by Clara Stone
He frowns and pushes me out to arm’s length, eyeing me.
“What do you mean?” Cat asks, looking up from her phone, her eyebrows knitting together.
“This is my last performance with the band.”
They both look at me in shock. So I go on to explain all the things that happened over the past couple of days, from Jarod’s inappropriate kiss to my conversations with Tom. Cat whistles as I conclude. Vincent scowls.
“What a bunch of fucking assholes.” She wraps her arm around me and tilts her head toward mine. “It’s their fucking loss, though.”
“Exactly,” Vincent says. “And if I didn’t have to leave right now, I would go give them a piece of my mind and maybe my fist. This is bull, Jess. You deserve better. But as much as I really hate doing this to you, I gotta go if I’m going to make it back in time to meet with that lawyer.” He comes over and places his hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes with a serious expression. “Are you gonna be okay here without me?”
“Yeah. Sure. No problem. Go, I’ve got this.” I smile up at him, though deep inside, I can feel my heart breaking all over again. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, ‘kay? I’ll plan a trip back home. It’s been too long since I’ve seen the boys too.”
He gives me one last hug goodbye, squeezing tightly, and then disappears out the door. I turn away, fighting the tears that threaten to fall. I miss him already.
“Well, looks like it’s just you and me,” Cat says, settling herself on the one and only couch in the room as I shrug out of the leather jacket.
I look at her through the mirror. “Yeah.”
“Hey, so, you’ve heard about the big fight next weekend, right? Fisher isn’t telling me much, except that it’s going to change everything.” She adjusts her position, tucking her leg under her butt and throwing her arm over the couch. “Has Harrington—which, by the way, it’s still super weird to call him that—said anything to you about it?”
I shrug.
She jumps to her feet. “He did, didn’t he? What did he say?” She walks toward me.
“Nothing much,” I lie, hanging the coat up in the armoire.
“Oh, come on,” she says, looking into the mirror and wiping a smudge from under her eye. “I bet it’s something far more juicy than what Fisher’s told me. So come on, chica, spill the beans.”
I sigh and turn around. “He just told me that he doesn’t want me to come to the fight.” I brush it off like it’s not a big deal.
“Yeah, I was forbidden to go too. But that ain’t gonna stop me.” Cat waves her hand, and then narrows her eyes at me. She must have seen something on my face, because she goes from happy to suspicious in the span of a heartbeat. “You’re not telling me something.”
I open my mouth to lie, when the door connected to the guys’ room abruptly swings open.
“What the hell?” Cat turns swiftly.
Jarod walks into the room, an evil grin on his face. “I hope you enjoyed that last performance, Jess.” He steps aside, as if waiting for someone else to join him. “Because that’s the last fucking time you’ll ever perform on stage.”
As soon as he says that, another person steps into the room.
Tony.
Two black-suited men walk in behind him, as if to stand guard.
“What’s going on?” Cat growls, anger lacing her words.
“Hello again, Jessica.” Tony criss-crosses his fingers, cracking them. “Looks like it’s time we take that ride.”
“Who the hell—” Cat starts, but is quieted a moment later when Tony swings his hand across her cheek.
“Not your turn, chihuahua” Tony growls, pointing a finger at her. Then he looks at me. He walks toward me, lazily, his feet kicking against the carpet with each step.
Cat’s pain-filled groan is all I can concentrate on. She’s lying on the couch, her hand covering her cheek. I can’t tell if she’s crying, but rage boils inside me.
“Now, where were we? Ah yes, that’s right.” He snaps his fingers, bringing my attention back to him. “You were going to come with me, and your little boyfriend was going to get what’s coming to him. It’s a shame, really. You’re only in this mess because of him. But knowing how much he’s going to hate what I plan to do to you, well, I just can’t let an opportunity like that go to waste, now can I?”
At his signal, his two bodyguards step around him, coming at me. I curl my fingers into fists, ready to punch them the way Harrington taught me. I catch the first guy in the gut, but not hard enough. He looks down at where I punched him and then back at me, amused, like I just tickled him.
