Page 134 of Shadow

Roger laughed. Destiny shook her head.

“Daph. Stop—” Asher said, just as Draven put his foot on his spine. He emitted a grunt.

She glanced at him, and a tear ran down her cheek. “No. This is…”

And then Asher felt the cold barrel of a gun press against the back of his neck. “That’s enough dramatics,” Draven said. “Put the gun down, Miss Cross.”

Daphne sucked in a breath.

“Just let her go,” Asher said. “Let her walk out of here—” He tried to meet eyes with Daphne. “Go, Daph.”

But she just stood there, breathing hard.

“You move, he dies. It’s black and white, honey,” Draven said.

Another tear, and it dripped off her chin.

Then she set down the gun.

“No—” Asher said as Roger stepped up and grabbed her arm. “Roger! Don’t hurt her—she saved your life.”

Roger kicked him, low and in the gut, as he pulled her across the room.

He curled into a ball and watched as Daphne looked back at him. Furious.

And betrayed. Accusation in her eyes.

She thought Asher had brought this on them. Had been working with them all along.

Roger returned, all grins. “So. What’s the plan?”

“We need to clean this up,” Destiny said. “Starting with 007 here. Then we come back and fire the house.”

He couldn’t breathe as Draven and Roger hauled him up.

Destiny walked over to him, got close, her breath on his face. “You brought this on yourself, Agent Morrison. Eighteen months of lies. Eighteen months of playing both sides. Eighteen months of thinking you were so clever.” She smiled. Sad. Almost pitying. “You were never in control. You were never ahead. You were just—useful. Until you weren’t.”

He’d been played from the beginning.

And weirdly, Duke was in his head. God will never leave you nor forsake you.

Yeah. Ha. Because as they dragged him out to the SUV, Asher wondered if He’d ever been with him at all.

Or maybe Asher had driven Him away with his years of living in the shadows, the lines blurring until he couldn’t tell which side he was really on anymore.

Either way—this was the end.

And probably, it was exactly what he deserved.

The closet was small. Dark. Airless.

Daphne sat with her back against the wall, knees pulled to her chest, breaths shallow in the confined space.

The office closet held boxes, a step ladder, a few old sweaters, and a pair of cowboy boots that still emanated the smell of the wearer, so…delicious.

They’d locked the door, and she’d tried the handle, so no joy there. And the voices had vanished long ago.

She fought a sick—very sick—feeling that they’d taken Asher somewhere to kill him.