Page 57 of Surrender

My chest tightens, and I smile slightly at Cristiano. “Yes, Daddy,” I answer.

Corbin laughs again, but I don’t care.

The angle is awkward, and the cut isn’t clean. That’s probably the point. Corbin’s laughter turns to screaming that doesn’t die down even after I’ve removed his thumb. There’s blood all over us now.

I lean over Corbin’s blood-soaked body and kiss Cristiano, tugging on his beard with my bloody fingers.

“My bloodthirsty little fox,” Cristiano says fiercely when we break the kiss, both breathless and bloody. He stands up properly, offering his hand out to me. I almost laugh, because I have an eyeball in one hand and a thumb in the other, and Cristiano cracks a slight smile when he realizes it.

“I’ll go…” I motion toward a door on the other end of the basement. It has a keypad and eyeball scanner lock. Cristiano nods, and I walk over there, listening to Corbin heave and whimper.

He’s just a man like every other.

The scanner doesn’t care that the eyeball is covered in blood, and the pin I enter is the correct one. I was half afraid he’d changed it already, but I guess even paranoid hitmen get lazy sometimes.

The room beyond is where Corbin stores all the weapons and electronics. I walk past the guns and head straight to the computer, using the thumbprint scanner to unlock it. It takes me several tries, and I do need to wipe the thumb off so the scanner can get a clear picture.

Unfortunately, there’s another password request after that, and I stare blankly at it.

I get up and go back to Corbin. “What’s the password?” I ask him.

Predictably, he laughs at me. “A random series of letters, numbers, and glyphs.” His voice is rougher than normal, proof of how much pain he’s in.

“Before I slit your throat or put a gun to your head and blow your brains out, you’re going to tell Fox that password,” Cristiano says, his voice steely. “And before you tell me to fuck off, let me tell you what I’m going to do to you if you don’t.” In a steady voice, he details what body parts he’s going to cut off, in what order, and how. Then he adds, “But don’t worry. Before I force-feed you your balls, I’ll cook them for you. I hear testicles are great deep fried. You can tell me.”

Corbin laughs even harder. “I’ll be dead by then. Have fun with my deep-fried balls.”

I squat down so I’m closer to Corbin, and I push my knife up against Corbin’s cheek. I consider where the security vulnerability could be. He won’t have an easy to guess password—but he has a lot of them.

He needs some way to remember all the passwords.

I dig the knife in deeper, cutting into him, and reach for his phone.

The pin is a different one than on the door, but I know this one, too. He’s the one who taught me to always pay attention when people are futzing with their phones.

It doesn’t take me long to find the password manager… and in a stroke of luck, it’s still logged in. I grin at him. “Did you get annoyed at having to input the master password every time?”

Corbin’s one eye widens, and he begins struggling harder. “Don’t you fucking dare, Robin.”

Cristiano laughs. “They’re right. Torture doesn’t always get you what you want. But sheer cleverness does. Well done, my little Fox. Go see if you can access it now. I’ll keep Corbin company while you do.”

I head back to his computer and manage to log in. I find the secure email server he uses—the one he had me use, too—and note with dismay that he’s deleted everything.

But there’s a new email, one he hadn’t had time to read yet.

What the fuck happened? You promised he’d be dead this time! Why isn’t he dead, and why’s a ‘robin’ poking around?

The email was sent from an anonymous account, but I know Corbin would have kept records. I find the secured folder, unlock it with the help of the password manager… and nearly gasp at what I find.

It’s an archive of all past contracts. Not just the recent ones, but going back decades.

My family might be in here, too.

No, never mind that. It’s not important right now. I look up the relevant dates. Target, location, payment… and client.

It isn’t Silvano Cresci, though. It’s Peter Boyce.

Did he place the hit on Silvano’s orders? Or was he independently trying to get rid of Cristiano?

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