Then, of course, there was that other feeling—terror.
Knowing that Reid had been alive all these years made Nikolai’s stomach turn. The thought that he had given up hope and left his buddy to suffer whatever fate had befallen him horrified Niko.
Where had Reid been all this time? And why had he never tried to contact him?
They had been close once. As close as two straight men could be in their… situation.
Niko had to know.
Turning, Nikolai left the hotel and hopped back on his Harley.
He spent the next two hours driving around the city, hopelessly searching for the man he had long believed to be dead.
Would he get lucky and somehow run into him twice in one night?
Probably not.
The gods were not that merciful. He knew, better than anyone, that the gods were monsters, sent to torture and punish all those who walked their earth.
4
REID
Pushing open the apartment door, Reid walked into the dark room without turning on any lights. He stepped toward the sofa located in the middle of the living room and unslung his backpack from his shoulders, dropping it as he walked past it toward the dark, dingy window.
He'd left the curtains open earlier so he would have quick and easy access to see the street below without alerting anyone to his late return.
Approaching the glass, he slowly peeked outside, scanning the street and sidewalks for any person or object that might seem out of place.
He needed to be careful. He was getting so close.
At any moment, he could find that one piece of information that could help bring down the whole damn thing. One small whisper. An address or a name. Something. Anything. Sometimes, that was all it took.
Staring down at the streets, everything looked normal. He didn’t think he’d been followed. The only people walking past his building were late-night partiers and people looking to score.
Other than that, the street was quiet.
Then, the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise.
What about the apartments across the way? Was someone watching him from a darkened apartment?
Slowly, his eyes began to lift, scanning each window, one by one, hoping not to see a man—or woman—staring back at him from across the street.
What would he do if someone were watching him?
Run. You fucking grab your shit and run.
People like these, you didn’t mess around with.
Let your guard down, even for a second, and you might end up on the evening news. “Body found washed up on shore” or “Torso found. Still looking for head” were headlines that he didn’t want to make.
When his time came, he didn’t want to end up being another nameless article. There were far too many people whose obituaries were just that—a horrifying headline that referenced the way in which their body was found—or not found—leaving family and friends wondering what had happened to their loved one.
No matter how dangerous this was, it needed to get done. Lives depended on it. He had come too far, and his work was too important to back down now.
Once he was satisfied that no one was watching him from the building across the road, he walked back over to his knapsack and pulled his cell phone out of the side pocket.
Good. It wasn’t damaged in the mad escape.
