At me.
“Cybil...”
My gaze jumps from her to Rook, who’s tracking my movement. Ramirez hasn’t moved. He’s quiet—watching her like a wolf circling a doe.
Edmond takes a slow step. “Cybil.” She shakes her head once. “You don’t want to do this.”
“I don’twantany of this,” she snaps, loud enough that Sebastian flinches. “But I’m tired of being played. I’m tired of people using me. I’m done being the collateral damage in someone else’s war.”
Her words hit hard. Hearing them, hearing the pain behind every syllable—it feels too real.This was a mistake.She’s right. She’s being used—by me. By the FBI. By SNAP.
I want to take it from her, but one wrong move now could get us both killed.
Edmond takes another step, voice calm but weighted. “Cybil, you don’t want this on your conscience,” he says. “You’re not like us. Don’t cross that line. There’s no coming back.”
Cybil’s grip falters—just slightly. A flicker of something crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant.
Rook moves.
He raises his weapon. Points it straight at me.
And then Cybil does the one thing no one expects.
She pulls the trigger.
The shot cracks across the open air.
Something hits me—hard.
My body jerks. The world tilts. And then I’m falling.
Chapter 41
Cybil
Dallas, Texas
Monday night
The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears. Or maybe that’s the blood rushing to my head. Ben’s body disappears over the edge of the elevated slab floor—half built and open to the drop below—and the silence that follows is worse than the blast itself.
I shot him. I shot Ben.
I don’t breathe. I can’t.
The gun is heavy in my hand, the smell of cordite clinging to the air like static. This is not okay. This was not part of the plan. This was—
“Dad!”
Sebastian’s scream cuts through the fog in my brain. I spin just in time to see him dive for his father—a blur of motion—and then another shot cracks the air. Mr. Edmond falls backward, a thud against concrete. Sebastian collapses over him with a sharp guttural sound.
Rook whips the gun toward me. I don’t blink. I run.
I dart behind a pallet stacked with drywall—splinters and dust blooming around me as another bullet ricochets off the steel beam overhead. My foot catches on a stray length of rebar, and I go down hard, hands scraping against the concrete. The gun skitters out of mygrip, sliding somewhere behind me. I twist to grab it, but another shot cracks through the air, too close.
I scramble the rest of the way behind cover, heart slamming, lungs burning, fingers still twitching from the weapon I no longer have.Am I really in a freaking shootout?
A grunt pulls my attention. I peek around the corner and am relieved to see Sebastian moving. He’s clutching his arm, blood darkening his sleeve. Ramirez is nowhere in sight, but Rook is closing in, gun raised. He’s going to finish them off and I have nothing. No gun. No plan. Just a whole lot of adrenaline and very questionable judgment.
