Neither of us, it seems, has the words.
By the time we refocus on Sy and Hopper, they’re already up the stairs and pushing past us into the apartment, short, futuristic rifles drawn. There’s a look in Hopper’s eye that I’ve never seen before. I can’t even see Silas’s eyes because he’s wearing those goddamn dark sunglasses again.
Hopper sweeps the apartment, nodding in what I assume is approval.
“Stole his rifle, shot this guy, bashed this guy with his own weapon.” He notes the two closest to me. “Who wrestled this one to the floor?”
I hold up my hand. “I did.”
Silas turns to me. “Really? Didn’t know you had that in you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you didn’t,” I spit out, rage—or adrenaline—boiling just under the surface. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. None of you do.”
Silas’s eyebrows shoot up, and Hopper steps back. “You took this one down, too, didn’t you?” He points to the fourth guy.
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t shoot them in the head?”
“That was me,” Boone says. “And I’m going to need both of you to explain what the fuck is happening right now.” He gestures to the dead bodies and the piles of ash in the doorway.“Maybe start with who the fuck attacked us and how you got here so quickly.”
“Whitaker.” Hopper pops his brows. “And we got the jump on his plans because Jake snuck into his system undetected.”
Boone shakes his head. “Whitaker as inPrestonWhitaker?”
Hopper’s face goes flat. “Yep.”
“And who the fuck isJake?”
“You remember,” Hopper says. “The multimedia piece.”
Boone pinches the bridge of his nose. “So… Jake the artist is also Jake the hacker?”
I lean in and whisper, “Jake is one of my uncles. He runs a WhiteHat group that keeps tabs on Hell_AI. I’m guessing he’s pretty good at general surveillance.”
“Wait.” Boone holds up his hand, then stares at Hopper. “You have people illegally monitoring Preston Whitaker? Do you have a fucking death wish?”
“Not particularly,” Silas says, unbothered by Boone’s anger.
Boone turns to focus his ire on Silas, then steps back.
Fair. Silas is really fucking terrifying.
Boone refocuses on the headless body and piles of ash in my doorway. “I also need someone to explain to me—really fucking quickly—how you’ve come into possession of the kind of weapon that can dothis.”
Hopper’s eyes sparkle and shine as he gestures at the carnage. “I’ll share all of that with you in due time, but I am so fucking impressed by you. Both of you. Incredible reaction times. Sharp killer instinct.” He shifts the blinds and looks out the window. “To be clear, I’m just saving the explanation for when we’re not in an active op.”
Boone looks to me, and I stand there. Hopper saidkiller instinctwith such pride. I can’t…
Hopper kills people?
I’m gonna be sick.
“I killed these men in self-defense,” Boone counters, the vein in his forehead throbbing. “I put bullets in their head because I had to protect Maverick. I’m not amurderer.”
“Potato, to-mah-to,” Hopper says, kneeling next to the second guy I took down. He rocks his upper body, then reaches out, seemingly adjusting the man’s hairline.
“It’s a good hairpiece,” he says, mostly to himself. “I’d hate to send him off to the afterlife with it crooked.”
