Bella nods, clearly used to these sorts of theatrics. “We already filmed it, and Gabe sent the videos and pictures to Blackwell as we came back into town. Gabe has a meeting with him tomorrow.”
“Show me,” Thomas demands.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my fresh burner phone. I’d already sent the files to Blackwell and to this new phone before yanking the battery and SIM card on the original so that Blackwell couldn’t track us on it.
Thomas and Mia watch the videos and look at the pictures, horror dawning on their faces. “Oh, my God, that’s awful, Izzy. I can’t . . .” she says, looking away for the part where I roll Bella over the cliff’s edge. Her face’s gone slightly pale green, and I can sympathize with her. Watching it on replay had my own gorge rising. Somehow, the small-screen on the cell makes it look even more realistic, even more horrifying.
Bella gets up and hugs Mia, knowing her friend needs reassurance. “It’s okay, I’m okay.”
But Mia won’t be calmed. She shakes her head, burying her face in her hands. “We got you into this. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Iz. I had no idea.”
Bella pulls her back in, not letting go. “You couldn’t have known. None of us knew what was going on behind the scenes, and I won’t let you beat yourself up for it. I’ll sick Vash on you if I have to.”
Mia huffs a laugh and hugs Bella back. “Nirvash loves me more than you, and we both know it. Martha said she’s fine, by the way.”
Thomas and I lock eyes again, letting the girls have their moment of normalcy because we both know it’s about to end. When I nod, he clears his throat, his voice deep and resonating as he sits forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Okay, so let’s get to work on a plan because it sounds like we need to know our next move when Gabe meets with Blackwell tomorrow.”
I appreciate that he doesn’t try to stop me on this, thinking that he’s going to take over now. There are several things in play, and I know Thomas will have to keep Mia and his business at the top of his mind. But my mind is focused on one thing and one thing only.
My princess.
“Here’s what I know,” I start as I outline the skeleton of a plan I’ve come up with. Soon, we’re bouncing ideas back and forth, each of us contributing and focused on one goal.
Stopping Blackwell.
The only unknown is what ends we’ll have to go to.
Chapter 28
Blackwell
Wagner plays over my office’s sound system, and I sit back, enjoying the view of Roseboro after dark. Other than the lights from my sound system and the soft red glow above the door that beckons as if it’s the only exit strategy, the only light in the room is the dim glow of the lights filtering up from the city below, which is just how I like it.
I watch the white and red lights on the street below, people skittering this way and that as if their actions have any meaning. Perhaps in some small way, they do. A parent coming home to a child, a doctor going to work, things of that nature. But even then, it is a moment of time, a minor importance in the big scheme of life.
I focus my gaze closer, seeing my own reflection in the glass, and note my austere appearance, the power that surrounds me like a cloud of dominance. I stand taller, broader, luxuriating in my supremacy, my image making the same moves in return.
A legacy. That is something important. Something I will leave, even as I sit here in my tower, overlooking the pawns I move like a master.
Letting my eyes look further out, I cringe inwardly, anger burning deep in my stomach as I see the lights still visible in Goldstone’s abomination, glowing brightly like some happy little celebration of the young upstart’s arrogance.
I’m coming for you, Golden Boy.
I pick up the tablet in my lap and once again look over the photos I received today, my lips twitching as they try to lift into a smile. But smiles aren’t warranted yet. I have too many doubts about their authenticity and the man who sent them to me.
Besides, this is merely step one, intended to be an uncomfortable thorn in Goldstone’s side to make him focus elsewhere while I move on to step two. A diversionary tactic.
If this proves authentic, I wonder if Goldstone knows yet. Probably not, but I can still imagine the moment his data-hungry strumpet discovers that her best friend in the world is gone, the screams and tears she’ll let loose. I imagine Thomas comforting her, weakly focusing on her loss instead of keeping his eye on the prize.
His company.
When he’s distracted, I’ll move in and take back what is mine. My rightful place as the leader of this town. More than merely a king, but a creator, the one who designed everything from the infrastructure to the governmental minions who are in place because of my financial support.
