Page 62 of Heinous Crimes

“Looks like the future came a lot quicker than she thought,” I muttered.

“That it did,” he agreed. “Are you ready to be the Cobra? I assume Shay gave you lessons on how to act and what to say?”

I nodded, even though Nixon couldn’t see me. The Cobra had a psychotic break. All I had to do, really, was be silent and terrifying. With this mask on my face, it should be all too easy. Obviously, I couldn’t let anyone take it off me. I would only speak when necessary.

As for Anthony, the traitor would live to see another day. I’d let him bring me to Miguel, find out Miguel’s plan, and then report back to Giselle. Knowing Miguel and how grand his plan must be for him to believe he can take down the whole Hand, it had to be something huge. Something explosive. Something that would have no witnesses to refute his recollection of fact—and that meant he’d eventually turn on the Cobra, perhaps use him as a scapegoat and blame the masked man while he rose to power.

Of course, Anthony wouldn’t live to see that many more days. He was now labeled a traitor, able to be bought by money. That meant his days on this world were finite, and his clock was ticking down. As soon as Miguel was taken care of, he would be too.

I didn’t know what was happening to the actual Cobra. All I knew was, once we got there, Nix would relieve the guard stationed at his house while I waited in the garage, still in the car. He’d go to the Cobra and give him something, probably drug him, restrain him, and bring him upstairs. We’d trade places. I’d take my spot in his cell in the basement while someone came to pick the Cobra up.

Who would be picking him up? I had no idea. It was none of my business in reality, so I didn’t ask. Whatever Shay and the others did with the Cobra, as long as he ended up far away, it wouldn’t matter.

The drive to Cypress was long, although that was probably aided by the fact that I was alone with Nixon, someone I’d never been alone with before. I’d much rather have spent the time with Giselle. Neither of us said much more during the drive, but that was fine. You didn’t always need to talk to drown out the silence. Sometimes silence was better than the alternative.

I still thought this was a silly plan, that it would be far easier to kill Miguel and be done with it already, but Giselle really wanted to prolong this, to make the man suffer. To pull the rug out from under him completely, before he even realized it was happening. She wanted him to grasp the fact that everything he’d worked for was being taken away before he breathed his last breath, and that there was nothing he could do to change it or stop it from happening.

Nixon still lived in the Hawke estate, even though it had already been proven that he wasn’t a Hawke. His mother was a Hawke, and she owned half the house. So, therefore, since both his mother and his assumed father were dead, he got to keep it all.

It was an impressive estate, one of many large mansions on the outskirts of the city. Sprawling, multi-level, mini-castles. I had no idea what Nixon did with a house that large all by himself—besides keep prisoners in the basement.

He pulled right into the garage, a spacious area meant to keep many cars, not just one. He turned the car off and shut the garage door from the button on the vizor. Before getting out, he said, “Stay here.” He said nothing else as he got out, and within a minute, he’d disappeared inside the house, to, presumably, do what he had to.

Send the guard home. Wait for him to vacate the grounds. Get the real Cobra drugged up and helpless and drag his ass up here. Dump him in the car. Show me through the house, take me downstairs, and lock me up in his place.

Oh, I was having some real doubts about this plan now that it was actually happening. Giselle better know I love her, because I sure as shit wouldn’t do something this stupid for anyone else.

Then again, this wasn’t even the first stupid thing I’d done for her. I’d returned the contract on her life, damaging my family’s standing with the Guild in doing so. By refusing to kill her, I’d hurt my siblings who relied on Guildwork to pay the bills. My brother Archie was the only one who knew the whole story, but I didn’t doubt the truth had made its rounds within our family.

I did it for love. Archie would never let me live it down. Thank God the holidays weren’t right around the corner.

I didn’t know how long it took, but eventually I saw Nixon’s back prop open the door between the garage and the house, and he lugged a motionless body with him. I got out of the car, leaving the door open, and together, Nixon and I shoved an unconscious, shackled Tristan Arrowwood into the backseat. I noted the collar around his neck—a shock collar, perhaps—along with the way his wrists were restrained behind his back.

He was a taller than average guy. A bit skinnier than me, but only because he’d been locked up, I’d bet. Silly as it is, unconscious, he looked just like any other man.

He looked a lot like Shay, actually, although through the shadows, I could see scars on his skin. On his face, on his arms… he really wasn’t in the best shape. If I had to guess, I’d say those scars were self-inflicted. Everybody knew the Cobra was off his rocker.

“Atticus will arrive shortly to pick him up,” Nixon spoke off-handedly as I followed him through the house. I did not put on the mask yet; I simply held onto it. Something about having that metal so close against my face felt stifling. Choking. Claustrophobic.

“Where is he going?” I asked, though I didn’t really care either way. Wherever the Cobra’s next stop was, it wouldn’t be anywhere around here.

“Atticus did not say. I assume the less people who know where he’s taking Tristan, the better.”

That made sense. With someone as dangerous as the Cobra, you couldn’t be too careful. Someone would always want to find him and release him, try to use him as a weapon, like Miguel. Really, now that I was thinking about it, it was odd they’d kept him literally right under their noses like this. Not too smart, even if they didn’t think the word would get out.

I followed Nixon through his house, not saying anything else. We went through his large, grandiose kitchen, made a beeline to a door that had a keypad on it. Nixon put in the code—and he made no moves to hide it from me. Not that I’d need to know; Anthony, our traitorous guard, knew the code. He’d use it when he got me out.

Truly, our only saving grace was the fact that Nixon was the one who brought the Cobra his meals. Otherwise the guards would know that he didn’t sit down there wearing his mask all the time.

The basement door unlocked itself once the code was input, and Nixon was the first to head down. He hit the light switch before going down the steps, and I trailed after him. Let’s just say I’d never seen a basement quite like this before.

Thick concrete walls. Bright fluorescent lights. Modern and yet gloomy at the same time. And, if I had to guess, soundproof as well. Not that Nixon was worried anyone would overhear a prisoner shouting in his basement, but you never knew.

We came upon another door down a short hall, and Nixon held it open for me, allowing me to step inside in front of him.

What I saw was a room divided by glass. The door opened into the half of the room not blocked off by glass. A chair sat in the corner, the lone piece of furniture in the space. Inside the glass-half was a different story, though. That half had a metal-framed bed bolted to the ground, along with a tankless toilet and a small sink.

Gloomy.

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