Drake
The Kings of Guardian - Book Eleven
Kris Michaels
Copyright © 2018 by Kris Michaels
Krismichaelsauthor.com
Cover Art: Digitally Imagined
www.digitallyimagined.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model. This book is fiction. Names, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations are entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Also by Kris Michaels
Chapter 1
Drake Simmons leaned against the back of a leather chair in the cabin of Guardian's G6 and seethed as his twin brother Dixon rechecked his go-bag. They'd piloted the aircraft to White Plains, just outside New York City, and touched down not more than thirty minutes ago. Other than what was necessary to successfully pilot the aircraft, they hadn't exchanged a word in hours, but that wasn't uncommon. Today, unlike their normal silent connection that freaked everyone out, they weren't communicating. Drake had spent the entire flight banking the coals of the silent rage burning him alive. For the first time in years, the cause of his fury was his brother. Dixon zipped the A-3 bag and glanced over his shoulder at him. Drake averted his eyes.
"I can't leave if you're mad." Dixon turned around and sat on the corner of the G-6's leather couch.
"Good, then you can't leave. I'm pissed enough to keep you here for the rest of your life." Drake crossed his arms and leaned against the bulkhead.
"You know I have to go."
Fuck. He loathed the note of defeat in Dixon's voice. Anger shot through him like a bullet through the muzzle of a gun. "No, I don't. What happened wasn't your fault. He's a fucking criminal and a bastard. They both used us."
Dixon shook his head. The emotion in his eyes as they held each other's gaze was easy to recognize. Guilt. "You didn't do what I did."
"Look, none of that shit, none of it, was because of you. It could have been me! Instead, he took you. Why? Why did he pick you and not me? Why did he ‘love’ you and not me? Fuck, his actions weren’t the result of ‘love,’ and you know it! But ask yourself why! Why did he abandon me to that monster? We were children, and we had zero say in anything that went down. What he forced you to do wasn't your fault. You cannot be held responsible for making choices that had no right ending. He abused your mind as much as that whore let those men physically abuse me. I can’t let you go back into that pit, Dixon." Drake raked his hand through his hair and shook his head. "It took years for you to stop screaming in the middle of the night. Years, D. He is a monster, but worse than that, dear old dad would get off on tearing you down simply so he could watch you die. You don't have to go back into that snake pit." His words contained years of anguish and hatred for the motherfuckers that hurt them both. His venom wasn't directed at Dixon. He'd never turn his rage toward his brother, but their parents were fair game. Guardian shouldn't have exploited that connection. He was pissed at Archangel. Hell, he wanted to rage at the entire organization, to the point that he'd even considered just walking away.
Dixon leaned his forearms on his knees and leveled a stare at him. Drake saw the pain and regret Dixon tried to hide. That bastard, their sperm donor, had fucked up Dixon. Their father, the man who was supposed to nurture and protect Dixon, had created a hell-on-earth and abandoned his son in the middle of it. It’d been left to Drake to pull Dixon out. He did it while licking the wounds inflicted on him from his mother. They’d both had to grow up, fast. They'd managed, but... No, he'd never understood how Dixon could willingly go back.
His brother’s voice thickened with emotion, "How can I make you understand that I need to do this. For me. No other reason. I need to face my demons."
"You mean demon." Drake threw that out there. Their father. The abomination.
Dixon lifted his chin acknowledging Drake's correction before he continued, "Yeah, singular, demon. Guardian is asking me to do no more than they'd ask any other person they employ. I'm the way in. I've been teaching the investigators’ course for years now. I know what I'm doing." His eyes flickered with a hint of mischief. "I'm the smarter of the two of us, remember?"
Drake snorted. When they tested before entering college, his brother scored one point higher on the Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale. He'd scored a 210, and Drake had scored a 211. They hadn't bothered to retake the test, but some days Drake swore he'd happily sit through the hours of bullshit questions one more time if it would shut his brother up.
"I need your support on this." Dixon looked down at his boots.
Drake took a breath and then another. While he tried to get a grip on his anger, he took the time to truly look at his brother, his other half. The same person, different circumstances. Hell, raised in a different world. The man was going to have to change clothes before he dropped in on dear old fucking Dad. Nothing less than bespoke suits and hand-made shoes would be permitted in that bastard's realm...unless...no.
