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“Good. I’ll need that.”
“I can send it to you, but you’ll have to memorize it within two minutes. Delete it afterwards, and all traces of the conversation will be lost, but any longer than two minutes, and Zayne’s bots will catch it.”
“Got it. Ahm.” I close my eyes, rubbing the crease between my eyebrows. There’s no easy way to ask for this, but here it goes. “I’ll also need a private jet. Something that will fly under Zayne’s radar.”
The silence that ensues feels like it lasts for a decade, even though it turns out to be merely a few seconds before Declan replies.
“Fine,” he says, as if I’ve only just asked him for a lift to the grocery store. “If you can get out of Rose Tower on your own, run to the corner of the street. An Uber will glide by at exactly two past eight.” I peel the phone from my face to look at the display. That’s in exactly thirty minutes. I put it back to my ear. “The car will take you to the private jet. When you’re done, it will fly you back to us. You’re not going back to Thorngren.”
That last sentence feels like a piece of my flesh has just been ripped off, but I clench my jaw and don’t argue. Anyone in their right mind would know that I need to get away from this man, and that I should grab this chance with both hands.
A short hesitation before he speaks again. “I’ll send you what you need. Remember. Two minutes.”
Then Declan kills the call. Two seconds later, my phone dings with an incoming message. I open it and zoom in on what appears to be a spot in the city suburbs. Next to it there are pictures of the same dilapidated building I saw last time, but in one of the pictures the name can be read. “St. Augustine’s Home for Orphans” is carved into the withered stone above the entrance, the letters large and oppressive, moss clinging to them. I click on the picture and then on a few others next to it that drew my attention because they depicted people.
Many are black and white, and they mainly show sour-looking children, a nun standing piously in their midst. I scan the faces on the off chance that I might recognize Zayne in one of them, but no. None of the children are smiling in any of the pictures, while the nuns have a stern look that seems to blot out the slightest bit of joy. Having memorized as many details as I can about St. Augustine’s, I’m about to click the corner x, when one last swipe has my index finger hovering over the display.
It’s the picture of a girl, no older than four, her back at the camera. Her hair blows in the wind, a teddy bear slung over her small shoulder. I think the teddy is brown, his one remaining button eye hanging by a thread. The girl seems to be heading into the sunset spreading over the horizon, across the field.
A knock on the door startles me, my index finally hitting x.
“Ms. Sirenna, is everything all right in there?” Mariana’s muffled voice comes from behind the door. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine,” I squeak, my throat tight as if someone were strangling me. “I just need a few more minutes.”
“I’ll be here if you need anything, just crack the door open and call me,” she says, and then there’s silence but for the whipping sound of water against the tiles. She must have been worried because she couldn’t overhear what I did in here because of the water sound, but now I realize I might have lingered with the pictures a little too long. All I can do is hope to God that I didn’t take longer than two minutes.
I step into the shower with my mind swimming in memories of that sunset. The blood crusted on my skin melts under the hot water, my eyes closed against the spray. The picture comes to life behind my eyelids, the blood-orange sunset, the yellow, half-burned grass. I can feel the breeze against my skin, the crushing shadow of the orphanage falling behind me. The nuns’ stern eyes denting my back as I leave hand-in-hand with a woman, her palm rigid as it closes around my small fingers.
Then a scent follows. Fresh like the morning dew on blades of grass, tinged with citrus.
Ripping myself from the woman, I spin around and run back towards it, hands outstretched with the teddy between them.
***
Zayne
I RESENT MANY THINGS in this world, but finding Kelly Loveless perched on my chair with her feet up on my panzer glass desk has a special irk to it. Even if she does stand up when I walk in.
Her men line the walls as I force her to step out of the way, heading towards the floor-to-ceiling windows. My aura screams that I’m in no mood for this bullshit. If it were a physical thing, it would have goddamn spikes all over it.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Zayne?” she finally says, the anger in her voice palpable. I don’t need to be looking at her face to know her eyes are blazing, her blonde hair falling in perfectly styled locks down to her waist. She’s wearing a red two-piece suit that she probably thinks she rocks, but she’s just too fucking much, like a pile of jewels catching the sun, making the eyes hurt. The golden watch on her wrist cost more than an apartment in the city, and she flaunts it around as if it elevates her own value in some way.
“Why are you here, Kelly?” I say, looking out the window at the buzzing city.
“You still ask? You just went ballistic at one of the city’s most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs. You took down an entire army of mercenaries on your own, and you only fired one shot. That kind of thing draws attention, and The Order can’t have that. We let you out into the world and allowed you to make your mark on it because you needed it, deep in your core, but the deal was–”
“First of all,” I cut her off, “The Order’s generosity was self-serving when you gave me this semblance of freedom. You wanted the money and power a serial killer with a sharp mind could get you, so there’s that.”
I fix the cuffs of my suit jacket, and Kelly takes a step toward me. I can sense her men squaring their shoulders, standing to attention. They all know I’m ready to fight if I have to. One man dares walk closer to Kelly, and that is Priest. The only one here who would stand a chance if I go off the rails.
“Pack it up as it suits you best, but fact is, you allowed a factor of risk into your life,” Kelly says. “And, as your life is tightly linked to The Order, we can’t treat that as a personal matter of yours. Not to mention that there is no such thing as ‘personal matters’ when you belong to The Order.”
“So what do you want?”
“The girl is a liability. You promised to save her from her enemies, and that is done. I understand you had them promise to cede her everything they have. Fine. But enough is enough. Let her go, Zayne, and never see her again.”
The moment I turn around to face her and Priest, I’m wearing the same grin I did back when I skinned those boys alive with a red iron in an abandoned warehouse in Detroit. The temperature in the room drops. Kelly stumbles backward, and Priest’s eyes flash into fight mode. I can see his fingers curling as he prepares to lash out his whip.
