Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“You mean he was one of the good guys.”
“He was the best of the good guys. The kind of man who’d risk everything to save a stranger. Who’d spend his own money to keep families safe.” Blue’s expression grows darker. “The only thing he hated about the work was that it put you in danger. He knew the Crow would come for his family eventually, and it ate at him.”
“That’s insane.”
“That’s business.” He takes a sip. “Peter tried to get out of the life before it was too late. That’s why he asked me to look after you—he knew his past was catching up with him.”
“He never mentioned you,” I say. “In all these years, he never once said he had a friend named Blue.”
“Peter was good at keeping secrets. He had to be, in our line of work.”
Wren appears again, this time with dessert—some kind of chocolate tart that is fancy-five-star-restaurant worthy. She serves us both and vanishes without a word.
“And you were his partner?”
“I was his backup. When things got dangerous, when the Crow got too close to the people he was protecting, Peter called me.” Blue’s smile turns wicked. “I used to be very good at making dangerous things go away.”
The way he says it makes my skin crawl. I remember the look he had at that cabin—not the calm control he’s showing me now, but something hungry and barely restrained.
“Used to be?”
“I’m retired from that particular profession.”
“And how do you plan to protect me if you don’t . . . eliminate threats anymore?”
Blue’s expression shifts to something I can’t quite read. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
“Hope isn’t a plan.” I set down my fork and look at him directly. “How many of them are there? The Crow in general?”
“Hard to say exactly. They operate in cells, keep things compartmentalized. Maybe thirty, forty active members along the coast.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“Some of them, yes.”
Something hot and vicious unfurls in my chest. “Good. I want them dead.”
Blue blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me. I want them dead. All of them. Every single person involved in my father’s murder.” The words come out steady, sure, like I’ve been thinking about them for years. Because I have. “For five years, I’ve been dreaming about making them pay. For five years, I’ve been imagining what I’d do if I ever got the chance.”
Blue studies me with new interest. “Saylor—”
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t tell me that’s not who I am, or that I’m too good for revenge, or that my father wouldn’t want this. I know exactly who I am and what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“Justice. For my father, for all the people they’ve killed, for everyone they’re going to kill if someone doesn’t stop them.” I meet his stare across the table. “You said you used to be good at making dangerous things go away. How good?”
“Very good.” His voice is careful, measured. “But I told you, I’m retired.”
“Then teach me.”
Blue stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Don’t I?” I lean forward. “I’m asking you to teach me how to kill the people who murdered my father. I’m asking you to help me become someone who can make them pay for what they’ve done.”
“You think you want revenge, but you don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly.” I push my dessert away. “Can I have a pen and paper?”
Blue’s eyebrows raise. “What for?”
“I want to write something down.”
He nods to Wren, who appears with a fountain pen and elegant stationery, as if she’s been expecting this request. I uncap the pen and start writing, the words flowing easily because I’ve carried this list in my head for five years.
“The one with the scar through his left eyebrow who smelled like cheap cologne and had these dead, cold eyes. The short one with the gold tooth who kept cracking his knuckles—nervous habit, like he was always ready for a fight. The tall one with the snake tattoo curling up his neck who wouldn’t stop laughing at everything, even while they were . . . doing it. The heavy-set one with a pronounced limp who positioned himself by the door like a guard, watching for witnesses. And the one in the expensive suit with manicured nails who gave all the orders—clearly the man in charge.” I look up at Blue. “Those are the five I remember from that night. The ones I watched from the closet while they killed my father.”
Blue’s face has gone very still. “Saylor—”
“There were others, weren’t there? The one who gave the order. The one who planned it. The one who decided my father had to die.” I add another line to my list. “I want all of them. Every single person involved.”
I slide the paper across the table to Blue. He reads it slowly, his expression growing darker with each line.