Page 136 of Painted Scars
“That’s fucking suicide.” My jaw clenches hard enough to crack teeth.
He looks at me. Really looks at me. No bullshit. No jokes. “You love her, and this might be the last thing she hears.” The words land like the cold press of a gun barrel to the back of my skull. “Escalate the war for her.”
The walls of the bunker close in on me, crushing me with the weight of all our work. Collateral damage is expected in war—we knew the risk going into this and accepted it. All the sacrifice, our families, friends, lives, the men and women who placed their trust in me to stay hidden.
None of it matters if she doesn’t come back. She started the conflict within me, and I won’t let that mean nothing. I can’t shake the truth that I love her. Always have. Every second I sit here and debate with my best friend is another second she’s alone with them and scared. My Glitter Bomb will not become a casualty, and I will fucking burn the world down for her to shine brighter. Let my face be the one they see as the flames surround them and raze their empire to the ground.
“Can you reach her father?” I choke out. “Maybe he can intervene? Start an internal war.”
A goal we’ve been aiming for since the beginning. In-fighting leading to them devouring themselves like the cancer they are. Minimal casualties for us. A clean victory. Except, nothing’s clean anymore. Everything became messy the moment she commented on Katar’s goddamn thirst trap video.
“Good idea, princess.” Grayson pushes up from the bench, grimacing as he reaches for the controls.
I catch his shoulder. “Tell me what you need. I’ll set it up, frog prince. Meanwhile, I need you to find me a drop location for her with multiple exits so they can’t trap us when I retrieve her.”
He snorts and reels off a list of equipment, pointing to it when I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about. We point the camera at a concrete wall and shield our servers, cables, and computers from view. When we’ve put together what we need, Grayson drops back into his chair, touching his bandage.
Before we start, I grab the charcoal face paint that Katar smears over his face, a signal for his dark side. I paint my eyes and lips black. This is my camouflage. My war paint. I’m the fucking ghost in their shadows.
I reach into my drawer that holds the poker hand I swore not to show until we were ready or as a last resort. That time has come. We need distractions. Public outrage. Demands for arrests. Make it virtually impossible for every Roman to fucking breathe, let alone conduct business. The weight of the USB drive is heavier than it should be. It contains all the data we’ve collected—fraud, financial crimes, racketeering, bribery, and more.
I drop it on Grayson’s desk. “Drop it all, ready for release.”
“WikiLeaks drop?" Grayson grins. Julian Assange is one of his heroes.
I nod and clap him on his unwounded shoulder.
“Sit.” Grayson motions at me. “I want to do a sound check.” He enters a few more commands. “Say something, princess, then we’re going live nationally and right to Charles Huntington and Blackthorn’s phone.”
I drop into the black plastic classroom chair, and it complains under my weight. A harsh glare forces me to squint.Grayson is a silhouette against it, his expression swallowed by the brightness. The only clear thing is the pinprick of red cutting through. My cue to record my message.
“My name is August Kelly,” I say, voice gravel.
Grayson winds his finger, signaling for me to keep going.
Suddenly the bunker is our war playground.
“I’m a former detective with the Shadow Lake Police Department, who uncovered the rot spreading throughout our city.” Each word tastes like the melted metal of a bullet and gunpowder.
I keep going for her, hoping to God she hears this, and knows I’m coming for her. Whatever it takes.
“You’ve been told your city is run by mayors, judges, and law enforcement. That’s the surface story. The truth is uglier.” I let that settle in with a beat. “There’s a council that’s never been on a ballot or elected. That’s never been in a headline as they control them. Except for the work of Sally-Anne Walters. Not familiar with her work? Check out her testimonial on YouTube and the blog of Kate Williams.”
Somewhere in the city, Blackthorn is either grinning or breaking a glass against a wall. I put my boot on his throat and apply more pressure.
“This city is run by seven unelected rulers, hidden behind boardrooms, dividing this city like an empire. “I don’t blink. Don’t stop. Kate’s life depends on this. “They call themselves the Romans. Each sect controls a pillar of society. You’ve never heard of them because they pay to keep it secret.”
I go through them all, one by fucking one.
Jupiter rules the banks, finances, construction, and airlines. The head of the snake with its hand on every dollar. They launder money through charities.
Neptune owns the ports and the seas. Every shipment in and out, legal or not, is taxed by them. Even the mafia lost their docks to Neptune’s grip, and they’re not happy about it.
Pluto leads the underworld. They’re the Romans’ enforcers, dealing in blood and shadows, assassins, bribes, brothels, and black-market vice. They use Neptune to ship their drugs into the city and run it through hospitals.
Mars wears the badge and commands the police, prisons, the judicial system that never rules in your favor, but rather theirs. Laws protect them, not us.
Mercury speaks through your screens. Media, news, and propaganda. Words in your mouth before you think them.
