Page 106 of Obsession
Her voice shakes. “And if I don’t?”
“Then the next time I see you, Oisín won’t be in the room.”
Her eyes dart to me.
Saint’s smile spreads. “Don’t look at him. He already saved your life once. I’m just not stupid enough to kill you in front of the man I’m trying to win back.”
The words hit me hard enough that I sit before my body decides for me. Varina stares at him, then at me, and for a moment she looks like the girl who used to climb out onto the roof with me when Canon was yelling downstairs. Then it’s gone. Maybe she buries it. Maybe I imagine it because I still want there to be something left beneath all the damage.
Bricks pushes off the bar. “I’ll get the money.”
“Demo,” Saint says.
Demo straightens. “Yeah?”
“Take Niall and Eamon to holding. Separate rooms. They get the real offer, not whatever bullshit she fed them.”
Niall’s face crumples in relief so quickly he turns away to hide it. Eamon only nods once. Demo moves them out without making the moment bigger than it needs to be, which might be the most impressive thing he’s done all week, leaving just Varina by herself.
She looks at me one last time. “You chose them.”
“No,” I say, tired enough that the words come out plain. “I chose me. They were just the first people who let that count.”
Bricks returns with a thick envelope and drops it on the table in front of her. “There’s a bus station thirty miles west and an airport twice that far. Pick whichever version of alive you prefer.”
Varina takes the envelope with stiff fingers. Her gaze flicks once more to Saint, and whatever she sees there sends the last of the fight out of her shoulders. She turns and walks out without another word.
For a few minutes after the door closes, the room doesn’t know what shape to take. No one’s exactly sure what to say to break the silence or even to move forward. Without Varina in the picture, the Rogues are finally absorbed into Obsidian.
There’s just one issue left I haven’t heard taken care of.
Saint falls into his chair beside me, but he doesn’t holster the gun until Moth’s eyes flick toward it.
“Right,” Moth says. “The western corridor is compromised as an idea, not an active route. If Varina had that map, anyone she spoke to might have the same false assumptions. We can use that.”
Saint nods. “We push a ghost line through the western approach and make it loud enough for scavengers to chase.”
“It would require decoy fuel logs and visible movement through the north yard,” Moth says. “It might also nip that Reaper issue. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure therewasa Reaper issue or if the Rogues had placed the name in that buyer’s mouth.”
“And we can—” Saint starts, then stops so abruptly the room notices.
He looks at the map, then at me, and the pause costs him so visibly that my throat tightens before he even speaks. “Oisín,” he says, rough around the edges. “What do you think?”
This is the second time he’s corrected himself over the last few hours and as hilarious as it is, I love that he’s trying. He’s not just giving me a place to exist. He’s letting me flourish.
Though, the attention is something I’ll have to get used to. I look at the map because if I look at Saint too long, I might not manage to answer. “I think if you make the western line too loud, anyone smart will know it’s bait. Varina’s proposal was bad, but it wasn’t random. She wanted you to think she was offering outdated access. That means she expected arrogance to do part of the work.”
I lean forward carefully, tracing the edge of the route without touching the paper. “Use the north yard, but keep it messy. Not official logs. Prospects talking too much. A truck that shouldn’t be there parked where someone can see it. Let the rumor be the route, not the paperwork.”
Moth’s eyes sharpen. “Less structure.”
“Less visible structure,” I say. “The Rogues always trusted overheard chaos more than clean documents.”
Bricks grins. “That explains a lot.”
Saint ignores him about to propose the next several steps when the main door opens. This time, it feels like the temperature changes, everyone bracing for the worst. I twist to look at the newest person in the room, surprised to see Sol.
He hasn’t been here in days, at least not where I could see him. His absence had become a presence of its own, lingering in the way men didn’t say his name too loudly and the way Saint’s jaw tightened whenever someone mentioned old policy. Now he’s inside the main entrance in his cut, looking over the room as if measuring the damage done while he wasn’t there to call it discipline.