I swipe to the next picture. The images are realistic, and on the surface are beautiful proof of her death, and I feel dark excitement bloom in my chest. I zoom in on a blood spatter on Miss Turner’s cheek, noting the already purple tint from Gabriel’s blow.
I’ll admit that I have had serious doubts that the well-regarded Fallen Angel was going to come through this time. He’d seemed rather caught in Isabella Turner’s web, but perhaps he’s a better actor than I’d given him credit for.
If he’s authentic.
I watch the video again, enjoying the moment when Isabella realizes the monster she’s let in, see the confusion and fear dawning in her eyes.
And for just a moment, I do smile, letting myself celebrate a small victory and feeling excitement for what’s to come.
My office phone rings, and I turn around, picking up the private line. “Yes?”
“Sir . . . it’s Jericho.”
Just the man I was looking to hear from, for he holds the verdict on Gabriel’s actions. I lean back in my chair, setting the tablet aside. “What news do you have for me, Mr. Jericho?”
“Your concerns were correct. Jackson has been lying to you.”
My hand grips the phone tighter. So much for small victories. But I don’t let Jericho hear my disappointment or anger. “I see. And you are certain about this?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine. Come to my office as soon as you’re in town.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll have options for you when I arrive.”
Jericho hangs up the line, and I pick the tablet back up to glance at the pictures again. Too good to be true, a false reproduction of the horror movie result I wished for.
I should’ve trusted my gut all along.
That a woman of so little importance is costing me this much in time, effort, and finances is ridiculous. I’m regretting not hiring a two-bit thug at this point, one that would’ve been completely expendable after the job was done. But my penchant for elegance in my revenge was too strong, and now I’m paying the price and past ready to move on to the aftermath of Isabella Turner’s death.
But a good strategist knows to keep forces in reserve, to build plans upon plans, with contingencies for every possible outcome. So Gabriel’s betrayal is not a crippling blow, but a new opportunity for bigger, bolder moves.
My lips twist wryly as I consider various ideas, from simple to complex, before deciding on a course of action.
He and Miss Turner will be the new assignment. It shall serve them right for their deception, and serve me well for my plans for Goldstone.
The fresh thought of his name makes my blood boil in my veins. Even without knowing it, he’s thwarting my plays. How can one man be so lucky?
I may not have Lady Luck on my side, but I have something far more beneficial, unfettered cruelty. And I’m all too willing to acquaint Goldstone with what a true leader of this city can do when he puts his mind, will, and pocketbook to work.
I squeeze the tablet in my hand tightly and then unleash my anger, the device flying through the air and hitting the glass.
I look over, seeing the lights of the city as a starburst effect through the shatter. They add highlight and shadow to my refracted image, giving me a m
onstrously hideous appearance.
“You have no idea what’s coming for you, Golden Boy. But I do. I have so many plans for us.”
Chapter 29
Gabriel
The park’s quiet, and across the pond I can see a couple of basketball courts that are currently empty. It’s a weekday, a school day, and it’s still way too early for almost anyone to be up for a pickup game.
I approach the bench where Blackwell sits, taking a deep breath to calm myself and do a final scan of the park for gunmen.
Get it done. Buy yourself time to figure out what you’re going to do with this snake, I tell myself when I’m satisfied it’s safe.
Setting my concern aside, I finish my approach, mentally verifying that my gun is tucked away in easy reach, in the false pocket of my light jacket. The jacket is more for concealment than the weather. The early morning sun is shining brightly enough that I don’t feel the cold yet.
Blackwell, as always, is well-dressed, this time in a dark suit. I’d feel honored, except I know enough about Blackwell to guess that he never dresses down. I’d bet the man wears three-piece pajamas to bed, with a matching robe for every set.
“Right on time, Mr. Jackson.”
