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On the picture of Maple.
I wince, setting the glass in my hand down.
“Everyone else is dead. It is only a matter of time until he joins them. Kale—” I swallow thickly at the thought of Kale being dead.
But I didn’t do anything to stop it. Didn’t put up a true fight.
I let my guilt outweigh everything else.
I haven’t heard from Cinnamon yet. Haven’t seen any news. But I know it’s only a matter of time.
She has been successful, there’s nothing to stop her now.
Except I can’t help the regret. The anguish that floods my nervous system.
“Kale was a necessary evil. I know he wasn’t a bad kid, but he is too knowledgeable. The only one who can replicate this poison. He needed to be disposed of.” Benedict leans back. “As for Romaine. We are nowhere as long as he is alive. We need to find him next.”
But doesn’t that make us just as bad as the Aldentes and Napolitans…?
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I am shocked to find Cinnamon’s name. But then I remember she’s not calling me as the person who hired her but as the idiot who hit her car.
I answer, and before I can even speak, she blurts out, “Aunty! Listen to me, I was in a crash, I’m upside down. Code red, please help, my phone is going to die. I’m on the old highway—”
It disconnects before I can say anything. It’s clear I wasn’t who she intended to call, but that doesn’t stop me from attempting to dial her back.
Direct to voicemail.
Direct to voicemail.
Direct to voicemail.
Direct to voicemail.
“Reuben!”
Startled I jump and can tell by Benedict’s tone it’s not the first time he has said my name.
I meet his eyes in what I am sure is a panic. “I have to go.”
Time moves differently as I leave. As if I am floating down, watching my body and not controlling my motions.
I’m not the one who sprints to my car, who accelerates away, who races to the only old highway I know.
I’m not the one who sees the flipped car, whose lungs constrict.
I only land back in my body once I am at Cinnamon’s side.
“You?” She blinks blearily, confused.
Her face is caked in dried blood, but besides that, she appears mostly unharmed. “We should call an ambulance, a helivac, a—”
“No, just get me down and take me to my aunt.” Her voice is empty and dull.
And it is the first time in meeting Cinnamon that I can see evidence of her ability to be a hitman.
Who else would be calm in a situation like this?
As if she is indifferent to the fact she is dangling upside down in a car, covered in blood.
