Chapter 13: A dangerous truth

Michael's words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I stared at the folded piece of paper in his hands, my mind racing.

"The only person who can help us bring Damien down."

My mission had just changed.

I wasn't just being tested anymore—I was standing at a crossroads, and whichever path I chose would determine if I lived or died.

Michael slowly pushed himself up, groaning as he shook off the lingering effects of the compound. His face was still pale, and I could see the exhaustion dragging at his features.

But his eyes were sharp.

Focused.

Determined.

I swallowed hard. "Who is he?"

Michael hesitated.

Then he said, "His name is Daniel Carter. He used to work for Damien."

That made my stomach drop.

"Used to?" I repeated.

Michael nodded. "He was Damien's accountant—handled all the money, all the offshore accounts, all the dirty transactions. But then something changed."

I frowned. "What?"

Michael leaned back against the bar, his fingers running through his hair. "Carter found something. Something Damien didn't want him to know."

"What was it?"

Michael exhaled sharply. "I don't know. He disappeared before I could find out." He looked back at the paper. "But Damien does. That's why he wants him dead."

I clenched my fists. "And now he's sending me to do it."

Michael nodded.

I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me.

This wasn't just about proving myself anymore.

This was about survival.

Mine. Carter's.

And maybe, just maybe, it was about finally stopping Damien for good.

I spent the rest of the night planning.

Michael and I sat in the empty club, piecing together what little we knew about Carter.

"He went underground after leaving Damien," Michael explained, stretching out a worn map of the city. "No one's seen or heard from him in over a year."

"But Damien found him," I pointed out.

Michael's jaw tightened. "Yeah. Which means Carter must have slipped up."

I studied the address Damien had given me. It was on the outskirts of town, near the docks—a quiet, forgotten place where no one would ask questions.

A perfect spot for a man trying to disappear.

Or for a man about to be killed.

Michael must have read my thoughts because he shook his head. "You can't kill him, Winnie. We need him alive."

"I know," I murmured.

But keeping Carter alive wasn't going to be the problem.

Convincing Damien I had finished the job was.

The next night, I found myself standing outside an old warehouse near the docks.

The place looked abandoned—rusted metal doors, shattered windows, the faint smell of salt and decay lingering in the air.

But I knew better.

Someone was inside.

And I needed to get to them before Damien's men did.

I slipped through the entrance, moving carefully. The air was thick with dust, and the only sound was the distant lapping of waves against the shore.

Then—

A noise.

A shuffle.

I spun around just as a figure stepped out of the shadows.

A gun was pointed directly at my head.

"Don't move," a deep voice warned.

I froze, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs.

Daniel Carter.

His hair was longer than in the photo Damien had given me, his face thinner, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. But there was something sharp about him—something dangerous.

"You're one of Damien's, aren't you?" he demanded.

I lifted my hands slowly. "I'm not here to kill you."

Carter let out a dry laugh. "That's exactly what a killer would say."

I took a slow breath. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have walked in here alone."

Carter didn't lower his gun.

But he was listening.

"I know who you are," I continued. "I know you used to work for Damien. I know you disappeared because you found something."

His jaw tightened.

I took a step closer. "And I know that if Damien wants you dead this badly, it means you're still a threat to him."

Carter's grip on the gun wavered—just for a second.

Then, finally, he lowered it.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "Damn it."

I didn't move.

"Why are you here?" he asked, his voice tired.

"Because I need your help," I said simply.

Carter let out a bitter laugh. "Help? That's funny. You think I can help you? I can't even help myself.

"Then help me take Damien down."

That made him pause.

He looked at me, really looked at me.

Then he muttered, "You don't know what you're asking."

I clenched my fists. "I do. And I know you're the only one who can do it."

Carter shook his head. "Damien owns everything—every cop, every judge, every politician in this city. You can't just take him down."

"Then tell me what you found," I pressed. "Tell me why he wants you dead."

Carter hesitated.

Then, finally, he sighed.

"There's a ledger," he said.

My pulse jumped. "A ledger?"

Carter nodded. "It's proof of everything. Every bribe. Every deal. Every murder Damien's ordered."

Hope flickered in my chest.

"Where is it?" I asked.

Carter hesitated.

Then he said, "Hidden."

I let out a frustrated breath. "That's not good enough."

"It has to be," he shot back. "Because if Damien finds it first, none of this matters."

I exhaled sharply.

This was bigger than I had thought.

And I was running out of time.

"We need to move," I said. "Damien's expecting proof that I killed you."

Carter's expression darkened. "And if he doesn't get it?"

"Then we're both dead."

For a moment, Carter didn't speak.

Then, finally, he nodded.

"Then let's make him believe I'm dead."