Revenge

by Meredith Wild

  I smile politely when I reach her. “Hi, I’m Isabel.”

  When she looks up, her short, pink-tipped spiky hair doesn’t move an inch from all the product in it. “Oh, hi. I’m Cady. We spoke earlier.”

  “That’s right. Is Mr. Landon still free now?”

  “He just finished up a conference call. You can head right in. He’s expecting you.” She gestures toward the closed office door behind her.

  My stomach does a nervous flip, but I try to stifle any outward signs of my anxiety, no matter how justified it may be. Landon is an important man regardless of what I need from him. I take in a deep breath and walk to the door, eager to get face time with him.

  I step inside the office. It’s completely quiet except for the subtle taps of fingertips across a keyboard. I can only see the side of Landon’s face, which is glowing from the multiple monitors taking up a second desk.

  I clear my throat. “Mr. Landon. Thank you for seeing me on short notice.”

  He doesn’t look up. “Take a seat.”

  I do, and another awkward moment passes as his fingers fly over the keys. Finally he turns, rises, and extends his hand, which I shake firmly. The gesture is formal, unlike the man, who’s sporting mussed hair, a vintage T-shirt, and worn jeans. That and the black-rimmed glasses he wears do little to distract from the fact that he won the lottery when it came to genes. His hazel eyes zero in on me with an intensity that tightens the knot in my belly.

  He doesn’t smile, only drops back into his chair and continues studying me. “What can I do for you?”

  I swallow hard and prepare to dive in, praying the script I’ve prepared will sway things in my favor. “I understand that you have extensive history with Michael Pope. I was hoping to speak with you about that.”

  His laser beam doesn’t break. “Yes, Cady mentioned that. Anything regarding Pope tends to get my attention.”

  I smile a little. “That’s what I was hoping for.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “I don’t really. I know of him, and I’ve recently come upon some information that I thought might be of interest to you.”

  “Why would it be of interest to me?”

  “It has to do with his son.”

  If I’ve touched a nerve, I can’t tell, save the subtle tightening of his jaw.

  “I’ve cut them both clean out of my affairs. They’re toxic people. Max is a monster, and his father is a soulless power monger. I’m not sure what else there is to illuminate.”

  A little part of me registers relief hearing his brutal assessment. If he truly feels this way about the Popes, half the battle is already won.

  “I heard about what happened between Max and your wife. That must have been devastating for both of you.”

  His jaw ticks and his nostrils flare. “Erica was drugged. Then he tried to rape her. It was at a family party in my parents’ home.”

  I wince, feeling the full force of that ugly tidbit of information. The barely harnessed wrath behind Landon’s words is heavy in the air. It’s so heavy that I almost wish I didn’t have to say what I need to next.

  “She wasn’t the only one. There were others.”

  “I don’t doubt it. He’s behind bars now, though. It doesn’t feel like justice to me, but what can I do?” He glances toward the televisions broadcasting the news silently on the adjacent wall, pretending to be interested, but I suspect I have his full attention.

  “Maybe there is something more you can do.”

  He returns his gaze to me, a silent invitation for me to continue.

  My heartbeat picks up speed. “I’m not sure if you realize how involved Michael Pope was in all of this.”

  He frowns. “Excuse me?”

  “These women that Max assaulted, they were paid hush money that kept him from facing charges all that time. Everything went through Michael’s attorney. He helped him cover up what he was doing for years before he ever laid a hand on your wife.”

  He becomes eerily still, then leans forward, resting his forearms on his massive desk. “How do you know all this? Were you one of the women they paid off?”

  “No, thank God. But I have…a file…that’s come into my possession recently. I was looking for something else and came across some document scans. Confidential letters between the women and the lawyers. Dozens of them. A little online research linked both of the Popes to you, which is why I wanted to reach out.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “These cover-ups are unconscionable. Wouldn’t it feel good to expose him for what he helped do?”

  He lets out a dry laugh. “I think you know the answer to that. But I’m getting the feeling you want something from me. Is it money you’re after?”

  It’s my turn to frown. “I have no interest in your money, Mr. Landon.”

  God knows I have plenty of my own.

  “If you don’t want money, then explain to me why you’re sitting in my office dangling a Michael Pope-shaped carrot in front of me.”

  “To be completely honest, I’m interested in your…skillset. These letters weren’t what I was looking for. I was hoping you could help me find what I am.”

  “Listen, I’ve got a reputation. Unfortunately, it’s stuck with me ever since I was a kid. But I’m not in the hacker business anymore.”

  “I’ll admit, I read up about it a little.”

  He shrugs. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Correcting some of the injustices that were keeping me up at night way before I should have cared about things like Ponzi schemes and corporate abuse of power. You don’t know the half of it. Trust me, I learned my lesson. That part of my life is over.”

  He slices his hand through the air for emphasis. I’m losing ground. My thoughts whirl. I can’t accept a simple refusal. He needs to know what’s at stake.

  “Mr. Landon.”

  “Blake,” he corrects.