Drake pushed the thoughts away and cleared his throat. Bile rose at the thoughts that surfaced. He couldn't let Dixon do this. He tried again. "You want my support on this? How can I support you? He fucking broke you. Tell me you don't remember those nights when you couldn't sleep or the depression that almost consumed you. I remember it all, Dix. I was there with you. Every. Fucking. Night. I held you when the dreams wouldn't release you." Drake slumped down in the chair and whispered, "How can I support you when I know what it’s going to do to you?" Drake shook his head. "You can walk away."
Dixon's eyes fixed on the aircraft's floor. His words were soft, and Drake had to concentrate to hear them. "You weren't there. I still live it over and over. Here." His fingers lifted and tapped his temple. He gave Drake a sad smile. "I'm not that scared kid anymore. I have more training and education than anyone he's ever employed, or for that matter, ever met. I know I can do this and, if I do, I'll make him pay for what he did to them, to her."
Drake just stood there. He didn't share his brother's belief he could have changed the course of history. Dixon's life had been a living hell when they were separated. So was his; he just occupied a different pit. His mother was a conniving, vicious bitch, and he suffered beatings and verbal abuse from her and the human waste that slithered in and out of her bed. As bad as he’d had it, what Dixon suffered had been far worse. He swallowed back the denial and vehemence and corralled them. It was apparent Dixon needed to purge this specter. If Dixon could summon the balls to walk back into a living hell, then the least he could do was match his brother’s coura
ge and not dump his fear on Dix. Fuck, he felt like someone was gutting him with a dull spoon. The heartache of letting his brother go...the pain was indescribable and the cost... He popped up and grabbed his brother out of his chair, pulling him into a death grip of a hug. "You'll call me and check in. That isn't up for debate. I'll find you if you're late. Even once." Drake's voice cracked, but he continued, "I can't lose you. I... Damn-it, you’re all I have."
Dixon nodded and held him. Words had always been extraneous when they were alone, and a defense mechanism when people were around, even those people they trusted. Their banter was a way to deflect, so people didn't look deeper. What they honestly shared was quiet, solemn communication between two parts that were whole, but not complete without each other. Drake needed his brother to fill fractured places in him that no one else knew existed. All twins shared a bond, but the ties that held them together had been forged in the hottest fires and deepest trenches of perdition. They existed without each other, but only thrived when they were together. Their parents had tried to keep them apart and, in doing so, had established a link that could never be broken.
"That’s not true. We have a family now, but I know what you mean.” Dixon's arms tightened around him until his ribs and lungs protested. “I can't call. You know I can't. Don't come for me. Stay away from him, from New York. You promise me, dammit."
Drake grabbed a fistful his brother's shirt and tugged on it. "I can't. I can't promise you that. I'll come for you if you get in trouble." Fuck, he couldn't make that promise.
Dixon pushed away and stared at Drake with eyes exact mirrors of his. "If I have to worry about you showing up, I won't be able to concentrate. I can't let him win. You show up only if Guardian approves it. Can you give me that much?"
Drake dipped his head downward.
Dixon saw the minuscule movement. "I'll be back. As soon as it’s over, I'll be back."
Drake nodded again and pulled his brother into another hug. Dixon slapped his back once before he pulled away and picked up his A-3 bag. Drake opened the door to the aircraft and dropped the stairs. He grabbed his bag and jerked his head at the opening. Dixon drew a deep breath and blinked several times before he exited the aircraft. They walked side by side until they reached the two pre-positioned SUV's. They were both provided by Guardian. Dixon's wasn't equipped with an armory like Drake’s, but the vehicle did have a hidden panic button and Guardian tracked and monitored the SUV twenty-four seven.
"Say hey to Cliff for me." Dixon threw his bag into the rear of his vehicle and opened the driver's side door.
"I will." Drake opened the rear of his vehicle and slid his bag onto the seat. "Do me a favor? When the time comes, you let that bastard know that he's lucky it was you Guardian chose for this assignment. If they'd chosen me, I'd invent new ways to gut the bastard and slowly let him bleed out for what he did to you."
Dixon lifted an eyebrow. "What makes you think I won't?"
Drake met his brother’s stare, and for the first time since Dixon accepted the fucking assignment, Drake saw what he needed to see. The confidence of numerous missions had seeped back into his brother as evidenced by the slight raise of his right eyebrow when he dared Drake to do something better than him. That observation gave him a modicum of peace.
Drake let a small smile spread across his face. He didn't feel it, but he knew it was important to his brother. Dixon returned the favor. They were parting. Neither wanted it, but life demanded it. He stood at the door of his vehicle and watched as his brother got into his SUV, started the engine and drove out of the hanger. He stood there for a while coming to grips with the fact that his brother was heading south into New York, into danger, and Drake wasn't going with him. The suckage was so strong on so many levels that he let it hit him and then wash by. There was nothing he could do, and he fucking hated it.
