Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I talk a big game about morality.
There’s a part of me that wants to believe it.
That wants to leave the shackles of society behind.
Instead, I’m still bound to people, and being with Renata has only proven that.
I can’t keep running away from the connections that make me who I am.
And yet that’s what I tried to do for so long. I gave up on myself, reveled in the darkness, let myself drift and drift, until I realized what I’d become.
A monster, working for monsters.
How can I make her understand that? The man that helped those old people with their chickens in Belarus, that’s the man I want to be.
Not the man that murdered a nuclear scientist for the Russian state under Burian’s orders. Not the man that did countless other selfish, borderline acts of amorality.
I’m ashamed.
But it took Renata to make me understand why I’ve been running so fast and so hard. Running in circles, getting nowhere.
I can’t outrun myself.
She watches me, her face softening into something sad. “I want there to be more,” she says, speaking softly. “I don’t want you to see me as a tool. But how can I ever be sure that’s not exactly what you’re doing? You’ve told me, again and again, that you’re not a safe person. That you’re dangerous. Maybe I should have believed you.”
She stands. I want to go to her, but I stay where I am. She’s right to finally figure this out.
“You’re not a tool to me,” I say as she moves away. “If you want to leave, I’ll let you leave. I’ll take you somewhere safe—”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She glares at me over her shoulder. “Not until I’m sure my family is safe.”
I open my mouth to tell her that I won’t let anything happen to them, but the front door buzzes before I can speak.
We both stare over at the entry hall.
“Who’s that?” she asks, sounding nervous. Her hard anger fades away, leaving only a scared woman behind.
I stand, walk to the kitchen, and grab a gun from the junk drawer. Her eyes widen as I check to make sure it’s loaded and a round is chambered. “I’ll find out. Stay here.”
“You keep a freaking gun in the kitchen?” She sounds surprised, but I don’t know why.
“It’s conveniently located,” I say, walking to the door. “Stay there.”
For once, she listens. I pause at the intercom and press a button. A camera down in the lobby turns on, showing a man standing at the elevator door, pressing the button for my floor. He’s grainy and the angle’s bad. I hit the call button. “Who are you?” I say into the microphone.
He flinches like someone punched him in the face. “My name is Craig Hicks.” He looks up and I recognize the FBI agent, the one that took our delivery of fingers. “I need to speak with you, Lanzo.”
Chapter 34
Renata
Craig looks older and much more weathered than I remember him outside of his house. Maybe getting a bunch of fingers left on your doorstep has that effect. He leans forward on his elbows, head in his hands. His dress shirt is untucked and wrinkled like he slept in it, and his slacks have a mustard stain on the thigh.
I feel bad for the guy. I’m tempted to offer him a drink, but I keep my mouth shut as Lanzo sits back, studying the fed like a panther watching over his next meal.
“Carmine told me to get in touch,” Craig says. He sucks in a breath, wiping his face. “Things are bad enough that I’m listening to a fucking mob boss now.”
“You and Carmine close?”
“Nah, I don’t know the guy. I don’t even know how he—” Craig’s eyes narrow and he laughs. “You told him to get in touch with me, didn’t you?”
“I figured you might listen to Carmine instead of me.”
“Probably a good call. I’ve read your file, Lanzo.”
“I’m flattered.”
“You shouldn’t be.” He glances over at me. “Who are you?”
“Renata,” I say.
Lanzo holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about her. She’s like you, stuck in a shitty situation.”
Craig snorts, shaking his head. “Burian’s a real fucking piece of shit, right? That motherfucker’s going to ruin a lot of lives.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Lanzo leans forward. “Tell me what’s happening.”
Craig drums his fingers on the table. He clearly doesn’t want to be here, but desperation hangs around him like a stink cloud. It’s oozing from his pores, coloring his skin. It’s sad, and I wish I could do something to help, but I know better than most people that there’s nothing I can say that’ll ease his suffering.
“He showed up out of nowhere. Killed a couple guys working undercover.” Craig glances at me. “How much can I say in front of her?”
“Everything,” Lanzo says. “Go on. Keep talking.”
“Fucking shit.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Two dead deep cover agents. Both good men, embedded with the local Bratva. Russians, you know? Real fucking pieces of work too. Violent assholes. It took us years to get guys on the inside, and suddenly, they start dropping like flies.”