It sounds more observational than complimentary or conversational, so I don’t respond. I sit down on the bench beside him, angling myself to have an advantage. Though I’m well aware that if this doesn’t go off successfully, I’m a dead man anyway, here or in some unsuspecting alley later.
“You know,” Blackwell says as he pulls out his phone, turning it over in his hands. I wonder if he’s recording what we’re saying or if someone’s listening in through it. “You’ve really not done what I hired you to do.”
I can hear the threat in his voice, but I knew there would be some strong-arming with him. I have to deal with his skepticism now before it gets out of hand. “You asked me to eliminate Isabella Turner and I did. You have proof.”
“I hired you to kill her to send a message to my enemies, to take their hearts from them,” Blackwell growls, raising a fisted hand like he’s holding an actual beating heart. “I wanted more than pictures.”
“If you want to take your enemy’s heart, what better way to do it than to actually capture it first before you crush them?” I ask coldly, letting a bit of that side of me out, even though it’s now devoted to protecting Bella. “Now he can spend days, weeks, and months being eaten up with doubt and worry. It’s more effective than cancer.”
“Hmm . . . I have yet to know a cancer that had the side benefits you indulged in.”
“It was an effective tactic to get her alone and trusting me,” I explain calmly. “She had a difficult life. She trusted very few people. Even before this, she had been betrayed and disappointed by most people she’d met. Getting her to leave her protective detail behind for the day was damn-near impossible, but I did it. And I’m sure that when she didn’t return as scheduled, the guards sounded the alarm. And if you think she wasn’t terrified, you need to rewatch those videos. Hell, send them to Karakova if you want to really torture Goldstone.”
The words turn my stomach, talking about my Bella that way, but I have to add just a touch of sociopathy in order to make this convincing. Blackwell has to actually think I don’t give a damn one way or another about what happened, that it’s just a job.
It helps, but Blackwell hums anyway.
“Photos and videos are scant proof. I want the body.”
“Good fucking luck,” I growl, looking over at him. “That cliff was an hour’s hike into the woods, and I dumped her into a ravine. I sure as hell wasn’t hauling a human body out of there over my shoulder, and I dumped it there for a reason. It’s already been twenty-four hours. By now, the body’s most likely in some wolf or bear’s belly. Besides, the lack of a body is what will destroy Mia, and therefore, Goldstone. A body, a funeral, and a casket lowering into the ground at a place you can go talk to a tombstone give closure of a sort.”
It’s the painful truth. Visiting Jeremy’s grave is a pitiful substitute for him, but it has helped me over the years.
“Without a body, they’ll only have questions and get none of that peace. Ever,” I continue. “And like I said, when the questions have eaten up so much . . . that is when you do what you want.”
It’s a bluff, one I’d prepared for. Still, it’s a reach, and as Blackwell stares at me, I remember why I’m doing something so dangerous. I remember what I have to live for.
It’s going to be the force of my personality and my balls that’ll get us through this, hopefully getting us enough time until I can ensure Bella’s safety.
“You should know I’m not a man who accepts excuses,” Blackwell rumbles after a moment. “If I want a body, I get a body. I should withhold payment.”
“Keep your money,” I reply with a shrug. “We both know that’s not why I took this contract. But if you want to walk out of this park alive, I expect you to keep your end of the bargain and give me the information. And if you think your security men can stop me before I pull the trigger on the pistol I have in my pocket . . . well, try me.”
“Is your dead brother really worth that much to you?”
I nod, looking into Blackwell’s eyes. It’s the first time I’ve really seen him clearly, not hidden in the murky shadows of his office but in the exposing light of day, and I don’t see any humanity in those dead orbs.
Then again, people probably say the same thing about me, or at least they did before Bella brought me back to life. I worry he can see that in my eyes too and deflect.
“You damn well know that’s what I’ve been after.”
I’ll hand it to Blackwell, he doesn’t flinch, though I doubt too many people dare to speak to him that gruffly. Calmly, he reaches inside his jacket, but I’m on edge and move towards my gun.
