by Olivia Ash
A familiar voice pipes through the phone in her hand, interrupting my thoughts and killing the words in my throat.
“I know you're there, Irena,” Zurie says. “Answer me, damn it.”
I impulsively tense, my gaze locked on the phone as my eyes narrow with hatred. My heart skips a beat, mostly in surprise, and I quickly sift through all the ways this can benefit us.
There aren’t many.
At the sound of a strange woman’s voice in his room, Tucker bolts upright and lifts his own gun from beneath his pillow. His aim isn’t as sharp as mine, as he still has a groggy fog in his eye, but he angles his weapon in Irena’s general vicinity. He's poised and coiled, ready to spring and ready to fire at a moment's notice, even as he's not fully awake.
Thankfully, he doesn’t shoot anything.
It takes a moment for him to recognize Irena, and when he does, he groans and lowers the barrel of his gun. He rubs his face, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. “You Quinn girls sure know how to make a man jumpy.”
“Are you muted?” I ask, nodding toward the phone.
Irena nods. “I don’t even know how she got this number. This is the phone Jace gave me.”
I raise an eyebrow in surprise, impressed and grateful that Jace would do such a thing, considering what Irena and I once were. He really is doing everything he can to make her feel at home, and he's doing it all for me.
“She's trying to rile you up,” I point out. “Zurie wants you to leave this place and expose yourself.”
“Obviously,” Irena says curtly. “She wants to isolate us.”
“I have to confess, I'm disgusted,” Zurie interjects, her dark voice piping through the phone once again even though she can’t hear us. “Keeping company with dragons. I thought even you were better than that.”
Irena frowns, momentarily glaring daggers at the phone. I watch my sister's face, concerned that such a mild jab could get such a reaction.
Even though Irena knows what Zurie’s doing, it seems as though our former mentor found a way to pick at some very old wounds.
Beside me, Tucker reaches toward his nightstand, and I hear the quiet beeps of his phone as he texts someone. “The guys are on their way.”
“Great. Sure,” I say, shrugging as I wave my hand over my naked body. “We can do this without clothes. That's not weird at all.”
Tucker grins and stands, holding a sheet over his lower half as he reaches for his pajama pants off the floor. “Fine. If I absolutely must let you dress, I'll get you a shirt. But that’s all, you hear me?”
“You're such a gentleman,” I say, rolling my eyes.
In the living room beyond the bedroom suite, the door to the hallway is thrown open. Levi charges in, furious and fierce, scanning the room as if he's ready to kill whoever was stupid enough to enter and threaten us.
Seconds later, his eyes land on me, and he closes the gap between us in mere seconds as he races to my side. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, fine,” I say with a grateful smile.
Despite everything, despite how serious this is and how quickly it could devolve, I'm grateful for him. For his concern. To be so fiercely adored by someone like Levi—that’s a gift I cherish, former assassin or no.
Tucker exits the closet and throws me a long shirt. I grab it and tug it on, grateful for something to cover me even though I don't have any underwear to put on underneath it, thanks to Tucker’s rough idea of foreplay. I briefly eye the ripped shards of my underwear laying against the wall and smirk at the memory as warmth pools down my legs.
“Rory,” Irena chides, as if she can read my mind.
“Right.” I clear my throat, trying to rid my mind of the raunchy thoughts and the memory of Tucker's ravenous tongue between my thighs. “Give it here.”
Irena frowns, watching me briefly before handing it to me. As the phone hits my palm, Jace and Drew charge into the room. Both men instantly look at me, and I can see the relief run across their faces as our gazes meet. In unison, their shoulders seem to relax, like they had both expected to find me bleeding out on the floor.
Once their shared moment of relief passes, Jace glares jealously at Tucker. His jaw tenses, and his hand subtly balls into a fist, but he doesn’t say anything.
With Zurie on the line, I don't have time for this.
I unmute the phone. “What's the plan, Zurie?” I ask, letting my voice drop a little in octave to meet hers.
Relaxed. Calm. Collected.
A little bored.
I try to enjoy every word, to speak slowly and clearly. The goal is to seem as though she doesn't faze me or bother me in the least, as if she's nothing more than a toy I’m quickly growing bored of.
I try to remember how Ian spoke—whenever he called to taunt me, he had a way of speaking that made it sound like he was playing with his food. It was like everything was beneath him and life was nothing but a dull game he had already mastered.
It was irritating as fuck.
And I can totally mimic it. Zurie’s going to hate this.
With a cocky smile I use the memory of Ian’s inflection as inspiration and quickly shift gears. “You really think a little goading is enough to lure Irena out of here? You think you're going to use her as bait against me? That’s just lazy, woman. Don't get sloppy.”
The phone is silent—and, if I’m not mistaken, I hear the subtlest intake of breath as Zurie betrays her surprise.
In all likelihood, she wasn’t expecting Irena to share this information. In the past, even in cases like this, Irena and I did things solo. We would share and debate after the fact, but rarely in the moment. In the middle of the night when there was a risk, we simply dealt with it by ourselves and handled the fallout as needed.
But that was the old way. Before we knew better.
