Page 72 of Bombshell

“I’m just glad I was able to do it right,” I say, and when I see the quizzical look on her face I elaborate. “I didn’t make him do any of that. He was just...dying to show me he could. How much did you tell him I was worth?”

“Billions,” she laughs, and it rings with the bright melodious sound of a person who just shed a heavy weight.

“You have a good day, Sterling. And don’t think I’ve forgotten what really matters. Your daughter. Despite what I said up there, there is more we can do, and I’m on it.”

“Thanks, Cameron,” I say, getting off the elevator as she stays on. “We’ll speak soon.”

Cameron’s laughter is still ringing in my ears when I step into the lobby, and, despite the pressure of my current situation, I feel lighter, too. I’ve been focused on revenge for five long years. I wanted pain. I wanted fear. But now I’m starting to understand that revenge doesn’t just hurt the victim. Revenge is poison. It warps you. It changes you. It makes you into the monsters you think you’re fighting. I never wanted revenge. I wanted to see bad people pay. I wanted to believe being a good person mattered. I wasn’t out for revenge. I was looking for justice.

Justice restores. I can’t change what Welles did to me. Maybe he deserves worse than losing his job, but he won’t abuse his power as a lawyer again, and, damn, knowing that feels pretty good.

Before I can settle into this brighter outlook on life, my phone rings. I check the caller ID and brace myself for a lecture. Sutton and I need to have a long talk, so I can explain how and why things have changed. “Hey, kid. Sorry, I kicked you out last night.”

“You should be more careful with your family, Ford,” Nikolai’s voice says evenly, and realization grips me in a cold panic.

“What have you done?”

“Nothing. I’m just having a friendly chat with Sutton. She’s very entertaining. I see stubbornness runs in the family.”

“If you touch her,” I begin my warning.

“I won’t. You have my word. Unless, of course, we can’t find a way to deal with our mutual problem,” he says. “My brothers are getting impatient, shall we say? I would hate to have to send a stronger message.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do about this. If I knew who the witness was, he’d be a dead man.” Maybe I haven’t changed as much as I thought, but a man has a right to protect his family, doesn’t he?

“But you have a friend who does know,” he points out. “I have to say it doesn’t look good to be seen talking to the FBI, Ford. People might make assumptions. I told my brothers you would never crack, but now we find out about Agent Porter, and well, I don’t like being proven wrong.”

“I’ll deal with it,” I snap. I don’t know how, but it’s not like I have a choice.

“It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.” I can hear the feline smile in his voice. “And, Ford? The clock has started. Tick. Tock.”

He hangs up, but his threat lingers in the air. Nikolai Koltsov has a short fuse, and it's been lit.

Tick-tock.

17

Adair

I am the worst boss in history. Not that I’m the boss, exactly, and I never will be if I can’t get my head on straight. My thoughts keep wandering between flashes of last night and the wicked skills Sterling demonstrated in bed and worry over what’s to come.

Because he knows. He finally knows.

I swore I would never tell him—never tell anyone. But burying my head in the sand isn’t going to work any more. It feels as though every moment between the day he left and the day he walked back into my life has been leading to this. And there’s so much more to wrap my head around: the FBI, the Bratva, the man he’s become, the man he wants to be. I can’t stop asking myself if he wants to be that man for me or for himself. I can’t decide if it’s an important differentiation. It feels like it is.

My phone rings. Sterling’s ear must be burning. Of course, I’m always thinking of him, so maybe not. I answer it expecting news from his meeting with Cameron Laird. “How did it go?”

“Exactly what I expected,” he says in a clipped tone that tells me his mind is elsewhere. “Look, something’s come up. You’re at your office, right?”

“Yes,” I say slowly.

“Thank God.” His relief is palpable. “Stay there.”

The demand moves my emotional barometer from introspective to paranoid in an instant. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve got everything under control,” he says.

That’s a pretty clear indication that things are out of his control.