Fuck.Me.Gently.With a miracle.Relief slams into me so hard it almost drops me to my knees.
To conceal my surging, pounding shock, I bury my face in Jag’s neck and breathe in his proof of life, inhaling the scents of blood, sweat, iron, and him.
For the room, I cackle like an anti-vaxxer in a tinfoil hat, bred for bad endings.
For Jag, I discreetly trace my thumb along his shackled wrist.His fingers curl, reaching, and I give them a quick caress.
He’s mine, and I’m getting him the fuck out of here.
Slowly, shamelessly, I ease back, running my lips along his ear, my smile tipped to look like a cracked-open creeper.
I let my hair fall forward to curtain my face and hide the movement of my mouth as I whisper, “Deep fake.Not her.”
Jag’s breath catches.
I straighten, hands sliding off his shoulders, the smile holding as I turn away.
“I’ll take him.”I snap my fingers at the nearest guard.“Remove his shackles.
“She is not there,” Mikhail says.“I hacked every camera, searched every room in the building.Get out of there.”
Where is she?
Is Crowe holding her in another nightclub?Another city?Or was it all a bluff?
If he has her, why would he use a fake video to motivate Jag?
Was the video of her capture another deep fake?
Maybe Jag had her snatched and sent somewhere safe?But if that’s the case, why did he surrender?
No.Up until two seconds ago, Jag believed that video of Dove was real.
The guard fumbles with Jag’s restraints, metal clanging as the shackles fall free.Jag sways, barely catching himself.I keep half my attention on him, half on Crowe, half on the guards, half on the bomb.Too many halves and not enough time.
“I have a secret.”I step toward Crowe.
“No.”He recoils on instinct, hands lifting, shaking his head.“Stay back.”
“Relax, sweetie.”I stay with him, matching his retreat step for step.“You don’t want Rath to hear this.”
He glances toward Jag—chains falling, guards distracted—and loses his battle with curiosity.He stops.
I press closer and whisper for his ears only, “You don’t have Dove Rath.”
It’s subtle, but I see it.The stutter in his breath.The twitch in his eye.
My pulse skids sideways and slams the red line.
“You want your daughter’s secret hiding place?”I whisper.“Bob your head for yes.”
For a long, heart-pounding second, he weighs it.
Could I actually know where she is?Of course, I could.I found Jag Rath, didn’t I?
Would I actually give Crowe such a vital secret?Why not?I’m wearing a bomb in a nightclub.That makes me certifiable and unpredictable.
He knows if he gets his hands on Dove, he’ll get Jag back.Where Dove goes, Jag follows.
