No Broken Beast

by Snow, Nicole

  “Positive,” I say. “And I have to make sure nothing ever happens to him or his ma.”

  * * *

  I’m still brooding over that on the walk back to Charming Inn and the cabin.

  Fuchsia confirmed what I’d guessed but brought an entirely new clue into play with Marianne Jonas.

  Making my way through the trees, I pull up a search on my phone to find her obituary. It’s short, with no other news—no reports about anything suspicious, and the obituary cites her cause of death as heart failure.

  Something that could be passed off as nothing in an older woman.

  Something that could easily be induced with any hidden substances that wouldn’t be detected by a county medical examiner who wasn’t looking for foul play.

  That tells me who they think is more dangerous, though. And more useful.

  Marianne was disposable, but they think Deanna’s the key to hunting down all rogue data that could incriminate Galentron and the late Mayor Bell.

  Unease knifes through me as I draw close to the path that turns off into the woods. Next to Clarissa and Derek’s cars, there’s a vehicle I don’t recognize, a sleek black BMW.

  No one in Heart’s Edge drives a car like that. And no one from out of town would bring their six-figure car out to this backwater to clog its engine up with road dust.

  Something isn’t right.

  I go bolting through the trees, not even bothering with stealth. I don’t care if whoever’s in there hears me coming like a charging rhino. I hope it scares them into getting the fuck away from my girl and my son.

  But I slow down, bursting through the woods, into the clearing around the cabin.

  I can see everything through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  Derek and Zach at the table, flipping through one of his textbooks.

  Clarissa in the kitchen, pouring tea with a strained expression on her face, staring into the living room.

  She’s looking at a tall man I’ve never seen before. Who I feel like I know as well as I know myself, even if I can’t place him. He’s thick and bulky and utterly calm as he watches my Rissa with a smile that turns my bones cold.

  I don’t know who the fuck he is, but I’d bet he’s the grey-eyed stranger who cornered her at the museum.

  He’s trouble waiting to happen.

  11

  Out of Step (Clarissa)

  Now I know how a mouse feels being cornered by a big, lazy snake.

  His name is Nash.

  I know that now, and the only reason I haven’t bolted for the phone and called the police is because Derek is here, and I’m trying to keep up appearances and not tip Nash off that I don’t trust him.

  I really don’t.

  Chances are he’s with Galentron. I’m convinced that if there wasn’t a surprise witness here, he’d have snapped my neck. He wouldn’t have bothered inviting himself into the living room, nearly taunting me with little tidbits of information.

  Something about my dad’s old secretary, Marianne. I’d heard about her death from Deanna, but now Nash says she shared stuff with my sister?

  How? Why?

  But when I ask how he knows that, who his connections are, anything I can try without even saying the word Galentron...

  He dances around it, mentioning concerned friends, knowing Marianne from a long time back.

  Right. I don’t believe a word of it.

  I’ve got to get him out of the house, and then I’ve got to get Zach somewhere safe.

  Somewhere Nash can’t find us. Something about him sends chills down my spine, all the way to the tips of my toes, and I’m barely able to breathe.

  Call it a mother’s instincts.

  But there’s something horribly tempting, too. If he knows where my sister is, maybe I can tease it out of him. Talk him into slipping up.

  So I put on my best smile, finish pouring tea, and bring it out to him, setting it down on a coaster on the coffee table. “You know, when I saw you at the museum, I thought you seemed familiar,” I say. “Did you ever come to the house to visit Marianne?”

  “I was by the mayor’s mansion many times,” he says obliquely, lifting his brows and watching me mildly.

  It’s a careful answer. One that says he was there, without confirming he came to see Marianne.

  I sink down onto the sofa across from him, folding my hands in my lap. “Are you related to her, by any chance?”

  “We have connections.” Again, evasive, answering without answering. He smiles against the rim of his glass. “I was real sad to hear about her passing. Same as Deanna.”

  Something twinges inside me.

  I watch him keenly. “You talked to Deanna after Marianne died?”

  He raises his glass in an almost mocking salute. “Sure did. In fact—”

  He doesn’t get the chance to finish.

  The door flies open sharply. Derek yelps and grabs at the textbook. Zach squeaks, and I jump, gasping.

  Only Nash remains icy calm as Leo storms into the room, completely filling it with his bristling rage his presence, and a silent, protective menace.

  For a long minute, he and Nash simply look at each other—Nash smiling and cool, Nine stony and silent—before Nash raises his glass again.

  “It looks like I’ve worn out my welcome,” he says blankly.

  Then he stands and sets the glass down on the coffee table with this weird precision before sweeping me a mocking bow.

  “Ms. Bell,” he says. “It was a pleasure. I sure hope you find your sister soon.”

  Then he turns to sweep toward the door, but pauses, shoulder to shoulder with Nine. There’s too much pent-up, howling anger for me to call him Leo right now.

  There’s a charged energy between them.

  Like two magnets of the same polarity, pushing back at each other with invisible force.

  Nash’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head.

