Reece scrambled backward, up onto the curb behind him. The thralls moved closer, a living wall between them. At least one of them had blood already welling in his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Reece said, anger flashing in his eyes, “I’ll figure out a way around that too.”
“Wouldn’t count on it, if I were you.” Grayson put a hand on his waistband, on the top of the gun. “I can guess why you came back here, to Stone Solutions Canada. Do you have Vivian Marist’s flash drive in your pocket?”
“No.” Reece didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled again, the one that wasn’t his, and pulled something small and black from his jeans, holding it up. “You know, I kind of like the way lies sound now.”
Grayson wrapped his fingers around the gun’s grip. “Give me the drive.”
Reece took a deliberate step backward. “I don’t even get aplease?”
“Hand it over. Now,” Grayson said, voice unwavering. “You know I don’t have feelings about you. I will do what I have to do to take that drive back.”
“Sorry, sugar.” Reece took another step back. “Finders keepers.”
“You could say the same about corruption.” Grayson kept his gaze on Reece as the thralls got closer. “Corruption found you and it’s gonna keep you. It’s permanent. There’s no saving you now; my only option is to stop you.”
Reece tossed the drive up in the air, then caught it. He looked straight at Grayson, eyes narrowed. “You can try.”
Grayson raised the gun and sighted down the barrel, so all he could see was Reece.
Reece froze.
Memories started to rise:Reece in the Smart car, Reece in the studio, Reece in the hotel—
Reece under him in the backseat of the truck, his lips against Grayson’s.
Grayson shoved every last memory down. He had a job to do, innocents to protect; there would be no memories stopping him this time.
He cocked the gun, index finger curled on the trigger, gaze locked on Reece’s face, the rumpled dark hair, those big brown eyes, his soft lips.
“Last chance, Reece,” he said, without a hint of emotion.
Not a single memory rose.
But something in Grayson’s chest twisted—and the gun faltered.
The seven thralls were on Grayson in the next breath. He was forced to fight, ducking and dodging and throwing punches of his own as sneakers echoed on pavement—Reece sprinting away down the street, ducking into an alley and disappearing from view.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
For years, readers have come toEyes on Empathsto get the TRUTH. But today we’re coming to you to say that we think that we might not be getting ALL of the truth.
Why are so many of our tax dollars going into anti-empathy defense? Who decided the organizations that monitor pacifists should be connected to the military? When were these decisions made?
And most importantly: What’s really going on with the empaths?
Eyes on Empathspromises to find out.
—GRETEL MACY, BLOGGING FOREYES ON EMPATHS
An hour later,Grayson was sitting on a bench in a park along the dark water’s edge, watching the lights of the boats bobbing out in the black. It was cold and wet, the dampness seeping into him, but he hadn’t moved.
Finally, he heard the approaching footsteps. He stayed in place. He’d wanted her to find him.
“I am furious with you,” St. James said tightly, from behind him. “Just so you know.”
Grayson grunted in acknowledgment.
