Decker

by Summers, Eden

  “What?” His head snaps up. “Are you serious?”

  “Unfortunately.” I slide my plate to the center of the table. “She thinks it will stop him from blowing my brains out.”

  “Is it true?”

  “No.” I push from my seat and go to the kitchen. “At least that’s what she says.”

  “You can’t blame me for asking. You’re not known for doing the smartest shit.”

  “Thanks.” I pull open the fridge and ignore the fresh insult. “Want a beer?”

  “Yeah.”

  I walk back to the table and slide a can toward him. “We need to figure out this plan before Keira gets carried away with ideas of her own vigilante justice. We can give her something basic to do. Surveillance or some shit. Something to keep her busy and feel like she’s played a pivotal role.”

  Hunt stares at me with an annoying level of patronizing judgement.

  “What?”

  He shrugs. “Nothin’.”

  “No, it’s definitely something. You’re looking at me as if you know more than I do.”

  “I know determined women, that’s all.”

  “You know one determined, psychotic woman. Keira’s nothing like Sarah.”

  “Maybe not.” He takes a large gulp of beer. “But if Richard laid hands on her, shouldn’t she have the right to fuck him up on her own terms?”

  “You weren’t with her after the shooting. You don’t know how something like this would stick with her. She’ll be eaten alive with remorse, regardless of how he deserves to rot in hell.”

  “Or she could be eaten alive with regret if she doesn’t do it herself.”

  No. I don’t believe that would happen.

  She’s got a big heart. She’s not capable of murder. Not with her own hands.

  “Look,” Hunt grates. “I agree with you. I don’t think she should be anywhere near him when he takes his last breath. But I want you to think about what she’s missing out on before you take the option away from her.”

  “I’ve thought about it. I don’t need to fixate on it anymore.”

  He shrugs. “Okay, then we make sure she knows it’s not a possibility.”

  “We?” I raise a brow. “Are Hunt and Deck back together again, kickin’ it like old times?”

  He glares. “Don’t push your luck, motherfucker.”

  I chuckle but take the warning like it’s a death threat.

  I don’t push. Not at all.

  I work my ass off to keep a level conversation sprinkled with sarcastic insults and blatant contempt. Just like the good ol’ days.

  We mutter murderous ideas at each other while we finish the sandwiches. We work out a plan for Richard, and Luther, and also that fucker who’s blackmailing her. We’ll knock them off one by one. Strategically. Quietly. Without a single lead weaving its way back to us.

  “Keira wants to drive back tonight.” I finish off another beer and throw the can across the kitchen, scoring a three-pointer in the sink. “I’m going to give her the rest of the afternoon to cool off and talk to her about the plan in the car. Even if we leave soon, we won’t arrive until late. Hopefully, she’ll be too tired to argue.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  I glance toward the porch, no longer able to ignore my need to lay eyes on her. “They’ve been out there for a long time.”

  “That’s because neither one of them wants to be near us.”

  I push from my chair and walk to the back door, not seeing a soul in sight. “They’re still out front.”

  Sarah’s plate rests on the railing, a half-eaten sandwich sitting in the sun. It’s quiet. Everything is detached, devoid and bare. But funnily enough, not Hunter.

  Despite his thick layers of hatred, I’m grateful for his willingness to talk. It’s more than I deserve. But it doesn’t stop me wanting more.

  His understanding would go a long way right about now.

  The briefest flicker of empathy is all I ask.

  “Do you plan on finishing me off after all this is done?” I keep my focus outside, not willing to betray my feelings on the subject.

  “I haven’t decided.”

  I nod, appreciating the honesty.

  “Do you think you’ve got the balls to kick my ass again?” he asks.

  “Apparently, I didn’t kick your ass. I’ve been told you let me win.”

  He huffs out a derisive laugh. “You won, asshole. I was too surprised to know what to do.”

  My skin prickles, my senses unfamiliar with his thinly veiled compliment. “Surprised at the betrayal? Or—”

  “You being an informant is beyond surprising. That shit falls into a category above and beyond. But I had a few hours to come to terms with it before we got to that barn. What threw me off was your ability to pack a punch. I guess I don’t know shit when it comes to you.”

  Maybe there’s a glimpse of truth in what Sarah told me earlier. I guess Hunt could be a hard man filled with gooey softness after all.

  “I did it for my sister.”

  “I know,” he grates, as if deliberately trying to harden up the conversation.

  “And I wouldn’t change a thing. Apart from getting my ass exposed.”

  “You’re not exposed. Not entirely. We could still find a way to get her back.”

  “No. It’s too late.” I wince through the tightening in my throat. “I found out a few weeks ago that she’s gone. It was Murphy’s fucking Law that Torian finally brings me into the fold, then days later I get news that they’ve found her DNA in a shallow grave.”

  That dreaded, uncomfortable silence creeps back in and makes itself at home for long seconds.

  “That’s tough.” Hunt’s words are measured. Gentle. “I’m sorry.”

  I frown, battling the feels like they’re waging war against me. “Yeah, well, the good news is that I’m not going to have to grieve for long. You’re going to take care of that shit by putting me six feet under.”

