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My doubts about Operation Angel just wouldn’t go away. They drummed relentlessly at my brain.
Maybe Karoly Kral needed to be eliminated. Maybe those changes he was pushing for were the first step in taking away SI’s autonomy, and he wouldn’t stop until the syndicates ruled the show.
But why had the contract included his sons, too?
I was starting to wonder if Crow had a personal vendetta against the Krals. Yeah, the Board of Directors had approved Op A, but Crow had been the driving force behind the order to take out the entire family. It was what Victorine Tremblay had demanded, of course, but the Board could’ve refused.
I desperately needed to talk this over with someone.
It’s not like I could go to the BOD and ask. Like all of us, they used code names and switched identities regularly, and I didn’t know anyone on the Board anyway.
Directly below the BOD were the alphas, and Crow was the alpha of the North American Division, the division my squad of five slayers was assigned to. Crow was obviously out, and so was my squad lieutenant. I didn’t trust him not to report my doubts to her.
And Torch was dead, which left Twilight.
Back at the squat, I gave Dex another twenty bucks to cook supper for us again. He told us it wouldn’t be ready for at least an hour, so we went upstairs to wait in my room.
Zaq took off his boots and lay on the mattress, fingers interlaced behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
I texted Twilight. Can we talk?
Five minutes passed during which I second-guessed myself. My phone buzzed and I snatched it up.
Twilight: 15 min? I’ll call U
I replied in the affirmative and stood up. “I’m going for a walk,” I told Zaq.
He turned his head to look at me. “To talk to Twilight?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t ask to come with me, just nodded. “The syndicate’s on edge. I know we haven’t seen anyone up here, but sooner or later they’re going to figure out where we are. Be careful, okay?” He meant it. His brow was wrinkled, his mouth tight and pulled toward the side.
His concern was like a shiv to my heart. How could the man worry about me after what I’d done to him? After what I might still do to him?
I scraped my fingers through my hair. “Zaq. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t worry about me. Don’t care about me.”
“Ridley.” He imitated my tone. “I’ll worry about you if I want. I’ll care about you if I want. That’s on me, okay? And how you respond is on you.”
No, it’s not okay. Because you’re making me care right back.
“You’re too nice,” I blurted.
“It’s a weapon,” he said—and smiled. A nice smile, but a knowing one, too.
A flare of panic went over my skin.
I stared at him. Wanting. Wishing.
He spoke the truth. His niceness, his innate decency, was a weapon. A powerful, damn-his-sexy-ass weapon.
I fumbled for the doorknob. “I have to go.”
“Ridley?”
