Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 135958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
That’s how they thought in that world.
My stomach shifted. That world. I was becoming part of that world.
Kai might’ve dragged me over the line, but he had let go, and I’d stayed.
“Hey.”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t need to hear concern in his voice. I didn’t want to see it in his eyes either. If I did, I’d succumb. That was my pattern with Kai.
“We didn’t go through customs,” I said.
I caught his frown when I looked over. I kept my head down, the blanket bundled around me.
“We would’ve.” A second of silence. He was gauging me. “Because of the shooter, we landed in a different location.”
Still. Customs. I’d never snuck into a country where I didn’t have to produce a passport, even if it was a fake one. That was a constant we handled with the Network. We had customs agents on our side who let the fake passports go through. They were sympathetic to the cause. That wasn’t the case here.
“You had a passport for me?”
He dipped his head. “Yes.”
“As who?”
“As your cover.”
I spoke without thinking. “The Network would’ve known. I would’ve been flagged in an alert.”
Silence sat between us, so heavy.
My employers would’ve known I was with him willingly, that I was staying. I hadn’t thought about what they might be thinking, but now it was so clear it was like someone had grabbed my spine and ripped it out.
I would’ve never been a 411 operative again. I’d had my doubts already—but it was still my choice, my decision for when I had time to process it. But this would’ve taken it out of my hands. The Network would’ve expelled me the second my cover’s passport was used.
I would’ve lost everything: Blade. Carol. Even my stupid cover as Raven.
My mission in life. Where would that have gone?
Where is it going now? A voice laughed at me, mocking me.
I blinked, shoving down the turmoil. “How was that man even on the plane?”
“There’s a storage unit he hid in. It’s accessible to us if we had needed to get in there.”
“Why’d he wait so long? Why not right away?”
Kai shook his head. “He was working up his courage? Maybe he lost consciousness and came to again later? Maybe he was waiting for all of us to be sleeping?”
I picked at the edge of the blanket. My vision started to swim.
“You seem fine,” I said. It was an accusation. “You don’t seem disturbed. Was this just another Tuesday to you?” A slightly unhinged laugh came from me. “It probably was. I mean, you’re in the mafia. You control half of Canada. Have you moved into Toronto yet?” I hiccupped, which turned into a snarl. “You can’t, right? You’re not into drugs. There has to be a drug business in Canada. If you’re not running it, who is?”
There was a look in his eyes.
I trailed off because I knew. “If you’re not doing it, you’re allowing someone else to do it.”
His jaw firmed. “Dissecting my business is not the reason you’re here.”
“Right.” I snorted. “I’m here to help Brooke, or to fuck you.”
This was pathetic. I was pathetic, because it was true. He’d brought me for those reasons, and sadly, I’d probably do both. Even now.
“Goddamn you,” I told him. “Goddamn you to hell.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I needed to get drunk. Fast.
As soon as we pulled up to the log house nestled among a bunch of trees and overlooking a river, I grabbed my bag and hightailed it inside. Security had already walked through. They were coming out as I walked in, ignoring everything.
I took the first set of stairs and climbed. Up. Up. All the way until there were no more stairs. I think I was on the third floor. I was a pro at figuring out which room Kai would want me in. I followed the hallway all the way to the back and went into the last bedroom. It was large, with its own sitting room and a library nook. A person could sit there and literally reach forward for their next book. The attached bathroom—shared with another bedroom—had a glass-walled shower big enough for four people to have a dance party. This would be my room.
I searched for the liquor cabinet. Not finding one, I went to the room across the hall, the one I shared a bathroom with. In the back corner, I found it. I reached for a bottle, not caring what it was. Pushing off the cap, I tipped my head almost at the same time.
I was guzzling it before I even left the room and entered mine.
The men were coming inside. I could hear their voices below. The aroma of pizza wafted up to me, and that meant one thing: I needed more alcohol in my system.
I did not want to feel this self-hatred.
I was weak. I was an embarrassment to the ideals I’d dedicated my life to: helping others, saving others, protecting others. I was with a man who violated all of those principles, and I should run. I could run now, but I didn’t. I knew I wouldn’t.