Page 88 of Silas

“I was deluded, or maybe just delusional. I thought I could go all the way. Be a big shot, one of the top dogs. And maybe I could’ve, I don’t know. Sax and I had the physical skills required to pass, and we’d experienced enough pain as kids to gut through just about anything. And those elite teams make serious bank. They get the girls, the cars, the whole baller lifestyle. My brothers and I grew up rich as fuck, but we chose homelessness just to get away from our father. And once you’ve slept on the street and gone hungry, that leaves a serious fucking imprint.” He shrugs. “We were arrogant and greedy.”

“It was really bad, huh?” I reach out and hold his hand, and he moves our joined hands to rest on my thigh.

“It was awful. I mean, up through the actual training, it was just hard. No sleep, no food, running ops when you haven’t eaten or slept in days. But it was the final test that was the worst. Capture the flag, essentially, but with live rounds, to the death.”

“My god,” I breathe. “Silas.”

“They put Sax and I on opposing teams. They made sure we ran out of ammo, so we had to go to hand-to-hand. Knives, brass knuckles, bare hands. Kill or be killed, but against the guys you just spent a fucking month living with, training with, and suffering with.”

“Did you have to fight your brother?” I ask.

He nods. “They made sure of it.”

I can’t breathe, my heart aches for him so. “What happened?”

“We fucked each other up. We’d met in secret the night before and choreographed the whole fight. We knew going into the finals that they’d pit us against each other. So, we gave them the show they wanted. We just…cheated. But we couldn’t hold back, or they’d know.”

A long silence.

He continues. “We knew we had to hurt each other. He got me here.”

He pulls down the neck of his T-shirt to show me a long straight scar cutting diagonally from his shoulder blade to his chest—I’ve noticed it before, and wondered how he got it.

“He has a similar scar on his ribs, beneath his heart. We had to make it look like we were trying to kill each other without actually doing so. We drew the fight out as long as we could, and then the rest of the test sort of swept us up and cut it short.”

“I’m so sorry you went through that.”

He nods. “Thanks. It wasn’t fun. That wasn’t the worst part, though.”

My heart sinks. “Oh god. What was the worst part?”

“Anyone who was injured but not killed, like wounded enough to be out of the fight and unable to walk out on their own, we had to execute. You walked out of the test on your own two feet, or you died.”

“And you had to execute someone?”

He nods. “I did.”

“Why?” I ask. I’m not sure what exactly I’m asking, though.

He shakes his head, seeming to understand the ambiguous nature of the question. “I don’t know, sweetheart. They wanted hardened killers. That course is designed to deliver exactly that, and it does. In spades.”

I watch his profile as he drives—his strong nose, crooked from being broken, his hard, straight jawline, deep-set eyes.

“What changed?” I ask.

He glances at me. “What? What do you mean?”

“You’re not a hardened killer anymore, Silas. So, what changed?”

He considers in silence a moment. “I am, though. I just…took a vow not to kill anymore.”

“That’s a change,” I point out. “A hardened killer wouldn’t take that vow.”

He sighs. “Sue happened.”

The pain in his voice makes my heart ache for him. “You loved her.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He checks his mirrors, glances at me. “I was supposed to be a mole, basically. They knew the Feds were onto us, and they knew Sue was assigned to the case, so they told me to get close to her and muddy the waters. I guess by then I’d become a little disillusioned with the Cabal. The life wasn’t what I thought it would be. Despite the money, the flashy cars, the constant access to easy, beautiful women—" he glances at me apologetically. “I was lonely. It was a constant grind. My job by that point was to make connections with buyers and move product and services. The drugs, the guns, I was mostly okay with. The women, not so much.” He sighs. “They were girls. Innocent girls. Teenagers, most of them. Stolen from their homes and families, or orphans with nowhere to go and no one to miss them. They were…fuck. The things that the Cabal did to them…just as a routine part of moving them around like they were of no more value than a kilo of coke. There aren’t words. And I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t interfere or I’d be killed and it wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.”