“You gave me seven days! We’re only on day six.”
He clicks his tongue, smug and infuriating. “You failed. You didn’t bring me the code.”
“My deadline hasn’t arrived! You sent Tank in before our agreement.”
“You asked for more time. You’d failed, even before the seven days were up.”
“I was doing the fucking job! She trusts me now.”Don’t tell him she knows. Don’t tell him he’s a dead man the moment I get a chance.“She was in my bed tonight, spilling her guts about these numbers her brother gave her.”
“Really?” His cheerful tone drops away to curiosity. “So, what were the numbers? What device are they hidden on?”
“I don’t know!” Idofucking know. But if I tell him the code is gone, she’s dead anyway. “I was getting to it. But now you’ve gone and fucked all that up. She’s not gonna give us anything now.”
“Oh, well…” He sighs, so fucking nonchalant. “That’s alright. I’ll have her here by morning. Then I’ll strip the skin off her bones and let Tank do what Tank does. She’ll give up the code or die a proud woman.”
Rage surges in my blood like a tidal wave of pure, poisonous fury, touching every nerve, every muscle, every fucking limb I possess. I pull the phone from my ear and crush it in my palm until it crackles under the pressure of my grip, the inner components protesting their newer, tighter confines. But I keepmy mouth shut and my words locked away from the man who will use them to fuck with us both.
“You’re done now.” His voice is tinny and barely touches my ears, so I bring the phone back, smoothing my exhalation and bottling the all-consuming desire to end his life. “Don’t worry about our deal. And don’t worry about those files. Scarlett’s secret remains safe for now.”
“Aster—”
“I’d rather keep them for the next time I need your services. Hope you had fun.” Theclick-clickof a cigarette lighter echoes along the line. “To have her in your bed willingly…” He whistles. “Sounds delicious. She’s a treat to look at.”
I’ll slit your throat and pull your stomach up through the gap in your skin.
“I might speak with her privately,” he ponders out loud. “Before Tank takes a swing at extracting her secrets, I might try the oldLincoln CastroWay.”
Fire burns viciously in my veins, but instead of verbalizing my promises to gut the prick, I cross the living room and head straight toward Nova’s bedroom. The one I haven’t searched yet. The one she said would house a stash of immediate needs—cash, a weapon, her ID, and whatever personal items she prefers to keep close.
“I wanna be there for the interrogation.” My words are like venom on my tongue. Like toxins crawling along my throat. “I started this, Aster. I’d like to be there for the end.”
“You’re no longer needed?—”
“I’d like to finish it,” I grit out. “She was my mark. You know I see jobs to the end.”
Nova’s room is trashed. Her bed, stripped. Her mattress,flipped and destroyed. Her wardrobe doors hang limp, hinges broken, and drawers pulled to the floor. Clothes have been torn from the hangers, and her pretty dresses, nothing more than carnage in a war she never started.
“Aster? I’d like to be there for it.”
“Fine.” He exhales cigar smoke and settles back into his leather chair. “But I won’t wait long. She has what I need, Castro, and I’ve been patient. For decades,” he sneers, “I’ve been patient.”
Tank gutted this room and destroyed everything at eye level and below, so I lookupto the unmarked ceiling. Because she’s smart. Nova Nichols is so fucking smart it makes my stomach ache and my heart stutter. The ceilings in old houses sit higher than modern buildings, so I step onto the frame of her bed, gritting my teeth as the abused wood creaks under my weight. A faint, barely there outline of a square has been cut into the plaster—noticeable to anyone aware of its existence, but easily missed if you’re busy looking everywhere else. I place my palm in the middle and gently push up. “What do the codes unlock?” I ask. “You still haven’t told me.”
“Because they’re none of your business. You have twenty-four hours before Tank’s interrogation begins. You know where to find me.” He kills the call.
My heart thunders as I slip the phone into my pocket and, using both hands, nudge the tightly fitted access hole upwards. Dust falls onto my face with every tweak of the sheetrock. The screech and slide of materials is like cannon fire on a silent battlefield. This manhole wasn’t created to be a secret, just neat. Discreet, but not invisible.
Impatient with my slow progress, I punch the plasterstraight up and grab onto the beam on each side of the square-foot space. Pulling myself up, I glance into the darkness and find… nothing. Just dirt. Mouse shit. A box of rat bait turned on its side, and a carcass not so far from where it feasted.
I turn, holding myself off the bed frame until my shoulders burn and my arms ache, but then the corner of something else catches my attention. A sharp angle, recognizable in the dark.
With a lightning-fast strike, I reach out and snatch the box, crushing it under my palm, then I drop back to the floor as half of the torn box’s contents flitter down around me. Lowering into a crouch, I collect things as they roll away.
A watch, not all that dissimilar to the one I mailed to Aster a few days ago. A rock, with smooth edges and glossy speckles all over. A passport which, when I open it, reveals Nova’s name. Her face. The date of birth she shares with her brother… mere weeks from now.
Setting it down, I turn over a phone and tap the screen that remains dark. Seemingly dead. Ryan’s, maybe. I poke through a wad of cash, probably a few hundred dollars at best, and a folded letter, three or four sheets thick.
Frowning, I grip the watch and study it in my hand—it’s a damn near exact replica of the one I already found. Maybe one belonged to her father, and the other to her brother. I push credit cards aside, along with a small photograph. Not framed, but long ago laminated.RyRy and NooNoo,‘05is scrawledon the back. Flipping it over, I’m treated to two beaming faces. Ryan’s comes with a slight wrinkle in his lips, while Nova plasters a massive, probably noisy, kiss on her brother’s cheek.
