“Give me what I’ve always wanted and this ends,” I repeat again, my mind flipping through memories. The panic room in Philadelphia, the janitor in the school parking lot, the secret room in his house in Colombia, his brother bleeding, dying at my feet. “I was a target back when his hit man entered my house when I was sixteen years old. I was the original target when my parents were kidnapped. I’m the one he’s been after all year. I killed his brother. My parents killed his son. I am what he’s always wanted. I am why he won’t stop.”
This is my fault. It’s always been my fault.
My fists clench in my hands, my fingernails cutting into my flesh, as I trap the scream in my throat. I tuck my mother and Cam’s father and Michael and the other fallen Black Angels into the dark corner of my heart. I could not save them. But I will save whoever could be next. This ends now, and whether it’s my life or his, it truly makes no difference to me. Because death is far better than living like this.
“Reagan, please don’t,” Luke says, his voice weary and fearful, as if he can hear my thoughts, as if he knows what’s next.
“I cannot stand by and read the same story in that file or see more dead photos of the people we love,” I answer, pointing toward the computer. “I’m rewriting this ending.”
“No, Reagan,” Luke says and in a flash, he’s standing in front of me, his body blocking the doorway as I turn around to leave. “Don’t do this. In a few months, you’ll be in the training academy. You’ll be assigned to a team. You’ll gain security clearance. You can take care of Torres then.”
“I don’t even know if I’ll make it to the academy, let alone the RT squad,” I answer. “Sam already talked to me about how I’m not a team player and my spot could go to Lex in the end.”
“And you think this is going to prove that you deserve to be on the RT squad?” Luke scoffs, still blocking my path.
“No, but this might be my only shot to end this, Luke,” I answer, trying to push past him. “Don’t you understand? I could have a desk job or get cut and that will get me nowhere near Torres. And if I actually become an agent, you think the Black Angels are just going to let me go rogue? Hell no, I’ll be kicked out either way. I have to do this. I can’t let him just get on a plane and escape when he’s so close.”
“Reagan, this is beyond stupid and dangerous,” Luke says, grabbing me by the shoulders. “Michael is already dead. You’re not going to get yourself kicked out, you’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Well, that’s a risk I’m more than willing to take,” I answer and turn back toward Cam. “Can you track him from your laptop? Feed me intel so I can find them?”
“I can,” Cam affirms and looks down at the computer. “Grab your earpiece and some radio equipment. I’ll grab mine and talk you through where they’re heading next and how to get there.”
“Reagan, I won’t let you do this,” Luke says, spitting his words and then turning his sharp tongue toward Cam. “Why are you encouraging her? This is practically suicide.”
“Because I think she needs to do this,” Cam answers, his dark eyes gleaming with the agony he tries to bury. “My father may still be breathing, but he’ll never be the same. And if anyone can stop Torres, you know it’s Reagan.”
“Please, Luke,” I say and gently touch his forearm. “I have to do this. I can’t live like this anymore. I’d rather be dead. I know you don’t want to see me go, but I’m doing this with or without you. So move.”
Luke stares at me hard, his eyes angry and pleading. But I won’t break. I won’t change my mind, even for him. He finally lowers his head and moves out of my way. I turn back toward Cam. “I’m grabbing my guns and radio stuff. Anusha, get me keys to one of the Jeeps and figure out how to get me outside that gate without anyone noticing.”
I turn on my heel, my bare foot squeaking against the polished concrete floor. My body moves swiftly, without me telling it where to go, what to do. In a matter of minutes, I’ve silently dressed in my gear, run to the weapons room for my Glock 22, M4 carbine, bulletproof vest, and earpiece and run back to the conference room to grab the keys. When I walk back in the room, I’m breathless. My body feels bloodless and numb. It takes me a few seconds to realize Luke is no longer there.
Anusha hands me a set of keys. “It’s the black Jeep. The one closest to the end. It’s nearly three a.m. so there are no guards at the back gate, just security cameras.”
