Page 26 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

His forehead crinkles with a frown. “You’re going to get your shit together, Dylan. You’re going to go to school and do all the things you want to do. You’re going to be happy. Free. And you’re going to do it without me. This arrangement is over.” He lifts his gaze somewhere beyond me and gives a sharp nod.

Before I can turn my head, I’m whipped around by my arm, facing Jörgen, who hoists me up over his shoulder, flipping my world upside down.

“Jörgen! Put me down! Now!” I’m facing his back, wriggling in his unmovable grasp to get a look at Ripley. “Put me down, damn it!” All the kicking and squirming doesn’t make a bit of difference. The man is steel, and I’m nothing but a flitting string on his shoulder. “Ripley!”

“I have something to take care of,” Ripley says, and I stop moving to catch it all. “I need you to keep her here. Don’t let her out of your sight. Her flight leaves at midnight. If I’m not back before then, make sure she gets on that plane.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Jörgen’s voice carries an air of disappointment that brings more tears to my eyes.

I push against Jörgen’s mountainous back to catch a glimpse of Ripley. “Don’t do this! You don’t have to do this! Jörgen, don’t let him do this!” The massive mountain I’m clinging to breaks into motion, and when Jörgen turns around, I crane my neck to see Ripley with an impassive expression on his face. “Don’t do this!”

He disappears from my view as Jörgen rounds the corner and up the staircase. Like a madwoman, I kick and punch, hating that I have to hurt him. That Ripley is making me lash out at this man who’s simply caught in the middle.

I can hear the thread of hope snapping, echoing inside my head.

I’ve just lost Ripley.

15

Ripley

I take a seat at the bar of the small pub where Anthony, the security guard at Spades, told me to meet him. It’s a place he goes to regularly on his way home, so when I order a whiskey, I ask the bartender if he’s seen him.

“Nah,” he says. “Ain’t been in yet. Should be here any time now, though.”

“Thanks.” I tip back the drink and check my phone one more time. I’d gotten a text from him earlier in the day. Said it was real important, so I told him I’d meet up with him after his shift, to keep Dorian from getting suspicious.

Probably shouldn’t get into the whiskey tonight with everything going down, but the shit that happened between Dylan and me has my head messed up. I rub a hand across my skull and clamp my eyes shut.

Every word out of my mouth was a damn lie. Every bit of it. Truth is, I wouldn’t be doing any of this if it weren’t about keeping her safe. If I could walk away, I’d swipe her up in a heartbeat and go somewhere no one would ever find us. Go rogue and start a life with her. The real shit with a bed where the two of us sleep in every night—the same bed where I’d wake up to her beautiful face every morning. She’d be mine.

That’s not my life, though.

Dorian, I could handle, but having the Agency hunting her down, hunting us down, would mean death. They don’t fuck around with deserters, as they shouldn’t. The things we’re called on to do, the atrocities we’re asked to commit on behalf of prominent and well-known people make us a threat.

Threats are eliminated without question.

The minutes tick by with my thoughts, and I check my watch to see that a half hour has passed. I’m already two whiskies in, and I tap the bar for another. I check my phone to see no text has been sent from Anthony.

I don’t like this.

In two hours, I have to drive Dylan to the airport, or miss sending her off. Although it’s probably just as well that Jörgen take her, anyway. I’m not good with goodbyes.

A text finally pops up on my screen.

Got hung up at Spades. Meet in the security office.

No. Fuck no. Something’s definitely not right, and in my state of mind, I shouldn’t be here right now. Shit’s going to go down with Dorian, regardless of what the Agency says, but I’m not doing a damn thing until I know Dylan’s safe and out of Chicago.

I already know Dorian’s behind the dealings, but since the Agency won’t let me take him out, that leaves me laying low until Marchetti is dead and my contract is closed.

I don’t respond back, but instead, rise up from the bar and drop cash for the bartender.

“You hear from Anthony?” he asks as I head for the door.

“Yeah, won’t be in tonight.”

“You’re kidding me!” The bartender stands drying a glass. “Be the first time in ten years he’s not popped in here after shift.”