Page 70 of Fragile Facade
“About Kill.”
I shake my head, all the death games mingling with the last-chance kiss and the promise of a held hand. “He’s Riot. Not Kill. Not Killian. This is a Vile House job, and I’m not gonna fucking fail it. So piss off and let me focus.” Because he might already be dead, and I’m trying way too hard not to believe that. “And be fucking careful, Krypt. I can’t deal with Remi like you can.”
He grunts at me, and with that, I nod at Ransom and leave the utility room through yet another vent, this one a service shaft that runs alongside the elevator. It should take me eleven minutes to climb down to the floor Riot is being kept on, and from there, another seven to fifteen to get into position in the hallway we believe his room is attached to. That’s eighteen to twenty-six minutes of thinking I don’t want to endure.
The ’what if’ questions have never been my thing. I don’t care enough about anything to worry about multiple outcomes. Even when Remi was struggling with the curse, I never questioned what I was gonna do about it. I didn’t ask a million ‘what if’ questions then, so I hate that I am now.
Because what if Killian is dead? What if he’s damaged beyond repair? What if that kiss really was the last chance? And what if that little bitch is the only one who ever holds his hand?
The service shaft has a ladder, and as I descend, I try to decide if I have any regrets. Remi, I guess. If me and Krypt both die here, he’ll join us in death by choice. Selena is stronger, and she’ll work her way through the ranks of Vile House with my brothers at her side. But when it comes to Riot… Killian, fuck, I might have some regrets.
Like not pushing him as hard as he pushed me. For letting him tempt a curse with me instead of appreciating him for doing it. For loving the harshness so much that I forgot to ask for the softer side of things.
For wanting him to kiss me just likethatagain. For being too cowardly to admit it, too broken to know I wanted it, and too stubborn to see it as anything but weakness. Somewhere along the course of my life, I started viewing gentleness as a weakness. Moros is a ruthless place to live, but it isn’t unkind to me. No, my faults are entirely my own making because my mind doesn’t think like anyone else’s, and I started viewing power as invincibility. I mean, I chase a fucking curse just to prove my power, for fuck’s sake.
If—when—I get the chance again, I won’t let it go. We can chase a curse and taunt death, but in those moments in between, the ones that are more terrifying than the dangerous thrills we seek, I want something else. Something exposed and pure. Because Killian Hallows is the only person I know who can see me as powerful even while vulnerable.
“It’s two floors down, Ghost,” Glitch tells me, my earpiece coming to life. “Don’t leave the shaft until I signal.”
Two floors between us. The ‘what if’ questions swirling in my mind take a back seat, letting sheer determination and a thirst for blood lead the way. I’m loaded down with throwing knives, daggers, and even a gun that I hope not to use. Not a single fucking thing is going to get in my way, and if it tries, it’ll meet the coldest parts of me, a cursed man with a purpose.
Pausing outside the hatch to the floor I need to be on, I settle my breathing while I wait for Ransom and Krypt to get into position at the main security checkpoint. This is it, my defining moment. The one where I refuse to let anyone else be my hero and instead take the hero role for myself. The stakes are higher than ever before, and if that bastard isn’t alive when I get to his room, something inside me will break. I’m a well-crafted mirage, a master illusionist, and a perfectly presented puzzle, but I know something about my presentation is about to change.
Because I have what it takes to rescue him, but does he have what it takes to survive this long?
“Everyone in position. Hall is clear. Ghost, you are good to move. Signal your location when you find his room. All clear?”
“Clear,” I say, climbing through the hatch while Ransom and Krypt both call their status. If Krypt does his job right, he’ll get caught and thrown in with his brother as a bargaining chip, and Ransom and I will be the escape plan while they’re busy using Riot’s brother against him.
The underground bunker hallway is brightly lit but empty, lined with plexiglass windows that spotlight the rooms and the people inside them. Quickly and quietly, I peer into each window, finding men and women who aren’t Riot. Most of them are bloody or battered, some of them insane and snapped away from their minds, and all of them are awake and staring back at me. I don’t give a fuck about any of them. Barely even a spare glance, only long enough to confirm they aren’t Riot.
When I pass the second to last window, I look inside to see a man being tortured by a Reaper Corp member. A blow torch blazes, and the man screams so loud it rattles the plexiglass. I move on, hoping to fucking hell he’s in the last room. If some fucker has a blowtorch against Riot’s skin, I’ll break protocol and find a way in before Krypt gets a chance to get caught.
Before I get there, the door at the end of the hall beeps, and I only have a split second to duck behind a medical cart in the hallway. A lone woman walks through, weirdly professional looking considering we’re in a torture chamber. She’s on the phone, dressed in a lab coat, looking at a tablet as she walks past me. When she’s just past, I snatch her ID card, move around the cart, and duck on the other side. Hopefully Glitch is in control of the security cameras for now.
“He’s still in Moros. Reporting back every three days,” she says to whoever is on the phone. “Their gang is under new leadership.”
The Misfits? Does Lock have a mole in his midst?
“We’re keeping him in place. He had to kill Reaper members the night of the raid, but it gained him loyalty and respect, so it was a worthy?—”
Whatever else she’s about to say is halted when she tries to leave the hall, realizing she doesn’t have a keycard.Fuck.As she’s checking her pockets, I sneak up behind her, grab both sides of her head, and snap her neck. The blood rush starts as I drag her to the nearest door, using her card to open it. I shove her into the prisoner’s room, press end on her phone call, and close the door with a soft click. Because I’m me, I don’t spare a second thought for what that prisoner will do to her.
“Lockdown the hall,” I tell Glitch.
“I can’t yet. You have to confirm his location first or you’ll be trapped there.”
Slinking across the hall in a crouch, I peek into the last window. What I see shatters the remnants of my glass illusion and turns me to nothing but ice.
Because Riot is about to die.
Hanging from a chain in the middle of the room, his arms above his head, he smiles at his torturer, a toothless thing full of blood and anguish. I know that’s not a smile he’s perfected because it shows all his pain, and Riot never willingly shows pain. His one eye doesn’t open, and the other is barely a slit, his eyelashes crusted with dried blood and his nostrils freshly trickling. He’s naked, every part of him dirty and painted red, and if I’m not mistaken, either his fingertips or fingernails are missing.
The part that scares me the most is the device pressed to his temple. The kind of device that releases a metal bolt that kills instantly when it pierces the brain. The man’s finger is on the release, but Riot’s pathetic, unhinged smile and the gargling laugh he lets out makes him pause.
“Riot is about to die,” I say, eyes on Riot’s mouth. “I’m going to break this plan.” I tremble in restraint, hastily trying to make a split-second decision. If I use the card to open the door, will that force the man to release the bolt, or will it distract him enough to pause?
“Ghost,” Ransom warns, but there isn’t much heat behind it.
