5

5

What the fuck did Jason say to you while I was out? Did he say I don’t have Tourette’s? He said I don’t have Tourette’s, didn’t he? I have Tourette’s, Porcupinedamnit!

Ugh. Whatever. As long as he didn’t tell you about Pinny. Wait . . . he told you about Pinny, didn’t he? Son-of-a-crotch-cuddling-lemur-loving-carpet-cooking-turd-licking-bastard-I’m-going-to-motherfucking-kill-him-and-no-I-don’t-mean-that-figuratively!

Whatever Jason told you, it’s complete bullshit. The man is a lying, cheating, bastard. You’ve known him for one chapter. You’ve gotten through two whole books with me, and have I ever led you astray? Don’t answer that. I realize I shot myself in the foot with that argument.

I can’t believe that son-of-a-cricket-choker took over a chapter of my story. Who the fuck does he think he is inserting himself into my narrative? Typical, arrogant man.

Fuck it. We’ll deal with this bullshit later. But don’t think this is over. You and I have some scores to settle on this Jason business, dear reader, believe you me.

Anyway, I come to in a dark, simply furnished room, and my head is fucking killing me. The room is barely larger than your average motel room and does not appear to be frequently used. The faded, flowery wallpaper is cracking in several places, and a thick layer of dust covers the floor and the two double-sized beds. Aside from the two beds, the only furniture is one desk chair on which Jason is currently sitting and a small mini fridge on top of which rests an old microwave. In the corner of the room is a door that leads to a small bathroom, and on the other side of the room is the only other door out of the room.

“Where the fuck are we?” I ask, trying to sit up on the bed, but a wave of dizziness sends me back down.

“Careful,” Jason says, rising from the chair and crossing over to kneel by my bed, handing me a bottle of water. “I don’t think you’re concussed, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take it easy.”

The only thing that keeps me from rolling my eyes at him is the certain knowledge that even that minor movement would send further stabbings of pain jabbing through my skull.

“Whatever you say, Nanny McFuck. Answer the question, where are we?”

“I have a few ‘safe rooms’ set aside around L.A. in case of an emergency. All rented under fake names, so we should be safe, for a while at least.”

“What happened at H.Q.?”

“News reports are currently scattered, but from what I’ve been able to sort out, I don’t think anyone who was in the building, aside from you and me, made it out alive. I’d only just gotten on site for a meeting with Zeke, and I gather you yourself were just leaving, and that’s the only reason we survived.”

“You had a meeting with Zeke, too?” I ask. Zeke is—no, was not exactly prone to giving many face-to-face meetings with any of his operatives, so two meetings in one afternoon strike me as suspicious, to say the least.

“Yeah, he said it was about a new assignment he had for me, but he wouldn’t say anything else. I thought it was odd, but Zeke has never been ‘normal’ anyway, so I figured I’d find out what the deal was in our meeting.”

“Do they know who set the bomb?”

“No, but it’s starting to look like it was the same kind of bomb that was . . . that was used on the prison last week. Naturally, everyone’s jumping to the conclusion it’s terrorists, but—”

“But more likely it’s Nick Jin’s followers.”

“That’s my guess, yes.”

“Which means they bombed the prison because they knew my mother was there. They bombed the prison specifically to hurt me for killing Nick.”

“I think that’s a reasonable assumption.”

Jason is the first person this week who has not said he’s sorry to hear about my mother, a fact for which I am begrudgingly grateful to him. I swear, the next asshole who gives me their condolences is going to get a knife in the gut. Holy shit! I just realized for the first time in almost a decade I can carry through on that promise without fear of being disbanded from T.H.E.M., what with T.H.E.M. being effectively disbanded itself.

“So, let’s go find these motherfuckers and kill them,” I snap, my blood rising at the realization that, yes, my mother’s death is because of me.

“Easy there,” he says, laying a restraining hand on my shoulder, preventing me from trying to sit up again. “You are currently in no state to be running off on any vendetta killing spree. Believe me, I want to kill every last one of these bastards just as much as you do, but we will have to be smart about it. We need to stay off the radar right now so that Nick’s followers don’t kill us first, and we can’t exactly do that if I have to run you to the emergency room if you do indeed have a concussion.”

One of the things I hated most about being in a relationship with Jason was how often he was right. The least he could do is be a smug asshole about being right so often, but no, he can’t even afford me that courtesy. He has to just be right and be nice about it. Fuck-wad.

“Fine,” I grumpily concede. “But what is our next move, after Dr. Jason gives me a clean bill of health, of course.”

“First move will be to get out of L.A. and go on the lamb until we can gather some information on these creeps. I trust you have a stash of fake I.D.s, passports, and cash somewhere safe?”

“Of course.” It’s included in the standard T.H.E.M. orientation training to always have an ‘in case of emergency’ kit ready. “It’s back at my house.”

Jason frowns. “That’s less than ideal. No doubt, they will be closely watching all of our ‘legal’ addresses. I’ll have to see if I can get past them. Where in the house is your kit stashed?”

“Fuck that shit. I may be concussed, but I sure as hell won’t have you snooping through my panty drawer while I lay around back here like some pathetic damsel in distress. We’ll wait until I’m able, and then we’ll both go and get my kit. As much as I loathe the idea, we’re in this together for now, at least until we find out if any other loyal T.H.E.M. operatives are still alive. Though, I’d bet that any operatives who weren’t at H.Q. when it blew are probably either long-gone to South America by now or joined up with Nick’s minions.”

“I’d take that bet, too,” Jason concedes. “Fine. We’ll go together. When you’re better.”

“Yes, Dad.”

“How much cash do you have stashed?”

“What do I look like, a motherfucking accountant?”

Jason gives me the most deadpan glare he can manage.

After several intense moments of silence, I give in. “I don’t know, a few grand, I think . . . ”

Jason sighs. “Fortunately, I have nearly five hundred G’s stashed between my five saferooms. Even if we can’t get to each of the safe rooms before Nick’s lackeys catch on to us, we should have enough to last us a while, if we’re frugal.”

What can I say? I’m an impulsive person, so frugality has never been my strong suit. Setting aside five hundred grand and not spending it is not exactly in my nature. Hell, I’m impressed I managed to save a couple of thousand.

“Fine. So, we get my fake I.D.s, get as much of your cash as we can, then what? Where do we go?”

“If we were smart, we’d follow our compatriots to South America, but I gather that’s not an option you’re going to consider . . . and to be honest, I want to take these bastards down, too.”

“So, where?”

“I’d say Nevada to start. It will be easy enough to find a motel in Vegas that’s used to enough shady dealings they won’t look twice at a couple like you and me. Plus, I know some people in Vegas who might have some leads. I can’t say I really trust any of them, but at this point, if we’re going to hold out for only people we trust, we’re gonna have a long wait.”

Considering I don’t even trust Jason, he’s sure as hell right about that.

Maybe it’s the comfort of having a primitive plan of action to start with, but I start to feel the headache urging me back to sleep.

My drowsiness must be apparent because Jason says, “Go ahead and rest. We should be safe here until tomorrow.”

Normally I would resent being told what to do, but I’m honestly too exhausted right now to bother, and accept his offer to submit to unconsciousness.