Had some free time on my hands. Enjoy!

Life is full of road blocks and consequences.

My life in particular just seems to be a bit more difficult than most in terms of roadblocks and consequences.

The most prominent roadblocks in my life at the moment would have to be Volkov and the gang-obviously-and a particular FBI agent that has an annoying habit of tracking me down and turning up everywhere I don't want him to be.

I've temporarily solved the FBI agent problem though.

Which then brings me to the consequences in life.

To quote Newton's third law, "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction." See, that's the biggest part of my problem because those opposite reactions are the consequences for the things I've done in my life.

So, it's true I could have probably avoided this particular problem by simply persuading Ryder to take me to a specific place. I could have told him it was pertinent to figuring out how to stop Volkov, but . . . I didn't.

Instead, I may have done something worse. Of course, I suppose that depends on whose point of view you're looking at this particular situation from.

For example, if one were to look at the situation from my point of view, I was in the right. I needed to get away and I needed to get away fast. And I really did not need a nosy FBI guard dog following me on my mission. So really, what happened next was completely justified.

At least, one would think so . . . until you looked at it from Ryder's point of view.

I suppose if the situation were reversed and it was me, I'd totally believe in the power of karma and my own ability to get even.

I'd also be majorly pissed off.

Which was why it was vital to my immediate survival that I got the hell out of that hotel room after zapping Ryder with a fair amount of volts from a taser and then handcuffing his unconscious form to the refrigerator door.

The ceiling fan was inaccessible.

It was also the reason that I'm forever going to be sleeping with one eye open until the day I die.

Ryder will probably do Volkov a favor and kill me for him.

All these thoughts fly through my mind as I stand on the sidewalk across from the high school and stare at the door, watching, waiting. The hood of the sweatshirt I'm wearing pulled low and I stand in the shadows of the building across the street.

I watch the two boys come out of the school, backpacks slung over their shoulders. I watch as they walk across the football field and into another building. The gym, the locker rooms.

I watch as they come back out, both of them in practice gear and each one holding a soccer ball under their arm.

My heart aches as I watch them, wanting to go over to them. To talk to them. To hug them. But I can't. So I stay standing across the street, staying in the shadows. Making sure that they can't see me.

Seeing them is a big risk, but I covered my tracks even better than usual and set up many false leads, backtracking and going in the opposite direction before finally making my way here. I made sure I wasn't followed. Sure it took me longer than I wanted to get here-over a week, actually-but I made sure I wasn't leading anyone to them.

I continue to watch both of them, each one so different from the other. I don't know what names they're going by this time. What names the US Marshals gave them. I don't care to know.

I stand there and watch as they practice, as the minutes tick by. I feel no rush to go anywhere and instead lean back against the building behind me.

I study every detail about them, knowing I won't be seeing them again for a long time. Sure I'll see them on cameras or pictures when I go in and check on them, but I won't be seeing them in person for a long time. It had been four years since I had last seen them in person. Four years since I had told them goodnight and that I'd see them in the morning.

I had lied.

They had only been ten at the time, the both of them. People always found it odd when they told them that they were brothers, and then that they were the same age. People always assumed that meant that they were twins, even though neither one of them looked anything like the others.

One had light skin, black hair, and grey eyes. The other had darker skin, brown hair, and hazel eyes. Neither were actually related by blood. One had been adopted into the family, along with a certain red-headed hacker. But regardless of the fact that the three of us weren't related by blood, we had been closer than siblings.

Until I left. Until I ruined everything.

I don't know how long I stay watching them, but eventually, I pull my new phone from my pocket and I pull up all the information about the school they were currently attending and about their new identities.

I was about to make sure they got new ones.

***

I watch as the car pulls up to the school, the two US Marshals getting out and walking straight toward the field. I watch both boys tense as they approach, but quickly start gathering their stuff and following after the Marshals.

All it took was an inquiring and suspicious phone call to the school about the boys, using bolt clippers to get into and trash their lockers, and the US Marshals moved quickly to start the process of erasing both boys and getting them moved to a secure location.

It didn't matter that there wasn't any real threat to them right now, they didn't know that. No one knew it was me who did these things to keep them moving. If I felt they were unsafe, I'd get them moved.

It wasn't as if I could just call up the Marshals and tell them that my family needed to be moved. I'm Nicolette Moore. I'm a bad guy. I'm considered one of the bad buys who are hunting down my family. It doesn't matter that none of it's true. Well, other than the bad guy part.

I watch as they load all their stuff up in the car. I watch as two more people get out of the car to greet the boys. To offer words of comfort and my heart constricts all over again.

I watch the man and woman help load everything into the car. I watch my parents comfort my brothers before getting back into the car. My brothers following after them.

I let out a long shaky sigh as I watch them. I remove my hood, staying in the shadows and run a hand through my hair, brushing my bangs back. I reach my hand up and wipe at the tears that haven't yet fallen.

I know I need to leave. I know the longer I'm here the more danger they're in, but I can't do it. I can't move.

Right before my brothers get into the car, one looks up. Looks across the street. Looks dead at me.

I see the recognition light up in his eyes. I see his surprise. I watch as his lips move to form a word, a name. Nicky.

I'm not the only one who notices. I see the US Marshals turn at his words. Their gaze following his, but I'm already running. My feet carrying me across the sidewalk and around the corner.

