Page 120 of Cold Bastard
Morpheus:Carver and Scythe found something at the storage facility. Meet us there. Now.
I showed the message to Poseidon, and he nodded grimly. “Let’s finish this,” he said.
I started the engine and pulled out onto the street, heading east toward the storage facility. Toward whatever the fuck Carver and Scythe had found. Toward the next piece of this fucked-up puzzle and as I drove, I couldn’t stop thinking about Alex. About the way she’d stolen Poseidon’s bike and disappeared without looking back. About the way she chose to leave instead of staying and facing what we had become.
She’s made her choice.
And I made mine.
I chose the Brotherhood. The war. I chose duty over her and now I had to live with that.
Even if it killed me.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Alex
What the fuck am I doing?
“Fuck me, this is even stupid by my standards,” I muttered to myself as I slowly pulled into the parking lot for a storage facility I remembered seeing in Michael’s ledger. Looking around, I just sat there shaking my head, trying to make heads or tails of what the hell I was planning to do next.
It was nuts. Truly crazy to think I was about to do what got me into this mess in the first place.
But then again, no one ever said I was smart.
I swung my leg over Oscar’s bike—the very bike I’d stolen while my brother, Nano, and the others were in church. The very bike I knew Oscar would whip my ass if I got one minor scratch on it—and stood staring at the storage facility, knowing damn well freedom was waiting for me, only a few feet away.
Problem was, I wasn’t sure it was worth it anymore.
I was tired of running. Tired of hiding from everything in my life. Just plain tired. I thought I had found what I was looking for with Nano, but I had been wrong. So very fucking wrong. Besides, I refused to stay with a man who didn’t want me. He made that very clear when he turned his back on me in that basement, when he chose the Brotherhood over me.
So I left. I ran. I did what I always did when shit got too real.
But this time feels different,I thought, staring at the building.This time I’m not running away from something. I’m running toward... what? What the fuck am I even doing here?
The ledger had listed this place. Unit 47. Cash payments. Michael’s handwriting in the margins, notes about “storage” and “contingency.” I memorized those pages, knowing that they were important. I just hoped I was right.
Maybe there was money here. Maybe there was evidence. Maybe there was a way out that didn’t involve disappearing into nothing.
Or maybe you’re just doing what you always do—stealing, breaking in, making stupid fucking choices that get people hurt.
Mustering up my courage, I headed inside.
One more time,I told myself.Then I’ll be free.
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.
The facility was eerily quiet. No attendant at the front desk. No security cameras that I could see, at least none that were obvious. Just rows of orange metal doors stretching into the distance, fluorescent lights humming overhead, and the faint smell of dust and motor oil.
Too quiet.
My boots echoed on the concrete floor as I approached the counter. The computer was old. The monitor covered in a thin layer of grime. I glanced around one more time, listening for footsteps, voices, anything.
Nothing.
This is wrong. This feels wrong.
But I was already moving, already sliding behind the counter and booting up the computer. My hands moved on autopilot, pulling the thumb drive from my pocket. The one I paid a small fortune for, loaded with programs that could crack passwords, bypass security, and transfer files without leaving traces, as the screen flickered to life. I plugged in the drive and started theprogram, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I navigated through the facility’s database.
