Chapter 325
Anson is a monster, but he is a monster who needs you. He won’t let you die. Use him. Survive.
Be free.
— Dallas
A tear splashed onto the paper, blurring the ink of his signature.
“He’s an idiot,” Eliza sobbed. She crumpled the letter in her fist. “He thinks handing me to Anson is saving me?”
“He thinks he’s unlovable,” Weston said softly.
Suddenly, the large TV screen on the wall flashed red. BREAKING NEWS.
Eliza looked up.
The chyron read: AMBUSH IN BEIRUT. MERCENARY CONVOY ATTACKED.
The footage was shaky, taken from a distance. Smoke billowed into the sky. A blackened, twisted wreck of a vehicle burned in the middle of a dusty road.
The camera zoomed in.
It was a black SUV. The chassis was destroyed, but the front of the vehicle was still partially intact — a custom-forged, matte black bull bar, shaped like a V. She knew it instantly. It was his signature modification, the one he called the Ghost’s Horn.
Eliza stopped breathing.
“No,” she whispered.
Weston grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
“…reports of heavy casualties. The group, believed to be a private extraction team, was targeted by a missile strike…”
“Call him!” Eliza screamed at Weston.
Weston was already dialing the satellite phone. He held it to his ear. His face went gray.
“It’s dead air, Eliza. No signal.”
The door burst open. Cathey ran in, waving her phone. “Did you see? He’s dead! Dallas is dead!” She looked almost gleeful. “My father will be able to challenge the vote now! He’ll get his company back! We’ll be on top again!”
Eliza didn’t think. She grabbed a heavy crystal paperweight from the desk and hurled it.
It missed Cathey’s head by an inch, shattering against the doorframe. Shards of glass rained down.
“Get out!” Eliza roared. It was a primal sound, animalistic. “He is not dead!”
Cathey shrieked and ran.
Eliza turned to Weston. She was shaking, vibrating with adrenaline.
“I need a plane,” she said. “Now.”
“The blockade,” Weston said. “We can’t —”
Eliza grabbed her phone. She dialed the one number she had sworn she never would.
“Anson,” she said when he picked up.
“I saw the news,” Anson said. His voice was calm. Smug. “Tragic.”
“I need a plane,” Eliza said. “Get me to Beirut. I know you have contacts with the smugglers. I know you move cash through there.”
“Why would I help you chase a corpse?” Anson asked.
Eliza walked to the window. She looked down at the street, forty stories below.
“Because if you don’t,” she said, her voice deadly steady, “I’m going to release the file.”
“What file?” Anson’s voice sharpened, losing its smug edge.
“The contingency file Dallas prepared before the S&D vote. The one detailing every illegal transaction Hyde Industries has made for the last decade. He gave me the access key as insurance. Get me a plane, Anson. Or that file goes to every major news outlet and the SEC at market open.”
A long silence stretched across the line — long and terrified.
“You’re bluffing,” Anson snarled.