Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“I don’t know… I swear!” Graham sobbed. “The director shut everything down. Gage and Scar wouldn’t cooperate. That’s what we were told. The scientists couldn’t get their shit right and the experiments didn’t work, so all of us lost our goddamn money when the director disappeared.”
When Meridian killed him.
“All of us?” Ex stood beside him now. “Who’s us?”
“Fuck if I know, man. I think there was a CEO from a pharmaceutical firm. A few politicians, cartel lords, smugglers, black-market brokers.” Graham bared his teeth. “We didn’t exactly have dinner parties to get to know each other.”
Meridian flicked his wrist and opened Graham’s lower lip with a clean surgical cut.
“If I were you, I’d be more mindful of the slick shit that comes out of my mouth,” Ex warned.
Blood mixed with spit and tears as Graham clutched his mouth, trying to hold his lip together.
“Transport ETA, two minutes,” Corvo informed.
The women had been gone six minutes. They could’ve contacted the authorities by now. They had to wrap this up.
“What’s the code to the safe?”
Graham hesitated, looking more afraid than he had during the interrogation, which meant the truth to the rest of the lies was inside it.
“Say the numbers, and I’ll make it fast,” Meridian gritted. “Drag this out…”
Graham spilled the code.
Ex keyed in the numbers and slid the door open.
Inside were bundles of cash wrapped in elastic bands, multiple passports, vacuum-sealed blocks of white powder, and bingo—a neat row of thumb drives and an armored laptop.
He and Ex would leave with more than they came for. They always did.
“I was only an investor,” Graham said weakly. “It was just business.”
“No, it’s always more than that…until I arrive,” Meridian said. “And then it’s just business.”
He removed his hood and waited for the man to meet his eyes. When he finally did, Meridian let him see the ledger that lived within his glare—every life taken, every debt repaid.
It was time for Graham Graves to settle his own account.
His tears rained faster as he fell to his knees at Meridian’s feet, hands steepled together as if it were God judging him and not the devil.
“I’ll leave the country immediately. Tonight, I swear. I won’t tell anyone you were here.”
Meridian cocked his head as if he were confused. “I know you won’t. Dead men can’t talk.”
He left Graham flat on his back, eyes wide, the shock barely registering before he’d drawn his last breath.
He’d kept his word. The death had been swift.
He and Ex rushed to the helipad where their black stealth helicopter waited, blades still spinning.
As the aircraft lifted from the villa’s rooftop, climbing toward the clouds, the mansion exploded from the charges they’d set around the perimeter. It detonated in perfect sequence until it looked as if the night had been set on fire.
Ex stood in front of him, hood pushed back, face streaked with sweat and blood.
He’d never looked more beautiful.
“Mere,” Ex whispered.
Meridian studied him—the only person who could reach the part of him not overtaken by evil.
The helicopter banked sharply, Ex’s shoulder hit his, and Meridian caught him, steadying him before he pulled him into his chest. Ex leaned into the touch, gazing up at him as if he were his entire world.
He removed his glove and brushed his thumb along Ex’s jaw, wiping away a streak of crimson.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmured.
Ex’s mouth twitched in a near-smile. “It’s not mine.”
“Well done, fellas,” Corvo noted. “See you stateside.”
White Ravens
Gage
It was dark. Not the simple night comfort that came when Gage closed his eyes, it was heavy and thick like tar.
Steel bars rattled, the thunder-clap of a cell door slamming shut vibrated in his chest.
He tried to lift his hands to rub at the irritation behind his eyelids and realized they were pinned down. Wrists clasped, knees braced, ankles shackled. He bucked, and somebody laughed near his ear, a cynical cackle with breath that smelled like rubbing alcohol.
“Hold him.”
Latex-gloved hands pressed into his shoulders. He tried to kick, but the straps bit into his thighs.
“Stop! Guards!” he yelled, wanting to yank off what was stuck to his face.
Gauze? Tape? Whatever it was, it clung to his face like wet leather. He shook his head, but there was no dislodging it.
“It’ll all be over soon,” a voice sang, cunning and sweet. “Easy now. Easy.”
“Let me go!” he shouted…or he thought he did.
His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Something was shoved against his tongue. A bite block.
Two fingers dug into the lines of his eye sockets, causing heat to flare behind the lids he couldn’t open. It stung, burned. Like acid, not fire. Like lemon juice poured inside them.
No, no, no, please. No more. He tried to wrench free, but his muscles betrayed him.
Another voice, deep and bored. “He’s spiking again. Push five milligrams.”
A cold river rushed into his veins, up his arm, and exploded in his chest. The world slowed, voices became muffled, and the echoes of the prison yard faded away.