Page 29 of Avenging Jessie
“This.” He motioned vaguely at the laptop, the van, and the gray German sky, bleeding into twilight. “I used to think the world made more sense behind a screen. Algorithms don’t lie. Code doesn’t stab you in the back. And if something breaks, you can fix it.”
Jessie didn’t comment, just listened and nodded. That alone made it easier to keep talking.
“People aren’t like that,” he continued. “They short-circuit. They ghost you. They change the rules mid-mission.”
A brow lifted. “What is this about?”
He shook his head. What was he trying to say? “I’m too much in my head right now, thinking about Brewer and his traps. The past with Bellringer. My manipulative, lying adopted father. Hell, even the situation with Flynn. People let you down, betray you, trick you.”
“You’re saying you trust machines more than people?”
He considered it. “I’m saying code is easier. Cleaner. Less likely to disappoint you.”
Jessie sighed, placing her hand on the console and toying with the cup holder. “Except when it gets hijacked by psychopaths and turned into drone armies.”
He smiled. Briefly. “Fair.”
The air was heavier now—not just with the weather, but with the weight of what wasn’t being said. “I spent a long time thinking if I stayed behind my personal firewall—kept my distance—I’d be safe,” he murmured. “Detached. Efficient. Invaluable. But eventually…”
She set the binoculars in her lap. “Eventually, what?”
“It starts to feel like you’re not even human anymore. Just part of the machine.”
Jessie shifted in her seat to face him fully. “Is that why you signed on with the Swans?”
He hesitated. Not because he didn’t know the answer—but because he did. “I thought if I were in the field again, I could stop hiding behind the tech. Be something real. Make it count.”
Her voice was quieter now. “Did it work?”
Spence looked at her. Right at her. “I don’t know yet.”
For a moment, Jessie said nothing. The rain blurred the world outside into streaks and shadows. Then her hand, resting on the console between them, edged an inch closer.
She didn’t touch him.
But she didn’t have to.
The way she looked at him—steady, unflinching—made it harder to hide behind sarcasm or strategy. She leaned a little closer, still not touching. Just close enough that the warmth of her presence scraped against the colder parts of him.
“I never had any siblings,” she said. “Losing your sister must have been hard.”
His throat got tight. It was so like her to go right for the jugular, realizing his armor was more about Victoria than any betrayal since. “She was five. Smart. Funny. Obsessed with birds. She used to call pigeons ‘air rats,’ but she’d feed them anyway.”
A faint smile ghosted across her lips, gone as quickly as it came. “What was her name?”
He pulled out the coin, flipped it over. “Victoria. I called her Vic. Our mother was…broken. Drank more than she ate. We never had heat in winter. Barely had food.” He swallowed. “She told me one night to get out. Said she couldn’t afford both of us.”
Jessie’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I was eight. I didn’t think she meant it, but she did. Slammed me into the doorframe, she was so determined to shove me out. I curled up in the alley that night, didn’t even have a coat. I looked for a way back in, but couldn’t find one. The next day, the doors were locked, the curtains drawn. She acted like she didn’t know me. Like I was some junkie begging on the steps.”
His hands curled around the steering wheel, needing something to hold onto.
“God, Spence.” Jessie’s voice was quiet like the rain. “That’s horrible.”
He stared at the blurry bulk of the warehouse. Saw his childhood walk-up instead. “I started watching the place. Figured I’d wait her out. Then this guy showed up. One of her old boyfriends. Real piece of work. He knocked, she let him in. Twenty minutes later, he walked out with Victoria.”
Jessie’s fingers twitched on the console. Still not touching him, but still giving him her undivided attention.
