Page 8 of Barinov

“We are not turning on each other, you understand?” Nate says with that low and terrifyingly lethal calm of his. “Not tonight. Not over maybes and unknowns. And especially not when Bella needs every single one of us focused and on the same damn page.”

I step into Lex’s space and gently place my hand on his twitching bicep. “Babe, he’s right. Being at each other’s throats isn’t going to help her.”

Lex stares at me like he wants to punch something. Tex, the wall, me, or maybe even the damn world. His blood-shot eyes are burning hotter than I’ve ever seen.

My grip tightens as I dig my long fingers into rock-hard muscle. “Just breathe.”

Our eyes lock for a few seconds before he finally stops seething.

“You’re right,” he exhales, placing a hand over mine.

“So.” I look back over to Nate. “What’s the plan?”

“Well,” Nate says as he closes one of the folders. “For starters, everyone needs to sit down and breathe for a minute.”

We all take our seats at the table. The silence between us grows thicker with each passing second.

“Lex,” Knox pipes up first. He doesn’t even look up from the screen as he extends his hand. “Let me see your phone again.”

Lex hands it over without question. Knox attaches it to a red cord and plugs it into his laptop. Lines of code and images fill the screen. He clicks through some windows before stopping on a picture.

“Shit,” Knox mutters.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Guys, does this look like the…” He trails off, angling the screen toward Nate.

Nate’s eyes widen, his pupils swallowing the iris. “No way,” he breathes. He begins rifling through some papers in one of the files.

Knox slides the laptop across the table.

Tex takes one look at it and grips the screen so hard it almost shatters at the edges. “How in the hell did he get it from—”

“What are you guys talking about?!” Lex cuts in, his deep voice cracking under the strain. “Someone start explaining.”

Knox turns the laptop toward us, revealing the image Luca sent to Lex a few hours ago. Bella’s limp body, bruised and bleeding in the backseat of a stranger’s car like some sort of a discarded doll.

“You see this?” Knox says, pointing at a black-and-white device cinched around Bella’s neck. “Right here? We have a much bigger problem.”

I lean forward, narrowing my eyes on the grainy image. “What is that thing?”

“That,” Knox answers, gathering his breath before continuing, “is a device Project Dylan uses.”

My pulse quivers. “For what, exactly?”

“Okay,” Tex jumps in, bracing his forearms on the table. “So you guys remember one of the first rules of Project Dylan and why the age of nine is so important to us?”

“Yes,” I say immediately.

“Yeah,” Lex echoes. “Dylan’s age when he died.”

“Right.” Tex nods grimly. “So you know how if there’s any children under the age of nine at a scene, the buyer and seller both get one quick shot to the temple. For Dylan.”

We both nod.

“The rest of ‘em get moved to Project Dylan’s black site. Off the grid and hidden deep in the heart of one of my ranches in west Texas,” he says, smirking with a hint of pride. “We interrogate them, flip ‘em, and then use their asses to build cases to find others.”

Lex stiffens beside me, knees starting to bounce uncontrollably all over again. I reach over and lay a hand on his thigh. Thankfully, he stills under my touch.