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I slide into the passenger seat, letting out a breath.
Not long now, Hannah, I think.I promise, it won’t be much longer. I’ll end this soon.
It sucks because it makes me feel like a liar. I already promised her that the other night, when I thought I was closer to being able to cross Ivan off the list. There’s so much guilt in it taking so long, in not having finished getting my vengeance already, but I shove that aside, not wanting to dwell on it while I’m in the car with Gage and he could notice.
“Where are we going?” I ask, half for something to say and half because I do actually want to know.
“Just wait,” he replies, starting the car and getting us moving.
I grit my teeth against the urge to tell him where to shove it.
There really isn’t anything to do but wait like he told me, and I drum my fingers impatiently and settle into the car’s plush seat, looking out the window. The nice part of town we were in turns gradually shittier and shittier as we go. It’s even more crappy than the area I live in, which is saying something.
These are the real slums that we’re driving into, and I can tell from the people hanging out on corners in broad daylight, doing things that would probably get them thrown in jail if the police happened to come by.
Of course, the cops don’t usually fuck around in areas like this, either because they don’t care or because they’re paid not to, so whoever has the most power gets to say what happens.
I keep my wits about me, sitting up so I can pay attention as we head toward a run-down cluster of apartment buildings in the center of it all.
I know Ivan owns this property, so this must be his slum, which would explain what we’re doing here.
We get out of the car, and Gage leads the way into the complex, walking with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing exactly where you’re going. He’s been here before, clearly.
I narrow my eyes at the back of his head as I follow him, wondering about that and trying not to. Our deal is that we don’t care about each other’s pasts, even if I am curious about how he knows so much about how to get around one of Ivan St. James’s slums. I could spin it that it’s important to the mission that he tell me, since it has something to do with Ivan, but then he could do the same to me about my own past, and I don’t want to get into that whole fucking story with him. So I just keep my mouth shut and follow.
We head up the stairs to the top floor, stepping over shoes and clothes and unconscious people littering the halls. Eventually, Gage stops outside a door. He knocks twice in quick succession and then once more after a few seconds. Maybe some kind of code.
At first, there’s no answer, then a thin voice calls out, “It’s open.”
I raise my eyebrows at that. What kind of idiot doesn’t lock their door in a place like this? But then again, a lot of the time the locks are mostly just symbolic, and anyone who really wanted to get in would be able to without much trouble.
Gage leads the way inside, and I’m immediately struck by how dim it is in the apartment’s cramped interior. It’s as if someone here hates sunlight, since all the blinds are drawn and there’s only one light on. The apartment is tiny, and we step right into the front room, where a woman is sitting in a chair that looks like it’s molded around her.
“Gage,” she says. Her voice is creaky in that way super old people’s always are. Rattling around in her throat and coming out in a rasp. “It’s about damn time.”
“It hasn’t been that long, Meredith,” he replies, and there’s something about his whole demeanor that changes with her. Some of the guarded anger that he always seems to wear like a shield falls away as he moves closer to her chair.
When we get close enough, I can tell that I was right about her being super old. She’s a tiny thing, withered and wrinkled. Her hands are gnarled where they’re clasped in her lap, and they seem to shake a little even though she’s not moving.
She tilts her head up toward Gage, letting me see more of her face. Although her eyes might have been a darker color once, they’re now a sort of milky white that makes me realize she must be blind. Or mostly blind, at least.
“That’s what you say every time,” she says, shaking her head. “No matter how long it’s been.”
To my shock, Gage just laughs a little. It’s not even a mean laugh, more like the kind you’d use when an elderly relative scolds you for something. Indulgent and amused, but with an edge of fondness.
“Are you still in one piece?” she asks, cocking her head a little.
“Last time I checked.”
“Well, check again. Make sure for me.”
It’s like I’m not even there, and Gage pats his chest loudly enough for her to hear it.
“All here.”
“Good. Then what can I do for you?”
Now he glances to me, and I shake myself from my surprise. The curiosity I tried to repress is rising inside me all over again. I have so many questions, but I shove it all down.