“I’ve already spliced in and frozen all the cameras,” Cam says from his computer “So unless they’re staring at the time stamp, the remaining guards will have no idea that you’ve gone out the back or pulled out the gate.”
“Genius. How do I even get out?” I ask, adrenaline rushing through my body.
“Just tell me when you’re at the gate,” Cam answers, sitting back down at his computer. “I’ve got access to that stuff. I’ll open the gate for you. Once you get out of the gate, take a left and start driving south. I’ll get you more details as they come in.”
“Okay, thanks, Cam,” I say and begin to turn around but his hand on my forearm stops me.
“Reagan, before you go, I just have to say one thing,” Cam says, his voice soft. “I know how badly you want to do this. And if you do, I’m one hundred percent behind you. But Luke may be right. Who knows how many guards Torres will have with him? Michael’s been on the RT for decades and now he’s dead. This really could be a suicide mission.”
“I know,” I answer, my voice struggling to escape my throat.
“And you still want to do this?”
“Yes,” I say, a touch stronger this time. I look into Cam’s eyes, holding his gaze. He studies me and then nods before letting me go. I gather in the pieces that make him Cam. The way he smiles at me, the right side of his mouth before the left. The way his eyes flutter, a steady flapping of blinks when he’s nervous. The way his glasses are almost always smudged. I take him in and wonder if it’s the last time I’ll ever see him.
“Go get him, Reagan,” Cam finally says, his voice hushed. Determined, but scared.
“Be safe,” Anusha whispers, pulling my body in for a quick hug, her curls soft on my cheek.
“Thank you,” I respond, holding the keys up in the air. But really, it’s for everything. I couldn’t do this without them. And they know it. I take in their faces once more before racing out the door. I take the next hallway and quietly push through the back exit door.
The thick air immediately burns my aching lungs. I cough into the crook of my arm, trying not to make a sound, and I’m surprised that when I pull back, my shirt isn’t speckled with blood. I spot the black Jeep in the dark gravel parking space and run toward it. I unlock the door, throw my gear in the backseat, and just as I’m about to climb in the driver’s side, I hear my name.
My body tenses. But then I hear it again. I swing around and see Luke rushing across the parking lot toward me, dressed in his gear, weapons in his hands.
“What are you doing?” I whisper loudly as he reaches me.
“I won’t let you do this alone,” Luke answers, shaking his head.
“But you said it yourself,” I answer, grabbing at his shirtsleeve as he throws his gear in the backseat. “It’s a suicide mission. I’m willing to risk my life. I’m not willing to let you risk yours.”
“No way. I’m coming,” Luke answers, walking around to the other side of the Jeep and climbing into the passenger’s seat.
“Luke, go back,” I reply, my voice forceful as I climb into my side of the car. “I will not let you do this. Get out of the car and go back inside.”
“No,” Luke responds firmly before lacing his fingers through my open hand. “Either we both go or you don’t go at all. I will not leave you. I promised I’d always run after you. Remember?”
I nod my head. “I do.”
“Well, then what are you waiting for?” he answers, letting go of my hand and settling back into his seat. “Let’s go get Torres.”
I stare at Luke fo
r a moment, trying to find the words to change his mind, force him back into the compound. But I know him. He followed me to Colombia. He followed me out of that truck and into the barn. He followed me into Torres’s house. He followed me into Qualifiers. He has followed me into danger every single time while I kicked and screamed and begged him to reconsider. There’s nothing I can say to get him out of this car. So I turn the keys of the Jeep and the engine revs to life.
“Okay, Cam,” Luke says into his earpiece as I put the Jeep into drive and pull toward the gate. “Let us out.”
“On it,” Cam answers and the heavy metal gate shakes before opening. “Glad you decided to join us, Luke.”
“Me too,” Luke answers and stares out into the black, Indonesian night.
I switch on my headlights and turn left, toward the south. And toward Torres.