In the silence that follows, I know I'm right. I wish I could see Zurie's face. It would let me better gauge the situation and who currently holds the upper hand. Her expressions always betray so much more than her voice.
I'm just going to have to make do.
This conversation needs to go somewhere. I can’t let Zurie off the phone, not yet—I need to manipulate Zurie into giving me something. She needs to betray a clue, anything at all. Even the smallest hint might mean the difference between life and death for us.
I have to trip her up.
“Silence, huh?” I yawn, making sure the sound is exaggerated enough for her to hear through the phone. “Figures. You’re so predictable. Besides, I already know your plan,” I add, lying through my teeth. “I just thought I’d give you the chance to do something interesting for a change.”
“Enlighten me then,” Zurie quips. “What’s my plan, little Lorelei?”
I grit my teeth in anger at hearing my real name.
At the memory it always stirs within me.
My only memory of Mother is her leaning over my bed when I was little. A foggy gray room. A blurry face I can’t recall. Brown hair and a broad smile, but that’s it.
“Little Lorelei, my baby,” she’d said, her voice echoing.
That’s it—the whole memory, over in a flash—but it’s something I’ve always cherished.
Low blow, Zurie. Low blow.
At least she didn’t hang up.
I brace myself, trying to force a smarmy tone even though all I want to do is crush the phone in my hand. “You're going to try to lure one of us away from here and use her as bait against the other.” It’s my best guess, and I toss her snippets of the plan in an attempt to drag this conversation out. “You want to divide us and then dangle us in front of each other to get us out in the open.” I pause, letting my theory settle in the air as if it's truth. “You were always terrified of how strong we are together, Zurie, and we can see right through you.”
And that, right there, is the key to my plan.
Gods, I hope this works.
If I can jab at Zurie's few insecurities, I stand a real chance of getting her to spill s
omething she didn’t intend to share. I don’t have many choices, but she does have a few wounds for me to rub salt against. Her fear of failure. Her fear that perhaps she isn't the one in control of the situation.
It doesn't have to be true for her to slip up and make a mistake.
“You’re afraid,” I say, goading her and stoking the fires.
I’m close.
“A Spectre has no fear,” Zurie practically growls.
“Hmm,” I say lazily, eying my fingernails to help sell the boredom I’m trying to weave into my tone. “What does that make you, then?”
Around me, everyone can barely contain their gasps of surprise. Even Irena’s eyes widen, her lips parting slightly in shock that I would dare say such a thing to the Ghost.
But I'm not the scared little girl I was when I lived under Zurie's thumb. I’m not the obedient servant, controlled by my mentor and killing on demand.
My insult was a wicked blow, one I very much intended to give. One that’s going to cripple the last of Zurie’s resolve.
The woman’s sole identity is wrapped up in leading the Spectres. Take that away, and I disrupt everything she stands for. Everything she is.
Take that away, and I can make her weak.
“How dare you,” Zurie snaps. Her voice rumbles like thunder, and I can practically feel the hatred rolling off of every word.
My little plan is working.
My jaw tenses in anticipation as I barely hold back a retort. I need to wait, to let her sit in the silence, but it’s excruciating. Almost breathless, I wait for her to make a rare but long overdue error.
“Every breath you take is numbered,” Zurie barks. “I'm coming for you. For your men. For everything you’ve sacrificed so much to protect.”
“And I'm waiting,” I say calmly, firmly in control of the conversation. “Make your move, Zurie. I can wait as long as it takes for you to show your cards.”
It's another lie, but it'll make Zurie impatient.
That's all I need to do right now.
With this simple phone call, we're two masters playing chess, and the question is simply which of us will make the first mistake.
“You could’ve had everything, Rory,” Zurie says, her tone genuinely baffled. “Absolutely anything. I was going to give you the Spectres. I was going to make you the Ghost.”
“And then what?” I counter, not bothering to mask my contempt. “Then what else would you have made me do? Who would you have forced me to become? You just want to control me, Zurie. And the moment I refused, you tried to kill me.” I grit my teeth with loathing for this vile woman—this person I once thought of as a mother, in her own fractured way. “I'm not yours to own and control anymore.”
“No, I guess you're not,” Zurie says. Her tone shifts, and it's almost impossible to even recognize her anymore. She sounds almost—well, I would say sad, but this is Zurie. She doesn't feel grief or loss.
She just feels rage.
“My legacy is gone,” she continues. “There's nothing left. No one to rule when I leave. No one I trained, anyway,” she adds, and I can almost imagine her shrugging. “Diesel will take over when I die, and whoever he trains will take over after him. My only legacy depended on the two of you, and you both failed me. The least I can do is end what I started before my time is up.”
I pause, thinking through the words I want to say next and making sure they're perfect before I so much as open my mouth.
“If you come for me,” I say with a deadly chill in my voice, “if you come for Irena or for my men, your time will be up much faster than you think.”
I let the silence settle between us, more certain than ever that Zurie has to die.
She won't take this threat seriously because she’s vain and blind to the truth—at least when it comes to me. I was the youngest. The screw-up. The one who didn’t always blindly obey—the one who listened to intuition, rather than orders.
