Revenge

by Meredith Wild

  “Why is that?” His tone is flat and uninterested.

  “Because if I’d gone through with it and then found out what you’d done to me, you’d have been dead three seconds after I walked through the door. Somehow she’s managed to convince me that I still have a little of my humanity left, even though you and Jay did your very best to destroy it.”

  “Your humanity? That’s a little too sentimental considering you’re lucky to have your life. You were nearly dead when we found out about you. We could have let you die in the ER tent at Camp Dwyer.”

  “I feel so blessed.”

  He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Think what you want, Tristan, but you were spared a life of inescapable post-traumatic stress. You had no family, no job, no home to go back to. You had no one until you had us.”

  I hate Simon a little more with every passing second. His subtle arrogance. The surety in his tone.

  “You’re wrong. I had Isabel. If you hadn’t fucked up my memories, chances are pretty high we would have been together.” I ignore the pang of emotion that comes with saying those words out loud. “Gotta love when life comes full circle, though.”

  “Sorry if I don’t have time for your trip down memory lane,” he says through gritted teeth. “You don’t want to be in the Company anymore. I get it. Needless to say, this isn’t a good fit. Let’s move on.”

  “Move on? So you’re not going to send someone after me every chance you get and hope they’ll have better luck than Crow and Web and Townsend and Dunny? It’s getting to be a pretty long list at this point.”

  “Exactly. Enough is enough.”

  “What about Jay? You letting her off the hook too?”

  He doesn’t reply, doesn’t move a muscle.

  Another smile plays at my lips. He wants her most of all. If Townsend was telling the truth, Jay existing outside of Simon’s control is far worse than the menace I’ve become to his operation.

  “I bet that really screwed things up for you when she started talking to Crow about your clients. Especially with her being a signer on your supersecret offshore accounts and all.”

  His nostrils flare ever so slightly. “She’s an inconvenience, same as you. Something I can easily work around.”

  I make a small sound of disbelief because there’s no working around people who won’t disappear completely.

  He pushes his glasses up his nose. “Is it the money you’re after? That’s an easy problem to solve. We have truckloads of it. Name your price, and let’s end this conversation. I have work to get back to.”

  I laugh. “You think it’s all about money, huh?”

  “What more could you possibly want?”

  I stare at him a long time, knowing I’ll never get what I truly want. No matter how much I long for it. No matter what miracles anyone promises.

  “I want my memories back, Simon. That’s what I really want. I’d do nearly anything to have them, because I have no idea who the hell I really am. My life started the day Jay sent me to Rio. Outside of a few nightmares and flashbacks, there’s no going backward from that point.”

  He has the decency not to feed me any more bullshit about saving my life.

  “What would you do if you were me?”

  He offers a tight smile. “I wouldn’t have made your choices. I would have done my job. We wouldn’t be sitting here if I were in your shoes.”

  “And given the choice, you would have opted for this.” I gesture to myself. “This interrupted existence. Years wiped away, just like that.” I snap my fingers.

  He doesn’t hesitate. “I’d take that over death. Any day.”

  I drag the backs of my fingers along my freshly shaved jaw, contemplating the shrewd, awful human sitting across from me. Then I reach inside my jacket. Simon visibly tenses, which encourages me. I withdraw a thin syringe from my inside pocket and roll it between my fingers.

  “Because you supposedly saved my life, I’ll let you think it over a little more. You only have a minute because I’m in a bit of a rush. Then you’ll have to make a decision, or I’ll do what I think is best for you. Same way you did for me.”

  His eyes are wider. His breathing heavier. It’s a heady rush.

  “What is that?” His voice is barely a whisper, his gaze fixed on the cheap syringe as I lift it higher.

  “Townsend says you call it Elysium Dream.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Isabel

  The rotunda is filled with tourists, most congregated around the half dozen or so red-jacketed tour guides speaking animatedly about the history of the building and the activities that go on in the nearby House and Senate galleries. The architecture is impressive. A colorful and awe-inspiring fresco crowns the room. I’m sure it would all be fascinating if I weren’t here for a much more sinister purpose.

  My heart is in my throat as I wait for Tristan’s signal and simultaneously scope out the possibilities. But there are so many people here. No doubt Tristan and I can get lost in this crowd. Hell, we’ll be lucky to find each other in it once things start happening.

  I check my watch for the hundredth time, then my phone. Time keeps marching on with no word from Tristan.

  Hurry up, hurry up.

  What could be taking Tristan so long? Did Keegan show up too soon? Is Simon late? Of all the possible scenarios, the worst one is Tristan losing sight of the plan to get in and get out as quickly as possible. He wants this too much. I worry he’ll drag it out or make a mistake.

  I nearly jump out of my skin when my phone rings. I look down, expecting Tristan, but my father’s number lights up the screen. He called a couple of times this morning, but I avoided him. I should now too, but something compels me to pick up.

  “Dad?”

  “Where the hell are you?” His tone isn’t soft or forgiving, which isn’t easing the steady rise of my panic.

  “I’m…I’m fine.”

  “Tell me you aren’t there with him. Damn it, Isabel, tell me you weren’t that stupid.”