THIRTY-TWO
“Okay, guys, stay on this route,” Cam says in my ear as I drive down a lightless two-lane road somewhere in South Sumatra, Indonesia. “I finally got radio transmissions working so I can actually listen in on some of their conversations. It looks like one of Torres’s SUVs is heading west toward a river town about ten miles from where you are.”
“Why do you think they’ll go there?” I ask, pressing the talk button on my earpiece.
“Because it’s the only thing around for miles,” Cam answers. “I’m following CORE’s intel, and they suspect he’ll stop to change vehicles at a warehouse in town.”
“Do we know how many cars or people are involved in all this?” Luke asks next to me.
A beat-up pickup truck with only one headlight passes us in the other lane. I glance at the clock: 3:13 a.m. I wonder where they’re going.
“CORE is tracking two SUVs,” Cam answers. “One is about twenty minutes behind the other. Pulled out of the same area near the prison.”
“And you have no idea which car Torres is in?” I ask.
“Nope,” Cam answers and I imagine him sucking on his bottom lip as he shakes his head. One of his twitches I’ve come to learn over our many months together. “Just keep heading southwest. I’m tracking everything I can think of. I’ll feed you more info as soon as I have it.”
“Copy. Thanks, Cam,” I answer and grab the steering wheel with both hands. It’s then I realize I can’t really feel my fingertips. I can’t feel my hands either. My body is moving, grabbing on to things. It’s functioning, but I feel transparent. I bite my teeth down into my lip, welcoming the sharp sting, just to make sure I’m still alive.
After many miles of silence, I can feel Luke staring at me. But my eyes stay focused on the road in front of me, my mouth growing drier by the second. I wish I’d remembered water. A few seconds more, he’s still staring.
“What?” I say without bothering to look over to his side of the car.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Luke finally says. “You don’t have to kill him. You could apprehend him. Bring him back to the compound.”
“Not a chance,” I answer.
“You’d be a hero,” Luke continues.
“I’d be a hero if I killed him too,” I answer, shaking my dark hair over my shoulder.
“No you won’t,” Luke replies softly. “I mean, perhaps in some eyes, yes. But you’ll be back to being a combative rule breaker again. This could very well mean the end for you.”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I don’t need to be someone’s hero. In fact, I don’t want to be someone’s hero.”
“You’re that little girl’s hero,” Luke answers and my body seizes. “You could be a lot of people’s heroes.”
Tears rise to the base of my throat at the thought of Charlotte. The way she clung to me, crying so hard she could barely form a complete sentence. The overwhelming emotion of her parents when they saw their daughters alive. She is one of the reasons I wanted to become a Black Angel. But it all takes second place to Torres. Always has. And always will.
My head throbs as I try to swallow the tears, clawing their way up my raw throat, their threatening sting in my ragged eyes. “Look, if you didn’t want to help me, you shouldn’t have come,” I say sharply, gripping the steering wheel so hard now, I fear my knuckles will break through my skin.
“I do want you help you,” Luke replies. “I just want you to really think about this.”
“I already have. For a god damn year I’ve been thinking about this, Luke.”
“Look, I know this is what you want. But at least consider apprehending him,” Luke says. “I’ve got handcuffs and zip ties in the back. You could take one of our most wanted men off the list. Continue with training. Become the Black Angel your mom wanted you to be.”
I grip the steering wheel tighter, the tendons in my arm twisting until they throb. Since the moment Torres killed her, every mile I’ve run, every bullet I’ve shot, every skill I’ve mastered has been for her. But I haven’t stopped once to think about what she would want me to do. Would she want me to kill Torres? Or would she want me to arrest him? Bring him to justice. Confine him to an eight-by-eight-foot cell for the rest of his life.
Before I can answer Luke, the radio crackles in my ear and I ready myself for an update. “They were right. Their SUV is slowing down up ahead. Looks like they’re stopping in the river town. I’ll keep tracking them to see where they go. In about two miles, you guys are going to come up on an unmarked road on your right. Take it. That will take you into town. But hurry. We don’t know how long they’ll be there. Because after they switch cars, they’ll head to an airport and be gone.”
