My fingers tremble as I touch a lock of her hair. So soft and silky. Innocence and perfection I shouldn’t taint, but I’m a weak man.
I wrap it around my fingers, once, twice, then lift it to my nose and inhale.
Sweet, tantalizing roses.
For a moment, I’m sixteen again with Lake Michigan’s breeze whispering across my face, the icy water numbing my swollen knees. I feel her gentle fingers tracing clumsy letters into my palm while humming her favorite Beethoven piece under her breath.
The girl who’s never left my memories, who believed a broke, dyslexic kid could be more.
My phone buzzes.
“Kent,” I whisper, not wanting to wake Lana.
“I’m packed and ready to go. This is my new number,” my sister, Sofia, drawls in a smoky voice. “What’s next?”
“We survive. I’ll figure something out.”
“You always do.”
“How were things before you left?” I ask.
Sofia helped me manage a few clubs on the Rose floors. We coordinated our exits in case anything went awry with the heist, and thank God we did.
“Chaos. The FBI, counterterrorism, every acronym showed up before I left. The Andersons are freaking out.”
Guilt tightens my throat. “How is he?”
Snippets flash behind my eyelids. Maxwell’s cutting gaze of betrayal. The blood soaking his shirt. His fear for Lana.
It was a no-win situation. A choice between Bekim and me.
Bekim the Deranged, as the Albanian mob called him, would’ve gutted Maxwell if he fired first. He would’ve relished it.
My bullets gave him a chance.
“He’s in surgery. Last I heard, there’s significant blood loss. But you had good aim. Ren would be proud. Both shots missed his vital organs.”
“I did what I had to do.”
Life carved a monster in me. Betrayal. Terrible choices. Loss. All part of the game of chess we’re playing.
“They’ll never forgive you. I know what they mean to you. You gave it all up. What if this doesn’t—”
“It was all a game, Sofia. You knew that.” The words ring hollow. “Getting into The Orchid, gathering intel and secrets. I played them, and we’re finally here. So close to finding out who killed our parents and little Beatrice. And…”
Who took you.
Sofia disappeared the day our parents died. I scoured the ends of the earth and couldn’t find her.
But eventually, I did. Three years later.
She was a changed person then. I killed her handler, faked her death, but it was too little too late.
I never knew what happened to her during those three years, and she refused to talk about it.
I would slaughter every single bastard who did this to us.
“The past is in the past,” Sofia replies, her voice hardening. “I’m on the next plane out. See you in Chicago.”
