Normally, making shit up as I go is not how I operate, but I rarely have to devise a whole new revenge scheme mid job. Besides, keeping Alex in the dark is a necessary measure at this stage. Despite his apparent trusting nature, I don’t trust anyone. He’s an intellectual type who has zero experience with men like Ericson and the ruffians he associates with. That’s not only a huge disadvantage, it’s a liability.

First, before I allow Alex to go anywhere near these men, I need to see how he interacts with people in a tense setting. If we move forward with this plan, I’ll be sending him directly into the wolf’s den. Or lion’s den. Whatever it’s called.

Not that my conscience is what’s making me hesitant; I don’t know Alex. He’s not a central part of my life. Not like Rochelle or Lomax. Alex could be a future asset…if he can pull this off. But if he can’t…

Then I might just steal his hacking software and send him back to the lab.

Hell, I need to get something out of this deal. He did botch the job, after all. I should be collecting the final payment from Lenora right now.

So my hesitancy is in whether or not Alex is worth the risk. I don’t want to sacrifice the guy—but if this job comes down to me or him, I’m always choosing me. I can’t let an amateur tank my business.

“Here we are,” Alex says as he unlocks his front door.

The building where he lives is nice. Not as nice as my place in Tribeca, but I would’ve pegged him to live in a more minimalist apartment. Something stark white and sterile, like a science lab.

I set my coffee cup on an end table. As I take in the space around me, I note all the little details. Warm beige and earthy tones. Regency artwork leaned up against the wall. Not a Jackson Pollock or any other abstract art in sight. There’s one dark-gray couch and one armchair. The apartment is an open floorplan like most city lofts, but he’s divided the rooms well with strung material, making the whole thing feel cozy and spacious.

Alex offloads his backpack onto the wood desk in the middle of the living area. “What? Not what you expected?”

I set my camera case and bag on the armchair. “I’ve learned not to make assumptions about people,” I say. “Although, I didn’t peg you for a Regency fan.”

He walks around the desk, turning on monitors. He has three. “I’m not, really. The paintings were my sister’s.”