Page 55 of The Games We Play

I check my recent burner and scroll through Puppet’s footage. She hasn’t made it back from her professor’s yet, and I fight the urge to call and see where the fuck she is. She’s embraced every part of me and this life, and that’s not something I expected from her. I thought there wouldbe a lot more crying and me having to physically hold her hand to damn her soul.

She’s taking it in stride. Honestly, in another life, she’d be all I could ever ask for in a partner, a lover…a—I run my hand over my features and slap myself.

That is not a route my thoughts get to go. We don’t have luxuries or privileges like that.

Besides, she’d be a weakness. The less I have of those, the better.

A blacked-out SUV pulls up out front of the hotel, and Scott steps out, swirling the keys in his hand like he’s immortal and doesn’t have darkness breathing down his neck.

I reach for the door handle when my phone rings and answer without hesitating.

“Have you found him?” November asks.

Holstering my pistol, I stand from my car. Pinning my phone between my shoulder and ear, I button my suit jacket and adjust my tie. “I got him.”

“Good. Don’t engage.” Her order stops me mid-stride across the parking lot, and a car honks for me to move.

“I beg your finest pardon,” I say sarcastically. “You don’t want me to kill the bastard who sabotaged our entire operation and put countless innocent families at risk?” My skin heats.

“We can’t afford to spook Darius. If he thinks we’re close, he’ll go back to hiding.”

I wet my lips and shift my weight. “So what? I’m a fucking babysitter, just watching and waiting to see what Scott does or where he goes?”

“Correct. Report back with what you find.” The line goes silent, and I press the edge of my phone into my forehead.

Standing there in the dead of night, I glance from the hotel to my car and back.

Fuck orders.

I am this close to Scott, and I want some goddamn answers. Then I’ll kill him, hunt Darius down, and take him out for what he did to me.

I walk back to my car, toss my phone in the seat, and then lock the door. I grab what I need from the trunk. Once satisfied with my plan, I run a hand over my hair to smooth any pieces out of place and stride into the hotel with a sense of being a rich asshole. That seems to get anyone what they want in this world.

The gold reflective elevator shows me just how much I look like I belong here. A three-piece expensive suit, flashy watch—handsome. I smirk at the oblivious people milling around the lobby. The elevator dings open, and I step inside, hitting the number ten. We were taught to keep a low profile. Pick a floor in the middle. Wear average clothing. Drive average cars.

None of which Scott is doing.

Once in his hall, I find his room and press my ear to his door, listening for any sounds of movement. Slipping the master key from my pocket, I glance over my shoulder to check up and down the hallway for anyone watching.

I sneak in and quietly click the door closed. Shadows dance across the space caused by the moonlight shining through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. I step further into the first room. My gun is a familiar comfort in my hand as I walk into the eluding darkness.

Keeping quiet, I press my back into the wall and swing around wide, aiming my gun into the open living area.

No, Scott.

After checking the entire suite, it’s empty. My hand tightens around the grip of the pistol, and my teeth crack together.

Where the fuck is he? He walked in here. Where else would he go? I stride back into the living area and stand in front of the windows, staring out over the lit-up city.

“What are you doing, Scott?” I mutter, trying to get into his head. Think like he does, play out how he would react to being hunted for once.

Pain shoots through my shoulder, and I stagger back at the force of the—Time slows as I register what is happening. The window cracks, and I drop to the floor and glance up to see another small hole break through the glass. That one would have struck me right in the chest.

I army crawl to my discarded pistol, shots firing over my prone body, hitting the couch and kitchen island.

A trail of blood smears across the floor to my side, and I groan as I try to lift my arm to my lap. I reach for my phone, then remember I left it in the car.

Fuck.

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