If anyone could compete with these two for most screwed-up childhood, it was him—the kid who’d watched his mother die and been torn from her arms, the kid who’d been delivered as a trophy to the man who’d ordered her dead, and who’d subsisted on scraps and garbage and the kindness of strangers until he’d grown strong enough to escape to the streets, and who’d been running from emotional attachment ever since—yet somehow they made him look like the well-adjusted adult. Hell, they made their crazy-ass mother look reasonable, and that was after she’d ambushed his team and killed half his men.

“I’ve seen a lot of messed-up shit in my life,” he said. “But this? This is something special.”

Silence returned.

Jack said, “I can’t fight a three-front war, Chris. Whatever kill list you’re on, I’m on it, too.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the hostel. “Not her—they don’t even know she exists—me, the guy who had nothing to do with the Broker, the idiot going broke trying to make a living in this stupid gig economy because I refused to utilize the only skill set I have. If I preempt this shit and kill them first, ten more will take their place. This will never end, and I’ll become my mother, jumping at shadows for the rest of my life. Meanwhile, the thing with Dmitry has splintered into two directions, both of which lead to who knows where or what, I’ve got no idea how much of any of this is my mother fucking with my head, and my sister, bless her tar-black soul, is actively sabotaging my every move.”

Jack placed palms on the table and in a slow, measured cadence said, “I can shortcut through it all, but that means letting the Russians have me for a while, and if I do that and she goes off script—something she’s well known for—the whole thing blows up. For me to be able to walk out alive, I need her safe, out of their reach, and on the outside.” Jack took a breath and stopped, explanation unfinished, ending abrupt.

Holden pulled a toothpick from the packet in his pocket, shoved it between his teeth, waited for the missing pieces and, when they didn’t come, said, “I’m not your windup toy, John.”

Jack said, “I never—”

Holden held up a finger and stopped him.