20
The Ticking Clock
The server was in a bank vault in downtown Boston.
Gabriel told me on a morning that smelled like rain and rotting leaves, the ruined church's windows rattling in a wind that carried the first bite of winter. We were sitting at his desk, the laptop open between us, maps and documents spread across every available surface. The counter-agent treatments were finished; my mind was sharper than it had been in months, and I was using that sharpness to plan the destruction of two men who'd each, in their ownway, tried to own me.
"Mercy National Bank," Gabriel said, pointing to a blueprint on the screen. "Sub-basement level. Private vault, keyed to Nathan's biometrics. He keeps everything there—financial records, client lists, operational details for every branch of his organization."
"How do you know this?"
"Because I helped him set it up." His voice was flat. "Before I understood what he really was. Before Monika. Before you."
The nameMonikastill hit me like a blade between the ribs. I'd been carrying her ghost with me since the night Gabriel had told me the truth—his adopted sister, Nathan's victim, buried in an unmarked grave outside Miami because she'd stopped being compliant. Every piece of intelligence I gathered, every move I made against Nathan's network, was dedicated to her memory. To all of them. To the girls who'd been broken and remade and discarded when they were no longer useful.
"The vault's security is state-of-the-art," Gabriel continued. "Biometric locks, seismic sensors, armed guards on rotation. Even if we got inside, we'd need Nathan's retinal scan and his voice print to open the safe deposit box."
"Then I'll get them."
"Bunny—"
"I share his bed. I share his life. I can get close enough to copy his prints, record his voice, whatever we need." Istudied the blueprints, my mind already cataloguing the security flaws. "How long do we have?"
"I don't know. Weeks, maybe. Nathan's been consolidating power since you started eliminating his competition for him. If he suspects you're onto him—"
"He won't." I traced the layout of the bank vault with one finger. "He still thinks I'm his broken doll. His perfect fiancée. He proposed moving up the wedding last night."
Gabriel went very still. "The wedding."
"End of the month. A private ceremony at the apartment. Just us and a justice of the peace." I laughed, but the sound was hollow. "He said he couldn't wait to make me his wife. Said he wanted to start our life together as soon as possible. He wanted to start our family together."
"What did you say?"
"I said yes." I turned to face him. "What else would I say? I'm his adoring fiancée. His partner. His good girl. I've been playing that role for months."
The silence between us was heavy with everything we weren't saying. Gabriel had never asked me to leave Nathan. Had never demanded that I choose between them. He'd accepted my double life with a resignation that bordered on penance—as if sharing me with his brother was the price he deserved to pay for everything he'd done.
"Do you love him?" he asked quietly.
The question caught me off guard. "What?"
"Nathan. Do you love him?"
I opened my mouth to say no, but the word wouldn't come. Because the truth was more complicated than a simple denial. I'd loved the man I thought Nathan was—the savior who'd found me at my lowest, the partner who'd taught me to trust again, the lover who'd held me through nightmares and whispered promises against my skin. That man had never existed. That man was a mask, a performance, a lie constructed to keep me compliant. But the feelings I'd felt for him had been real. Were still real, in some twisted way, even now.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I loved someone who never existed. I hate the person who actually does. The two things don't cancel each other out."
"No." Gabriel's hand found mine, his fingers lacing through my own. "They don't."
Nathan proposed the wedding date over a candlelit dinner that should have been romantic but felt instead like a countdown.
I'd made his favorite meal—roast duck with cherry sauce, the recipe I'd perfected over weeks of careful practice. The apartment was warm with candlelight and the scent of rosemary, and he looked at me across the table with an expression that would have melted my heart if I'd still believed in the man behind it.
"I've been thinking," he said, setting down his wine glass. "About the wedding."
"Oh?"
"I don't want to wait anymore." He reached across the table and took my hand. "I know we talked about next spring, but with everything that's happening—Gabriel's threats, the network, the uncertainty—I don't want to put our life on hold. I want to marry you now. This month."
