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My heart patters in my chest as I open it and read the message.
No signs yet.
I release a long whooshing breath.
After I spared Rico’s life, I started setting up my own communications network. I knew that the truth would one day come out, and that I would be in deep shit then. After all, no one betrays the Hands of Peace. In that cult, you only have two options. You obey. Or you die.
I was hoping against hope that they would never discover what I had done that night, but if they did, I would need to run before they could kill me. And then stay hidden. So over the years, I hired skilled people who would be able to help me accomplish that, and to help me scan both the digital and the physical world for signs that a Hands of Peace strike team was closing in on me.
Thankfully, there are no signs of that at the moment.
I send back ‘Received’ and then close the app before turning off the phone again. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the freshly charged powerbank I brought and swap out the other mostly drained one. After plugging it into the phone, I zip up the bag again and then close the lid.
A faint click sounds as I lock the box with the padlock again.
Then I push to my feet.
Making these trips into the city is risky. I would’ve preferred to keep my go-bag with me in the apartment I rent on campus. But that’s dangerous as well. I’m pretty sure that the university staff has keys to all residences, for emergencies or whatever, and I don’t want to risk them searching through my apartment and finding the bag. So keeping it in a secondary location is better.
After all, I’m Isabella Johnson, an average student with nothing to hide. And my apartment needs to reflect that.
I rake my fingers through my hair, pushing some dull brown strands out of my face, and then start towards the door. I need to get back to Blackwater before my absence is noticed. Earlier, I didn’t have to worry about that, because there was no one there who kept track of me. But now, there is. That damn mafia prince that I really should have killed.
Shaking my head, I slip back out onto the street and lock the door behind me again.
Rico is going to get both me and himself killed if he doesn’t stop investigating me. The Hands of Peace know that he is alive, but they don’t know where he is yet. And they don’t know where I am either. Both of us are at the top of their hit list. Rico because they’re embarrassed that one of their targets is still alive, and no one embarrasses the Hands of Peace. And me because I disobeyed their orders, and no one disobeys the Hands of Peace either.
If they find out that both of us are at Blackwater, we will be dead within the next two days. And if Rico keeps going down this path, word might get back to them. So I need to make him lose interest. I need to make him believe that I’m not who he thinks I am.
I know that he will be coming at me hard now.
But no matter what he does to me, I won’t give in.
I will never break.
4
RICO
“Stop with the incessant fucking drumming!”
I blink, pulling my mind away from my churning thoughts and back to the present. Across the table, Kaden’s dark eyes are locked on me. Then he shoots a pointed look down at my left hand. I follow his gaze. And find that I am indeed drumming my fingers repeatedly on the polished wooden tabletop.
Kaden raises his eyebrows expectantly.
I flash him a grin and continue drumming.
“You have five seconds to stop that before I pin your hand to the table with a knife,” Kaden warns, his voice dead serious.
While still tapping the table with my left hand, I use my right to quickly slide out my gun and knock it against the wood from underneath the table. With that grin still in place, I raise my eyebrows as well and challenge, “Oh really?”
He shifts his weight, casting a glance under the table to find me aiming the gun between his legs. Amusement lights up his normally so cold brown eyes, and he chuckles. I flash him another smile before returning the gun to the holster.
And then I actually do stop drumming my fingers on the table.
“Thank fuck,” Kaden says, and draws a hand through his straight black hair while leaning back in his chair. “It was like having two Jaces there for a while. And just one Jace is still one too many.”
Jace, who had been busy shoveling pasta into his mouth while we were threatening each other, at last pulls his attention away from his dinner and narrows his eyes at his brother.
