Page 95 of Rogue Mission
“I’m not a limo driver, you two!” Ryker’s voice cuts through the moment. “You guys are worse than homecoming dates. I can just put you out on the?—”
He abruptly stops, checking his watch between flicking his eyes to the road and back.
“Fuck,” he roars, “Marshall’s texting, and all it says is: Do not return to the safe house.”
THIRTY-FIVE
This will work.
The shittiest, most isolated place within a dozen square miles.
Gravel crunches under the van’s tires as I pull into the skeletal remains. Once a textile factory, it’s now a health hazard.
Broken windows gape like missing teeth. Rust blooms across metal beams. The loading dock sags under decades of neglect.
Perfect for covering up violence.
I kill the engine and turn to Rosalie. She’s already unbuckling her seat belt, face set with that determined expression. But a flicker of worry tightens her forehead when she meets my gaze.
“This is going to get ugly,” I warn, needing her to understand what she’s walking into. “What I have to do to get answers—it probably won’t be clean. Definitely not pretty.”
“I know.” Her fingers find mine, squeezing once. “Someone wants me dead, Justice. Whoever it is, they’re good enough that your team is worried.”
Worried? I’m a world away from worried. My alarms are at threat level ten.
“I can’t leave you unguarded. It wouldn’t be safe. So I need you close.”
Regret crushes my throat.
The breath she draws is uneven too, making me hate this even more.
Her fingers brush my cheek. “We need to know who. We need to know how to help Beast and Camile. We do this together.”
The ache in my chest spreads, roots digging deeper.
This woman.
How is she so strong?
She’s ready to walk into hell at my side.
“It’s going to change how you see me,” I tell her, my insides shredding into a million bloody pieces. Terrified, I nod.
She’s going to walk away and never look back when all this is over.
“It will.” She admits but doesn’t look away.
I force a swallow, trying to figure out what to say, but she stops me by lifting a hand. “It’ll just show me more of who you are.”
The monster.
I don’t think she understands what that means. But there’s no time to argue.
“We need to move. The longer we’re here the more chance of unwanted attention.”
Parson’s trussed up in the back, zip-tied and breathing shallowly around the rag I wanted to suffocate him with.
He squirms and bleats as I drag him by his underarms into the shell of the former factory.
