Page 86 of Wicked Little Game
“Why not? Why the fuck not, Sam? Ah, because it would ruin your fucking mission, right?” I try to yank my arm out of his grip to finish what I started, my father’s words replaying in my head like a broken record.
“You’re such a useless piece of shit,” my father laughs, almost manically. “If I go down, you’ll go down with me. I’ll tell them everything. How you helped me, how you knew about all of this. He won’t help you, you’ll see. You really thought you’d get out of this with a pat on your hand, right? You’ll fucking rot in prison too, I hope they—”
Before he can finish his sentence, Sam silences him with a blow against his temple.
“He’s right.” I look over at him, the color draining from my face. But he is already busy with something else, rippingthe concealed microphone off before he crunches it underneath his shoe.
“No,” he says, pacing around the room. “No trial, no prison, no nothing. Not for him, and not for you.”
“But we can’t just let him go?”
“Did you hear me saying he’s going to be a free man?”
I shake my head.
“We have to handle this differently. I’m going to call someone and you keep an eye on him. And please, try not to put a bullet in his head, okay?
When I don’t react, he grabs my face, forcing me to look at him.
“Can you do that for me?”
“Mhm,” I mumble, busy processing what he just said. Just when Sam walks out the door, my father moves on the floor. Another blow to his temple takes care of that issue, and I add a few more punches to his face.
For good measure.
And for my mom.
32
SAMUEL
As I fumble my phone out of the pocket of my jeans, I hear Mr. Barron's pained groans coming from inside his office. I should have been more specific with Ruby because judging from the way she looked at him, she wouldn’t need to shoot him to kill him.
I wish I could call Rockwell with better news.
He trusted me with getting this under control and now we produced a huge fuck-up, not to mention we didn’t even get the info we wanted. It’s not exactly the worst-case scenario since everyone is still alive, but also far from the best possible outcome.
None of us expected her father had plans of his own, which, in hindsight, was fucking dumb of us, but even less I can understand how none of the others back at base noticed it.
They were supposed to monitor his phones, every goddamn word that left his mouth, but when I think back to the memo, it makes sense.
Guess I’ll have to share my idiot-of-the-month medal with Charlie.
Rockwell picks up the phone before it even rings properly, obviously expecting my call.
“We have a problem,” I say as I pace up and down the hallway.
“How bad is it?”
“No one’s dead. We didn’t get the names, though. And we have to keep this confidential. More confidential than usual, I’ll explain later. Not a word to Sanders until we have this sorted out, please.”
He grumbles something that sounds likefine. It’s not like this entire mission was official from the beginning.
We always operate in the gray area between the execution of law and, well, being criminals. We’re the ones they call for the dirty work. For the things that don’t make it to the news, for the things that don’t even make it to most people in the military.
We didn’t get the name we wanted, and that won’t make the higher-ups happy, especially not that new Sanders asshole.
Now that Mr. Barrons is out of the game, his partners or bosses or whatever will have to rearrange, but the threat still isn’t neutralized. A fact Rockwell and I are painfully aware of.
