Nyjah takes a sip of his scotch and then sets it down o the desk. “What are you proposing?”
I lean forward in the chair, resting my arms on my knees. “I’m proposing we take the warehouse down.”
His eyes widen as he lets out a sharp laugh. “Are you f**king crazy? That’s impossible.” He shakes his head repeatedly then gets to his feet. “Do you know what kind of power that would take?” He looks around the room. “And I’m guessing by your solo visit, you have no one.”
“I have some,” I say, but it’s a lie. The only other person who knows what I want to do is Benton, Layton’s brother, but that’s because I let it slip. A first for me, but Benton has this way of making me talk about things when I don’t want to. Honestly, Nyjah is the first Sangue that I’ve crossed path’s with that hasn’t been on some sort of assassin mission. Most of them are cold, unable to live in the real world, unable to communicate on a normal level.
Nyjah takes another sip of his drink, this time finishing it off. “You’re crazy.”
“I never claimed to be sane,” I say, getting to my feet. It’s time to go. Staying in the same place for too long is never good and I’m getting the vibe that Nyjah isn’t going to be on board. “But it’s clear that you are.” I start for the door. “I have a nice life, Nyjah.”
I make it to the doorway before he calls out, “Wait.”
I pause then turn around. He stands up from the desk and walks over to me. “If I agree to help you, I’m going to need to hear a plan. None of this going in blind shit that the Sangue’s are known for.”
“Oh, I have a plan,” I tell him. “But it’s going to take some time.”
“And what’s that?”
“Eliminating the people who control it.”
He considers what I said. “This is crazy,” he says to himself. “I came here to get out of this shit… to let everything go.”
“But have you?”
He shakes his head, his expression flashing with anger for the briefest second, probably as he remembers things he’s been fighting to forget. “No and I never will.”
“But you can help others never have to go through it,” I say, burying my own memories, the cries, the screams, the pain. “Are you with me or not?”
He wavers then nods. “Okay, I’m in. But just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for someone else.” The pain in his eyes lets me know it was someone close to him, someone who probably died during the training or took their own life, something that happened often.
“And that’s alright with me.” Because in the end all that really matters is that that damn warehouse burns to the ground and no one else has to suffer.