Slow Agony (Assassins, #2)(83)

“Blown up?” said French.

“What are you talking about?” said my father.

“Bombs,” I said. “I’m talking about bombs.” Man. Why couldn’t I shut myself up?

French’s eyebrows drew together. My father turned to her in alarm.

And several gunshots punched through the door, right near the knob.

The door swung open, and Griffin stalked into the room, gun first. “There you are, doll. I’ve been looking all over.”

“Griffin.” I tried to muster excitement, but this drug seemed to make it hard to do much of anything except talk.

French stalked over to her desk.

“Don’t move,” Griffin growled at her.

She glared at him and deliberately picked up the phone.

Griffin pulled the trigger.

The bullet caught her on the arm. Blood spattered. She screamed, dropping the phone and crumpling, grasping at her arm.

“There’s no one to call, anyway,” said Griffin. “Sloane took out your guards already.”

My father swallowed. “That’s right, they’re working with the twins. Jolene, there could be bombs here. Silas is very handy with explosives.”

“That’s right, he is,” said Griffin. He turned to me. “You told them about the bombs.”

“They drugged me,” I said. “I can’t seem to shut up.”

Griffin rolled his eyes. He pumped two bullets into my father’s chest.

He gasped once and then fell to the ground, lifeless.

I flinched. He’d just... done that. Like it was nothing. Had I been blind to how violent Griffin was?

He was kneeling behind me. “Show me your hands.”

With effort, I managed to move so that I had my back to him. “It’s hard to move.”

“Yeah, I know that stuff. It’s a cocktail of truth serum, muscle relaxants, and some special secret stuff that Op Wraith put in for fun. It’s good for subduing prisoners.” He tugged on my handcuffs. “Had to be cuffs, didn’t it?”

He straightened.

I fell back into the couch, happy to be able to relax.

“French, where are the keys?” He went over to her, holding his gun to her head.

She smiled up at him. “Why should I help you, Griffin? You’re going to blow me up and kill me. You can see you don’t have a lot of leverage.”

He glared at her. “I might just shoot you for fun.”

She closed her eyes. “If it would make you feel better, try it.”

Griffin considered for a second. “Okay.” He pulled the trigger.

I flinched again. He really was careless, wasn’t he?

He was behind me again in a second, and I had to haul myself forward again. “Have to try to pick the lock, I guess. All I’ve got is this knife.”

I let him work at it for a minute. “Griffin, I’m not sure if we should kill them.”

“What?” he said.

“I’m not sure that killing people so much isn’t changing us in bad ways.”

“Is this really the time to talk about this?”

“I don’t like the person I’m becoming. And I don’t like the way you are when you’re doing it.”

He went still at my handcuffs. His voice was soft. “I know. I can tell.”

I tried to turn to look at him, but it was hard to move my head. I only made it a few inches.

And then my gaze settled on my father, who was lying on the floor with blood spilling out of his chest. And a key spilling out of his pocket. “Griffin, there’s the key to the handcuffs. In my father’s pocket.”

“Good eye, doll,” he said. He placed the hilt of the knife in one of my hands. “Hold this.” He scampered over to my father, picked up the key, and was back to unlock the cuffs.

My hands free, I pulled them in front of me. I was still holding Griffin’s knife. I contemplated the sharpness of the blade, thinking of the way I’d cut Marcel. About how easy it had been. How good it had felt.

Griffin took the cuffs across the room. He knelt down next to French and handcuffed her to her desk. Then he walked over to my father. He nudged him with his foot. “They could wake up at any second.” He got his phone out of his pocket. Dialed. “I’ve got her. Go ahead and start the ignition sequence.”

“No,” I said. “Griffin, I don’t think we should—”

My father was moving. He lurched up from the floor, his movement stiff and unwieldy. “Griffin Fawkes, you’ll pay for what you did to my daughter.”

Griffin fumbled for his gun.

“Don’t!” I cried out.

And my father tripped over my foot, and he came down with his back to me. He ran into the knife.

I swear he did. I didn’t do it. It was an accident.

I didn’t cut his spine on purpose. He was going after Griffin, and I wanted to protect Griffin, but I didn’t mean to kill my dad. I promise I didn’t.

I dropped the knife. “Oh.”

“Shit.” Griffin was next to me, pulling me to my feet.

“I didn’t mean it,” I said.

“I know you didn’t, doll,” he said. “I know that.”

I was crying. “Oh, Griffin, I didn’t mean it.”