Thunderstruck (Ramsey Security #1)

"You can switch off and join us at home base or play house with the client."

As much as I itch to get downtown and see what happens if this guy is caught, Darla needs me to stay with her. No one else will do. This fact gives me a sense of pride and possession. Darla exists in a world where only a very few people own a key. I'm one of them, and I'm not leaving.

"I'm staying here. I'll follow the news, and you can keep me informed if you ID the guy. Locke is finding these people somewhere."

"Saskia found the beauty supply chat room where Zivkovic and Locke connected. It's gone silent since Zivkovic was capped. We're looking to contact a few people who work the circles Locke might go for help. If he does, they'll tip us and we can track down Locke."

I feel Darla's gaze on me. She hides behind messy hair as soon as I look at her.

"I need to go, but keep me updated," I say, hanging up.

Darla isn't even pretending to work on her puzzle. She's heard Locke's name and is rummaging around in her head full of bad memories.

"This guy was scoping out the apartment," I explain, pointing to the TV where the car barely dodges a van while speeding onto a highway. "When he spotted one of our guys following him, he did this shit. The cops will handle him now. Once he's in custody or dead, we'll get his ID and track down his info. Locke tightens the noose around his neck every time he sends one of these fuckers."

Darla stares at me, and I try to piece together what her expression might mean. Taking a stab in the dark, I sit on the arm of the couch and sigh.

"I've met evil people in my life. Not bad people but truly evil people. Bad people can change. They can find God or fall in love or get hurt and have an awakening. They can change, even if they'll never wash away the blood on their hands. Men like Locke aren't bad though. He's evil. His entire world looks different from the world we see. His excuses make sense to him in a way they'll never make sense to us."

Darla crosses her arms, thinking of the man who stole her physically and still holds her mentally.

"Locke needs to be destroyed much like we put down rabid dogs. He can't control himself. He breathes and bleeds evil. It's all he can do. The only way to protect the world is to end him. Now because you ran and he's on our radar, Locke will be destroyed. Had you stayed, he would have ruined lives in a million little ways you never knew about."

"I'm a big hero."

"I sense sarcasm in your comment."

Darla frowns, sulking even. I tap her knee with my foot.

"I'm not a shrink, and I don't talk about feelings. I do know life isn't fair and thinking otherwise is childish. We all need to grow up and realize evil exists, bad things happen, and good people get fucked. Once you accept these facts, you can face evil and beat it back. Otherwise, you're living in a fantasy."

"Fantasies aren't so bad."

"No, they aren't," I murmur, thinking about my fantasies about this sexy lost woman sitting a foot from me.

Darla nods as if she buys into my words, but I feel her struggling again. Setting aside her puzzle, she watches a man on TV endangering lives after he took a job to end hers. He hadn't planned to kill her, but returning her to Locke would lead to a similarly horrible outcome.





17


~~~

Darla

Who Am I?

The car chase lasts for nearly thirty minutes before the driver is pinned between traffic and the police. He tries to flee on foot, even with dozens of cops on the scene and helicopters flying over. When he can't escape, bullets fly.

Along with everyone else, I watch this man die live on TV. I wonder if Locke is watching too. Does he know another one of his hired goons is heading to the morgue?

What should make me happy sends me into a panic instead. I'm trapped in this apartment, waiting for the next killer to make his move. Troy, Minka, and the others might die while trying to protect me. My sister lives in fear because of me. Once again, I wonder if running from Mister Pain was the most selfish act I ever committed.

The urge to cry rises up in me. I stand up from the floor, but Troy blocks my escape.

"Where are you going?" he asks, frowning at me.

I squirm around him, ending up on the couch. Troy doesn't relent, his size shading me.

"I need to go to my room."

"Why?"

"I'm tired."

"You don't look tired."

Panicking, I want to push past him. I don't, of course. He's too big, and I'm too scared.

"I need to take my pill to calm my nerves," I say, hoping Troy isn't angry. The minute his jaw twitches, I know he's angry.

Troy takes my hand and slides our fingers along the scar at his throat.

"Three years ago, I nearly died the day I got the scar. Afterwards, I lost my edge. Kept having flashbacks and getting paranoid. To deal with it, I started drinking. Whenever I sobered up, I felt like shit again, so I stayed drunk. Seemed like a good solution except I was never getting over anything as long as I lived in a stupor. It wasn't easy, but I dried up and faced all the bullshit running around in my head."