He smirks and holds up a staying hand. Slowly, he withdraws a small envelope, like the kind you’d put a greeting card in.
He holds it out, and I take it, feeling the data card inside shift around. “This had better not be encrypted.”
“It’s not.” Blackwell rises and puts on a fedora that once again casts his eyes in shadow. “I’m afraid I have a meeting to attend. Don’t move from this bench until I’ve cleared the park, Mr. Jackson. I have eyes on you. Standoff, yes?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “A standoff only works when both parties give a damn about actually walking away. Remember that, Mr. Blackwell, if you considered welching on your data.”
Blackwell purses his lips, and I can’t tell if it’s in amusement or anger. “I don’t think we’ll be meeting again, Mr. Jackson. At least not in this life. Perhaps in hell?”
I give him an evil grin, like it’s a date I’m looking forward to. “I’m sure you’ll be waiting with a proper barbecue and torture rack all ready for me on the outermost ring. Face it, they wouldn’t let you into hell anyway.”
“Oh?”
“They’d worry you’d take over.” I chuckle like it’s a joke, though there’s more truth than I’d like in the words about the power-hungry nature of his soul.
He tips his hat to me and walks away. After a few moments, I stand up, heading in the opposite direction. I don’t know if Blackwell really has eyes on me. The whole idea that you can feel when someone’s watching you is just stereotypical horror movie acting, but I’m careful nevertheless. I definitely can’t go back to Goldstone’s, not now that I truly might have a tail.
So I head to the motel, alone. I hope it was enough, that Blackwell will move on to bigger fish, namely Thomas, who’s preparing for him. But that’ll only happen if Blackwell bought my bullshit and there’s no way to know if he did yet.
What’s not bullshit is the data card in my pocket and the feeling inside me, hoping against hope that I’ll be able to have my cake and eat it too for once in my life.
Chapter 30
Isabella
“So, how’d you sleep?”
I yawn, stretching as I pad my wa
y into the ‘living room’ of Mia’s penthouse, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “Hard,” I admit, smiling as I see Mia looking cute in black pants and a T-shirt from a band she sent me the link to. She calls it ‘recommended listening’. I call it ‘have an opinion by the next time I see her or she’ll shove earbuds in my ears.’ Tomato, tomahto. “Cute shirt. And yes, I listened. Starlight was okay, but I liked the older stuff better. And who names their band Babymetal anyway?”
Mia grins, giving a light golf-style clap. “Well done. There’s hope for you yet. We’ll see if Charlotte does as well on her musical pop quiz too.” She’s half-joking but mostly telling the truth. I can already foresee an in-depth musical analysis in my future.
For now, she’s distracted by bigger fish though. “Gabe’s already gone?”
I nod. Letting him go had been hard, knowing that he was walking into a potentially deadly situation. But he’d taken every precaution, leaving extra-early to decrease the chances he’d been seen at Goldstone Tower, carefully tailoring his windbreaker to conceal his gun, and even letting me check everything too, carefully following the steps Saul at the range showed me in an attempt to ease my worries.
It’d worked for a minute, but as soon as he’d left, I’d curled up in bed, terror gripping my stomach in its icy fist. I basically chewed my lip off and picked at my cuticles with nerves, wishing I had a phone to at least check in with him by text message if nothing else.
But the anxiety had worn me out, especially given the stress of the last few days, and somewhere along the way, I’d fallen asleep. It’s almost lunch now, and still no word from Gabe. I knew he wouldn’t be able to call for a bit in an attempt to make sure everything is clear before we make contact again, but that doesn’t assuage my worries.
“When is Charlotte coming over?” I ask Mia, eager for any sort of distraction.
“She should be here any minute. She’s bringing a bag to stay too, so we can keep the whole gang safe together. I gave her the bare bones of what’s happening but kept it pretty generic since we were on the phone. And I told her to look frantic, scared, and basically freaked the fuck out as she left work, rushed home, and came over. She’s no actress, but I think she can fake the tears she’d cry if something had actually happened to you.”
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