Water drips off my chin, soaking into my T-shirt.
My shirt has plenty of spatter on it, too, but that’s hard to see on the black fabric. Unlike the blood that was all over my face.
I took one minute to scrub my face and hands clean before heading back downstairs. It’s going to be hard enough to get back to our car unnoticed after what I’m about to do, having my face covered in blood would make me way too memorable.
I use the toe of my boot to shove the dead man off the last few steps and onto the basement floor.
There’s no point in checking the bodies for identification. I know who sent them. And now we really need to get to Nero’s.
I’m not one hundred percent sure they won’t turn out to be a bunch of pricks, but there aren’t many places that are safer than his fortress.
While I’m opening the outer door to the safe room, the inner door swings open.
Cassandra stands before me, her eyes blazing and her cheeks flushed.
My eyes dart to the monitors.
She watched.
I reach up and brush my thumb across the front of her throat, feeling her wild pulse.
I don’t like her this close to violence, but I do like her this close to me.
“Do you still trust me?” I have no right asking her this after what she just watched, but I ask it all the same.
She nods, her head only moving the smallest bit. “I do.”
A flash of her in white fills my mind.
Soon, I’ll have her saying I do in another way.
I drag my thumb down her neck, then move into the room and pick up the bags I pulled out of the closet earlier.
First is the backpack of tactical clothes for Cassandra, next is a duffel bag with documents, more clothes, and the few things I don’t want to leave behind.
Moving to the wall, I grab my favorite set of throwing knives and clip the holder onto my belt. Then a Glock and four full clips go into the duffel.
Last, I move to the desk, open up a cupboard locked with a palm-print scanner, and withdraw the little black book of Cassandra’s boudoir photos. Those go into a hidden pocket inside the backpack.
With everything I need gathered, I slide my arms through the backpack straps, then hook the duffel over my head so it hangs cross body. It’s a more conspicuous look than when we came in but worth it.
“I can carry something,” Cassandra offers.
I point to the flashlight sitting on the edge of the bench. “You’re in charge of the light.”
Gentle fingers pick up the military-grade flashlight while I reach for the keyboard.
It only takes a few clicks to open the program I need.
I glance at my girl, taking in her beauty and remembering she said she trusted me, then I press three keys simultaneously.
One second passes and a warning beep sounds.
Another second, another beep.
A third second, and the ground below our feet vibrates.
The screen showing Cassandra’s house now shows a ball of fire.
Cassandra gasps. “Did you just blow up my house?”