  “Blake… This isn’t a personal vendetta for me. It’s a matter of survival. For me and a lot of other people who don’t realize they’re about to play a part in a much bigger plan. I need to stop it from happening, but I’m not sure how I can without your help.”

  “A bigger plan?”

  I hesitate, uncertain how much I should say when he’s been so resistant to helping.

  “Will you help me?”

  “Do I come across as someone who takes up illegal favors for complete strangers?”

  I cringe a little inside because he’s right. I’ve been banking on him wanting revenge on Pope enough to justify the fact that what I need from him involves him breaking the law.

  His intercom beeps. He turns to answer it. “What’s up, Cady?”

  “Erica is here.”

  He glances at his watch briefly before rising and circling the desk. “Listen, you seem like your heart’s in the right place. I wish I could help you out with this thing, but I just can’t.”

  I blink up at him, desperation racing through me now. “What about what Michael did? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  He closes his eyes a moment before opening them again. “It burns. No doubt about it. Not like I needed another reason to hate him, but I’ve known long enough that he was never who I thought he was. I already ripped the mask off.”

  “And what about justice?”

  He shakes his head, a nearly imperceptible motion, as if he’s fighting a war inside his own head. Quietly I root for the side of justice, the side we could both be on if he could only understand the magnitude of its importance.

  “I’m sorry. I just can’t help you.”

  When he walks away, opens the door, and disappears through it, I jump up and follow him out. I’m ready to spill everything about Chalys and the Boswells and this whole twisted endeavor—at least the parts I know. Except I fear the window has closed when I see Blake with another woman.

  “You ready?” he asks her.

  “Ready when you are.” The petite blonde who must be his wife beams up a
t him, her features glowing.

  The stone-faced man I just met seems transformed—softer, vulnerable even, as he glides his palm gently over her swollen belly, no doubt the source of her glowy energy.

  Seeing them together sends a shockwave of emotion through me. Jealousy. Disappointment. Understanding.

  He glances over his shoulder to me. Something unspoken passes between us.

  This is why.

  Judging from the look of pure devotion on his face when he turns back to his wife, I feel certain that nothing could be more important to him. No grudge or vengeful wish.

  I should go. The opportunity has passed. I move past them toward the exit. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket. The hard edge of the thumb drive scrapes against my hand. I halt at the door. I breathe. Close my eyes. Listen.

  Giving it to him would be stupid. He’s already said no. Who knows how many bombshells there are on this drive that could create problems for me down the road. I can’t seem to push through the door and leave Blake Landon and his refusal behind, though. My mother’s warning rings through my head, but it’s not the only voice there. There’s another one daring me to take a gamble.

  I turn on my heel and head back toward the beautiful couple. Blake looks up as I approach.

  “Here.”

  His brow wrinkles when I hold my outstretched palm to him.

  “What is this?”

  I shrug. “I suppose it’s whatever you want to make it.”

  He exhales a quiet sigh before lifting the little device from my hand. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret taking your meeting today.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re giving me dirt on one of the people I most despise. That’s like offering a free hit to a drug addict.”

  “Funny you should say that.” I huff out a sad laugh at the quip only I can understand.

  He lifts an eyebrow, but I only shake my head because it’s too much to explain now, especially with an audience.

  “If you change your mind, Cady has my number.”

  He replies with a curt nod, the only assurance I get that there may still be a chance.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Tristan

  “He’s not staying here.” Isabel bangs the wooden spoon on the edge of the pan without making eye contact.

  “What’s the difference?”

  She shoots a narrow glare my way. “The difference? Townsend tried to kill me. Did you forget that tiny detail?”

  I gently grasp the spoon from her and take over the task of pushing vegetables around the pan.

  I haven’t forgotten. Killian Townsend joined us on the Company’s hit list by way of protecting Jay. That doesn’t mean I’ll ever trust him after he nearly plunged a lethal dose of heroin into the woman I love.

  “He knows about Felix, and our last lead just turned us down.”

  She shifts away and pulls two plates out of the cupboard. Her lips are pressed tightly together. I know she wants to say more. She was tense leaving Landon’s building but hopeful he’d change his mind and help unravel the Company’s plan. We can’t wait around for Landon to have a change of heart, though.

  “Why couldn’t he just tell you what he knew over the phone?”

  “Because he wants to bargain with me. People like Townsend don’t give up anything without getting something in return.”

  “Further reason why he shouldn’t be sharing a roof with us.”

  “What about that saying…keep your enemies closer?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I think our enemies are plenty close. We don’t need to invite them inside.”

  A loud, fast knock causes us both to look toward the door. Another series of impatient raps, and I’m certain it’s Townsend. I pull my gun from my waistband anyway and go to the door, confirming our visitor’s identity with a brief glance through the peephole.

  When I swing the door open, Townsend walks in without ceremony. A half-burned-down cigarette dangles from his lips. He tugs off a knit winter hat and runs his hand over the blond fuzz on his head.

  “Home sweet home.” He nods to Isabel. “Hey, cupcake.”

  I cuss inwardly.

  Isabel stands motionless, a steel wall of opposition on the other side of the room, arms crossed, her shoulders tense. “Don’t you have someplace else you can stay?”

