The body on the floor.
The man must have had one.
I don’t have time to marvel over it before we both turn to look back the way we came, and a man with a full, ungroomed beard, wide eyes, no shirt, and dirty, loose jean shorts starts to barrel toward us. He has a gun in both hands, and his eyes are glassy, like he’s high or drunk. He laughs as he sees us, and I can smell the liquor on him an entire staircase away.
He raises the gun as his eyes dart from me to Storm and back.
I feel a pang of sympathy.
He’s drunk and maybe he was homeless, but either way, he was bribed.
If he shoots us, though, we die.
But before he can, Storm fires at my side.
The bullet hits the man between the eyes.
He collapses backward as the gun falls from his hand.
His body bends at an unnatural angle, and he’s splayed on the steps, head down, knees bent, mouth open.
I take a breath.
My eyes go to Storm.
He has the gun in his hand.
“Someone will be looking for him. But who will they look for next, Lydia?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
STORM
She leaves, looking back once from the bottom of the stairs. My first shameful thought is that I want to call after her. Beg her to stay. To give me answers I’m positive she doesn’t have.
Lydia Flynn was born a pawn into this world just like I was.
But I don’t want to be alone.
I’d hoped following her here would illuminate all the secrets we both seem to be keeping in the dark. With Dad’s help, I was able to find her and follow her. But my father hasn’t exactly been explicit about his dealings with her uncle, so why did I think his help would lead me anywhere useful?
When I hear the door clang closed to the marina—a hollow sound—I pinch my eyes closed tight.
I don’t want to see the man on the staircase I shot, because Lydia and I weren’t the only pawns in this building.
This man was given a directive, promised money and safety, no doubt. It’s what this world does. Chews you up with grinning teeth, only to spit you out in pieces, laughing all the way.
It’s why Sloane doesn’t need my bullshit.
I inhale deep and regret it. I gag, my eyes flying open as I hunch over, hands on my knees, the gun still between my fingers.
But I remember the summer.
The girl.
Lynx.
