Page 65 of Dangerous Command
“It’s not your fault,” I said. Through the flash of guilt in her eyes, I knew she knew what I meant. She clutched the armrest, then closed her eyes. Her skin turned pale.
“That’s nice of you,” she said, “but I pulled the trigger. I even asked to do it.”
“He was going to die. Didn’t matter if it was you or me.” The tension of her knuckles relaxed a little. “He chose to be in this life. Chose to stand by Muro.”
“Which is why I want out,” she said. “Which is why Iwantedout!” She slammed a hand into her forehead. “Why do you do this to me? I can never think straight when I’m around you.”
A dullness landed on my shoulders, surging to my fingertips. The feeling was mutual. I wanted to believe that her loyalty to me outweighed anything she had done in the past. But that dark shadow followed us around, destined to consume us.
Prove me wrong, Maddie,I thought.I need you to prove me wrong.
I had never been to the Last Isle before. Work kept me in Sage City, with the occasional trip to Las Vegas or the surrounding states. But my father had gone to the Last Isle a few times, claiming work, when really, he went to escape.
I was in a new territory, which meant I would have to be on guard.
We took the jet to the only airport on the island, then used a taxi to travel to the only tourist-friendly hub, using that as a starting location. From there, we wandered out. Once we were about a block from the center, the locals watched us from under the cover of the buildings, and each time we stepped forward to ask about Muro, they slammed the doors in our faces. Even in casual clothes, we stood out. We were not welcome there.
Was Muro welcome here?
Suddenly, the rain fell hard on the ground, awakening all of my senses: the smell of mud and wet concrete, the slimy film on our skin, the salty taste on my lips; it was hard to concentrate. The raindrops pounded down, echoing in the awnings between the buildings, so loud that Maddie and I could barely talk. Frustration coursed through my veins every time I looked at Maddie. Her clothes clung to her body, wet with the rain, her hair in a sloppy mess against her cheeks and forehead and neck, and still, she was beautiful. A beautiful, damned, secretive mess. When was she going to tell me? I wanted her to say it. I wanted to give her that chance.
If she could kill Muro, then I would let her live.
But if she didn’t do what had to be done—if she could kill Kit, but not Muro—then I would kill Muro, and I wouldhaveto kill her too. There was no way around it.
“I never want to come back to this place,” Maddie shouted.
“I hear it’s beautiful,” I yelled back, “when it’s not pouring.”
“Is it pouring this badly in Sage City?” she asked, gesturing in the general direction, though we were hundreds of miles away. I shrugged.
Finally, we came to a bar. The windows were shuttered, but the entryway was missing the actual door, which meant no one could prevent us from going inside. Dripping wet, we shuffled in, the cold air hitting our skin. The patrons at the center turned to gawk at us, then went back to their drinks. A few men with matching shaved heads huddled in the corner booth, glaring at us. I put my arm around Maddie’s back, pushing her forward. Before we sat down, the bartender handed us two damp black towels. We dried off as best as we could and handed the towels back.
“Two beers,” I said. The bartender dipped below to one of the coolers, then pulled out two bottles. The hiss of the lids being pulled from the tops cracked through the quiet, the clink of the glass on the countertop following it. I handed over some money, but as he reached for it, I pinched it tight, waiting for him to acknowledge me. “Miles Muro,” I said. “Ever heard of him?”
His eyes flicked to the back corner of the room. Maddie flinched, following his stare to those men in the booth.
“No,” the bartender said curtly, then yanked the money away. “We only serve beer here.” He shifted his gaze back to that corner. “You won’t find what you’re looking for here. Try somewhere else.”
Maddie held my upper arm in a death grip as if she could feel it in her bones that something was about to happen. I motioned for us to exit. The bartender’s reaction meant that heknewsomething. If we were in any other place, I would have gladly written his name on a bullet. But we were in unfamiliar territory, a place that was run by criminals. This was not the place to make risky decisions, especially when we were outnumbered. We would have to come back later.
Outside, the rain pounded into our skin. We found our way back to the main road, then went down the same side streets, trying to find a restaurant, a bar, a store,anywherethat would answer our questions. At an intersection, Maddie grabbed my arm, then glanced behind us. I kept marching forward.
“They’re following us,” she shouted over the rain.
I turned around; the men from the bar were behind us, a decent distance away, but close enough that they were recognizable. Three of them. One short, one wearing all black, and another with missing teeth. I kept walking, making sure Maddie was with me.
I wanted to keep her calm. “They’re walking, just like we are,” I said. “Don’t pay attention to them.”
“Derek—”
I stopped, then turned to her. “I will take care of them,” I said sternly. She nodded, biting her lip, her eyes urging me to keep moving.And I’m going to enjoy punishing you later for questioning me,I thought.
We turned down the next street, which ended in an open lot surrounded by the high walls of buildings. A dead end.
“Stay to the side,” I said. Maddie moved out of the way as the three men turned the corner, ready to fight. The one wearing black shot at me, but I dodged the bullet, then shot him in the forehead. Then the shorter one wielded a machete, swinging toward me. He hit my arm, barely cutting it, but I knocked him to the ground, then slammed the butt of my gun into his head, knocking him out. I shot him quickly, then grabbed the machete. The man with missing teeth railed toward Maddie, a knife in his fist as he swung down toward her cheek, knocking her chin.
“You’re next,” he laughed, but I grabbed him by the back and swung the machete into his neck in a dull thud. The knife stayed in his skin like a cleaver in a chunk of meat. He fell to his knees, then collapsed forward. The red double M on the back of his neck was sliced in half. Muro’s mark.
