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“Daniel—”
Standing there, watching Sara shake and try not to cry, I wondered if I was dying. This had to be death, this ripping agony across my skin and the sense that my heart was slowly rotting as my insides boiled with acid. I thought I was going to be sick.
And yet, I hoped against hope at the sound of my name.
“Just know if you release those pictures, you have no more leverage—but I will,” she said and held up the flash drive. I lunged for it, and she let me take it, laughing. “I have copies.”
We stared at each other.
“Unlike you, I don’t need to resort to blackmail,” she said. She gave me a look I couldn’t read. “You once called me a coward.”
“I didn’t mean that,” I said automatically, my heart hammering and the flash drive cutting into my palm. “You’re many things, but not that.”
“No, I’m not,” Sara agreed as the car pulled up and the driver hopped out, nodding at me, and opening her door. “But you are.”
I tipped my head back and laughed. “Sure. Have a nice life, Tailor.”
“I will,” Sara said as she climbed in. “But you won’t.” She paused and looked at me, the driver discreetly melting back. “Because I didn’t ruin you—you ruined us.” She paused as my heart spasmed with agony. “And yourself.”
With that, she slammed the door, the driver muttered something in a hurried tone that I didn’t hear, and then the SUV took off down the street. I watched the tail lights whip off into the murk of dawn, the red light swallowed up my clouds, and then I went down hard on my knees. Great, heaving gasps ripped out of me and I pressed my hands into the cold sidewalk, the salt and dirt pressing into my hands.
What the fuck did you do?Screamed a voice in my head.
Opening my shaking hand, I saw that the little flash drive was bent and bloodied, it had cut deep into my palm. I shook out the chain and lifted it, somehow fastening it around my neck. Swiping at my face with my arm, I rose to my feet, and pulled out my phone, dialing Slinky.
“Hey, Slinky,” I said when a groggy voice answered. “Hate to wake you so early—but I need a favor. Got any connections out in Denver?”
Coldness crept over me as I turned, not looking back once.
I did what I had to do. What I’d always do.
Sara had to learn that the hard way—but just to ensure that she had, I’d pay a visit to her ex to make sure it stuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Zakary
Two and a half years later
The man, a grizzled ex-doctor, gave us a desperate look as we came to the end of the hall, and peered around it. “There has to be another way, Sal.”
“Didn’t I keep you alive and unharmed for two years, Ken?” Sal asked and checked over the gun I’d brought him. “This is your reward. Don’t worry, they’ll just taze you.”
Ken ran his hand over his scarred face, his broken nose, and the terrible burn marks across his forehead and on his neck.Two and half years ago, somehow, someone had gotten into his cell and beaten the absolute shit out of the man. From all accounts, they’d tortured him a bit too, and when Sal had gotten wind of it, he’d apparently burst out laughing.
“Guess that little shit take does take after his old man,” he’d later told me.
Daniel Michaelson or someone that he’d hired, had left Ken Moro broken and bleeding. But it had been enough to warrant a prison move for Ken. Sal had me pull strings to get him moved here. I now worked at Federal level, with enough access to pull something like this off—getting into the prison where Sal was being held, releasing him and Ken, and coming up with a plan to get Sal out.
A prison riot had started on the other side of the building. Alarms blared in the distance, but here it was quiet and Ken was shaking.
“We’ll come back for you,” I said with a smile. “Have just a little more patience.”
“Haven’t I been good to you?” Sal asked with a smile that I could almost believe as he clapped Ken on the shoulder and shoved a hat on his head. It was a distinct hat, a bright orange beanie that Sal had won privileges to wear for good behavior the last two years. I’d even heard rumors that they wanted to do a psychiatric study on him and have journalists come in to interview his psychiatrist.
What they didn’t know is that I’d been slipping Sal calming meds for those years, talking him down off many a ledge, all leading to this moment where Sal and Ken had swapped jumpsuits and now Ken donned his distinct hat.
“Go get ‘em killer,” Sal said. “See you on the outside.”