  “Interesting,” he snarls softly, right before a sly smile flits across his lips and he raises his hand, slipping around Leo and through the door. “Good night, folks.”

  I slump into the chair as the door closes. Leo holds furiously still for a moment and then shoots Derek a look.

  “Lesson’s done for the day,” he growls, his voice deepening to quiet command. “Zach, go wash up for dinner.”

  I’m too drained to snap at Leo for telling my son what to do.

  Our son.

  Ours.

  Crap.

  Derek looks uncomfortable but nods and pushes to his feet, gathering up his things, excusing himself with a polite murmur. “See you guys soon.”

  Zach is oddly quiet, but he rises obediently and slips into the bathroom in the back, leaving me alone with Leo.

  I press my face into my hands, exhaling tiredly. “You have really bad timing.”

  He rounds on me, glowering past his mask. “I’d say my timing’s pretty damn good. What were you thinking, letting him in?”

  “Um, maybe I could get something out of him?” I bite off. “I couldn’t exactly stop him.”

  “You didn’t have to invite him past the threshold.”

  “He’s not a vampire. Jeez. If he wanted to get in, he was coming, with or without an invitation.”

  Leo swears, dragging a hand over his masked face. “Rissa, do you have any sense of tactical awareness? He could’ve fucking murdered you and I wouldn’t have been here to do shit about it!”

  “What was I supposed to do?” I flare, shooting to my feet and fixing him with a glare. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing all day, and I had a chance with someone who might know something about Deanna. I couldn’t keep him out—this entire place is nothing but windows! So I could either play along and see if he’d slip, or I could leave him no choice but to get violent. And I wasn’t letting that happen in front of our—”

  I stop, my heart freezing over.

  Jesus. I’d almost said our son.

  And Leo glares at me like he knows what I was about to say.


  God. I breathe in shakily, ruffling my hair. “Look, I was cornered. And he told me something about my dad’s old secretary—”

  “Marianne Jonas,” he growls. “I know.” He stalks closer, glowering fiercely, just a pair of bright violet spots and the outline of a beard under the shadow of his hood. “You can’t trust anything that man says. He’s probably telling you just enough truth to make you believe his lies.”

  That’s enough to steal my breath away.

  “How’s that any better than you?” I ask, a hot rush of anger and hurt running through me. “I have no idea what’s been happening to you the last eight years, Leo. You’ve been in prison, and I...you won’t tell me anything unless it’s just enough to make me be a good girl so I’ll sit here and twiddle my thumbs and wait!”

  He goes still, looking at me strangely. “Not fair, Clarissa.”

  The worst part is, he’s right.

  It’s not fair of me, especially with the things I’ve been keeping from him.

  But I’m hurt and angry and scared and desperate, and maybe I don’t want to be fair right now.

  I want to be safe.

  That weirdo showing up here where I’m supposed to be tucked away like Rapunzel in her tower tells me I’m not truly safe anywhere.

  And neither is Zach.

  Staring at Leo, I press my lips together, words clotting in my throat. Another horrible memory churns in my head.

  So I just turn away, trying to shake it, and walk out of the room before I say something I’ll regret.

  * * *

  Eight Years Ago

  I still can’t get used to the house being so full.

  In some ways, it’s a blessing in disguise.

  Because ever since Galentron has practically moved in, that means Leo has more reasons to be here.

  He’s even got a room here, one that he’s only in about a quarter of the time while he shuttles between the house and some secret company lair half the time.

  And the rest of it?

  Well, it’s kinda hard for him to be in his bed when he’s in mine.

  But even with that little bit of happy serendipity, the house is freaking stifling. Ominous-looking men and women pace around everywhere. It’s constant meetings, endless secrets, smothering security.

  Places in my own house I’m not allowed to go anymore, like the library.

  And Papa keeps getting worse by the day.

  It’s like whatever he’s doing with Galentron is bringing out his truest self.

  He’s had a nasty temper ever since our mother died. I never know when that hand will fly down and leave my cheek throbbing. Or when he’ll grip my arm hard enough to leave bruises that burn for days.

  Just another grim reminder that it could be worse. And it probably will be, sooner or later.

  I just haven’t pissed him off enough recently.

  Mostly because he’s been distracted, preparing for his big congressional campaign next year.

  It makes me shiver with disgust and fear—the idea of him with even more power. Even more ability to hurt people.

  I can feel his iron fist squeezing my throat right now, while I try to keep my hands steady to pour a fresh pan of toffee.

  Papa’s voice shakes the house, rattling the walls, as he roars at Deanna upstairs.

  I can’t effing stand it.

  She hasn’t done anything.

  She’s never done anything, but then neither do I.

  We creep around here as meek as mice in the walls. We’ve learned the hard way that if we try to rescue each other, if we try to intervene when he starts up, he’ll make us both pay.

  He always finds ways to make us bleed where no one will see the marks.

  Something crashes upstairs, and I wince. The pot jitters in my hand, and the toffee piles up too high in one spot. I slow my pour, letting the thick caramel-colored goo slowly smooth itself out, holding my breath and telling myself it’ll be okay.

