Page 106 of Nothing to Fear

The please stilled him. His gut burned, and he ached to fight.

But it was slim odds they’d make it with five Gray Box agents up their ass—especially Ares—and they needed off the island. Maybe the appearance of cooperation could recalibrate their chances to a favorable outcome. If she didn’t find what they needed, he’d come up with a contingency plan, but under no circumstances was she walking into the Gray Box as bait.

“Okay.” Gideon released Willow, hating every second of the movement.

Maddox canted her head, bewilderment stamped on her face, an expression that was mirrored in the faces of the others.

Willow put her hands to his chest, giving him a woeful smile. “It’s impossible for a mole to hide for years without leaving a digital footprint. No matter how well hidden, I’ll find it.”

But could she find it in time? A Gulfstream meant a three-hour flight.

When he looked away from Willow, his gaze collided with Maddox’s. Her steely eyes dissected him to the bone, transparent worry replacing the surprise on her face.

He washed his expression clean, tightening down his emotions. It was as if Willow sensed the change. She drew away, hands falling to her sides, doe eyes questioning him.

“Okey-dokey.” Reece gave an enthusiastic clap. “Let’s rock and roll before the cops arrive.”

Local law enforcement would only delay them with questions. Surprising they weren’t on the scene already, though it was possible they were hemmed up at the bank. Good thing the crime rate on the island was low.

“We need the merc,” Gideon said. “They’re holding Willow’s sister hostage.”

Ares flashed a wicked grin and elbowed Alistair. “Guess we might get to party after all.”

40

Near the Potomac River, Virginia

Monday, July 8, 12:00 p.m. EDT

Daedalus stared in the dingy bathroom mirror, running an electric razor over his cheeks. Nothing beat a hot towel shave with a straight razor, but his Braun was a close second. He swiped a hand along his jaw, the barest hint of stubble prickling his palm.

Unease dripped through him over how he’d left things with Omega.

Vincent.

Daedalus had been so fired up over Cobalt’s insurance and Stone wiping out some of their best men, he’d blamed Omega for this catastrophe.

They were bound together in this, for better or worse, since the beginning. Not once, in all the years they’d hustled, strategized, manipulated to rise like conquerors had Daedalus dumped the entire shitload of responsibility on Omega’s shoulders. Not until last night.

He raked his dark hair into place and clenched his hands, disgusted at himself for not having unleashed his venom at the proper target. Stone and Cobalt.

In this business, venting was a necessary evil. He relied on Vincent to be a sounding board, offering solid advice, even when it was unwanted. The man was more than his right hand. Vin was…his foundation, supporting him, holding their empire up with his dauntless backbone.

Sometimes Daedalus said things in anger—his hot-blooded Italian temperament flaring—but only behind closed doors. And only to Vin, who always brushed off harsh words in his usual steely fashion.

By the time he finished ranting last night, he’d seen the damage he’d inflicted in Vin’s eyes, the burden that weighed on him. Daedalus was the sole reason Vincent had stepped back into this cesspool of a business after washing his hands clean. If anything happened to him…

Daedalus drew in a deep breath, maintaining a grip on his unraveling sanity. Inside him, a tinderbox was ready to ignite and incinerate the world.

This was the doomsday scenario they had shed blood, broken bones, and subjugated souls to avoid. If they didn’t fix this, everything they’d worked for could be wiped out.

They had a sizeable nest egg, capable of providing comfort in hiding, but their empire wasn’t solely about money. This came down to something far more satisfying.

Power.

They’d do anything to hold on to it.

There was another possible asset inside the Gray Box. Cobalt had done the research and given him a name last year. Reluctantly, but it meant less pressure on Cobalt to produce intel if the other person panned out. Vin had advised against digging around on the secondary. A tricky move at best, incendiary at worst. MI6, British Intelligence, supposedly thought Alistair Allen was dead. Asking questions about a ghost would raise red flags, and Allen seemed equally as likely to cooperate as he did to go out guns blazing in defiance, but these were desperate times. Using desperate measures, Daedalus had thrown out feelers a few days ago to have his contacts in Britain verify the credibility of the leverage.