“You should have told me, so I could step in.” His voice is apologetic and I have to bite back my retort. He couldn’t do an ounce of what I do. He’s a hacker; he’s a thief when needed, but he’s not a murderer. He’s not manipulative and decisive. There isn’t a single other person who could take my place … other than perhaps Walsh. Or so I once thought. He’s the only man I considered being in a partnership with. Charlie and the Army of men I’ve gathered, men who owe me and owe it to themselves to join this fight are only pieces of the puzzle. They don’t see the big picture. Not like Walsh and I did.
I stare at the paused image, her lovely face contorted with agony. Her caramel skin dirtied from both dry and fresh blood, and those amber eyes reflecting nothing but betrayal and sorrow.
The heavy thudding of my heart accompanies the film as it rewinds in front of me.
“I’ll watch again while you send the addresses to both me and my contact, Walsh.”
“Yes, sir,” he answers dutifully.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that, for a moment, I lost his unwavering support. For a moment there was a question and a hesitation. And more importantly, that one of my men knew I’d been distracted. If he noticed, there’s not a doubt someone else has the same suspicions. That uncertainty adds to the fear that threatens to bury me alive.
Delilah
Senior year of high school
I hear my mother before I see her. My gaze slips from my makeshift ponytail in my hand, to her reflection in my vanity mirror. With a laundry basket balanced on her hip, she shakes her head at the sight of me. “You’re not going to the semifinals with that hair.”
“It needs to be simple,” I say in protest and look over my shoulder. My mom’s happy today. Lighter than she’s been recently. I think driving Cadence back to Auntie Susan’s so she’s closer to the winter gymnastics camp she goes to every year after holiday break upset my mom. It’s like her mind’s been occupied recently, and a dark cloud has been hanging over her head.
“It needs to be polished,” she responds, taking the hairbrush from my hand and I have to bite my tongue. She’s not wrong, and I’ve never been good at doing my hair like Cadence is.
“If your sister was here—” I can already hear her telling me how she’d have done my hair up like she has for these student government competitions the last two years.
“Then I could wear that blue jacket she had,” I say, cutting off my mom and smirk at the thought. If having my sister at home was good for one thing, it was her closet.
My mother huffs and a smile forms on her face. I watch her as she brushes out my hair and makes it more presentable than I ever could.
“We should have gone to get our hair done yesterday,” she comments, almost to herself I think, and her voice is forlorn. I almost tell her that I reminded her in the morning, but I keep my lips shut tight. She’s having a good day, and I’m not going to ruin it.
“I’ll do your hair and you bring home the trophy. How about that?” she says and smiles, pulling the hair tight with the band.
“It’s not a trophy, it’s a plaque and if we go to finals, a scholarship.” I can’t help the pride in my voice, but the nervousness shuffles its way through me too. The judges are heads of various university departments. I can’t mess this up. My portfolio needs more accolades, and a scholarship couldn’t hurt either.
“You’re going to be so much more than I ever could.” My mother’s musing breaks the silence. “I just know it.”
“Mom, it’s just a competition,” I tell her, trying to downplay it. Dad said it’s important, though. My extracurricular activities matter and first impressions last forever. Again, anxiousness wracks through me.
“I know, baby. I know.” Her tone is … upsetting. I can’t shake this uneasiness as I watch my mother. She’s so close to me, but I’ve never felt so distanced from her.
“Are you all right?”
“Just thinking about things, baby girl. Don’t pay any attention to your mother.” She puts the brush down on my vanity opting for a comb instead, and a jar of pomade.
“You’re going to make this world a better place,” she tells me.