Page 85 of G.O.D.S Omnibus

“When do they go out for jobs or whatever?”

“That depends on the group. Occasionally, I will send my stronger stage-four teams out for experience. It’s the big jobs that require the older teams.”

“What type of jobs?” I question, trying to get as much information as possible.

He hesitates for a moment, clearly thinking of something to tell me. “I sent a team last week to take out the head of a child sex-slave ring.”

“So... you’re the good guy?” I know this is a stupid question to ask; he is anything but good.

He laughs and shakes his head.

“Honestly, not even close. We work for whoever has the money to pay. The man who paid for that job was a father whose daughter was taken. He had a lot of money but lacked the skills.”

“Makes sense.” I could see this organisation helping so many people. But he is greedy. He gets donations for this place to run and yet is paid for his services.

His phone buzzes, and he removes it from his pocket, looking at the screen.

“You’re free to go now—the driver will be downstairs. The lift will take you to the ground floor.”

“Okay.” I head towards the lift and press the button, the doors sliding open.

“Jolie.” I turn back to face him. “You could inherit all this one day. I would like to think you would consider working with me.”

Here we go. I have to hit the heart strings. Playing nice with this man isn’t easy.

“I might consider it if you tell me more about my mother.” I meet his eyes as memories of Davis teaching me how to remove the telltale signs of when you’re lying flick through my mind. Most people will avoid eye contact or look up to the left.

He nods, and I turn back around and step into the lift. When it reaches the ground floor, I use every ounce of self-control not to run from the building. I end up walking out through a different hallway and wonder how that was even possible. I keep my pace all the way until I’m safely back in the car. The driver must have been instructed where to drop me, as he heads off once again without a word.

By some miracle, I hope whatever Mr Z has up his sleeve backfires. I can’t lose any of these guys now that I finally have them back. My memories may not have all returned yet, but I feel the bond with each and every one of them. I want them to be around as I remember who they are, not dead and buried six feet under.

Chapter Thirty-One

Jolie

The car pulls over to the side of the road, the test zone on my right through the trees.

The driver turns in his seat and gives me a look of pity. “For what it’s worth, those boys are smart.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, opening the door and sliding out of the car.

He drives off and leaves me standing there looking towards the zone. Everything is surrounded by ten-foot fences.I wonder how I managed to find the road. I swear there was no fence when I was here.

I make my way down a dirt path, pushing my legs as fast as they can take me. Following the sound of rock music through the test zone, I grit my teeth, knowing it cancels any chance of me calling out to them.

With no gap in the fence, I eventually find myself at the warehouse. I try the door and it’s locked. Think, Jolie. The guysdropped through a hole in the roof, so there must be a way up. Racing around the building, I find a ladder and I climb all the way up, but I clearly didn’t think it through. The only way down through the hole is by a rope.

“Come on, you can do it.”

“I can’t, Boston. I still have blisters.”

Shaking the memory away, I have no choice but to pull up a couple of ropes and hope for the best. As I tie one around my waist, I realise this isn’t going to be painless, or my smartest idea. I drop one rope back into the hole and ease my body over the edge, holding on for dear life. I can’t fuck this up, or there might be another dead body.

I’m heavier than I anticipated, and my palms slide down the rope at a speed I wasn’t expecting, my hands burning the entire way down as rough fibres cut into my flesh. My body comes to a halt mere centimetres from the ground with a massive jolt, causing the rope to tighten around my waist, a searing pain now radiating in my side. I don’t have time to waste on licking my wounds. I untie the rope and look around.

Pictures of me line the screens around the room—me walking into Olympia, smiling at Mr Z as he greets me, and many others, all taken without my knowledge. The deafening sound of “Seek and Destroy” by Metallica plays on repeat at an ear-piercing level.

I run outside and look around for clues where they went. It’s all bush as far as the eye can see; I’m never going to be able to find them.

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