“Good try,” he says, before making a grab for me at the same time his partner does. Guy 2 wraps his arms around my waist, pinning my hands to my sides.
“Let go of me,” I yell, kicking my feet in the air and struggling against the vise around my torso. “Let go of me, you assholes.”
Cat screams and jumps to her feet, but Jarod grabs her and pulls her back onto the couch, holding her in place. Tony laughs, as does Jarod.
“Let me go, or I swear to God—”
“Oh, there’s no need to make false promises.” Tony winks. “The night’s just the beginning. And I sure don’t want you to miss what we have planned for you and Harrington.”
Time stands still as the last word rings inside my head. My body heat drops a few degrees, and I can’t breathe. He said “Harrington,” not “Killshot.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. They know.
“What did you do to Ha—Killshot?” I correct myself at the last second. They might know, or they might just be baiting me, and I’m sure as hell not going to be the one to rat Harrington out.
He laughs. “Why should I tell you, when you’ll get to see for yourself?”
I stop struggling against the guy who holds me and glare at Tony. “Keep laughing, Tony. Because the next time you come face to face with Killshot, you won’t get away with only a broken jaw,” I promise him.
“I guess he’d have to be alive long enough to make good on that, wouldn’t he?” He jerks his chin toward the men behind me and the next thing I know, something soft covers my nose and mouth, and a sweet smell takes over my senses. I faintly remember hearing Cat sobbing and calling my name as my body goes numb and I fall into oblivion.
“SO, WHAT’S THE plan?” Fisher asks, looking at me expectantly. We’re parked in front of Stamos’s favorite club in Jacksonville, the one he’s brought me to every time I’ve been summoned to his “office.” The one where we have no fucking idea what’s waiting for us inside. Well, aside from the electric eel, that is.
“I go in, find out what the hell is going on, and get the hell out,” I reply, turning to look at him.
“Is that all?” He raises an eyebrow.
“If everything goes according to the plan, yeah.”
“Rrrright. And when it doesn’t?”
I grin at him. “Plan B.” I pull out a laptop from the back and turn it on. Once I login, I open the program that Neil set up for me before I left the warehouse yesterday. “You get to record how awesome I truly am and use it to call in the cavalry.”
I pull out a small box from the glove compartment. In it is a chip, about half the size of a dime. I hold it up. “And this, my friend, is the latest FBI invention. Don’t ask me how it’s built, because even though Neil’s explained it to me about a thousand times, I still don’t understand all that nerdy jargon.”
“How do you . . . get this kind of stuff?”
I grin up at him. “Because people think I’m awesome and they want to give me cool toys?”
He shakes his head. “All right, how do I use it?”
I click a few buttons to get it started. I then stick the chip just inside my shirt collar. An image of the car starts to appear on the laptop—two bodies that somewhat look like us with red heat signatures in the middle.
“Is that . . . ?” Fisher asks, waving his hand. On the screen, the body in the passenger side does too. “Holy shit.”
; “Yup. Pretty awesome, right?”
“Hell yeah it is.” He waves his hand again, but outside of the car. His on-screen replica does the same. “This is awesome. Why haven’t these been handed out to agents in the field?”
“Something about cost and being in testing phase or something.” I shrug. “Anyway, this thing gets about a two-mile radius.” Just then, my phone rings. I pull it out and see it’s Neil.
“Hell—”
“I dug a little deeper, and you were right, Agent Lovelly,” Neil cuts me off, very much not his usual cool self.
“Hello to you too, Harris.”
“Something is off about this meeting. The other bosses, the ones who are supposed to be traveling in from all over the world, haven’t moved from their locations in days. And from what I’ve heard from Interpol and our agents on the ground, they’re in a holding pattern. All indications point to the meeting either being canceled or a hoax.”
“Hmm . . . okay.” I look to the side and see Fisher digging out his phone, a goofy look on his face. “Have you told Wilson?”
