Page 71 of Hurt

Grant’s hand hovered in the air—like he didn’t want to pull it back yet. A shocking part of Kurt hoped he might not, that he might reach forward and brush those slender fingers against his cheek, and he could lean into the warmth. Take strength from it.

He didn’t.

“I will make things right, Wanyin.”

Kurt sunk back into the bitterness. “I didn’t survive this long believing in the impossible.”

Grant looked like he had been struck, but he didn’t fight him. “Then I’ll prove it to you.”

Grant stood then, hands sliding into his pockets as he looked down at Kurt.

“But,” Kurt surprised himself by speaking. “You can call me Wanyin, if you want.”

14

THIS IS HELL, THIS IS HELL

Roland adjusted the rings on his fingers and looked down at the small monitor. The heat in the van was stifling, but it couldn’t be helped. Two makeshift screens were hooked together with what looked like a thousand wires, and Owen was frantically typing on his computer. His fingers were a blur, but occasionally he would grunt in dissatisfaction and angrily backspace.

“I’m sorry,” Owen apologized again.

The man was stressed. There were dark bags under his eyes, and he looked like he had lost some weight. Normally very confident, he had made several mistakes and continuously apologized. Since the start of the war, the Weavers had pulled all their auxiliary staff into safe houses on the Weaver estate. Owen, and the others like him, were under 24/7 protection. He even had bodyguards following him to his college and back. The resulting change in his life had been difficult for the IT specialist.

“You’re doing great,” Elijah said, clasping a hand on his shoulder and reassuring the older man.

The safety measures might seem like overkill, but the whole reason they were here today was that the Vega Cabal had not gone to such extremes. Two days ago, Jamie and Elijah had managed to capture one of the computer techs the Vegas used. While the man had been largely useless (the crying had gotten old after a while), he did finally give them some locations.

Roland was in a van parked outside a self-storage facility. It looked like every other of its kind—tall chain link fence with razor wire looped along the top in a square around squat garage-looking buildings. Roland would never have suspected this place to be such an important location to the Vega Cabal.

“I think I’ve got it,” Owen finally said. Sweat was pouring down his face, and his orange-dyed hair was sticking up in tufts from where he was running his fingers through it.

“Are you sure?” Roland asked as he peered over his shoulder.

“Yes. My buddy at the power company gave me access to their system—the office of this self-storage facility is using way more power than it should be. Unless every unit is lit up like a Christmas tree, this is the place. They’re routing through VPNs, but I managed to trace several IP addresses to this location.”

Elijah glanced out the rear window in the back doors of the van. “So, what? You just need the hard drive off the computer?”

Owen shook his head. “That could work, but I would only be able to get the information from that specific computer. If you get me into the computer, I could try and hack their entire network. Like you did at Congressman Thomas’ office.”

Elijah frowned. “How long will that take?”

“Ten minutes, maybe? It depends how big it is.”

Roland looked over at his junior. “How many guards?”

“I counted around fifteen. But there could be more inside.”

The two Weavers shared a look. They would have to get through the guards to the computer, then defend themselves and the computer for upwards of ten minutes while every guard in the place sounded the alarm.

“We don’t have a choice,” Roland said after weighing the odds. They had to strike now. The Vegas had been clustering the majority of their men in their homesteads and strongholds—ostensibly to draw attention away from where their real sensitive information was being held. It was only by accident that the Weavers had this information at all.

Grant was leading a team on the other side of town to strike a critical blow to the Vega Cabal drug manufacturing operation. Not only would this provide a decent distraction for Roland’s operation, but also strike a blow to the Vegas financial stream.

This might be the only chance they had. While Roland would have preferred to have more men, he knew the two of them could handle it.

Roland unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it in the front seat. Rolling up his sleeves, he exposed the thin white lines of the cloud tattoo circling his forearm. He glanced at the lines and let his fingers trace over them once before cracking his knuckles.

Elijah had similarly disrobed. His leather wrist sheaths were visible—thick leather bands that wrapped around his wrist and looped through his pointer finger for support. Roland didn’t know how many knives he kept on him at once, but he had never seen Elijah run out.