Seeds of Iniquity (In the Company of Killers, #4)(38)

“You would know,” I shoot back icily, referring to Claire.

I never would’ve used something like that against him, stooping to his heartless level, but it just came out like word vomit.

His eyes harden around the edges, but he doesn’t let my comment faze him enough to unravel him.

“Yeah, I would know,” he says with a nod and leans forward. “Claire was the biggest mistake of my life. I loved her. I’ll never deny that to anyone, or sugarcoat it—I f*cking loved Claire and I would’ve died for her. But that was my moment of weakness, Izabel. I guess we’re all f*cking entitled to at least one. There is no such thing as love, or happiness, doing the shit that we do. My brother may love you, I can’t really say that he doesn’t, but that makes you his only weakness. And you know Victor. You may be delusional thinking that this kind of life you somehow fit into, but you’re not a stupid girl. You know that my brother is less human than I am. How long will he allow you to compromise him?” He points sternly at me “Victor is experiencing his one moment of entitled weakness right now, just like I did with Claire. Just like Gustavsson did with Seraphina. And look at what love did to Flynn, right in front of your eyes. It’s my brother’s turn now, like a rite of passage, but how long will it last?”

I look away from him and back at the screen, finding more comfort with Nora than with the sonofabitch sitting in the room with me. How can I hate him now more than her?

“But in some f*cked up way,” he says as my focused gaze penetrates the glowing veil in front of me, “you’re sort of my weakness, too.”

I stop breathing for a sharp second.

“I guess I feel responsible for you,” he goes on. “And I guess I feel like I owe you because I tried to kill you once.”

I look over, but I say nothing.

Niklas shakes his head, and the boot propped on his knee bounces up and down a few times.

“How the f*ck does that work exactly?” he asks; his eyes hard around the edges, his brows drawn.

I still don’t say anything. Because I don’t know. And I don’t think the question was really for me as much as it was just him thinking out loud.

“Aftereffects,” he answers himself. “I guess Claire left me with a conscience. It’s like a scar. Once it’s there it’s there forever. Unless you try to cut it out. But that only makes it deeper, so you leave it the f*ck alone.”

Niklas lets out a heavy breath and stands up. He brings his cup of coffee to his lips and takes a small drink.

“Well, you don’t have to feel responsible for me,” I shoot back, “and I sure as hell don’t want you to be. So wipe your hands clean of me, Niklas, and do us both a favor. Besides, it’s not me you have a weakness for; it’s your brother. And we both know the only reason you put up with me, the only reason you told Nora about Claire to help Dina, was because of Victor.”

He takes the cigarette from behind his ear and pops it between his lips with a slim smile.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says.

I look back at the screen, intent on dropping this.

Then something he said before suddenly catches my attention out of nowhere—‘but you’ll never be on my brother’s level, or on mine, no matter how much you train because you weren’t born into this life.’

“Nora was born into this,” I say, staring down at her. “There’s no way she’s that good as young as she is unless she was born into it.”

I look over at Niklas.

He shrugs; the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Yeah, I guess that’s logical,” he says, “but that still doesn’t tell us much.”

“Not much, but something,” I say. “I’m going back in to talk to her.”

Niklas shakes his head and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth, wedging it between his fingers.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Iz.”

I stand up and go over to the area where the coffee pot and microwave and mini-fridge is kept, popping open the door of the fridge and retrieving a bottle of water.

“Well, I’m doing it anyway,” I tell him. I stop before I get to the door and look right at Niklas with an intent gaze. “I may never be as good as Victor, or you, or as technologically smart as James Woodard, or as frightening as Fredrik, but there is one thing I know I’m good at because I’ve been doing it practically all my life, even since before my mother took me to Mexico—adapting. I learned to read my enemies, anyone who could do me harm, whether it was one of my mother’s drunk boyfriends or drug dealers, I learned how to survive without turning out like her.” I point my finger at him. “And when I was in Mexico, I survived by turning my enemies against each other. I wasn’t Javier’s favorite when I first went there”—I shake my head and drop my hand back at my side—“no, I was like all of the other girls, beat to near death by Izel on a daily basis, raped by the men—yeah, I was raped by them, I admit it. But I adapted to survive. I made Javier trust me. Trust became protectiveness. Protectiveness became love. Love became obsession. It was because of me that Javier turned on his sister.”

I step right up into Niklas’ face, looking up the few inches I need to see his eyes as he looms over me in his tall height.

“I was born into this,” I say to him sternly; my finger pressing into the center of his chest, “to adapt to my enemy—that is my weapon.”