  He chuckles and saunters her way. Leaning over the pan, he plucks out a sliced carrot and pops it into his mouth. “You know, if you missed me, you can just tell me.”

  His smirk might be endearing if he wasn’t such an evil prick. Too bad we all know better.

  Isabel turns and angrily pulls out another plate. She lets it clang on the counter beside the stove. “Help yourself.”

  Dinner is quiet and strange. Townsend is ravenous and unaffected. Isabel barely eats. I’m about to start grilling Townsend when Isabel shoves up from the table and goes to the kitchen, easing the strain a fraction.

  I push my emptied plate to the side and lean forward as Townsend releases a satisfied sigh.

  “Not going to lie to you, mate. The hospitality here is unmatched.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” I say, mostly for Isabel’s sake.

  He snickers and rubs his hand over his freckled cheek absently. “Right.”

  “So what do you know about Felix?”

  He purses his lips and fishes out a fresh cigarette, buying him a prolonged pause. “The miracle drug,” he finally says.

  “How do you know about it?”

  “I’d hardly be an expert in my field if I didn’t know these things.” He exhales loudly, sending a plume of smoke between us. “You see, every time a new drug is developed, there are the castoffs.”

  “Castoffs?”

  “Mistakes that end up in my bag. Like Elysium Dream. You think these Big Pharma guys are paying a bunch of lab nerds to cook up drugs so I can blast away people’s memories? Of course not. But shit happens, and the mistakes don’t necessarily go to waste. It was originally supposed to be a breakthrough drug for treating severe neurological disorders. PTSD among them. The stress of war, early abuse… Those kinds of things can cause long-term changes in the circuits in your brain. The idea was to remap the circuits, turning severe trauma into pure fucking bliss. Except early trials showed that the drug didn’t play well with the body’s natural neurotransmitters. Test subjects were complaining of memory loss. Make a few modifications, and you could give someone a blank slate with one treatment. Pretty fucked up, but useful in my line of work.” He takes another drag of his cigarette. “I guess you could say I’m a collector of castoffs.”

  I fist my hands tightly. The casual way Townsend talks about the drug that robbed me of my past is enough to make me want to wrap my hands around his throat and rob him of his future. He seems to sense this, lifting the corner of his lips into a wry grin.

  “Sorry, mate. No hard feelings, all right? Just doing my job.”

  His words echo in my brain until logic overrides my anger.

  I’m no better than he is. I spent years killing for hire. He used a needle. I used a gun. Our paths crossing now doesn’t change the reality of these things. I unclench my fists and will myself to focus on what’s important. My muddled past is something I’ll have to sort out another time.

  “So what does this have to do with felixedrine? It has FDA approval. It’s legit.”

  He smirks. “Finally got the recipe just right, I suppose.”

  I still. Did I hear him right?

  “Wait… The drug that wiped my memory is a failed version of Felix?”

  He sucks in a long drag of his cigarette, an odd mirth glittering in his gray eyes. That’s when I feel Isabel behind me, her hands resting on my shoulders. A quiet comfort. I circle one of her wrists in my hand and stroke my thumb over her soft skin. I never know how devastatingly powerful her support can be until she offers it.

  “It makes sense when you think about it,” he continues. “Drug addicts and broken veterans. Both trying to escape s
omething that’s hurting them. Trying to chase happy, except it never lasts long. A whole generation of people whose families just wish they could stop. Feel better. Be better.”

  “Remap the circuits.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “I’m afraid to ask about the side effects.”

  He shrugs. “Couldn’t tell you. Development takes years. I got my hands on Elysium Dream long before Felix started going through trials.”

  Isabel moves to my side and takes a seat. “They’re going to market it as the opioid cure. Millions of people are going to be rushing to get their hands on it. Do you think it’ll actually work?”

  “It’ll do something. Wouldn’t get this far without some results. But I wouldn’t fucking take it,” he says.

  “You also suck down cigarettes with no regard for what they’re doing to your body.”

  He lets out a dry laugh. “I’m not expecting to live long enough for a cigarette to kill me. Until then, I’d like to know who the fuck I am.” He shoots a knowing look my way like I’m the only one who can appreciate his dark humor.

  Nothing is funny right now. The cyclone of fury I felt earlier is morphing into something else. Something like horror. Maybe Felix really is a cure. But maybe it’s not and it’s about to be unleashed onto a nation desperate for an answer to an epidemic. I’m not wired to care, but for some reason I do.

  “They’re going to push shipments through the ports. Flood the market with drugs,” Isabel says.

  “Create a crisis. Feed the demand. Smart thinking. I almost wish I’d thought of it first.”

  “Simon has to be behind it,” I say before she can lay into him. “Chalys is a powerful company, but pulling off something of this magnitude is bigger than one corporate giant. Only someone like Simon could orchestrate an operation at this many levels.”

  “Sounds about right. But you’re fucked if you think you can change any of it.”

  “Why couldn’t we?” Isabel bristles as if we haven’t been wrestling with the same inevitability.