“We’re taking my car,” I clip.
Oren throws the keys in his hand and catches them.
“We’re taking the cleaner van. Easier to clean out blood.”
I can’t help but smirk back at him at the thought of spilling more blood and possibly being closer to finding Malia than we are right now.
Returning my keys to the board, Oren leads me to a white van. I scoff under my breath at the cliché of the thing, the terrifying white van of kidnappers and killers. We climb into the vehicle and he starts it up, thankfully turning down the heat until the van warms up. The freezing air blowing in my face had me flashing back to my all-to-recent bout of hypothermia.
As we pull out of the garage and wind down the roads, Oren stays silent, leaving me to my thoughts.
“Why is everyone acting like Malia is on a vacation and has not been kidnapped?” I ask him, breaking the silence.
I need to know because there hasn’t been much in the way of panic or urgency; the closest I’ve seen is some tension and rage breaking through Oren’s class clown façade and Lion’s and Breckin’s accusations. The Omen pisses me off the most. He’s calm and collected whenever he’s around me.
“There is always a possibility things like this can happen,” Oren drawls. “It has happened before.”
My mom.
I try to shake off the overwhelming sense of dread that begins to seep into my bones. I already know how that story ended and I refuse to live through that, to go through what my dad did when my mom was taken.
“We’ve been trained to expect it, never knowing who it would end up being,” Oren continues. “If we let the panic take over, all of our sense is blocked. With our minds clouded, we can’t make coherent moves to get it done, none of us are as good as Nateat keeping things buried … especially Malia.”
I smirk at that, I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for The Omen to raise a teenage Malia, considering how much she struggles with control and impulsivity even as an adult.
“If you knew Nate like we do, you would notice the subtle changes in him,” he adds. “As our leader, he can’t fall apart, as a father his foundation is beginning to crack.”
I look over at Oren, who stares ahead, steering the van with concern etched between his brows. It makes me wonder what Nathaniel Olin does with his people to earn such respect from them. When you think of a crime boss your mind conjures up the nightmares of a tyrannical dictator wreaking havoc and spilling blood left and right.
Though he has a reputation as brutal and ruthless, The Omen has somehow earned the loyalty and respect of his minions. Maybe one day I can let myself find out what he did to deserve that. Is there such a thing as a cold-blooded killer with the capacity for some semblance of humanity?
I look down at my hands as we pull into the parking lot of the bureau. Oren’s gaze slides to me and I flex my fingers, slowly looking up at the building may hold the only man with answers to lead us in the right direction.
The path here sealed my fate as a killer, whether I can keep my humanity is yet to be determined. But one thing is certain: the moment Malia was taken, I became no better than the man I once hated.
8
Liam
“How’syourshoulder?”Orenasks as we approach the front of the FBI building.
Through the adrenaline from the fight with Breckin, I hadn’t noticed my aches from the gunshot wound until we were halfway here. It hurts like a bitch, but I won’t be admitting that and I’m sure as fuck not going to let that hold me back from getting Deavers to talk.
“I’m fine,” I clip, pulling my badge from my pocket as we come to a stop at security.
I haven’t seen this security guard before, so he must be new. He reaches out to take my badge and scans the barcode on the bottom. I tense slightly when he does, not knowing if it’s still active. The guard’s gaze scans me up and down with skepticism.
I was suspended a while ago for putting Bastian Collins in the hospital. Director Rene took my badge and magically Oren had it and handed it to me in the van before we got out. I wouldn’t be surprised if my status is blinkingsuspendedin his face.
“Name,” the guard snaps.
I raise an eyebrow at his tone and resist looking at Oren, not wanting to cause any more suspicion.
“Liam Joseph Brenner,” I respond blandly.
“Birthday.”
I snort at whatever game this fucker is playing at. If my badge were a fake these questions would be cake for someone using my identity.