  Lashing back only adds to the threat of discovery. I’m trying not to stand out, even in this busy crowd. Screaming into my cell phone at my father will definitely get me noticed.

  “I have to go.”

  I’m ready to hang up when he yells again.

  “Don’t you dare hang up on me. You’re going to stay on with me until this is over. What’s going on?”

  “Tristan’s with him now,” I say quietly. “At least I think so. I’m waiting to hear from him.”

  “What are you doing there? There’s no reason for you to be that close. He can handle this without you.”

  “Maybe he can, but I wasn’t going to risk it. He needs a diversion once it’s done. Something that will give us a head start so we can get out of DC before anyone finds out what’s going on.”

  He’s quiet for too long, and wherever he is, I’m certain I’m breaking his heart a little more.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. You know I can’t stay.”

  “You can always stay. I’ll protect you. That’s what I’ve been doing, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, you have, but you have enough to go on now. You don’t need me there to help with an investigation. Keeping me around is only going to remind Rivero that he hasn’t unearthed all my secrets.”

  “If you disappear, he’s going to want them even more.”

  “Not if you talk to him. Keep him focused on the important things.”

  “Isabel,” he exhales tiredly. “We just got you back.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “I’m not a little girl anymore. Tristan’s my home now.”

  Even if it means being on the run with him. And if the authorities figure out that we’re involved in Simon’s death, we could be on the run for a long time.

  A large group of tourists meander by, a short brunette guiding them along, pointing skyward toward the oculus of the dome. “You’ll see George Washington is one of the figures depicted, and he is flanked by two myth
ological figures, the goddesses Victoria and Liberty.”

  The crowd shuffles along as I glance around nervously, wishing Tristan would show up or reach out. The not knowing is burning a hole through my stomach. Suddenly I’m petrified he didn’t even get past security. Was I wrong to push this plan on him?

  “Dad, what if this doesn’t work?”

  “Then you get the hell out of there. You shouldn’t be there to begin with. I can’t believe he brought you into this.”

  I can’t mistake the anger in his voice—resentment directed at Tristan that I thought I’d never have to hear again.

  “I didn’t give him a choice. I never do.”

  He sighs. “God help me, you’re just like your mother.”

  TRISTAN

  “You’re bluffing.” Doubt and uncertainty lace Simon’s words.

  I lift an eyebrow, amused that he thinks so. “I have one job, and I do it pretty well. Bluffing doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

  A bullet is a bullet. I don’t play games. I am enjoying watching the sweat start to bead on Simon’s forehead, though. I could spend hours getting off on his fear, and it would never be enough.

  “You won’t get away with this,” he says.

  I smile. Yes, I will, you evil son of a bitch.

  “I’m sure that everyone will get exactly what they deserve. Like all those soon-to-be junkies who are going to be lining up for your new miracle drug before too long.”

  He swallows hard. “It’s a business.”

  “A business that’s facilitating a massive flow of drugs into the US. How many people have to die for you to call it a success?”

  “People die all the time. When it’s all said and done, Felix will save millions of lives.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  I tilt my head. “Why not let Felix succeed on its own merits, then? Or is that not exciting enough for you? It’s not enough to have a win. You had to orchestrate a nationwide crisis to make it a real smash hit?”

  “You have a lot to learn about how the world works, Tristan.”

  I fidget with the syringe. “You’re probably right. I’m sure there are a lot of people who are really impressed with this whole operation. That’s how you formed your little club, right? Collect a bunch of power-mongering billionaires who don’t care about playing with people’s lives if it gives them a thrill. Keep moving the line on what’s acceptable until you’re knee deep in something like this, and it doesn’t even feel wrong.”

  “What you don’t realize is that it’s going to happen with or without me. Killing me isn’t going to change anything.”

  “I didn’t say I was going to kill you.”

  He looks to the door again, which reminds me of the time. I push my sleeve up to glance at my watch casually. “You’re right. We should probably get this over with.”

  He rubs his hands on his knees anxiously. “What do you really want, Tristan? I can’t undo what’s done, and you know it. You need me for something. You wouldn’t have come this far for this.”

  I lift the syringe. “For this? I definitely did.”

  He looks to the door again, then back to me. I lean forward, and he jolts backward like I struck him.

  I laugh. “Are you nervous?”

  “Listen, I’ll call it off. Is that what you want? Will that make it right in your mind somehow?”

  I make him wait a few seconds before I answer. “Do you want to tell me where the leaks at the border are?”

  “If that’s what you want. If I tell you, are you still going to kill me?”

  I pause thoughtfully. I’ve never wanted to kill someone more than I want to kill Simon. Taking it off the table is disappointing, but he’s ready to talk. Plus, I can always change my mind.

  “Fine.” I pull out my phone and call Morgan. I put the call on speaker as it rings endlessly, finally ending with Morgan’s voicemail. I nod expectantly to Simon. “Talk. We don’t have a lot of time.”

  His lower lip trembles as he leans in. He rattles off the names of the ports we already suspected Knight was targeting with his bribes. Simon closes his eyes, and his brow wrinkles as he relays the times and details of the shipments with a degree of specificity that impresses me. He looks at me when he finishes.

