27
Mercy
Rowan,Wylder, and I crouched by a building a block away from the Storm’s headquarters. We watched as another Wylder, flanked by Kaige and several of the Claws members, walked up the street toward the old hotel. The Wylder on the street rolled his shoulders as if working tension out of them.
“That’s the tenth time he’s done that,” the Wylder beside me—the real one—muttered.
“He’s probably just nervous,” I said.
“Maybe he should be. Does he really look that much like me?”
The three of us considered Sam, the Claws guy who was acting as Wylder, for a moment. A few of the Claws had volunteered to take on the role, but he’d been the one whose build was closest to Wylder’s, and his blond hair had taken the auburn dye easily. We’d even gotten Anthea to trim it so it was the same style. He’d put on sunglasses so the differences in his features weren’t so obvious.
I doubted many of the Storm’s people had noticed much about the real Wylder other than his bright hair and his overall shape anyway. And having Kaige next to him helped sell the illusion. Sam had even spent a couple of hours observing Wylder back by the house, getting him to pace and move his arms so he could get a sense of his usual energy.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think he’s pretty good.”
“That’s not how I walk,” Wylder insisted.
“Well actually—” Rowan began.
Wylder glared at him. “There’s only one of me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course there is, and thank God for that. It doesn’t matter if he’s not perfect. They’ve just got to believe it’s you for long enough to stay distracted while we sneak inside.”
Go in, take down as many of the Storm’s people as we could—ideally including Xavier—and grab Gideon on the way out. Other than the show happening on the street, it was a pretty simple plan. I just hoped it stayed simple.
Fake Wylder, Kaige, and their entourage of Claws men came to a stop across the street from the headquarters. We’d warned them to keep a good distance from the old hotel so that none of the Storm’s people would get a good look at Sam. He nodded to Kaige and shouted toward the building in a voice that was a decent imitation of Wylder’s usual cocky tone. “Here we are, assholes. Now where’s my man?”
“Is that how I sound?” Wylder asked.
“Yep,” Rowan and I said at the same time. When Wylder narrowed his eyes at me, I had to smother a snicker.
I craned my neck to see if any of the Storm’s men were coming out onto the street. It looked like they’d learned their lesson after our last attack. They stayed behind the walls of the hotel, where they’d hastily fixed the door, but we clearly had their attention. Faces appeared by the windows.
“So you’re not a total chickenshit after all,” one of the Storm’s guys hollered back. “Good for you.”
“Hand over our man now, and we’ll leave peacefully,” Sam demanded. “You’re all chickenshits if you keep trying to win through pathetic tactics like this.”
“Says the man at a disadvantage,” called someone from inside the building. “Come inside and get him if you want him that badly.”
“Okay, they’re focused on them for now,” Rowan said. “Let’s get moving.”
I nodded, and we ducked around the building to the alley that would take us close to the back of the hotel. It was empty except for the thick stink of garbage wafting to my nose.
We zigzagged around the dumpsters and reached the red brick building of the bar next to the old hotel. There, we stayed in the shadows and peered up at the back windows of Storm headquarters until we were sure no one was watching us. Then we made for the back door of the bar.
As I reached for the keypad by the door and tapped in the code we’d managed to find in the files Gideon had sent us, my heart thumped faster. It beeped, and the deadbolt flipped over. Relief rushing through me, I pushed the door open.
Cool but musty air washed over us. We slipped inside, closed the door, and spotted the stairs to the basement just a few steps away.
Wylder walked partway down first, his gun in one hand, his phone offering a little illumination in the other. “Looks clear. No one around this early in the day.”
“The bar doesn’t open until three,” Rowan said.
I smiled. “Perfect for us.”
As we descended into the stuffy basement storage room, Wylder wrinkled his nose. “I wonder how many deliveries Xavier’s already taken through this route. Did the Steel Knights use this place before? We weren’t aware of any activity around here.”