Outlaws by Matt Rogers (phonics books TXT) 📕

years. It wasn’t smart. Wanting out didn’t make his enemies vanish. He’d killed and maimed all across the globe, and there were still hundreds if not thousands of adversaries left behind who’d want nothing more than to make him suffer for what he’d done to them. Realistically, he should keep his back to a wall at all times, and survey every face for anything that might constitute a threat.

Something had changed within him. He didn’t much care for paranoia anymore. If they came, they came. It would be what it would be.

Right now, he wanted nothing more than to enjoy the moment. Which made sense. He’d been practicing meditation for a decade, teaching himself to silence his thoughts on command, but he’d never used it to live in the present. That was the whole point of meditation.

Now, he did.

He didn’t worry about the future, or stress over the past.

It felt good.

She said, ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

He shifted his weight, rolling onto his own side so he could look at her. He’d never get sick of looking at her. ‘You might not like it.’

‘Share.’

‘I think we need to go back today.’

She didn’t outwardly react. But he knew the proposition didn’t thrill her.

He could see her letting the initial emotions fade, replacing them quickly with logic.

He loved that about her.

She said, ‘What you went through to get time off…’

He said, ‘That’s why I need to go back, as soon as possible. I’ve made my decision. I need to tell them. There’s no point leaving them in the dark.’

She went quiet.

He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Think about it.’

She looked at him.

He said, ‘I tell them. They have a tantrum about it. I hold steady. They begrudgingly accept. Then we get the hell out of Manhattan forever. We can live anywhere. Do anything.’

She smiled. ‘Go back now, and then you won’t need to ask for time off ever again.’

‘There’s a lot to think about. We can stay in the city while we decide on—’

‘No,’ she said.

Her tone was firm.

‘Your job,’ he said. ‘Your apartment. Your life.’

‘Inconsequential,’ she said. ‘I’m looking at the bigger picture.’

He didn’t respond.

He let her think about it.

But she didn’t need to.

She said, ‘When I’m lying on my deathbed, you think I’ll be happy I stayed in the city for a job where I’m treated like shit instead of having an actual life with the only person in New York I care about?’

That made him smile.

He couldn’t help it.

She said, ‘I’ll pack my things. Let’s get the hell out of here.’

‘You read my mind.’

He started to lever himself up into a seated position, but she put a hand on his chest, keeping him in place. He cocked his head to the side.

She said, ‘Just one thing.’

He kept his head cocked.

She stared at him with her full green eyes. ‘You said they’ll have a tantrum.’

‘They might.’

‘Who’s “they?”’

Realisation dawned on him. He said, ‘You want the truth? I have no idea.’

‘Is that how it works? I guess we’ve never discussed… specifics.’

‘You know King? My coworker?’

‘The one I’ve met?’

Briefly, Slater thought. He’d been walking her down to the lobby one morning after she’d stayed over at his place and ran into King in the hallway, coming out of his adjacent penthouse. Recognition had flared in his eyes, and Alexis had noticed. She was highly perceptive.

She’d said, ‘Is this the guy you’ve told me so much about?’

King hadn’t reacted, but she knew the truth all the same.

They’d exchanged pleasantries. King hadn’t denied anything, which practically confirmed his secret to an ordinary civilian, even though it broke every rule in the book.

Neither he nor Slater had ever been very good at following rules.

Now, Slater said, ‘King’s partner, Violetta, is our handler. She’s the front of house. She’s all we’ve ever seen. We don’t know how deep the web goes. It’s all a mystery. Really, none of it matters to us. Because we’re operatives, not bureaucrats. So I’ll tell Violetta, and she’ll pass it up the chain of command.’

‘What if they say no?’

‘I’m not going to ask them. I’m going to tell them.’

Alexis paused, screwing up her face, contemplating something. She said, ‘How does that work? King and Violetta… as a couple?’

‘I don’t know how they do it. I’d never be able to separate the work from the personal life like that.’

‘You do it with me. You never give me the details of what happens at work.’

‘You don’t send me into war zones. Makes it a little easier to trust you.’

Alexis smiled.

Then her face fell.

He said, ‘What?’

‘You and King are close, right?’

Slater nodded. ‘Closer than you could imagine.’

‘But his partner works for the government you’re about to displease.’

Slater said nothing.

She said, ‘What if he’s forced to choose?’

19

King unlocked the front door and stepped inside, dropping the duffel bag filled with meagre supplies between his feet as he entered.

His penthouse reflected his life. Every piece of its contents had a use, a purpose. Nothing was wasted. The atmosphere was cold and modern thanks to the polished floors, the staggeringly high ceilings, and the minimalistic art dotting the walls, but the furniture and decorations had been arranged with the help of an expert interior designer, so some subtle aspects made the apartment seem warm and inviting at the same time. King liked it. It made him appear human, even though in reality every inch of the space was sparse and utilitarian.

It was a flawless, impeccably designed apartment made to appear imperfect.

Just like in the field, every time he had to assume an identity that wasn’t his own.

He wasn’t tired. He’d slept on the flight. It made him briefly ponder the ludicrousness of his life. He’d killed the infinitely powerful head of a global conglomerate in a foreign country, beat the man’s entire security cohort senseless, and yet it still paled in comparison to a usual operation. He felt surprisingly safe considering the circumstances, cocooned in anonymity.

There was only one person who might publicly connect him to the debacle.

King had elected to tie up that loose