Page 47 of Captive Ruin

The art world may be small, but I’m carving my own niche. The artists I’ve found, the exhibition I’m running, the style I’m backing. It’s all my own work, my own goddamn money, sweat and blood. It’s real, it’s my passion, and he can’t take any of that away from me.

He can’t touch me.

“It’s a goddamn bluff,” I say to Lucy. “You are not going tonight. Instead, you’re coming to my place. We’ll do dinner, eat ice cream, watch old movies.”

She gives me a wan smile. “All right. But what am I going to tell Serranto?”

“Nothing.” I pause on the sidewalk, turning toward her. “You’re going to block his goddamn number, right now. And if he turns up at your door, you’re going to shoot him in the fucking balls.” Just like what I’ll do to Van Wyk when I see him next.

Lucy looks at me aghast. “I can’t do that!”

“In the kneecap then,” I say, taking her phone. “Pin code?”

She gives it to me tentatively, and I hold the phone so she can see as I scroll through her contacts, find his name, and block it. “Home defense,” I tell her as I hand it back. “If he forces his way in, it is absolutely legal to put a bullet in the fucker.” That’s what I’m focusing on, too.

“I don’t think I can…”

“I’ve just seen you shoot. You could do it while he’s still getting out of the elevator.”

“I’m certain that’s not legal.”

“Just keep him away, that’s all I’m asking.” I grip her hand. “Promise me?”

She hesitates for a moment, then nods. “I promise,” she says. Then squares her shoulders, her voice strengthening. “You’re right. He’s a bastard, and I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Good.” I give the word weight, letting it stand as a pact between us.

Two hot, well-armed sisters against the world.

Those fucking men won’t know what hit them.

Twelve

Lukas

My Little Stray doesn’t masturbate for the next two nights.

I assume that’s because I satisfied her.

Even so, it’s fun watching her sleep. I admit I stare at that footage for longer than is probably healthy, sometimes skipping forward to the points where she turns to her other side, then watching it again at normal speed, just to see her move.

If she were anyone else, it might be creepy. But she’s mine. If I want to watch her, I will.

I know I’m obsessed with her. Who wouldn’t be?

And that’s the problem with who wouldn’t be; someone else will be. Then I’ll have to do something about them. No one touches her but me.

Zurich is six hours ahead of New York, so I spend my evenings checking what Amelia was doing the night before. She’s asleep for most of my day, which makes it easier to focus on my job.

I want this done so I can get back to her.

Andrew Leopold is the target Cox gave me before I killed him. He’s the man who knows the projects Origin has in Africa. I get that information, I’m out of here.

There’s an argument to put him in a basement and torture him, but no one’s memory is perfect, especially when they’re having their nails torn out and strips of skin carved off their chest. It’s faster to go direct to the source: his computer. Origin will have firewalls and protections in place, but none of that matters if I’m inside their building.

Sentinel Risk has an office here too, and I pay them a visit, putting down a shopping list of the equipment I’ll need. It’ll take them a day or two.

That evening, Bastien calls me.