“Yes. And he strongly suggests that you not meet with Stamos tonight. He thinks it might be a trap, that your cover’s been blown somehow.”
“What?” I hear Fisher yell. “What happened? Are you okay?”
That doesn’t sound good.
“Okay. Thanks, Harris.”
“Agent—”
I don’t wait for him to say anything else, hanging up and turning to Fisher just as he does the same.
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
“I’ll kill the bastard. How fucking dare he—”
“Fisher! What the hell is going on?” I’m yelling now.
He gives me a look that’s pure anger. One I haven’t seen in a very, very long time. Panic shoots through me. Without even realizing it, I’m calling Jess, but it goes to voicemail.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My stomach plummets. Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
“What did Neil say about going inside?” Fisher asks.
I look at him, incredulous. “What the fuck does that matter?”
“Because, well, I’m pretty sure it’s a trap, man.”
I feel my blood rush through my body as my adrenaline spikes. My hands shake as I ask, “Why?”
“Because . . .” He looks at me like he knows he’s about to blow my world to pieces, and I know even before he says it. “Tony has Jess, and he’s bringing her here.”
I KNOW WILSON won’t be happy. But I have no choice. I told Fisher to call Neil back as soon as I got into the building, to tell him the developments and get him to relay a message to Wilson. And, just like Harris had, he warned me that I’ve probably been made, and that I’m a dead man if I step inside that building. I know that, but really, what are my options? I have to go in there. I have to keep my promise to keep Jess safe.
Funny, when I said that to her earlier, I didn’t know this was how things were going to unfold. But it turns out fate is a crazy bitch, and she has wicked sense of humor.
If I’m lucky, I’ll have backup here in less than two hours. And if I’m not, well, at least I went down swinging. But I sure as hell am not going to wait in the parking lot, sitting on my ass while Stamos pulls all the strings.
I turn down the hall to Stamos’s office and shove open the double doors as I make my grand entrance. The usual bodyguards waiting just inside draw their guns and point them at me. “Take it easy, boys. No need for such a warm welcome.”
“Harrington Lovelly,” Stamos’s cool, composed voice greets me. He sitting in his throne behind the desk, like always.
My step falters a little, but I pull myself together before it becomes noticeable. Fuck. He fucking knows who I am.
Well . . .
Shit. Fisher and Harris were right.
“Kaboom goes the dynamite.” I extend my hands, drawing them out from the middle to mime an explosion. “So, what gave it away?”
“Please, Mr. Lovelly.” He gestures to the chair in front of him and I take it. There’s no point in fighting it. Stamos’s guys are good. I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t absolutely sure. The question now is, how much of my real identity does he know? “Actually, it was your generosity. Remember the friend you tried to save? Krish?”
I take a deep breath. He was supposed to be in WITSEC by now.
“Well, color me surprised, but he came to me with an offer. Your life for his and his grandmother’s.”
Little fucker.
“See, the thing is, I didn’t believe him at first, with his tall tales about magical FBI transports and WITSEC offers. I thought he was high on pain medication from his unfortunate . . . accident. But then I had him do some more digging, deep down in that brain of his, until he found something that convinced me. He was quite eager to please me, you see.”
I curl my hands into tight fists. “Where is he now?”
Stamos laughs. “If you wish to seek revenge, I’m afraid you can’t. My techniques of persuasion can be . . .” He waves his hands around, looking up toward the ceiling like he’s searching for the right word. Then he looks pointedly at me. “A little overwhelming, shall we say, for the weak. So I had to send him packed in ice to his sweet grandmother. I must say, she’s a lovely lady.”
“You’re a sick son-of-bitch, you know that?”
He ignores me, continuing his monologue like he’s a villain in some Shakespearian play. “I’ve had my guys look into you since then, Mr. Lovelly, and I must say, you’ve got some powerful friends. So, which are they? The FBI, the CIA . . . ?”
I laugh. So the Big Bad Wolf knows I’m a mole, but not who I belong to. I can work with that. “You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you.”
