Page 63

Conley drums his fingers on the desk, smile still fixed on his face, but his other hand has moved out of sight. It’s either on a button to call for help or a gun. I inhale deeply, masking the sound, scenting for gun oil or metal. Anything to tell me what he’s reaching for.

“Who are you—really?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

Helena smiles, leans back in the chair, suddenly relaxed. She lifts her hand—and the door slams shut behind us with a thunderous boom.

“Fine,” Helena sighs. “Let’s skip the pleasantries. I have questions. And if you want to avoid an early ticket to the afterlife, I suggest you answer.”

He smirks, maintaining a cool façade, but beads of sweat form on his forehead and I smell the first tangy scent of fear.

“Neat trick. What else can you do? My guards are trained special forces and will be in here in a heartbeat. Explain yourself. Immediately.”

A low growl breaks loose from my throat. I step towards him.

“Stay where you are,” Helena snaps, her eyes on Conley. “I’ve got this.”

She stands, calm and in control.

“Roman Security’s reputation has taken a hit hasn’t it? What, with the incident outside of Dawson. How many guards killed? And the facility you were guarding burned to the ground? That cannot be good for your reputation. Tell me, how does something like that happen?”

“A freak accident,” he says, not moving a muscle.

“A weak excuse,” she says. “Pathetic, really. The press may eat it up, but I don’t. A burned building. Lives lost. And yet, no one says a word about the facility’s owners. Why is that?”

Conley’s face tightens. “The people I work with prefer to keep their names out of the news cycle.”

“Names,” she demands. His jaw tightens and his eyes narrow, flicking to the door. “Believe me, they won’t make it through that door in time to save you.”

He hesitates and she flicks her wrist. His chair launches backward and crashes into the wall. He gasps, limbs flailing, fingers clawing at empty air. His neck jerks like it’s caught in an invisible vise.

“I said, names!” she hisses, stalking around the desk like a panther. “Give them to me, or I’ll snap your neck like a twig.”

“Peterson!” he chokes. “Ivan Peterson! Eco Med!”

Helena pauses, staring at him. She takes a deep breath then slowly exhales.

“Thank you,” she says, stepping back. “We’re going to leave now. No one will stop us. Not one of your rent-a-thugs will get in our way. ”

Conley coughs, clutching his throat. “Okay! Okay! Just go.”

“Good.” Her tone is final. “Goodnight, Mr. Conley. Boys—let’s go.”

I open the door. That was brutal, but efficient and cleaner than we would have done it. Had it been up to us, there’d have been chaos, blood, and alarms. Helena kept it cool and controlled. We step back into the car and the smell of leather is oddly comforting.

“That was incredible,” I say as we settle in. “You scared the shit out of him.”

“Drive,” she tells Raul, voice flat. “I’m not done with him yet.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer, but turns and stares out the window.

We clear the gates, leaving the estate behind us. Helena lifts her hand to the rear window, palm pressed flat. Her eyes flash and then she yanks.

In the distance glass shatters. A scream pierces the night. Conley’s body arcs through the air like a ragdoll. Flying through his office window, a glittering storm of broken glass raining down around him. The form drops out of my line of sight.

Guards are yelling and rushing, but I’m sure it’s too late. Their boss is dead. Helena exhales slowly and sinks into the seat like a queen reclaiming her throne. None of us speak. There’s nothing to say.

27