Page 4 of Make Them Pay

I was always watching.

“Why you?” she asks.

“What?”

“Why did Knight pick you? He could’ve asked Arrow. Gage. Anyone.”

Because Dean trained me to slip through dark spots and come back with who I went for. Because I don’t quit. Because I’m the misfit hacker who shows up anyway.

I don’t say any of that.

“Because I would’ve come whether he asked or not,” I tell her.

The air between us shifts and the car suddenly feels much smaller.

She turns to the window. Trees swallow the highway as the city drops away.

I drive.

The exit comes ten minutes later. I take the gravel turnoff marked by my reflector post. The road narrows and pines close in. I kill the lights halfway and follow memory through the dark.

The cabin appears like the woods forgot it was here. Single story with silver siding and one sagging roof corner. It’s the perfect hideout.

I park under the pine overhang, kill the engine, and scan the trees. Nothing moves.

“Stay here,” I say. “I’ll check first.”

She nods, exhaustion clear on her face. I clear the place quickly. One main room. Basic bathroom. Kitchenette with the canned stuff I stashed earlier. A fireplace I won’t use. One bed against the far wall.

I go back for her.

She’s already out, leaning against the door. Moonlight catches the bruise on her face. Her legs look steadier now. She walks in on her own and I let her. She needs that small victory.

Inside I flip the generator and dim lights flicker on. She stands in the middle of the room and eyes the bed, then the kitchenette, the table, and the two chairs. No couch.

“One bed,” she says.

“I’ll take the floor.”

“The concrete floor?”

“I’ve slept on worse.”

She looks at me for a long moment, really looking, with calculations running behind those beautiful green eyes. “No, you haven’t.”

“Sit,” I say as I pull out the first-aid kit. “Let me see your face.”

She sits on the edge of the bed. I drag a chair over so my knees bracket hers when I lean in. The space between us feels way too intimate.

I tip her chin gently. The bruise runs deep. My vision tunnels red for a second and I breathe through it. “Who?” I whisper.

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

She doesn’t answer. “Just clean it. I’m fine.”

She’s not, but I let it slide for now. I dab antiseptic on her lip and she flinches but stays still. The cut is shallow. The bruise will darken tomorrow.