I wanted to survive. I wanted to live. I had been playing in a sandbox with murderers and casual killers, with the arrogant innocence of a snowflake in hell. The FIB couldn’t protect me. The I.S. wouldn’t. Trent could kill me, and I had to respect that even if I didn’t respect him. God, who am I becoming?
“You’d stop trying to tag me?” Trent said softly, and then went still an unvoiced thought. His lips parted, and he looked at Quen in wonder. “She has the focus,” he said to him, then turned to me, amused. “That’s what you’re going to give Piscary. You have the focus,” he said around his laugh. “I should have known it was you!”
My face went cold, and I felt my stomach drop. Oh, shit.
I stood upright when Quen shifted to stand between us—maneuvering.
“Stop!” I said, my hand outstretched, and he did. Heart pounding, I held him off with my fingers splayed, trying to figure it out. Trent was the one killing the Weres?
“You killed Brett?” I said, seeing him flush. “It was you!” I exclaimed, dropping my hand and warming in anger. Damn it, what had I almost done? What in hell was wrong with me? This couldn’t be happening!
“I didn’t kill him. He killed himself,” Trent said, his jaw clenched. “Before he could tell me you had it,” he finished, hands behind his back.
Quen was balanced with his weight on his toes, his arms loose at his side. As if in a dream, I said to him, “You killed Brett. And Mr. Ray’s secretary. And Mrs. Sarong’s aide.”
Quen’s face darkened with guilt, and his muscles tensed.
“You sons of bitches,” I whispered, not wanting to believe it, cursing myself for wanting Trent to be better than he was, wanting both of them to be better than murderers and assassins. “I thought you had more honor than this, Quen.”
The older elf ’s jaw clenched.
“We didn’t kill them,” Trent said, defending himself, and I snorted with derision. “They committed suicide,” he insisted, the devil in his perfect suit and perfect hair. “Every last one of them. None of them had to die. They could have told me.”
As if it made a difference. “They didn’t know I had it!”
Trent took a step forward, finger pointing, and Quen pulled him back. “This is a war, Rachel,” the younger man said tightly, shaking off Quen’s grip. “There will be casualties.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “This is not a war. This is you angling for more power. God, Trent, how much more do you need! Are you so insecure that you have to be king of the freaking world to feel safe?”
I thought of my church and my friends, and I lifted my chin. Yeah, they had killed people, but Ivy was trying to get out, and Jenks had to in order to ensure his and his children’s survival. And seeing as I had pretty much sacrificed Lee in order to survive, I couldn’t claim I was pristine and pure either. But I’d never killed for money or power—and neither had my friends.
My words hit Trent, and he reddened in shame or guilt. “How much do you want for it?” he said softly.
Shocked, I gaped at him. “You want…to buy it?” I stammered.
Trent licked his lips. “I’m a businessman.”
“And a murderer by hobby?” I accused. “Or do you think the tenuous state of your species gives you the right to murder?”
Face showing his guilt and anger, Trent tugged his coat straight. If he had brought out a checkbook, I would have screamed. “Anything, Rachel. Enough to make you safe. You, your mother, Jenks, even Ivy. Enough to have anything you want.”
It sounded so easy. But I didn’t want to deal with him anymore. Piscary killed people, but he didn’t have the concept of pity or remorse. It would be like telling a shark he was a bad fish and to stop eating people. But Trent? He knew he was doing wrong, and he did it anyway.
Trent never dropped his eyes, waiting. I hated him. I hated him to the bottom of my soul. He was attractive and powerful, and I had almost let that cloud my sense of right and wrong. So he could kill me. So what? Did that make it right to cut deals with him to keep myself safe? Why in hell should I trust him to honor his word? It was like making a deal with a demon or using a demon curse. Both were the easy way out, the lazy way.
I wasn’t going to use demon curses. I wasn’t going to make deals with demons. I wasn’t going to trust Trent to honor his word. He was a casual murderer who put his species above all others. Screw him.
Quen knew what I was thinking, and I saw him tense. Trent, though, wasn’t so perceptive. He was a businessman, not a warrior. A slimy little businessman. “I’ll give you a quarter million for it,” Trent said, disgusting me.