  “I’m not going to kill you, asshole. It’s just bullshit that you didn’t tell me in the first place.”

  “That was never an option and you know it. You’re loyal to Torian. You would’ve gunned me down long ago.”

  “I was fucking loyal to you, too, you piece of shit,” he seethes. “More fucking loyal than you were to me.”

  “And how would I have broached that conversation, Hunt?” I swing away from the door and glare at him. “There’s no rulebook for this shit.”

  “We’ve worked together a long time. There was a lot of opportunity for you to open your fucking mouth and sing to me instead of chirping like a fucking canary to the Feds.”

  My lip curls as I hold in a snarl.

  The judgmental prick has no idea how I’ve battled keeping my secrets from him. He doesn’t know what I’ve been through.

  There are a thousand possibilities that could’ve, should’ve, and would’ve happened with each decision I made. I had to come to terms with my actions. I can’t go back and change any of them.

  “What’s done is done.” I walk toward the table and shove my chair into place. “And I’m sick of wasting more time waiting on the girls to finish their make-up session. I’m going to go drag them back in here.”

  He remains in place as I leave the room and stride down the hall to the door. I scope the front yard through the glass, finding a pile of discarded clothes resting at the top of the stairs.

  But I can’t see them.

  They’re not on the porch or in the yard.

  “Hunt.”

  Apprehension skitters down my spine. I press my head to the glass, trying to see further to the left and then the right.

  That’s when I notice the abnormality.

  Something is missing.

  Something fucking important.

  “Hunt.” I yank the door wide and step outside.

  His footsteps thump down the hall. “What?”

  “Notice something absent in this pretty little picture?”

  He glances ar
ound, taking in the open expanse of vacant land before his gaze settles right in the middle of the drive. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah. Fuck.”

  They’ve taken the car.

  I barge past him to stalk down the hall. “You might want to get on the phone to that woman of yours and tell her to stop whatever the hell she thinks she’s doing.”

  I enter my brother’s room, heading straight for the wardrobe to pull out a pair of jeans and a clean shirt.

  “Call her, Hunt,” I yell, my words vibrating off the walls. “Get her on the fucking phone.”

  Once I’m dressed, I jog from the bedroom and find him in the kitchen, his cell in hand.

  “She’s not answering.” He shoves the device in his pocket, only to have it beep with a message.

  “What does it say?” I inch closer and lift my chin, trying to read the screen.

  His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare.

  He raises the cell to show me the text—We thought you two needed some bonding time. We will see you back in Portland.

  “Get your shit,” he growls. “We can catch them. They can’t have gone far.”

  “Help me lock up.” I rush into the kitchen and pull a plastic garbage bag from beneath the sink, filling it with snacks to last us the upcoming hours on the road.

  Hunt disappears down the hall, the slam of a window pane echoing in the distance.

  Minutes later, I meet him at the front door, and he shadows me as I jog around the side of the house to his car that I stole yesterday.

  “Fuck.” Hunt stops dead in his tracks and shoves a hand through his hair. “Fucking Sarah.”

  I search for the trigger that set him off, my chest pounding, my limbs shaking as I find a kitchen knife protruding from the front passenger side tire. “Something gives me the distinct impression that they don’t give a shit about us bonding.”

  “Ya think?” he drawls.

  “They’re going back to make a move on Richard.” I break out in a cold sweat.

  Keira’s going to commit murder, without taking the time to create a proper plan. Without me there to help.

  Jesus.

  Hunter meets my gaze. “And without a spare fucking tire, we’re never going to catch them in time.”

  25

  Keira

  The hours spent on the road, strategizing the murder of one of my family, were some of the longest I’ve endured.

  It’s not like I haven’t thought about Richard’s death before. I’ve pictured it. I’ve even paid a man to complete the task. But I’ve never discussed every intricate detail that would lead to his last breath.

  Sarah spoke each word with emotional detachment. She didn’t appear fazed by the brutality. It was business. Nothing more. So I mimicked her demeanor, shoving all my fear and panic deep down inside.

  I want this.

  I need it.

  His demise has to rest on my shoulders. I don’t want Sebastian to be responsible. Or Hunter. Or even Sarah.

  This needs to be all me.

  I’m just nervous as hell at pulling the metaphorical trigger.

  What if I freeze? Or get caught?

  What happens if I can’t think on my feet and I make a crucial mistake?

  I suck in a shuddering breath, resting my hip against the cold metal of the car as I turn my attention to the hospital looming in front of me. The dominating building is bathed in shadow, the outside lights only illuminating the lower levels and leaving the dark rectangular windows to peer down at me.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Sarah asks. Again. For the seventy-fifth time.

  I’ve heard the question so many times it rings in my ears. “I’m sure.”

  “And you don’t want me going in there with you?”

  I wipe a hand over the arm of the leather jacket I borrowed, making sure the capped syringes are still firmly taped to my wrist. “No. It’s better if I do this on my own. Less suspicion that way.”

  “We can only hope.” She steps closer, grabbing the fringe of the long black wig to give it a jiggle. “At least you don’t look recognizable.”

