Page 78 of Villains Never Die

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I said. “I can handle this.”

“Listen, boss, I know independence and the air of mystery is kind of your whole…” He gestured to me in a circle. “Your whole personality. But you don’t have to do shit like this alone. If you need help, you can ask.”

“I know that,” I said, and I almost believed it. “I’ll ask if I need it. Thank you for lunch.”

He stood and looked over the mess of research spread in front of me and the useless dagger next to my hand just a moment longer.

“See you later. I’ll be at the warehouse finishing up the last of the Russian stuff tonight if you need me.”

I watched the black leather coat stretched across his shoulders as he left, and the cold in my bones ached.

***

I woke with a start, my heartbeat suffocating me as it slammed in my throat. I spread one hand across my chest and tried to get my bearings. The sheets were damp with sweat. I tried to remember the nightmare. That must have been what woke me in such a frantic state.

I shoved the sheets aside and fetched myself a glass of water, which did nothing to cool the heat of my panic or warm the ice underneath. I was a contrast of nauseating temperatures, and my heartbeat did not slow.

Are you awake?

Rook: It’s only 1:00, so yeah. I thought you went to bed.

I think I had a nightmare. I feel off.

Rook: Probably because you don’t take care of yourself. Fights wrap up in an hour or so if you want to come by.

I’ll think about it. You’re okay, right?

Apprehension climbed my vertebrae and struck me in the back of the neck.

Rook: I’m fine.

But something was not right, and I was not fine. I made myself a cup of tea that didn’t loosen the tightness in my chest. A tautness hung in the air, a breath held before a disaster. I was certain, as I watched the minutes tick by on my antique clock, that something terrible was about to happen. I tried heating up leftovers from lunch, but food warred with nerves for my stomach.

The tension pulled so tight that I nearly jumped out of my chair when my phone made a noise again.

Owen, the member of my security team just below Gray.

Owen: Fire at the warehouse.

I knew which warehouse he meant—the one with the Russian items and the rest of my inventory. My only regular employee who knew about the other warehouse was Gray.

Too late.

Too late.

Too late. Too late. Too late.

A dozen or more spirits chimed in at once.

We tried to get here in time, but it’s too late.

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”

Silence.

I dialed Owen’s number. Gray should have known about this first. He should have called me.

“Hey, Austin. A fire broke out at the warehouse about twenty minutes ago. I’ve got guys putting it out now, but it’s bad.”