Page 107 of The Thief
"You know, she asked about you. She wondered if you'd really come for her or if you'd be smart enough to cut your losses. I told her the truth: that men like you always choose the woman over common sense."
A staircase comes into view, metal steps leading to a catwalk system that runs the length of the building. That's where he is. Has to be.
"Of course, I also told her about Ava. About how your great love affair was nothing but an elaborate con. Poor girl looked heartbroken when she learned the truth."
He's trying to get under my skin, make me careless. Amateur psychology from a man who thinks everyone's as twisted as he is.
I start up the stairs, each step deliberate and controlled. Whatever's waiting for me up there, I need to be ready.
"Did you really think Ava loved you? That all those nights together meant something?"
The catwalk stretches ahead of me, doors leading to offices that overlook the warehouse floor. One of them has light spilling from underneath.
"She was mine from the beginning, Freddie. Every kiss, every touch, every moment you thought was real, it was all a performance. She was gathering intelligence, nothing more."
Maybe. Probably. Doesn't matter anymore. Ava's dead, and whatever she was to me died with her. What matters now is the woman tied up in that room, the woman I actually love.
"But don't feel bad. You weren't the only one she fooled. Half of Dublin thought she gave a damn about them."
I'm at the door now. I can hear voices inside, movement, the sound of someone crying softly.
Alastríona.
I test the handle. Unlocked. Of course it is. Trace wants me to come in, wants this confrontation.
I count to three, then kick the door open hard enough to splinter the frame.
Six men inside, just like I expected. Five with guns, one with a knife held to Alastríona's throat.
She's tied to a chair in the center of the room, blood on her face, left arm hanging at an unnatural angle. Broken. They broke her arm.
But she's alive. Conscious. Looking at me with relief and terror in equal measure.
"Freddie," she breathes.
The man with the knife—Trace, it has to be—smiles. "Right on time. I was beginning to think you'd chickened out."
"Let her go."
"Eventually. First, we're going to have a conversation about respect. About consequences. About what happens when you take something that belongs to me."
"Ava never belonged to you." Hell, she never belonged to anyone. She did whatever the fuck she wanted, consequences be damned.
"Didn't she? We were married, Freddie. Husband and wife, till death do us part. I'd say that gives me certain claims."
"You killed her."
"I reclaimed her. There's a difference."
The knife presses closer to Alastríona's throat. A thin line of blood appears on her skin.
"But we're not here to discuss my late wife. We're here to settle accounts. You cost me something precious, so I'm going to cost you something precious in return."
"I'll give you one chance," I say quietly. "Take that knife away from her throat and face me like a man."
Trace laughs. "Or what? You'll shoot me? While I'm holding your girlfriend hostage?"
"No. I'll kill your men and then take that knife away from you personally."
