Terminal Vendetta (A Diana Weick Thriller Book 3), Cate Clarke [best books to read .TXT] 📗

“Another one,” Asher murmured as he picked up the last of the cash bundles from along one of the baseboards, stuffing it back into the bag. Pinching the zipper between his hands, Asher shut the bag back up. His hands had stabilized a bit, less trembling.

“Deal?” Laird asked, standing up from the couch and taking one step toward him.

They looked each other in the eyes, nodding and understanding. Asher’s attention drifted from the scars on Laird’s bare chest, down his arm to the joint between his fingers. Grinning to himself, Laird passed him the left-handed cigarette.

Asher sucked back way too much but managed to hold in the cough this time. Bloodshot eyes watering, he said, “Deal.”

Chapter 31

Cameron Snowman

Near Laredo, Texas

They had stolen from him. Betrayed him—went behind his back and crushed his trust like it was made of glass, smashing it against a concrete wall. After everything he’d done and everything he’d given to the Readers, they had been lying to him this whole time.

Asher wasn’t just in it for the money. He had been in it from the beginning to prove something to his daddy, Zabójca. And when they had successfully completed the transfer, they had all disappeared, leaving Cameron behind with nothing to ruminate on but his mistakes and anger.

Then, he’d seen them on the news, and things had gotten worse. Not only had his trust been stolen from him but so had his opportunity at revenge, taken away by Diana Weick.

She thought that forwarding this information about them all being related would somehow rectify this.

Dead wrong. Dead fucking wrong, Weick.

They’d all been sitting on this information, parading around like they actually stood for their cause when they were really in this for some type of nostalgic reunion. But the money, the billions of dollars, didn’t hurt. It made things easier. Cameron would complete it himself. He spent hours and days making up packages without stopping. Because who now would bring retribution to his brothers and sisters if not for him? All of this had been for his father and if he left this incomplete, it would just be insulting. But after this, he would find Asher—the only one left—and he would rebuild the Readers from his death.

There was some blame that he put on himself, for letting himself trust and be manipulated by known terrorists. That was on him. Zabójca had certainly gotten him farther than he ever would have been able to alone. Without his resources though, without the technological prowess of Asher or even Laird, Cameron’s task would be twice as difficult. Eventually, he would have to recruit more help. They—he—still had a couple more men on the inside, a few in the Army, one or two up high, one in the FBI and one in the MI6, but he worried about their allegiances faltering with Zabójca’s death. Cameron would have to step forward as leader, and he was ready for it.

There was no other option.

But in the meantime, where he really needed an inside man was with the United States Postal Service. He delivered as much as he could by hand; the others used drones that had been set out by Asher in advance. There were some that were going to be missed. That was the reality of working alone—he couldn’t provide the retribution in the capacity that he’d wanted and that he’d dreamed about. They hadn’t left him with nothing. As if that was enough to compensate for what they’d done. It wasn’t about the money. It had never been about the money. It was about sending this message—their message—to the people that needed to hear it. People like Hoagland and, at one time, Ratanake. At least, one out of two of those old bastards were dead.

Now his message was coming out of his share. He wouldn’t be able to afford that house on the coast of Georgia, but it wasn’t time to retire anyway.

He chewed on a pepperoni stick and sipped on a Slurpee in a gas station parking lot, just outside of Laredo, Texas. The Ferrari had been parked on the other side of the lot only a few days ago according to the cashier inside. It was an easy car to remember.

Asher thought he was hidden when Cameron had been following him for days. So many people underestimated him. As soon as Asher had used that fake passport to get back to the States, he’d known he was here. That was the thing about being an ex-FBI agent, especially one that had just walked out. He still had resources. He still had his badge, and after flashing the expired gold seal to a DC TSA agent and a quick lie, it had taken only a few hours to find footage of Asher coming through the airport.

If there was one thing he’d gotten good at since establishing the Readers, it was taking advantage of other people’s mistakes, including Asher’s.

He’d picked up smoking. With all of the money and the freedom, the passenger’s seat was covered in snacks his mother had never allowed him as a kid as well as two full cartons of cigarettes because he hadn’t known which ones to choose. Rolling down the window, Cameron tried the menthol and then the regular, deciding on the menthol and tossing out the other carton into the garbage as he waited.

It was goddamn hot.

Asher had chosen a black Ferrari with, likely, the coolest air-conditioning that money could buy. Cameron was still driving his old Taurus, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than necessary. Asher was young and stupid. Though they were actually the same age, Cameron was much more mature.

Once they’d started down the gravel roads of Texas, Cameron had known where they were headed, back to Laird. Why? Was Asher closer with this stoner ex-SEAL than he’d let on? Another secret that he was keeping from him, maybe.

But if that was the way he wanted it—to put Laird, his farmhouse and