He looks at his goons, who still have their guns trained on me, and starts to laugh. “Is that right?”
I nod, crossing my left leg over my right knee.
“Try me.”
“All right. I’m doing a college research project on how fucked-up kids will be if they drop out of school and join gangs. And I thought, hey, who better to write about than Stamos and his dumbfucks.”
“I gotta say, Mr. Lovelly,” he says, chuckling with ease, “your wit has always amazed me.”
“Glad to be of service.”
“But, since we’re being honest and all, how about we talk about that girl you’ve become quite chummy with . . .” He snaps his fingers, like he’s trying to remember her name.
My hands curl into tight fists and I fight to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know where this is going yet, and I need to buy time for the strike team to arrive. I can’t lose my cool just yet. No matter how much I want to smash his face into that fancy oak-wood desk.
“Jessica,” one of the douchey bodyguards offers.
Stamos jerks his chin toward Goon #2 and he disappears out the still-open office doors.
“Ah. Yes. Jessica Owens. That’s it.” Stamos gets to his feet and walks around until he’s standing behind me.
“Get your hands off me!” I hear Jessica yell. The sounds of struggle and someone being dragged into the room echo around me.
My fingers curl around the handle of the chair. I fight the urge to turn around and look at her. I refuse. I can’t see her like that, can’t see what I’ve done to her. This is my fault. All my fault.
“How are you, darling?” Stamos says, “Hope your shagging over the weekend was enjoyable.”
I’m on my feet then, spinning around, this close to pouncing on him. But two of his men hook their arms under my armpits and pull me back. “You—”
My heart stops and my vision blurs as I see Jessica, her hands tied behind her back, standing between two more of Stamos’s thugs, looking small and terrified as she tugs feebly at her restraints.
No! Nononono!
I jerk, trying to get free from guys holding me. Jessica stills, her eyes wide as she locks her gaze with mine. “Harr—”
She catches herself before blowing my cover, not real
izing that it’s already been shattered, and I realize she’s protecting me. Me. When it should be the other way around. After everything—
Stamos coos. “Aww, young love.”
I grunt, jerking my body to the left, then right.
“Ah. There it is.” Stamos’s smug face appears, blocking my view of Jess. God I’d love to see his face at the end of my boot.
I jerk hard, using my full body weight this time, and the guy to my left is thrown off balance. I use that chance to drop to my knee and punch the other guy in the ribs. He stumbles backward, toppling over. I hear guns clicking and feet shuffling to surround me. But I’m too pissed to care. I see the gun in Goon #1’s hand and I react lightning fast. Shoving his hand to the side, I grab his gun and punch him on the inside of his bicep, elbowing him in the face when he jerks forward. He lets go of the gun and falls into a heap on the floor, groaning, blood spewing from his mouth.
I turn and point the gun at Stamos. My breath is coming in heavy pants. “Let her go, Stamos, or I put a bullet through your head.”
He smirks and crosses his arms, defiant. “Interesting, isn’t it? You see, finding the right kind of motivation has never been a problem for me.”
“I’m not asking again, Stamos. Let her go, or I—”
He laughs, clapping his hands. He looks at something behind me and waves his hand. I adjust my gun and my footing, but refuse to take my eyes off him. He’s bluffing. The two goons I took out haven’t recovered that quickly.
“Don’t be silly, Mr. Lovelly. If I really wanted her dead, I’d have killed her already. I simply brought her here so we could talk.”
The gun in my hand feels heavy. I crab-walk around so I’m now perpendicular to Stamos, the gun pressing into his temple. I grind my teeth. I want to kill him. Just kill this asshole and make it all go away. I could do it. I could totally put a bullet through his head and take out the guy that’s holding Jess before he pulls the trigger. But a part of me still struggles, pointing out that I’d be no better than Stamos if I did.
“Let her go,” I snarl.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll promise that she won’t be harmed while we wrap up our business, and you tell me what I want to know. After that, I’ll let her go.”
