Page 133 of Johnny

in shock. Breathing hard and looking around like they were just dropped into a nightmare.

Welcome to my world.

But Johnny’s already moved on and is talking to an older man of Asian heritage. One of Logan’s

men shoves him against the bank of computers as Johnny yells, “Open the fuckin’ files!” He’s holding

a gun to the side of the man’s head.

“What’s going on?” I yell. “Why are you doing this? I thought you just wanted maps!”

Johnny looks at me with such hate—such venom in his eyes—that I shrink back and bump into the

hard, armored chest of the guy I am now starting to think of as my keeper.

“I’ll deal with you later,” Johnny says. Then looks back at the Asian man again and says, “Do it.

Now.”

One of the women says, “What’s going on? Why are you—”

She doesn’t get any farther than that. Fake Megan, still in her red bikini, though she’s now wearing

an armored vest over her chest, elbows the scientist in the kidneys, then shoves her so hard she goes

careening into a chair and ungracefully, and almost in slow motion, crumples to the floor in a heap.

“What the—” I start to yell. But Fake Megan has turned her attention to me and I shut up.

“I’m running out of patience,” Johnny says to the scientist, still pressing the gun up against his

temple.

The man hastily slides into a chair and taps on the keyboard. He groans, breathing heavy.

Frantically backspacing because he’s so scared, he can’t hit the right keys.

Johnny leans over his shoulder and whispers, “What’s your name?”

“P-P-Peter,” the man stammers.

“Do not fuck with me, Peter. Understand? Because I’m not messing around.”

Peter swallows hard and starts nodding his head. Then slowly and carefully pecks out the

passcode that will open the files.

The genetics database springs to life and Johnny pushes Peter out of the chair. Peter doesn’t even

try to stop his fall. Just decides to go with it and ends up on the floor, partway under the desk.

Johnny sits in Peter’s chair and starts typing. Then takes one moment to glare at me. And I’m

talking glare at me. And I swear to God, I almost pee myself when I meet his gaze. Because this man here in this lab? The one wearing tactical gear, and holding a gun, and pointing it at people, and

making it very clear he will do whatever it takes to get what he wants?

I don’t know him. He’s not the guy I spent last night with. Not the one who bought me presents and