Page 147 of The Enforcer’s Pawn

Heat climbs my neck.

He sees it, and his smile turns pleased.

“Let me control the route,” he says, pushing himself up and crushing the cigarette under his shoe. “You and the boy walk out before Morozov decides you’re both more useful dead.”

I glance toward the end of the hall, where a service light glows green above a lift. “If this is about safety, why did you move the route to Vostok Meridian?”

Patrick’s eyes flick toward the lift. For a moment, I glimpse it—the answer before the lie.

“Because safe places are gone,” he says, rubbing his thumb along the side of his phone. “When you run out of people, you use what’s left.”

“Morozov’s cleanup site is what’s left?”

His face tightens. Something heavy moves above us, carried through concrete and pipes. A cart. A door. A footstep.

Patrick shifts closer. “Stop asking questions.”

“No.”

His expression cools.

I pull in a breath and keep my voice even. “What did you sell?”

Patrick laughs under his breath. “Little Cara with her neat lists.”

I take one step closer. “You ignored me for years. You sold my name. You put my son inside a warning. Now I make one fake move to get Mikhail out, and suddenly, you care?”

Patrick’s mouth tightens.

“You’re making a mistake, love.” His mouth curls.

“That’s not love,” I say. “That’s you losing control.”

“Who bought you?” I ask, taking half a step back so the wire catches him better. “Why does New Harbor matter?”

Patrick points at me once. “You should remember who kept your life from becoming someone else’s cleanup.”

I look at his hand.

Memory moves before I can stop it. Patrick at midnight, asking for my car keys. Patrick needing me to tell Mom he had been with me. Patrick smiling because I was easier to use when I was afraid of making things worse.

“You mean who made me lie for him?” I ask.

The brother act cracks.

“You always wanted to be better than me,” Patrick says, his voice flat now. “Responsible Cara. Good Cara. The one who had everything figured out.”

I say nothing.

Patrick steps in, and his shoulder blocks my view of the lobby. “You hid a child from his father for four years. You lied better than anyone in our family.”

My hand curls around the blue car inside my coat pocket. “I protected my son.”

“You protected your pride.”

“And you sold your sister to the highest bidder.”

His mouth twitches. “You sound like him now.”