Outlaws, Matt Rogers [best ereader under 100 TXT] 📗

asked me what I’d do if they told me to choose.’

‘Because that’s your decision to make,’ Slater said. ‘Not mine.’

‘You seem indifferent.’

Slater narrowed his eyes. ‘Really? One option leaves me fighting — and probably losing to — someone I considered a brother, and the other lets me escape to a new life with that brotherhood intact? You honestly think I’m indifferent?’

‘Nonplussed, then. You’re hiding it well.’

‘Compartmentalising. It’s what we’re best at.’

‘Why aren’t you trying to sway me?’

‘Because I respect you too much for that,’ Slater said. ‘You care about Violetta just like I care about Alexis. I’m not about to tear your life apart to save my own skin.’

King didn’t respond. He sauntered over to the kitchen island and pulled out one of the stools. He sat, and drummed his fingers against the countertop.

Slater said, ‘If it comes to it, just decide. I’ll deal with the fallout.’

‘What if they task me with neutralising you?’

‘You and I both know there’s not a chance in hell you’d do that.’

He could see King pondering whether to bluff or not, simply to be hypothetical. But the man gave that up straight away. He knew Slater was right.

Slater said, ‘That’s not even the biggest elephant in the room.’

King raised an eyebrow.

Slater said, ‘This will affect both of us if it goes that way. If they decide that I know too much to be allowed to run around out there in the big wide world on my own, then what does that mean for you?’

King said, ‘But I don’t want out.’

‘You will. Eventually. You don’t want to do this until your body crumbles. Or your brain. That was never on the cards. There had to be an expiration date. Even if it was just to keep you sane.’

King lapsed into silence.

Slater said, ‘What are you going to do if I have to go rogue and you’re left here on your own? How long is it going to take you to start doubting everything?’

‘Explain.’

‘There’s been an endgame scenario in both our heads this whole time. The knowledge that, if things get too intense, we can pull the plug and get out. We’re independent contractors, after all. So, what if you see me going rogue, and realise that quietly retiring was never an option? That’ll pull the rug out from under you.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘I’m just asking you to think,’ Slater said. ‘It might affect who you’re likely to side with.’

‘I thought that’s what this was.’

‘I need to keep my own best interests in mind,’ Slater said. ‘But that doesn’t mean I want you to get fucked over in the process.’

‘What if I don’t want out?’ King said. ‘I mean, ever. You said yourself that you’re not going to stop helping people. I’m the same. It’s in our DNA. So why would I ever want to do it outside of this structure? Think about it. We have our country on our side. We’re given tasks that do the most overall good. We get compensated handsomely. It’s beneficial all round.’

‘But we’re not free,’ Slater said. ‘We always thought we were. And now Violetta is probably going to come back and say, “Sorry, no deal.” What then? You’re just going to be blissfully oblivious? You’re going to pretend you’re not trapped in a cage you can’t escape?’

‘It’s not a cage.’

‘Stockholm syndrome.’

‘Cut the shit,’ King said. ‘I—’

Slater said, ‘Have you and Violetta ever spoken about who she works for?’

‘The upper—’

‘The upper echelon,’ Slater said. ‘I know. That’s what I was told too. But that tells us absolutely nothing. Has she ever elaborated?’

‘It’s off-limits,’ King said. ‘And it benefits no one for me to know. We talk about work. But not about that.’

‘You should have seen what she was like in here. She smiled the saddest smile when I said I wanted out. None of this is up to her.’

King didn’t say a word.

Slater said, ‘She’s trapped. Just as much as we are.’

‘This whole thing is overblown. In all likelihood she’ll come back here and give you the all-clear.’

‘And if she doesn’t?’

King stood up. ‘Then we’ll talk.’

He made for the door. Slater could see, below the always-calm exterior, the man was rattled. Because Slater had gone for the jugular, and King hadn’t masked the doubt with anger. He’d stayed calm, subdued, processing it instead of allowing himself to react immaturely.

Which meant he was taking it seriously.

Slater said, ‘Where are you going?’

King froze with a palm on the door handle.

He turned back.

He said, ‘Now I need time alone.’

Then he left.

29

Some time later, afternoon transitioned to dusk, and Slater flicked a handful of light switches the moment the sun dropped below the horizon.

The last thing he wanted was to spend any time in the shadows.

Not right now.

Somewhat unnerved, he dialled Violetta.

It rang, on and on and on. The faint ringtone emanating from the tiny phone speakers was the only sound in the penthouse.

She didn’t pick up.

He tried again.

Same result.

‘Fuck this,’ he muttered.

He snatched up a coat to combat the evening chill and left the apartment. The hallway was dead quiet, but that was to be expected. Soundproofing and competent insulation were the foundation of any expensive piece of Manhattan real estate. Paper-thin walls weren’t a problem. Hell, both he and King had fired unsuppressed gunshots at assailants on this very floor. They still passed other residents in the lobby without incident. There was no suspicion of illicit activity whatsoever, despite waging war two separate times since they’d moved in.

He made it to the lobby and exchanged a passive nod with the concierge, a polite man in his forties named Sebastian. Slater had spoken to him a handful of times, but not for long. He still remembered the last concierge, caught in the crossfire when mercenaries targeted Slater and King during a city-wide blackout.

Now he refrained from getting too close to any of the staff.

The last thing he wanted was for his goodwill to cost them their lives.

Which concerned him, the more he thought about it. He knew, deep down, that anyone