Page 25 of Darkest Retribution

The worst part is, Brooke actually seems happy. Ruining the first relationship that’s brought her some semblance of contentment feels wrong.

But it doesn’t matter. Back in Chicago, Felix keeps a close watch on the Albright family. David and his father manage to keep a clean public record, but Felix has access to people with not-so-public knowledge.

That’s how we hear about his involvement in an international arms deal.

When I confront him, he laughs in my face. When we take our knowledge to the FBI, they put his case on hold almost immediately. Later, we find out it’s because his partner has governmental ties that keep him safe.

In the meantime, Brooke withdraws from our friend group, becoming more distant. Whenever I do see her, she always avoids me.

I hate it, the way she shuts me down whenever I try to bring up David. Not even Alex can get through to her, and for some reason her and Blaze aren’t talking.

Seeing my family slowly fall apart is what solidifies the decision in my mind. I’ll do anything to keep us together and safe. And if it means tearing David’s life apart piece by piece, then I will—no matter how long it takes.

Chapter seven

Jade

Crouchinginthebackseatof a car and waiting for your mark is boring as hell, but I suppose there are worse ways I could be spending my night. Still, it’s fucking cramped back here.

Rosie’s first three days of school went off without a hitch, and my shift last night was much more bearable considering I was well-rested for the first time in weeks. When I was younger, I used to hate taking naps. Now? They’re the only way I can get by.

I risk a peek out the back window of the car. This level of the parking garage is mostly empty. It’s for the best. If things get messy or loud, no one will be around to hear.

Unfortunately, right now, the parking garage istooempty.

Where the hell is this guy?

It takes another twenty minutes before I hear footsteps echoing against the concrete. I pull my knife from my hoodie pocket, double-checking that my ski mask is pulled down my face properly.

The guy doesn’t even check the backseat before getting in.

Idiot.

Once he’s inside, he slams the door and turns the car on. Just as he settles back and reaches for his seatbelt, I make my move. My hand is covering his mouth and my knife is slicing into his throat before he even realizes I’m here.

For a split second, he stares at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide with shock and pain. I only hold his gaze for a second before I slip back, wipe my knife on the seat, and exit the vehicle.

And then I’m running for the stairs. Once I’m in the stairwell, I pause for a moment, listening for footsteps. When I hear none, I head to the ground floor.

Moving this quickly hurts like hell, but I don’t have much of a choice. I have a somewhat-bloody knife in my pocket and a ski mask pulled over my face. Someone spotting me is the last thing I need.

When I’m on the last set of stairs, I leap over the last three at once. Pain shoots through my feet as I land, and my knees buckle, hitting the concrete floor. I catch myself with my hands, wondering why the fuck I thought jumping like that was a good idea.

Groaning, I let myself recover for a few seconds. That’s a move I used all the time in my teens and early twenties. I’m only twenty-five, but as my chronic pain has developed over the years, I’ve had to stop doing shit like that.

Old habits die hard, I suppose.

And now I’m going to pay by feeling this for at least two weeks.

Once I’m out of view of the parking garage’s cameras and on a side street with no traffic lights, I pull off my ski mask and shove it into my backpack. Dodging cameras can be tricky, but I’ve always enjoyed the challenge.

As I make my way through the streets, sticking to the shadows, I distract myself from the pain by fantasizing about what it’ll be like to be away from all of this. Where will Rosie and I live once we’ve escaped my brother? Maybe a little house by the ocean?

Waking up to waves lapping against the shore every morning sounds heavenly. We could have slow, easy mornings, and maybe there would be some kids Rosie’s age nearby for her to play with.

I sigh as I make it to the nearest subway stop and head underground. Wherever we end up, I just want us to be happy and safe. Preferably near a good hospital so I can work on getting a diagnosis, too.

Once the subway car gets to my stop, I hop off and head to where my car is parked. I have to fight to stay awake as I drive home.

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