Then he waits, clearly expecting an answer.
I run a thousand possible ones through my head, but realize there’s no point in lying. He knows. I might be thinking of myself as slick, bugging every inch of the insect’s dorm room at college, hiding cameras everywhere, stalking her bank account and occasionally adding just a little money to keep her from going into overdraft, knowing she’s so bad with her finances she’d never notice.
But this guy has me beat. He clearly knows everything about me. The only thing I’m wondering is why he didn’t kill me before, because I’ve clearly broken every rule in the soldier handbook, and then some.
“How did you know?” I ask stupidly, and he looks away, clearly finding my question just as stupid as I do.
He just knows. Who cares how? He’s the most powerful man in Devil, after its founders. If he wants to know, he will.
He doesn’t bother to answer, instead saying, “I’ve allowed you a lot of leeway, because you’re my best soldier, and I won’t let some stupid girl get in the way of what you can become.”
I tense at him calling her stupid, even though I’ve called her far worse. But he ignores my reaction and continues, “Ever since she came back to town, you’ve been spiraling. The latest contract was a test to see if you could detach yourself from her. Clearly you can’t.”
“I don’t give a fuck about her,” I spit out.
“Wrong. You hate her, and that means youdo. You’re still in love with her, too. In fact, I’ve never seen anyone hate and love someone at the very same time, and so intensely.”
I grit my teeth so hard together I wonder if they won’t become dust. My hands are restrained behind my back, and that’s the only reason I’m not lunging at him and turning his face into a pulp. Even if heismy commanding officer. Even if hehasrapidly risen through the ranks, far more rapidly than me, to become the commanding officer of all the Devil soldiers. And even though I’m just realizing now that it’s too late, that he actually cares about me. Not about the soldier. About me. Quill Nelson.
But none of that means a thing when he’s got her name on his tongue, telling me exactly how I feel about her.
And he’s right.
That’s the worst part. He’s fucking right.
“I don’t believe you’ve ever cared about anyone but her,” he says steadily, watching me. “Every emotion a normal person might feel for any number of people, love for family and friends, appreciation for acquaintances, dislike or even hatred of others—you experience none of that. Or rather, you focus it all on her. No wonder your obsession is all-consuming.”
By now, I’m a ball of pure unadulterated fury, wondering if I can actually break out of these metal manacles just from theuncontrollable nature of my own rage. I can’t, but I’m sure trying to, and my wrists are feeling raw and wet, probably from blood. I don’t feel a thing but anger, though.
“I know all this about you,” says Tragen, observing me quietly, “and I also know you’re my best soldier. Not one of the best.Thebest. Because you feel nothing. Not love, not hatred. That’s what makes you good, soldier. And if this girl is the vessel in which you pour everything that keeps you from feeling even a speck of emotion about your contracts, then so be it. I’ve allowed it, because I think I understand how your brain works. Now, though, the vessel is full, and the emotions are spilling out. That’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”
“So kill me and get it over with,” I spit out.
There’s a long pause as he eyes me in a way that feels almost sad. “That’s what Ishoulddo, Quill. Anyone else guilty of your sins would have died a long time ago. You’re my best, though, and my weakness, too. I’m going to give you another chance.”
Another chance. My heartbeat races at those words, not for me, but for her. For the girl whose guts I hate, and who I need to protect. Even though it makes no sense.
“I’m going to make your last chance easy for you,” adds Tragen, and I stare at him in confusion.
He slides an envelope over to me, then walks around the table to unlock my manacles. My first instinct is to lunge at him, but my second is curiosity as I eye the familiar-looking envelope that I know contains my next contract.
“Carry out that contract, soldier, and you might just live.”
I frown in confusion, because I’ve never refused a contract before, and I don’t see why I should now of all times. But it’s with a mounting sense of unease that I bring my hands, covered with the blood dripping from my wrists, to the envelope, opening it and dying the fringes of the paper inside bright red.
I blink at the words that are, as usual, on the top of the card.
Destroy. Obey. Kill.
That kid who spoke up during training years ago was right. This slogan makes no fucking sense, and I can’t help but repress the usual eyeroll as I read it. But then, the unease comes back, mounting to actual dread, crushing at my lungs. I slowly train my eyes downward to read the name of my next victim.
Piper Day.
30
Quill
Eighteen years old
