Mom won’t tell me how he’ll do it or where the documents for my new identity came from. She assures me everything will make sense once I get to my destination. The important thing is getting there. Crossing this threshold as soon as possible.
I fold my hands across my torso, running my fingers over the exposed ink peeking out from under my sports bra. One life… What if one life becomes two?
I shake off the thought, because it doesn’t matter. If they want me dead, I’ll die. And then I’ll start anew.
We go back to the suitcases. Mom has packed them with my new wardrobe and anything else I may need on the road. Everything’s brand-new with tags. Lots of black. Tight jeans and formfitting shirts. Boots and a pair of Converse just like the pair I left behind in Rio. She said she wanted me to feel strong and beautiful. A new me.
I feel new. Beautiful, okay. Strong, working on it.
She crouches over one full bag and zips it up tight and then the other. I’m leaving before it gets dark. Nervous energy courses through me. I can’t believe I’m doing this. But it feels like Rio. Like Tristan. The thing I need to do…
Mom stands and lifts the heaviest bag to rest on its rollers. The manila folder with my new identification is on the couch where we left it, along with a debit card loaded with all the money I’ll need to get set up someplace new and keys to the car that’ll take me there.
“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Tristan?”
This is your new life. You decide who you want in it, she said when we went through all the documents and mapped out the plan.
Ten days ago, Tristan crash-landed back into my world. Ten days ago, I stepped out of the safety and security of my life and blindly ran with him into another chapter, not truly understanding what I’d be leaving behind. I’ve been careening through it all, clinging to Tristan to anchor me and make sense of it.
Of course I want to wait for him. I’m undeniably in love with him. I’d be content to curl up with him in this hotel room for the rest of my days and forget the rest of the world exists. When he touches me, my pain goes someplace else. When he leaves, I’m a mess. I’m scared to death of everything. And this is why I can’t wait.
Facing the unknown future is terrifying, but it’s the only way forward. Wishing for things to be the way they once were would be a futile waste of energy with danger on my heels and a band of faceless enemies committed to securing my destruction.
This truth is fortifying in its own way. I’m choosing the point where my old life ends and my new life begins on my own terms, in my own way. I’m drawing this mark on the timeline of my life alone.
I love Tristan, and I trust he’ll find me when he’s meant to.
TRISTAN
I managed to escape Jay’s apartment without clashing with the men outside. I had to steal a car to do it, but I managed. I’m relieved and unsure. Motivated by the information I now have—a stack of folders with all the hit men who are a leash tug away from carrying out Jay’s, or Soloman’s, bidding.
I never really considered the hierarchy of things before. Jay was God. The gauzy vision in the sky that ruled my world. Knowing someone wields power above her, someone who sought me out for this hit, unnerves me.
Jay’s semblant commitment to help has me knotted up too. I should have killed her, but I let her go with a bruised neck and mercy I swore I’d never give her.
I’m not used to hesitating. But ever since I decided not to pull the trigger on Isabel, I’ve been doing a lot more of that.
Still, I killed a man back there. Doing so evened the score, except I’m not celebrating it. I won’t come home to Isabel a hero tonight. She’ll think of the notebook and carry the weight of my decision and blame herself for the words she spoke in the depths of her misery.
On my way to our floor, I decide I won’t tell her. God knows, she’s dealing with enough gravity right now. I hover the key card over the sensor and walk inside, expecting to see her with her mother, maybe watching TV or talking over room service and a stiff drink. But the room is dark.
I flip on the lights. The room’s been cleaned. It’s bare of any signs of her. My heart’s in my throat as I walk the three rooms, confirming she’s gone. I double back to the bedroom and look around frantically, when something catches my eye.
In two long strides I’m at the bedside table. I pick up the notebook. Its worn leather slides against my fingertips.
She’s gone. Really gone.
An icy fear works its way through me when I think of her out in the world, alone, when she’s just now begun to understand what a savage place it can be.
“Fuck!”
I hurl the notebook across the room. It bounces off the wall and drops to the floor, both dull sounds that do nothing to represent my current frustration.
I walk over to retrieve it, noting how the leather straps come loose along with one of the pages. I open it and pull free the torn-out paper. Scrawled with someone else’s handwriting, it’s not like the others. I know it’s Isabel’s instantly by the feminine swoop of the letters.
St. Joan of Arc, New Orleans
The loose page was wedged above the last entry I’d made several weeks ago. A narco in Miami who very likely had it coming. Below his name is another. One I didn’t write. One that’s been etched into my brain since she called out my name…
Isabel Foster
A short dash takes the place where I’d have logged my fee had I gone through with it.
Seeing her name written among the dead sends my anxiety into overload. Worry spikes through my gut until I’m pacing along the bed, trying to figure out how the fuck this went down. What does this mean? Where the fuck is she?
Why… Why is her name here? Written in the same feminine script.
I stop in place. As I drag my thumb over the ink, the fury in my veins lowers to a simmer. The rage and the worry turn into something else.
Hope.
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More Information on The Red Ledger
The Hacker Series
Hardwired
Hardpressed
Hardline
Hard Limit
Hard Love
The Bridge Series
On My Knees
Into The Fire
Over the Edge
About the Author
Meredith Wild is a #1 New York Times, USA Today, and international bestselling author. After publishing her debut novel Hardwired in September 2013, Wild used her ten years of experience as a tech entrepreneur to push the boundaries of her “self-published” status, becoming stocked in brick-and-mortar bookstore chains nationwide and forging relationships with the major retailers. In 2014, Wild founded her own imprint, Waterhouse Press, under which she hit No. 1 on the New York Times and Wall Street Journal bestsellers lists. She has been featured on CBS This Morning, The Today Show, the New York Times, The Hollywood Reporter, Publishers Weekly, and The Examiner. Her foreign rights have been sold in over 22 languages.
For more information, please follow Meredith Wild at:
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