Page 31 of Delta (Alpha #12)

I nod. “Yeah, I…there's an experimental drug program startin' in the States and it's gotten the most promising results anyone could hope for, specifically for Eliza's type of leukemia.

But it's very fuckin' far from free. It's not a public drug trial, see.

And like I said, I've spent all I've got.

Sold my house, rentin' a shitty little flat in a shitty part of London.

Sold most of my gear. I take every job I can find, good or bad, long's I'm not murderin' innocent folks or the like.

I…" I blink hard. "I done a lotta bad shit, mostly to other bad sorts like me, but still.

Blowin' an 'ole in some bastard's head because he's shootin' at you is one thing.

Doin' it because some other greedy bastard doesn't like him is a whole other bit of fuckery. "

"And then Pugli got ahold of you."

"Yep. Right you are. He heard, somehow, that a highly decorated SAS operator had been summarily booted from the service under some rather suspicious circumstances and was taking the odd violent job for cash.

He got in touch with me and gave me jobs.

Big'uns. It was these jobs that've kept a roof over my head and paid for Eliza's care for the last year.

I send pretty much all I make to Rachel's parents for Eliza's care, which is costly even without the experimental shite. "

"And Pugli found out about Eliza, I'm guessing," Bryn says, anger tingeing her voice.

"Right again. How, I don't know. He’s got spies everywhere.

At the base of it, that's what he does—he deals in information.

Trafficking in people and drugs and guns is just sort of gravy for him.

A bit of fun and some extra cash. Really, he's a middleman.

A connector. He puts terrorists in touch with gunrunners and bomb-makers and the like.

Puts drug dealers in touch with arms dealers.

Gathers nasty intel on politicians and sells it to the highest bidder—and I don't mean just in Europe.

In the US, Canada, Australia, Africa, everywhere people want leverage over their opponents, he's got people lookin' into people, listenin’, diggin', sniffin' around.

And he found out about Eliza. Her cancer.

The experimental treatment that's her last hope, which is as out of reach for me without him as the fuckin' moon.

I can make an easy ten or twenty or even fifty grand doin' in some gang's big boss for another gang.

I can pull in five grand for puttin' the hurt on some fucker who owes some other fucker.

I can make twenty-five grand for escortin' assorted illegal cargo across international borders—guns, drugs, people.

I don't mind the guns and drugs, but I’ve always drawn the line at people…

till now, at least. Anyways, he found out.

He knew I couldn't bring in that kinda cash on short notice—I need to pay that quarter-million deposit by next month or she's lost her chance.

And if she loses the trial, she's dead in three months, six on the outside.

And this…this trial, it's…they say it may buy her a few years.

It won't cure her, most likely, but it'll give us more time. And she's my little girl, Bryn."

I can't stop the tears from burning my eyes. I look away, out the window, hating myself, hating life, hating everything. I'm just…so fucking angry at the unfairness of it all, really.

"Fucking hell, Rush. I…I get it. He gave you a chance to save your daughter's life. Even just giving her more time, of course you'd do it. Even if it meant…well, what you did. It explains how conflicted you’ve been. Back and forth. Hot and cold."

I nod. "I hated every second of knowing what I was tricking you into.

Because I know what he's like. I know the ugly, awful details of what's left of girls he gets his rotten fuckin' hands on.

And after you embarrassed him, lost him that deal, cost him a hit to his reputation as a bloke who always delivers, and killed his hired goons in the process?

Oh love, you'd suffer . The devil himself ain't as inventive about suffering as Roberto fuckin' Pugli.

" I force myself to look directly and unblinking into those deep, dark, knowing brown eyes. "What we shared, though, Bryn? In the train, in the hotel? It wasn’t a trick. It wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

I shoulda just clocked you upside the head, tied you up, stuffed you in the back of a stolen car, and dropped you at Pugli's doorstep.

But I talked to you. Got to know you. And the more I did, the less I felt able to do that.

To treat you like…like nothing but goods.

A product. I couldn't. I can't . You're fucking real , Bryn.

You're the most amazing woman I've ever met.

And in the end, I couldn't do it. And now… "

"Rush," she whispers again, speaking my name in a tender, understanding voice that cuts me deeper than any razor blade could.

"Now my girl's gonna die." I collapse against the steering wheel. "Fuck. What've I done? Bryn? I traded her life for yours. What kind of a choice is that? What've I done?"

There's a long silence.

"Rush, I'm gonna ask you the same question you asked me."

I force myself to look at her again. "What?" I ask, even though I know the question that's coming.

"Will you trust me?"

I shake my head. "How can you ask me that, Bryn?"

She lets out a sigh. "Listen. This is when you need to dig deep into that reserve of professionalism, Rush. Turn off your personal feelings. Look at this situation objectively. Where are we? Not geographically, but situationally."

"Fucked, that's where." Something in her silence has me sitting up and looking at her. And the daft bitch is…grinning? "What's that look for, then?"

"You've evidently forgotten who I am, Rush."

I frown her way. "Meanin’?"

"I'm Bryn motherfucking Harris, bitch. I have the full weight and might of Alpha One Security behind me. I have Valentine Roth behind me. And to be honest, Rush, I don't think you have the first goddamn clue what that really means."

A tiny seed of hope germinates in my gut. "Whassit mean, then, love? Hope is a hard thing to feel when my whole life has been a study in pain, stupidity, and death."

She takes my hand. "You're about to find out."