  Will it, though? She only stayed out five minutes past curfew.

  As long as he’s sober, he won’t hurt her. Just scare her. I hope.

  I can’t go up there and...I don’t even know. Fling the entire pan of scalding hot toffee over his head?

  He’d kill us both and have us buried somewhere no one would ever find us.

  I’ll only make it worse for her, fighting back.

  I have to remind myself again and again, biting the inside of my cheek, my eyes stinging, while I force myself to stay put. It’s like some messed up metaphor for my life.

  All the things I do, trying to keep our lives from getting even worse.

  But I could leave, too.

  Just like Leo wants. He’s aching to get away from that horrid company. I want to get away from my father, and we could just run. Take off together one day when we’re both away from the house, grab a rental vehicle, and never look back.

  Run away together and be happy.

  But I can’t.

  I can’t just run and leave Deedee to suffer alone.

  And I can’t take her with me. I’m not even old enough to drink, and she’s a flipping minor.

  There’s got to be another way.

  Something I can do, instead of just enduring this until he either gets sick of us or a happy accident kills him. I stare down at the settling toffee, my whole body numb.

  He’s going to kill us one day while I’m just waiting for something to happen to him.

  I can feel it.

  The violence building to a head like a volcano.

  Heck, he might even erupt so ferociously he can’t hide what happened. And then people will say they always suspected something was off about him, oh, why didn’t someone save those poor girls?

  He might be in jail, but we’ll be dead.

  “You can’t let it happen,” I whisper to myself, angrily pacing by the stove.

  Technically, he doesn’t have to murder us to be guilty of a crime. What he’s doing is abuse, plain and simple. Criminal assault and battery.

  All I have to do is get recorded evidence of how he treats us. Leo can help me, maybe he can back me up.

  And then? Then he’s finished. Then we’ll all be free.

  * * *

  Present

  If there’s one thing I miss since leaving Spokane, it’s being able to get a good night’s sleep.

  By the time I went back out last night, Leo had vanished to his camp again.

  My feelings were still too raw to try talking to him, so I’d just made dinner for Zach, picked at a bit of food myself, and dragged myself to bed to spend half the night lying awake, brooding over Deanna. Plus everything Nash said about Marianne.

  Hardly a recipe for sweet dreams. I guess that’s why I spent the other half of the night trembling through nightmares of my father and his abuse.

  And now I’m just lying here, used up and bleary-eyed and staring up at the dawn light on the ceiling, wishing I didn’t have to get up and get dressed and think of practical things like meeting with a contractor about fixing up the shop.

  That’s the thing people don’t tell you about crises.

  The whole world stops for you, but not for everyone else.

  It’s the strangest thing how life never stops.

  Even when you wish it would.

  But I force myself to get up, shower, and make breakfast for Zach. Derek’s coming in late today because of another commitment, so it’s just me and the kiddo.

  As I scrape eggs onto a plate, I can’t help how my gaze drifts to the window again. I know he’s out there. I think about telling him where we’re going, but he really can’t babysit us every waking minute.

  And we’ll be in town, in broad daylight, around other people.

  We won’t be alone.

  I can’t spend my entire life looking over my shoulder.

  So maybe I was too harsh on Leo last night. And he was too harsh on me. I know he’s just trying to protect us.

  That’s all he’s ever tried to do, one w
ay or another. And he’s not wrong about Nash.

  It’s just too suspicious. He’s not from Heart’s Edge. I can tell that with a single glance, even if I can’t shake this weird, uneasy sense of familiarity.

  If he’s with Galentron, did I see him in the house, and just never met him face-to-face?

  Was he just one of the many shadows moving through the mansion, and I registered him subconsciously?

  But then if he’s with them...

  Why would he come to me talking about Deanna, only to lead me in circles with teasing bits and half-answers?

  Unless he wasn’t trying to give me real information at all.

  Unless he was trying to get information from me.

  Crap. Does he think I know what Deanna knows? Or that I can give him some key to decipher my sister?

  He could’ve just taken me, if that was the case.

  I linger on Zach, nudging him into the back seat of the car and wait for him to buckle up.

  Derek may have been the only thing that saved us last night before Leo showed up.

  The last thing Nash wants is one too many witnesses to wipe out, after Deanna’s already gone.

  I shiver something fierce. Not even the heater warms the chill going through me as I make the drive up to town and the shop.

  The contractor’s already waiting for me. I’m pleasantly surprised to find it’s Mark Bitters, grandson of old Flynn who works up at the inn. Mark and I were in high school together. It’s actually not half bad catching up with someone who doesn’t say my name like it tastes bad on his tongue, and who’s friendly and kind as we walk through the damage and tally up estimates over losses, materials, reconstruction.

  He shows me pictures of his wife and kids, and seems surprised by how smart Zach is when my son starts asking him about the math he uses to estimate material needs.

  Maybe sometimes it’s not all bad that life goes on.

  Right now, this little bit of normalcy keeps me from falling apart. I need more than anything to hold it together. For Deanna’s sake, and for Zach’s.

  I can’t save anyone if I’m a nervous wreck.