  “Is that all?” I ask.

  When he nods, I end the call and put the phone away. Isabel is expecting a message from me. The wait is probably killing her, but she’ll have to wait a little longer.

  “Can I go now?”

  I lift my gaze to Simon. “No.”

  He starts to visibly shake. “We had a deal.”

  “I said I wouldn’t kill you. It pains me to honor that promise, but I will.”

  He stares at the syringe I’m still holding. “You had real trauma. That’s the way it works—”

  “I plan on giving you real trauma, Simon. And I know how it works. I can personally attest to its efficacy. I mean, you may get flashbacks from time to time. Those can be disturbing. But you’ll pretty much have a clean slate. This is about twice what Townsend gave me, so I think it’ll do the job.”

  “What good will it do? You think you’re on some moral high ground because you figured out what we’re doing, but you’re nothing more than a criminal yourself.” He’s shouting now, gripping the wooden arms of his chair like a kid hanging on to the bar of a roller coaster as if it would slow it down somehow. “The things I know are worth millions. Billions. You’re going to flush it just like that? I could tell you things that no one else knows.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know any more. I hate that you’ve already taken up this much space in my head all this time. I’m ready to start thinking about something else.”

  “Then just let me go. You’ll never have to think about me again. I’ll stay out of your way. Jay too, if that’s what you want. I’ll walk away from the whole damn thing.”

  “It’s not that simple. The castle is going to crumble anyway. We found your accounts. Your buddy Medina is already getting grilled by the feds. Pope will be next. Vince is dead. Gillian and Davis too. If you really don’t want me to kill you, that’s fine. But you’re too clever for me to leave you to your own devices and trust that more people aren’t going to die while you try to get away with everything you can. Because, let’s face it, that’s who you are.”

  He opens his mouth to speak but says nothing. It must be a lot to take in. The imminent collapse of an enterprise that’s been years in the making. Then the prospect of one’s own demise. He can’t even deny that he’d try to wiggle out of whatever troubles are coming his way. Of course he would. He’ll do anything to survive, just the way he is now.

  He pushes up from his chair, a sharp motion like a firecracker launching from the ground. When he goes for the door, I follow him. He’s desperate, but I’m faster. I yank him away, and he stumbles backward.

  “I won’t let you do this,” he cries.

  “You will.”

  With that, I take two long strides toward him and give him a shove toward the wall. He stumbles again before bringing his hands to my chest in a feeble attempt to push me back when I’m on him again. He’s so weak. He smells like fear. I despise him.

  “Tristan, stop. You don’t have to do this.”

  I grasp his face in my hand, forcing his jaw shut. I’m sick of his begging and empty threats. I’m glad we never met until this moment, because already I can’t wait to be rid of him.

  “Goodbye, Simon.”

  In one swift movement, I slam his head against the wall. It’s hard enough to knock him out but not enough to give him a brain hemorrhage. Sadly, I can calculate the difference.

  I drag his limp body toward the door, aligning his new injury with the floor. I don’t hesitate or overthink it. I pick up the syringe that’s rolled to the floor from our chase and uncap it. I take his hand and find a bulging blue vein. As soon as I puncture it with the needle, I plunge the poison I know too well into his bloodstream.


  As I envision the drug doing its silent work inside his body, I do my best to empty myself of emotion, which used to feel like the most natural thing in the world after a kill. Except I’m capable of a lot more now, thanks to Isabel. I’m not sure Simon will be so lucky. He may not feel things for a very long time.

  When it’s done, I tuck the empty syringe away inside my suit coat. Simon doesn’t move. He’s no longer a threat. Even after he regains consciousness, he won’t be. As much as I’d like to stick around to make certain of it and witness the aftermath, it’s time for me to go.

  ISABEL

  Now

  My heart races when I see Tristan’s one-word text. I glance around the room, suddenly frantic to find someone to do what I need. A large group of middle schoolers with matching orange T-shirts are huddled together near the middle of the room. One of them lingers behind, staring at his cell phone screen, far enough from the group that I decide he’s the one. There’s no time to look for a better candidate. I walk over and give a little wave.

  “Hi,” I say with a forced smile. “Can you do me a favor?”

  He looks up at me blankly. “Uh, I guess.”

  “That’s your tour guide, right?” I point to the man in the red jacket who’s almost impossible to see through the throng of students.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Could you go give this to him for me? It’s really important.”

  I reach into my back pocket and pull out a piece of paper with my handwriting on it. I don’t want him to read it yet, but kids are curious so he probably will. Hopefully he waits until I’m already out of sight.

  He takes the paper, frowning as he does. Before he can respond, I turn and walk out of the rotunda, praying this works. Tristan’s message didn’t say anything about Keegan, but if he hasn’t shown up yet, that means we only have minutes. Maybe seconds. I hurry toward the nearest bathroom and shutter myself in a stall. I rip off my long blond wig and peel off the second layer of clothes I wore. Stepping out again, I stuff everything into the trash and take a quick glance at myself in the mirror. If they start looking for the blonde with the bomb threat, they shouldn’t be looking for me.