The car smelled like old coffee, upholstery cleaner, and the faint, metallic scent of Adrian's gun. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on his thigh, his eyes constantly flicking to the rearview mirror as if he expected the road to grow teeth and bite the car in half. He was taking side streets, weaving through industrial neighborhoods where the warehouses all looked like they were leaning against each other for support. Barnaby was making a low, miserable vibrating sound inside the gym bag on Lena's lap, a sound that felt like it was humming right through her bones.
"Where are we going?" Lena asked. She was staring at her own reflection in the side mirror. She looked haggard, her eyes sunken and her skin the color of a wet sidewalk.
"Safe house. Out by the docks. Nobody goes there anymore since the warehouse fires. It's a graveyard of shipping containers and rust. Perfect for us."
"You still haven't answered me about Julian. Not really."
Adrian tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, a restless, staccato beat. He turned onto a potholed road that ran alongside the river. The water was the color of lead and moved like sludge. "What do you want to hear, Lena? That he was a hero? That he went out in a blaze of glory with a smile on his face? Life isn't a paperback novel."
"I want to hear why his 'best friend' wasn't there when the doors opened. I want to know why you have his blood on your conscience while you're trying to play the savior."
Adrian pulled the car over suddenly. He didn't park; he just slammed it into a stop in the middle of the empty, cracked road and shifted into park with a violent click. He turned to look at her. His face was tight, the skin pulled across his cheekbones like parchment. The morning light was unkind to him; it showed every line, every bit of grey in his stubble.
"You want the truth? Fine. Let's have the truth. It's ugly and it smells like garbage, but here it is: Julian didn't get caught because of a bad plan. He got caught because he sold me out first."
Lena felt the air leave her lungs. It felt like she'd been punched in the solar plexus by someone who knew exactly where to hit. "You're lying. You're just saying that so I won't hate you for letting him die. He would never sell you out. He loved you."
"He did," Adrian said. He sounded tired now, the sharp anger replaced by a flat, dead tone that was somehow worse. "He was in debt to Cassin. Deep. More than the two million he stole later. He'd been skimming from the Lounge for years, thinking he was smarter than the books. Cassin told him he'd clear the books and keep his fingers attached to his hands if Julian gave him the location of the drop I was making in Jersey. Julian gave it up. He gave them the time, the plate number, and the route. I almost got my head blown off in a parking lot because of your brother. I only made it out because the shooter was hungover and missed the first shot."
"But... you were friends. He talked about you like a brother. He said you were the only one he could trust."
"He was scared, Lena. Scared people do stupid things. He thought he could play both sides. He thought he could give me up, let Cassin take the shipment, and then somehow get me out of the line of fire. He was wrong. In this world, you can't play both sides without getting split down the middle." Adrian looked out the windshield at the grey river. "I found out a week before the prison break. One of Cassin's lower-level guys got talkative after I broke his nose. I was the one who told the guards to move the schedule up. I knew if he stayed in that cell, Cassin's people would get to him eventually. But I didn't tell him the new time. I let him think he had a few more hours. I let him think he was still in control."
Lena's hands were shaking so hard she had to tuck them under her thighs. She gripped the seat with her heels. "So you let him die. You knew they were coming for him, you knew the security was going to be different, and you just... you let it happen. You sat back and watched the clock."
"I let him face the consequences of his own choices," Adrian snapped, finally looking at her. There was a flicker of something raw and hideous in his eyes—not just guilt, but a deep, rotting resentment. "I didn't pull the trigger. But I didn't stop the person who did. I figured we were even. He sold my life for a debt, and I sold his for my peace of mind. I wanted to be done with him. I wanted to be done with the lies."
Internal thoughts are a jagged, bleeding mess. Julian sold him out? My Julian? The guy who taught me how to ride a bike? And Adrian just watched him die? He's been holding me, kissing me, sharing his blanket, all while knowing he let my brother get slaughtered. He's not a protector. He's a spectator at a hanging. "You're a monster," she whispered. The word felt too small.
"Maybe," Adrian said. He shifted the car back into drive with a jerk. "But I'm the monster that's currently keeping you alive. So you can hate me all you want. You can scream, you can spit on me, but you stay in this car. And when we get to the docks, you do exactly what I say, or Cassin wins twice."
"I want to get out. Right now. Stop the car."
"No."
"Let me out, Adrian! I'd rather take my chances with Cassin than sit another minute in this tomb with you." She reached for the door handle, her fingers fumbling with the lock.
He grabbed her arm, his grip like a vice. He didn't look at her; he kept his eyes on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "There are three SUVs full of men who will cut your throat just to see if you swallowed a key to a locker you don't even know exists. You aren't going anywhere. You're going to sit there, you're going to stay quiet, and you're going to let me finish this. Then you can go wherever the hell you want."
The rest of the drive was silent. The only sound was the wind whistling through a crack in the window and the muffled, desperate thud of Barnaby's paws against the bag. Lena felt like she was suffocating in the recycled air of the car. Every time she looked at Adrian's profile, she didn't see a hero or a lover. She saw the man who had checked his watch while her brother's life ended. The mahogany podium wasn't just a metaphor anymore; it was a wall of cold, hard truth that she couldn't climb over.
She realized then that Adrian hadn't been protecting her out of love or even out of a sense of duty to a dead friend. He was protecting her because she was the last piece of a game he was still playing with Julian. He wasn't saving her; he was winning a bet.
They reached the docks. The crane skeletons rose up against the grey sky like giant, rusted insects. Adrian drove into the shadow of a warehouse that looked like it had been hollowed out by time. He killed the lights and the engine. The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on them.
"We're here," he said. He didn't move to open his door. He just sat there, staring at the dashboard, his hands finally still. "I'm sorry, Lena. Truly. I didn't want you to find out like this."
"Don't," she said. It was a sharp, ugly word that tasted like ash. "Don't ever say you're sorry to me again. It doesn't mean anything coming from you."
She grabbed the gym bag with Barnaby—the cat had finally gone silent, huddled in a ball of terror—and stepped out into the cold, salty air. She didn't wait for him. She didn't care if the SUVs were right behind them. Anything was better than the suffocating weight of the truth inside that car.