Page 58 of Surrender

I close the file. I’m going to need to poke through everything later, but we need to deal with the more immediate problems first.

A folder on the desktop labeled as ‘R’ catches my attention though. I click on it, expecting to find training details or assessments about me.

Instead, it’s a folder of pictures. Thousands of pictures of me throughout the years. I glare at them, flipping through them quickly. They aren’t even just pictures of me training—though there are a lot of those. There are some of me asleep, some where I’m watching TV. Me reading a book on the couch, not realizing that Corbin was snapping a pic right beside me.

What the fuck. This is… this is sentimental. This makes it seem like he fucking cares about me.

He doesn’t. I know he doesn’t.

I angrily delete the folder and shut down the computer. I’ll come back for the PC later, but I have more pressing matters.

“We can kill him now,” I tell Cristiano as I head back out. “I have everything we need.”

Cristiano looks up at me, and it takes me a second to realize Corbin is a bruised mess on the floor. Apparently, Cristiano has been passing the time by taking his frustration out on Corbin, and Corbin probably isn’t far from dead as it is.

“Do you want to do the honors?” Cristiano asks me. There’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before, even when he was pissed off at me. It’s something wild—almost crazed, even. “I’ve already told him where he’s… erred with you.”

I should. I stare down at Corbin’s bloodied body. He’s barely breathing, and his face is a bruised, bleeding mess.

He’s old.

I unholster my gun and check the chamber. One more bullet. It would be fitting if I shot him with it.

But why did he have photos of me on his computer? Why did it seem like he fucking cared, when all I remember of him is the beatings and the lashing and the harsh words and…

And sitting down here together, watching tv, while he explained why people were laughing.

How he cooked dinner for us.

How he taught me to hold a gun, how to ignore all the pain.

He made me a birthday cake once, and I don’t think it was even my birthday, but I remember being overjoyed.

Fuck. Why don’t I hate him?

“You do it,” I say to Cristiano. “Please.”

“Gladly,” Cristiano says. He unholsters his own gun and clicks off the safety. He points it at Corbin, and…

Just like that, Corbin is gone.

His blood splatters onto my face. He’d been too out of it to even taunt me before it happened.

I thought I’d feel different.

But my memories of my life before don’t come rushing back. I don’t feel relieved. I’m not sad, either, but it’s not…

I wipe off some of the blood and look at Cristiano. “Peter Boyce. He’s the one who ordered the hit.”

Cristiano sighs. He isn’t surprised, I can see that much. “Do you know if it was on Silvano’s orders?”

I shake my head. “Only that it was Boyce who ordered it.”

Nodding, Cristiano studies me for a moment then says quietly, “I’m sorry, Fox.” He hesitates. “I’d offer to call you Robin, but—”

“No,” I interrupt him.

He smiles. “But I don’t want to,” he finishes.

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