Page 27 of Enemy of the State

Alone, I glance at the door to the barracks to make sure it’s still closed and locked, and when I see that it is, I admit, “I can’t tell you much, Mom, but my head’s not right.”

Concern etches her features, and even my sick, twisted heart lurches at the sight. “You’re not thinking of doing something reckless, are you?”

My stomach churns like I’ve consumed sour milk as guilt swirls until I think I may be sick. I want to assuage her concern, though, so I clarify, “It’s…a girl.”

Her eyebrows raise, and a knowing smile creeps over her face, but before she can ask questions, I explain, “It’s complicated.”

“Considering the fact that I don’t know anything about the situation, the only advice I can give you is that you can always trust your heart, even when you can’t trust your head.”

My mother’s words swim in the murky depths of my mind for the next several hours as I get a debriefing from the perimeter unit, walk through safety protocol with Davis, discuss the transportation of Stuco’s body with Jones, and sit down to play poker.

Rubbing at the back of my neck, I attempt to loosen the tension I’m holding there.

“I’m out,” Davis mutters, and Vincent echoes the sentiment, leaving me, Martinez, Borman, and Jones still in the game.

I’m still mulling over my mom’s advice when I lose that round of poker and win the next. We’re halfway through the third game when I decide that following my heart has never led me…well, anywhere. Besides, her advice can’t mean jack shit if she doesn’t know any of the facts, right?

Until recently, you could’ve easily convinced me that I didn’t even have a heart, maybe just a skeleton of the organ that distributes my blood. Although, now I have to admit—even if only to myself—that assessment might have been wrong. How else do I explain the tight, stretching sensation within my chest that feels an awful lot like a predator waking from a long, peaceful slumber?

What if the obstinate organ was simply lying dormant? Waiting for a reason to wake.

Shit, that would bebad.

“What are you planning to do to punish Koskinen?” Borman grinds out from across the table, tugging me out of my musing.

Glancing up, I pin him with my heavy glare, and he shrinks down into his seat, averting his eyes back to his cards.

I grind my molars when Davis gripes, “Yeah, what’s going to happen with her? We can’t let her get away with killing Stuco.”

“She won’t. She has an expiration date,” I remind them through clenched teeth.

“She needs to suffer before then,” Borman seethes, apparently locating his backbone.

I arch an eyebrow, keeping my voice even as I ask, “Is torture not enough?”

“Not the way you’ve been doing it,” Borman mumbles almost unintelligibly, but I heard it.That little shit knows next to nothing about what Louhi has endured at my hand, only gleaning the vague, abstract basics in my reports.

“Say that again,” I dare him, my lip peeling back. Borman’s balls must be cosplaying as the magic beans in ‘Jack and theBeanstalk’ because there’s no other explanation for why this fucker is choosing to go up against me. Well, I suppose he could just be a fucking idiot. There’s always that.

With his gaze fixed on mine, he pushes, “Jones told us howyou’ve been raiding the infirmary, taking shit to tend to her wounds.” My attention slices toward Jones, who is shrinking in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with being dragged into this conversation. He clearly doesn’t know when to quit because Borman goes on, “I think we deserve to see the footage from her cell. Who knows what else—”

“Enough,” I roar. Shooting to my feet, my body vibrates as my palms slam against the tabletop, my cards forgotten. My patience has snapped in half. I’m in charge of this slice of hell, and he’s under my command. I won’t be spoken to that way, even in light of his grief. Being upset over the loss of your best friend doesn’t give you permission to act like an insubordinate prick.Andnothinggives him the authority to question me.

Except for the whirring of the fan in the corner, the room is as silent as the dead. Every set of eyes are on me with varying degrees of fear or detestation etched onto their accompanying faces. I typically have a decent handle on my anger, rarely losing my cool, but I’mdonewith this guy. My blood is still a rolling boil when I spit, “That’s the last time you treat me with disrespect. I’ve been lenient with you. I could’ve sanctioned you for losing your shit earlier this week, but I didn’t. That courtesy just ended.”

He scowls at me, the stupid asshole unable to help himself. His lip curls and he snarls, “She should’ve been terminated on the spot for what she did.”

I bolt to my feet and thunder, “Get the fuck out of my sight, Borman.Now.”

Borman shoves to his feet and tosses his chair across the room before storming out. He’s always been a hothead, but I’ve never seen him like this. Davis acts like he’s going to follow him, but I pin him with a warning that promises retribution if his ass leaves that chair.

My chest is still heaving when Martinez reaches over and picks up Borman’s cards. “He was going to lose anyway,” he mutters.

Low, uncomfortable chuckles spread over the room. Slowly, Isink back into my seat, picking up my cards as a sign that we’re going to finish this damn game if it’s the last thing we do.

I begrudgingly took Borman’s hissy fit to heart and decided that he’s probably right to some extent, though I loathe to admit it. Ihavebeen going easy on Lou. She should be a shell of herself by now and the fact that she’s not is a problem.

Needing an edge with her, I sent Jace an encrypted email asking him to get me the file on Lou’s brother. I asked Thompson about it when he was here last, but I haven’t heard anything from him since, and I know Jace has a contact in the records department, so maybe he’ll have better luck.

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