Page 48 of Terror Tuesday
Apollo
Your ROOM? YOUR room? The vault? Damn. No, don’t know anything about it.
My phone lights up with a call. With a glance around, I make sure I’m alone. I always am.
“Yeah?”
“How did they get in?” he asks.
My fingers dig under my mask to scratch the back of my head. “I have no idea. It’s got the president’s seal on it, though. And his bloody signature. Looks legit.”
A heavy sigh whooshes through the speaker. “Fuck, man. A new maintenance guy was hanging around. I’ll beef up security for the house and check into it. What’s the assignment?”
“Take care of aloose endfrom Tuesday, apparently.” But my jaw clicks as I consider it. Even saying it feels wrong. The name in ink isn’t just an observer. If this kid’s thinking too hard about what happened Tuesday…if he’s asking questions…he’s either a problem, or aconsequence.
“Need help?”
“It was marked for solo work.”
There’s a long pause, and I already know his next question before he asks it. Slowly, deliberately. “Whyyou? Why Valen Von Dovish?”
That’s the question haunting me, too. Not that Iwouldn’tget a kill assignment, but that work typically goes to freshmen and initiates. But for me, specifically, I usually get all the hacking work, intel jobs. Clandestine-type activities.
As headlights crest the far hill, my gut churns. “The answer is what I’m worried about.”
“Shit. Check in with me?—”
“I gotta go. This is him.” I end the call and duck low, shadowing the black Benz as it crunches over cobblestone toward the Theta hangar garage. Its taillights glow like coals, trailing fog into the crisp night air.
Crawling closer to the side of the manor, I press my body against the cold, weeping stones. Ivy clings to the walls liketorturous veins. I tug my gloves into place, check my knife, and wait for him to exit. My breath is tight in my chest.
It’s not that I want the assignment. It’s that I’ve learned not to want anything at all. Not in this world. But the fact thattheyare ordering this kid to be wasted bothers me. And the possible reason behind it.
Why him?
Whyme?
Maybe he and I have a lot more in common than I think.
Malik exits the car with his phone held up to his ear as he strolls toward the house, chatting away with someone in a frantic tone. “Yes! On an altar! Tied up like she was some horrible sacrifice!”
He has the smarts to dart his head around in the dark, checking if anyone heard. His voice drops low. “I shouldn’t’ve gone in that room. But after what they did…I had to know.” A ragged breath escapes his chest. “And now I do.” His silence says more than he can. But he continues. “That’s what I’m scared of, man. I know who did it. I know what I saw. They’ll come for me. I get that. But?—”
His sob gets choked in his throat. One of his thumbs trails across his dark cheek to swipe at a tear. And for one sick second, I recognize Olivia in him—trembling, bleeding, alone with too much truth. Maybe that’s what makes this assignment so hard. Killing him will be too close to killing her.
I should walk away. Part of me watches Malik like a puzzle with only one solution—silence.
But I’m already weighing the blade.
As I had suspected, the man saw too much. And now he has to pay the price for being smart and aware. This is the torture the society puts us through… I can’t stop them today. Not by myself.
Hurriedly, he steps inside the front door of the manor, and the rest of his conversation is lost. The moment I had for reconsideration shatters.
A loud slam makes me spin and hold my breath. Fucking Carl-what’s-his-name steps out of a Jaguar and strolls toward the back gate with a blondeOmegaunder his arm. He’s nuzzling her neck, whispering something low and smug as she giggles a reply.
“If you want to change for the hot tub, you can use my room. I’ll show you where it is.”
Her hips sway heavily. “Sure, okay.”
