Page 71 of Redemption

Seven went to a kitchen drawer and extracted a knife, handing it to her. “You, what are you going to do?”

Methodically, she sliced the sandwich down the middle, taking too much time to appreciate how the lettuce and tomatoes crunched under the blade. “Time will tell.”

Seven took the knife, cutting hers, and together, they ate in silence before Seven pushed back in her chair. “Flavored waters. Hang tight.” She fished out two bottles, placing one in front of Victoria’s plate. “What is that look?”

Lost in a thought of hoagies and knives, she glanced up. “What look?”

“That one, right there.”

Victoria shook her head, unable to admit where her head had been: Ivan, rebuilding her business, what people thought happened to her, how they might judge her... The list went on and on. “I didn’t have a look.”

Instead of digging in deep, pouring out her soul to the girl who knew her every waking dream, she cracked the top on the bottle.

“Not revenge…” Seven studied her like a puzzle. “More like—I don’t know—you’re hellbent to fix something.” She tossed her cap in the air, catching it, then chugged her water as Victoria gaped. “What? That’sa look. You can’t tell me you’re not bugging out on the inside.”

“I met someone recently who said eerily similar words.” Maddy’s thoughts on needing redemption rang clear. Victoria had thought that encouragement was focused on Ryder and sex, but perhaps Maddy meant at home and righting what went wrong with the bail-jumper.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Seven said. “Don’t do it. Don’t even go there.”

Victoria felt surer in her next step than ever. Obsession surged in her blood. “You don’t even know what I’m thinking.”

“Don’t do it, Victoria. I never tell you no, and everyone told us no when we started.”

She remembered. The town had clucked on and on. They were too young. Seven needed to deny her Mayhem roots if she’d wanted a chance as a business owner. Victoria’d had too little guidance growing up—how could anyone trust her cavorting with criminals when one had raised her? But age was just a number. Seven managed her family’s undeniable connection to outlaws with wisdom beyond her years, and Victoria’s lack of parental involvement had made her a serious child, enamored with the law. “Don’t start now.”

Brightly colored hair fell over Seven’s worried face. “But that look on your face coupled with the very little I know about what happened to you… We’ve always been smart.”

“Calculating.”

“We did things for the greater good, for our success. To live a life we wanted to have.”

“Agree.”

“Revenge was never us.” The plastic bottle in Seven’s hand crackled under her grip, and they both jumped. “No revenge.”

“None. I won’t, I promise.” Revenge wasn’t what she wanted. Only justice.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“Easy does it.” Javier’s quiet voice had been in Ryder’s ear off and on for the last six hours. Now, their target was in sight, and Ryder had one shot to take out a terrorist who had found safe harbor with a lieutenant in the Leyva cartel.

Sweat trickled down his back, his neck, teasing and tickling along his face where the humid night was breaking to dawn. Two hundred yards away was a solid location. He ignored the mosquitos the size of hummingbirds and jungle temperatures that were already climbing to hellacious as the morning sun turned the black sky deep purple.

It was a windless day as he stared at a soulless man surrounded by a booby-trapped thicket of leaves and bushes. Ryder kept his heartbeat still, even as his trained pulse wanted to jump for joy that the uncatchable terrorist was now in his crosshairs.

“Target identified,” Ryder reported. “Are we still a go?”

“Affirmative,” Jared replied from Titan HQ.

From that point on, no one else would utter a word unless the mission was aborted or critical. A woman remained close to his target, and Ryder wanted a clean shot without risk. There were enough windows, and their behavior was unguarded, so he wanted to wait.

The man disappeared from sight, and Ryder’s trigger finger caressed the familiar pull. Patience was his, and the dead man walking had no idea he should be making right with the Lord.

The target came into view, alone, second window on the north side, a cup of coffee in hand. Ryder focused, aimed, waiting to find the right cadence of his heart rhythm. All sounds around him were gone. There was nothing but Ryder and a point of entry. A kill shot. His job.

He pulled the trigger. Then he breathed.

“Confirmation of hit,” Javier reported.

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