I duck into an alley and press myself up against the side. I wait. Waiting for something, anything to happen, but I hear no sounds of anyone following. No sounds of anyone looking. It's likely the Marshals didn't even see me, I took off the second I realized he'd seen me.

I slide down the wall and sit on the floor, my head going into my knees. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the blank wall in front of me. My thoughts spinning and my body shaking.

I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish I had never been so blinded. So stupid. I wish everything could go back to the way it once was.

I slowly get back to my feet and pull the hood of the sweatshirt back up, making sure it conceals my face. I tuck my hair back into the hood and walk further into the alley.

My thoughts continue to spin, everything going back to one thing though. I need to get the gang to stop going after my family. Unfortunately, the only way I saw that happening was by taking out the head of the gang.

That would definitely stop anyone from continuing to go after my family, but that would not stop Volkov from coming after me. And if he felt he could use my family against me, he'd go after them too.

So really, two people minimum needed to be taken care of to stop the threat to my family's lives.

I shake my head as I continue on through the alley. No way I can take them out. I'm not a killer, at least, not intentionally.

I keep walking, not even sure where I'm going. I don't have any plan. I didn't think that far ahead when I took off.

Mostly my thoughts were on staying away from Ryder long enough to ensure my immediate future survival.

I continue walking through the city, passing by several different businesses and hotels. I take random turns here and there, making sure I'm not followed but also because I don't have the slightest idea where I'm going from here. I walk with my head down, my eyes focused on the concrete sidewalk beneath my feet.

I'm so focused on the sidewalk and my own thoughts that I walk right into someone else. I hear him curse at me as I'm knocked on my ass.

"Watch where you're walking," His voice is a growl and so not appreciated after the time I've had.

I look up to see a face I don't recognize. Someone completely unknown to me. I open my mouth to tell him exactly what's on my mind-none of it is nice mind you-and I abruptly stop when I catch sight of the tattoo on his inner forearm.

A tattoo I've seen many times on many different people. It's an oddly shaped star of sorts with what looks like two scythes circling it. A very specific type of tattoo. A specific gang tattoo. A tattoo I'm all too familiar with.

I feel myself freeze up as I recognize it. I keep my head ducked low so he can't see my face. It's not entirely likely he'd recognize me anyway. I was never directly involved with anyone in the gang other than Volkov. As Ryder, oh so nicely put it, I was constantly hiding behind my computer screen, never dealing with anyone directly. Oh no, that was what Volkov was for.

"Sorry," I mutter softly, purposely making my voice sound slightly fearful. Though, it doesn't take too much pretending on my part. If he does recognize me, I'm in for a world of trouble.

I hear him mutter some more curse words aimed in my direction before he's continuing on down the sidewalk. I let out a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding and get shakily to my feet.

I hear a phone chime. I dig mine out of pocket and look at the screen, but there's nothing on it. I look back at the guy and he's close enough for me to clearly see his phone screen. I notice he's got a text message pulled up on his screen. The message has no words. Just a picture. A very clear picture.

A picture of me.

It takes him a moment to connect the dots but his head snaps up from his phone and his gaze flies right to me. I take off running.

I hear him swear before I hear his footsteps following quickly behind me.

I'd like to say that adrenaline, motivation to live, and sheer luck keep him from catching up to me, but that's not the case. He's much faster than I am.

I'm knocked to the ground once again with him on top of me. I swing my elbow back blindly as he tries to grab hold of my arms. I start kicking my legs as well, just trying to struggle as much as possible to get away from him. I almost shout for joy when he swears and groans and rolls off me.

I get to my feet in a hurry, ignoring the fresh tears in my jeans and the scrapes on my knees and hands. I take off once again, running blindly down the street, my only focus on getting away from him.

So maybe-just maybe-I might be wishing I hadn't ditched Ryder at the moment.

Fighting has never been my strong suit. Mostly I rely on my will to live and sheer luck to get me through times like this. And a drink or two couldn't hurt either.

I'm tackled again and my head bounces off the concrete sidewalk, and this time he pins my arms above my head, with him straddling me. "You bitch," I hear him say moments before black dots and stars begin to invade my vision as his fist connects with the side of my face.

He starts to get to his feet, trying to drag me up with him and I bring my leg up right in between his legs. He lets out a groan and his hands immediately release me and go to his family jewels.

I get to my feet as fast as I can and nearly fall over as my vision sways. I fall back against a wall and can still hear him groaning on the floor, but there's no way of knowing how long he'll remain there. I quickly reach down and pat along the sidewalk, looking for my glasses that were discarded the second time he tackled me. No way I'll get very far without them.

I feel my fingers close around them and quickly put them over my eyes, taking another second to steady myself before I take off once again. I don't make it very far though.

My head is pounding and I duck into an alleyway rather than continuing to run down the street. I take a second to catch my breath and I hear an angry voice accompanied by several other new voices coming toward me, but I can't tell from which direction.

"Oh shit," I mutter under my breath as I back up further into the alleyway. I keep my eyes on the street, ignoring the pounding in my head and making sure no one comes into the alley. My back hits a wall.

Only, it's not a wall.

"I am so screwed," I whisper breathlessly.

"You got that right."

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