  The different hair, the colored contacts, the fake lashes, along with the full mask of plastered make-up that accentuates my cheekbones and slims down my face, have all worked together to transform me into someone else.

  Someone who will hopefully slip into the ICU without drawing attention.

  “Will you call Sebastian and let him know what’s going on?” My heart clenches at the thought of him racing here to stop me. He needs to know he’ll never make it in time. He can’t. If he does, the whole plan could blow up in my face.

  She nods. “He’s going to be pissed.”

  “I know.” God, how I know. The guilt over the anger and disappointment he would be harboring claws at me, digging deep into my soul. “But he gave me no choice.”

  This was my decision to make. Not his.

  I’ll own my actions.

  The consequences, too.

  “Just remember to keep your cool.” Sarah continues to run her fingers through the long strands of the wig. “If something goes wrong, don’t panic. Most people get caught making rash decisions.”

  I could laugh at the absurdity. Every decision I’ve made in the last three days has been rash.

  Every. Single. One.

  I don’t know how to think differently anymore. The adrenaline-filled snap decisions have become my new norm.

  “And I know you don’t want to think about this…” She gives me a sad smile. “But if you get up there and can’t follow through, it’s not the end of the world. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay right here in the parking lot, so you can come back and ask for help at any time.”

  She’s wrong.

  I can’t back out twice. I don’t want to prove Sebastian right. It’s not an option. I failed a lot of women for not reporting my uncle when I was a child. And I’ve failed them every day since.

  I won’t do it a moment longer.

  “You’ve helped enough already.” I inch to the side, moving out of reach. “And we both came to the conclusion that this is an easy plan. In and out, remember? Undetected and unnoticed.”

  “I never said easy, Keira.” Her brow furrows, the concern written all over her face. “Please tell me you’re not jumping into this without being emotionally prepared. I need to know you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready,” I lie. “I’ve been ready for years.”

  I’m not ready. I never will be. But there’s no way in hell I’ll let fear keep me from giving Richard what he deserves.

  “Okay.” She reaches into the car, grabs the large bouquet of flowers lying in wait, and maneuvers them out the window to hand them to me. “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Thanks.” I grab the overbearing arrangement, holding it high in the crook of my elbow and take a steadying breath to keep the nerves at bay.

  Taking the first step feels like the hardest part. I have to consciously think about putting one foot in front of the other. Heel, toe. Heel, toe. I keep my head strategically low, making the blooms and colored cellophane wrap shield my face from any hidden surveillance cameras. The long hair shrouding my cheeks helps, too.

  It’s my heart that causes the problems. The heavy beat pulses in my throat as I stride through the sliding doors and straight into the nearest elevator.

  The confined space suffocates me. I cling to the flowers like a lifeline, breathing nothing but the floral scent tattooing my nostrils.

  I’ll never be able to enjoy the smell again. Not without remembering this moment.

  By the time I reach the ICU, I’m a sweating, shaking mess. The only thing saving me is a lifetime acting out a fake persona. I know how to exude confidence when I don’t have it. I’m no stranger to playing a role.

  I stroll down that hall, relaxed and laid back. My fear and overwhelming hysteria hidden. I blend, letting the bouquet shield me as I pass the nurses’ station.

  The closer I get to Richard’s room, the more
my chest aches with heavy beats. I’ve only been to see him once. The sight of him battered and lifeless could only keep me captive for a few minutes before I strode from this hall, and this hospital, for what I hoped would be forever.

  I prayed I would never have to see him again. That divine intervention would fix this mess. Somehow. Some way.

  I pinned my savior on the great unknown, and look how that turned out.

  I know better now.

  Nobody else can fix this.

  It’s me. All me.

  “Excuse me, ma’am.”

  The voice calls from behind me, back toward the nurses’ station.

  I ignore it, hoping like hell the woman is speaking to someone else. I only have one more room to pass until I’m at my destination. Five more feet. A few pained breaths.

  “Ma’am?”

  My pulse becomes a deafening throb in my ears as rushed steps approach, freezing me in place. I don’t know what to do. I can’t fathom what to say. Have I been caught already? Did Sebastian make a call and warn staff about the crazy woman about to commit murder?

  “I apologize for disturbing you.” Her voice is closer now, almost right behind me, raising the hair on the back of my neck. “But flowers aren’t allowed in the ICU.”

  All the air leaves my lungs in a barely audible heave. Relief washes through me, then just as fast as the relaxation arrived, it flees.

  No flowers means no shield.

  No shield means my face will be harder to hide.

  Don’t panic. I hear Sarah’s voice in my mind. Most people get caught making rash decisions.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” I keep my gaze low and my back toward the nurse. “What should I do with them?”

  “I can take them, if you like. We sometimes place them in other wards. I know it does little for your loved one, but it saves them from being wasted and helps to comfort other patients.”

  I nod and pivot toward her on the pads of my feet. I don’t meet her gaze, I keep those flowers in line with my face as I hand them over. “Thank you.”

  I turn away and take the final steps to my uncle’s room, my heart rampantly beating, while she wrestles with the bouquet.

  “Are you here to see Mr. Torian?” she asks, killing me slowly.