Kyle chuckles low, mocking. A cold shiver runs down my spine, not from fear but from the way Kyle turns the tables on Jackson, mocking him in return.
"Who do we have here?" Jackson's voice falters. "A little friend of yours?"
"Even better," Kyle says, his voice distorted and low. He steps closer. "The Butcher himself."
Jackson's eyes widen, his gun jerking slightly as if he's not sure where to aim anymore. "You're bluffing," he mutters, his gaze flickering between me and Kyle. "He wouldn't come here for someone like her. He's not that stupid."
"Funny," Kyle says, tilting his head. "Because it looks like I am that stupid."
Jackson's nostrils flare as his confidence crumbles. He shakes his head as his eyes lock on me. "You really are a traitor, Riley," he spits. "Not just to the department. To everything. You made a deal with the devil. Do you think he'll be your hero?" His words drip with venom, but for the first time, I don't feel their sting. The man who thought he owned me is confused, furious that the Butcher is standing here, not to be handed over but to protect me. And God, it feels good.
"Hero?" he repeats after him, his tone dark and dripping with amusement. "That's not what I am. But I'm damn good at being your worst fucking nightmare."
I clench my fingers tighter around the handle of my gun and risk a glance at Kyle. My jaw trembles, my heart fluttering in a strange, chaotic rhythm. I'm not alone in this. He isn't my savior, nor is he some knight in shining armor. Like he said, he's a nightmare. But he doesn't haunt me, but hunts the people who try to break me.
"Oh," Jackson breathes out, his eyes narrowing as the realization crosses his face. His grin creeps back, wide and venomous. "You actually feel something for him." He chuckles. "That's perfect. That's fucking perfect. You've got ten seconds to hand over that folder," Jackson snarls. "Or I'll put a bullet through your friend's skull and let you scrub him off the rooftop yourself before I kill you."