And that’s what brought me here—to this new life. What she always saw as my weakness was in fact my greatest strength.
She just didn’t realize it, and she’s still oblivious. It’s the one chink in her armor.
Any moment now, she will dismiss my threat like it's nothing. But that's because she has underestimated me for far too long.
“I gave you the chance for a truce, Zurie,” I add. “You were a fool not to take it.”
“You always did overestimate your ability,” my former mentor says. “And now you're just cocky.”
I chuckle. “Quite the contrary. I know exactly what my limits are.” I pause for effect, knowing my next words will really piss her off. “Do you?”
There's a moment of silence that follows, and in it is the quietest, most impatient sigh I've ever heard. I almost miss it, but it's there.
Zurie hangs up, and I win this round.
I watch the phone, imagining what she must be doing right now—the things she must be throwing across the room. The destruction that's going to come from her anger.
All because she thinks I’m still the obstinate little assassin I was under her care. All because she doesn’t realize who I’ve become and what I can do.
I know my skills. I know my limits, and Zurie has absolutely no clue what she's up against. She's used to facing dragons—Bosses even—but I'm something else. Something different.
Something more.
I have allies, ones I know are here for me no matter what or when I need them. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I'm doing—and, more importantly, why I'm doing it.
Zurie's greatest weakness is that she doesn't see the change in me.
Tucker grins broadly. “So your real name is Lore—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, my voice dripping with warning.
Only Mother gets to call me that. Zurie using my real name was a cruel blow.
“Sorry,” he says genuinely, kissing me on the side of my head.
“It’s fine,” I lie, trying to shove away the deep sense of loss that’s trying to bubble to the surface.
With a deep and steadying breath, I fight the impulse to crush the phone in my hand. It's not mine to destroy, after all. I offer it to my sister, but she just looks at it and shakes her head. “No thanks.”
I shrug, crushing it in my palm after all and tossing it in the trash bin by the door. As I throw it aside, I feel so much lighter, like I just cut the final ribbon that connected me to my former mentor—that small part of me that still cared about the woman who raised me.
“Zurie's plan is bigger than we thought,” Irena says, biting her lip as she leans back against the wall with her hands in her pant pockets. She stares at the floor, lost in her buzzing mind.
I nod, crossing my arms. I have the same intuitive hit, the same idea that whatever Zurie’s really up to, it's so much bigger than we can even conceive of at the moment. “She probably has a contingency plan,” I add. “Something to make life hell for us if she's killed.”
“Like what?” Drew asks, leaning against the doorframe.
I shake my head, as I honestly don't know. “Past Ghosts have done this, and every plan is different. It ranges from a full-scale terrorist attack to biological warfare.”
“Oh, fun,” Tucker says derisively, laying back in bed. “I love enemies that keep coming after me, even after they’re dead.”
“It's always a doomsday option,” I continue, ignoring his sarcasm. “A total self-destruct that cashes in all favors, resources, and connections they have.”
“Then we stop it,” Jace says simply, his hands on his hips as he looks at me. “We figure it out, and we stop her."
“You make it sound so easy,” I say with a little shrug.
“I have the best surveillance team and equipment in the world,” Jace replies with a cocky smirk. “Easy might be an oversimplification, but we can do it.”
I nod. “Find out what you can.”
He grins. “Oh, you're giving me orders now?”
I roll my eyes
, but I can't suppress a chuckle. “Jace, not now.”
“What tech do you have left?” Irena asks, interrupting our banter.
I shrug. “A few voids, some override devices. Most of it’s broken or gone. Drew?”
He shakes his head. “I used it all.”
I hesitate, studying his face for signs of a lie, but there isn’t one. He just has the one spent void—useless to us and impossible to reverse engineer.
I figure he will find that out the hard way, but he could’ve just asked.
Irena grimaces, setting her head back against the wall as a determined expression crosses her face. Her brows pinch together, and she stares at the ceiling with her lips in a taut, grim line. Her bright green eyes narrow, brimming with grit and resolve, and my heart twinges with dread.
Oh, shit.
I know that look.
She just made a decision—the kind I can’t undo. The sort of choice that can never be undone. One she will see through to the bitter end, even if it kills her.
I’ve seen it on her face only three times in my life, and the months afterward were awful. Filled with bullets. Blood. Broken bones. A lot of cursing and gritted teeth as we tended each other’s wounds—but in the end, she always got her way.
Every time she makes one of those choices, she succeeds.
So far, anyway.
In the past, she’s always launched into her plan after she dons that expression. And this time, to my disappointment, she’s eerily silent.
I wait, watching her as the silence stretches on, and it’s clear she has no intention of telling me anything.
That means whatever choice she just made doesn’t involve me.
It means she's going to go do something foolhardy.
“Irena,” I say with a lethal warning in my voice, one that dares her to lie to me. “What are you planning?”
“Nothing,” she says, glancing quickly away.
A tell.
She lied.
“Irena—“
“Nothing,” she interrupts, her tone icy and curt. She glares at me, daring me to press this.
Oh, she's definitely up to something.