“Very.”
All the information swirled around my mind, trying to figure the two of them out. “But his psychosis and need to be better than you and others drove him to push himself to the limits in order to be ranked the highest. To be ranked higher than you. Proof to him that he was better than you.”
Again, he nodded. “Yes.”
“You are one badass, frightening motherfucker.”
He quirked his brow at me. “You’re just now figuring that out?”
“Oh, no. I’ve known for months.”
“But?” he asked, prompting me for more.
“But I also know you’re more than just a killer,” I said, knowing that I meant it.
He furrowed his brow. “What else am I?”
“A man.” I slipped my fingers in between his. He’d shown me many times that night he was more than just the unfeeling killing machine that I’d labeled him as. “One that I, for some fucked-up reason, care a lot about.”
“You shouldn’t. Even as a man, I’m still going to kill you.”
I pursed my lips, then rolled them into a thin line. “Yeah, I know.”
“That doesn’t scare you away from caring for me?”
I shook my head. “It’s not news. I’ve known it from day two.”
He gave a nod, his jaw ticking as he let out a sigh and returned to staring at the ceiling.
“What do we do now?” I asked. It was the first time we’d been in a true limbo. The situation was way beyond out of control.
He shook his head as he stared back up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”
“You talked about a go at Langley… Should you warn them of what’s going on?” I asked, trying to pull him out of his funk. Trying to get him to think about anything other than his brother’s betrayal.
“Without Jason, there’s nobody we can contact.”
“You mean there’s no backup? That’s stupid. There should always be a failsafe.”
He turned and looked at me. “There’s that logical mind of yours.” He reached out and stroked my face. “You are the strangest hostage ever.”
“You risked your life for me twice now. There’s no more getting around that you like me.”
He made a hmm sound and went silent.
There was no protest when I lifted his arm up or when I snuggled into his side, my head resting on his chest. In fact, his fingers played with my hair and he tangled my hand that was resting on his chest with his own.
Even with the sun starting to create slivers of light from the gap in the curtains, we were both asleep in minutes.
Four days we stayed locked up. Four days he spent doing nothing but fixing his gun and lying in bed with me.
That, and taking apart his super-secret laptop to find a GPS transmitter inside and changing all access, including disabling a back-door entrance. It all sounded like gibberish to me, but I at least understood that much.
The phone never rang. He didn’t call anyone. It was complete blackout. We had no idea if anyone else was alive or dead.
The world was just the two of us.
“Shit,” Six cursed. It was the first time in hours either of us said anything. He had his laptop up and had been digging around for information.
“What?” I asked, setting my book down and sitting up.
He shook his head, jaw clenching and unclenching, his leg bouncing. “An informant just sent out an all call on a Cleaner.”
“Which one?”
“It doesn’t say, but being just one, it could be Two, Five, or Seven.”
Nine and One were doubtful to leave each other.
“Close by?”
He nodded. “A few hours. Down near Sacramento.”
Scooting to the edge of the bed, I put my feet on the ground, ready to move. “What are we waiting for?”
It only took a few minutes to pull on some clothes and load up on firearms before we were headed out the door.
“Here,” Six said, handing me one of his 9mm Glocks.
I glanced from him to it, then back to him. “Really?”
He nodded. “If we run into them, you’ll need it.”
The gesture left me shell shocked as I reached out and took the pistol from him. It was for more than my help or to protect myself. It was trust.
Six trusted me—the woman he was going to kill—with his life.
The restaurant on a cliff was spooky, but the old, falling down warehouse was a whole other kind of creep-tacular. Both looked right out of a survival horror video game, and the mess of bodies dressed in black we waded through was a perfect match.
A wetwork team had come, and a cleaner or two emerged victorious from the rubble.
“Fuck.” The carnage was unreal, blood everywhere, the floor a sticky mat of dark red. “This is about the same age as your email.”
“It was probably set up by the wetwork team to draw one or more of us out.”
“Looks like it worked,” I said as we waded through to the other side.
There had to be another side.