Game of Lies. Amanda K. Byrne

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СКАЧАТЬ length of the catwalk. The room I’m in is on one end. I open the door next to my room, a groan of relief escaping when I see it’s a bathroom. Even if the bottle on the nightstand is sealed, I don’t trust it. I wash my hands, turn the hot water to cold, and cup them under the stream.

      I drink.

      And drink.

      And drink.

      Water dribbles down my chin, trailing along my neck, but I don’t care. Whatever the hell Nick put in my coffee dried my mouth out worse than the Mojave.

      When I’ve finally drunk my fill, I fumble a towel free of the rack and wipe the water from my face. Then I go back to the room, find a pair of shoes, and head for the stairs at the other end of the catwalk.

      If he’s around, he must be in one of the other two rooms because the main level is empty. There’s a wide set of double sliding doors on the far side of the warehouse and a sturdy-looking metal bar secured with a heavy lock across them.

      Beside me is a single door with a bright green sign overhead that reads EXIT. I glance up at the catwalk and step toward the door.

      This one is locked. I study the deadbolt for a moment. It must lock from the outside. Which means either anyone outside can unlock it or Nick had a double-sided deadbolt put in. Dangerous in the event of an emergency. Perfect if you want to keep someone prisoner.

      “You can have your own key when I’m confident you won’t try to escape.”

      “Your trust in me is overwhelming,” I say flatly, glaring at the door. I turn around and scan the lower level. I missed the kitchen area spread out under the catwalk. He’s lounging against a counter, bottle of water next to his elbow.

      “Preemptive strike.” His voice is just as flat. “You and I both know you wouldn’t have come willingly. It was either drug you or wrestle you to the ground and handcuff you, and there was still a risk you’d get away.” He flashes a sharp smile. “You’re wily like that.”

      I give the door a hard thump with the side of my fist and stalk to the middle of the mats. I kick off my shoes and drop to the floor. “Your diplomatic skills need work. You have no way of knowing I wouldn’t have agreed with you.”

      He pushes off the counter and strides across the room. My breath hitches as he drops to his knees in front of me. “If you expect me to apologize for what I’ve done, you’ll be waiting a fucking long time.” Lightning fast, his mouth is on mine, hot and firm and gone in the next blink. “You’re not doing this alone,” he says softly. “You were never supposed to.”

      I will not scoot back. I will not be the first to retreat. I absolutely will not hit him, no matter how much he deserves it. “I was always supposed to do this alone. I just never told you.”

      Nick settles on the mat. “Isaiah’s done more than murder your father, Cass. His actions have split the organization. He has to answer for that. That’s the reason why my father and my uncle agreed to this plan.”

      I arch a brow. “You failed to mention the part where we were supposed to report to them what was happening.”

      “Had you stuck with the original plan, there would have been no need. One day, hit ’em all, and it’d be over. Not easy to cover up, but doable with advance notice. We’ll come up with a new plan, and I highly recommend you cooperate.” He points behind me to the exercise area. “In the meantime, feel free to use whatever you want. If you want to go to the shooting range, let me know, and I’ll arrange it.”

      Arrange it. I feel like I’m trapped in that old song—I can check out any time I like, but I can’t leave. “Why are you doing this?”

      He gets to his feet, and for the first time, I see the anger behind his bland expression. “You abused my trust. You pushed too far, too hard, too fast. Right now, I’m the only one standing between you and the rest of the family. I’ll help you, but it will be done my way.”

      I’d do it again, too, and that brings on a wave of guilt. Not that I’ve used him, but that I’d do it again. “How long are we staying here? Where is here?”

      “When you stop acting like a selfish, immature girl, I’ll tell you.” He stands and heads for the door.

      Shame burns through my veins long after he’s gone. Nick’s right. I’ve been selfish and immature, too focused on that hideous beast called revenge to care what my choices did to others.

      The burn flares hotter as I realize I don’t care, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Flopping over onto my back, I stare at the ceiling high above. Does it make it better, knowing I’m ashamed of my actions, even though I wouldn’t change them?

      No. Because the fact remains I wouldn’t do anything differently. Each kill has been a brick in a wall, separating the old Cass from the new. What Nick wants will tear that wall down, and if he succeeds, I will become a babbling, incoherent mass of grief and pain.

      I roll onto my side and prop myself up on an elbow. Somehow, I’ll have to get out of here. The easy way is to allow Nick to help me take out Isaiah. The idea has its appeal. The only thing holding back the aching loneliness is that half-built wall, and if we do this together, I won’t be alone.

      Physically, anyway.

      The hard way involves finding the damn key he’s promised me, not getting caught, and most likely destroying whatever’s left of my relationship with Nick.

      I wish revenge wasn’t such a greedy fucker.

      Chapter 3

      Most of my life with Nick is crammed into this cabinet. When I left Constantine’s for my old apartment, all I took with me were some clothes, my phone, and the weapons Nick bought me. The gun’s locked in a box on the top shelf, next to the one holding the whetstone and oil I use to clean the knives. The knives themselves are stored in their original box, next to the supplies.

      Three little boxes and a bunch of nearly new jeans and shirts. It’s so far from a complete picture it’s laughable. It doesn’t show the quiet evenings full of getting-to-know-you conversations, or his casual acceptance of my ability to take care of myself. There’s nothing of the meals I’ve made for us or the hells we’ve gone through.

      Then with one move, one choice, he screwed it up.

      I grab a sweatshirt and shut the cabinet doors. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe Nick did when he doped my coffee. Whatever the answer is, it’s not one I have time to search for. Isaiah’s still alive. I pull the sweatshirt over my head and go back downstairs.

      The refrigerator is full, as are the cupboards. Everything I could possibly need to feed myself a healthy, nutritious meal is in this kitchen. I take out a glass and fill it with water from the tap while I debate my dinner choices. Part of me wants to be annoying and contrary and make Nick pick up take-out. He deserves it for locking me inside.

      “Dammit!” Water slops over the sides of the glass as I slam it onto the counter. I promised Mom I’d stop by to see her today. She might be a member of the walking dead, but I promised. On the off chance she notices I haven’t been around, I don’t want to cause her any more worry.

      Any other time, I might have waited until Nick gave me my key, shown him I’m СКАЧАТЬ