“On it,” I answer, pressing my earpiece deeper into my ear.
My feet slam on the accelerator, pushing the SUV to over a hundred miles an hour, Luke’s plea still floating in the air. But that ember burns, hotter and higher, until all I can smell is smoke.
THIRTY-THREE
“Cam, we’re parking two blocks away from the warehouse,” I say as I quietly roll the car up to an empty block, my headlights off for the last quarter mile. I put the car in park next to what looks like an abandoned apartment building. But the dirty tricycle on the sidewalk and the playpen on the front porch tell me no, people actually live here.
“Good, all signs point to them still being in the warehouse,” Cam replies in our ears. “They entered two minutes and forty-seven seconds ago but they will not be there for long. You’ve got to move it, Reagan.”
“Copy,” I reply, leaving the keys in the ignition for what I hope will be a quick getaway. My lungs tighten at the thought of not making it back to the car. Or even worse, making it back here without Luke.
“Ready?” Luke says, reaching for his bulletproof vest in the backseat.
My right hand reaches out, grabbing his wrist before his hands can touch his vest. “Luke, stay here. I don’t want you to come. Please. Stay in the car.”
“No way,” Luke says, shaking me free and grabbing his vest. He pulls it over his body, quickly tightening the Velcro straps. “I wouldn’t let you go in alone in Colombia. I’m sure as hell not going to let you go in alone now.”
“It’s too dangerous,” I reply, shaking my head. “Please. You could die. I’m not willing to risk that.”
“Well, without me,” Luke says, handing me my M4 carbine, “you will die. So either we go and do this together or we drive back to the compound right now. Your decision. What will it be?”
My veins expand with my racing blood, pellets of fear throbbing, as round and real as my red blood cells. We could just turn around. Make it back to the compound before anyone even knows we were gone. Resume training. Let the Black Angels take care of Torres. Live the life that was planned for me before I was even born.
My eyes tear away from Luke and look down the block at the lit warehouse where Torres may be changing clothes, changing cars, and getting away with another horrific set of murders. Two blocks away. The monster is only two blocks away. And I didn’t come within two blocks of my mother and Michael’s killer to turn around now.
&nb
sp; “No,” I say, my head firmly shaking from side to side as I turn my eyes back to Luke. “Let’s go.”
Luke slowly nods his head as he takes in a deep breath that matches the anxious rise of my own chest. Our eyes trace each other’s faces, not blinking, not wanting to forget a single curve or hue, in case these are our last few minutes together alive.
I break our gaze first, popping open the door and leaving it ajar so as not to alert Torres or his guards to our presence. One slam of a car door in this sleeping town and their guns would be in their hands.
Luke and I silently run down the two blocks, keeping our bodies in the shadows and away from any post light (although in this desolate part of Indonesia, those are few and far between). The night air is dense, almost suffocating, but despite its temperature, it chills me all the same.
As we reach the warehouse, I signal for Luke to stop. Our heads pivot around the building, searching for a low window. Luke spots one first and points to the west side of the warehouse where light penetrates through a small window in a metal door. We push our bodies along the wall, clinging to the darkness, the coarse brick rubbing against our clothing. Fifty yards away, forty yards away, thirty yards away, twenty, ten, five. Once we’re just feet away, I push my hand to the center of Luke’s chest, stopping him from peering inside. If anyone should look and get caught, it’s me.
My arms begin to tingle and the gun feels heavier in my hands by the second. I breathe in, trying to quell the shaking that I know will follow the tiny pinpricks to my skin. I take a step closer to the window, peering through its corner. And then I see him. Torres stands in the center of the warehouse, his clothing drenched in blood. I study him for a second more, just to be sure, but there’s no mistaking that black hair with sparks of silver, that salt-and-pepper goatee. His strong jaw and dark, empty eyes.
My heartbeat pounds out distress signals like Morse code as I pull my body back to the safety of the shadows. “It’s him,” I whisper.
“Are you sure?” Luke whispers back.
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