So, he did what he came to do—other than fly with Drake to New York. Three days ago, Doctor Heathcliff O'Rourke, their scholastic mentor, and now a tenured professor at MESE, Massachusetts Engineering School of Excellence, had called and asked Dixon and Drake to come and see him. He slipped behind the wheel and started the engine for his three-hour drive via I-84 and I-90 east. As the SUV rumbled to life, he closed his eyes and said a prayer for his brother. Dix was going to need all the help he could get.
Traffic wasn't insane, which was unusual and unfortunately allowed Drake to think. He pushed his worries about his brother to the side and tried to recall when he first realized that Dr. Heathcliff O'Rourke was important to them. The man had guest lectured on robotic engineering at their high school in Louisville when they were juniors. Both he and Dixon were immediately intrigued with the possibilities Dr. O'Rourke's words orchestrated in their minds. A small chuckle escaped him as he remembered how they'd begged, cajoled, harassed, and finally worn down their high school physics teacher until she'd arranged a personal meeting for them. That two-hour meeting had turned into a lifetime mentorship. Drake smiled as he checked his rear-view mirror. His Uncle Bob had removed them from hell, but Cliff had given them purpose and a sense of pride. Cliff was a foster parent to two kids who'd been handed a rough deal, and he understood trauma. Looking back, Drake knew without Cliff, he and Dixon would have never gone to college. Hell, Cliff helped them fill out the college admission forms. Their father made too much money for them to be eligible for student loans, so they applied for every scholarship they could find. They'd shovel shit for the rest of their lives before they'd ask that bastard to give them anything. They funded their own way through college and worked on the horse ranch their uncle managed until they both graduated. Shoveling shit. It was tough, but the accomplishment was theirs and wasn't tainted by their father's influence or money.
Cliff...damn, he hadn't seen the man in over ten years, but they did keep in touch. Until Frank Marshall, Cliff O'Rourke was the closest thing to a father they'd ever had. Their uncle provided them a place to live, but he didn't know what to do with two boys who'd gone through hell. Drake couldn't blame him. The man liked horses, not people, but he'd been there, and for that, they'd always be grateful.
College was where he and Dixon had...well, bloomed, but fuck that was a frilly way to put it. Maybe expanded was a better term. They were able to drop the emotional shields they used to surround themselves. Encouragement from Cliff and timely successes in school gave them the confidence to take small steps towards normality, or at least their version of normal. Each step toward independence fueled the next. Each step forward left their trauma further behind. The momentum of the small victories led to strides of confidence and self-revelation and then to the marathon that they'd been running. If their life was a lock, few people held the keys able to untangle the writhing knot of emotional and physical trauma their parents had bound them together with. Cliff, Gabriel, the Skipper, Chief, Adam, Frank, and Amanda all had keys, and in one way or another, each had opened and freed them from a piece of their past. Except Dixon still carried a locked portion of himself that hadn't been released. Drake drew a deep breath. He forced himself to admit Dixon needed to find that key and purge himself of the past that still haunted him.
Drake pulled into the sleepy town and pointed his SUV straight for the college and the MESE Campus Police Department. He was on official business, and his vehicle had enough firepower to stage a third-world coup, so he was checking in to make sure he followed protocols. He closed an eye at a stop light and considered that last thought. He wasn't technically on official business, but he'd be damned if he'd be without his weapons.
He wove through the campus and pulled up in front of the police station. He grabbed his credentials and badge, secured his SUV, and headed into the building. Bright overheads lit the neat reception area. Several people sat in the lobby, students if he had to guess. A clerk sat behind a small window to his right that bore a sign, “Parking Violations". Ahh, yeah. He chuckled to himself. He'd gotten several of those bad boys when he'd attended the University of Louisville. A middle-aged man i
n uniform looked up from his computer. "Can I help you?" Drake got a once over. He was wearing what he usually wore at the ranch, although the shirt was new. Stuck in the middle of college students wearing shorts, flip flops and t-shirts, the cowboy boots, wide leather belt and boot cut jeans he wore made him stick out like a sore thumb.
"Yes, sir. May I speak to your chief?" Drake walked forward and opened his credential holder, presenting the officer with a face full of badge and identification. The clerk blinked a couple times as he examined the open leather case in front of his face.
"Yeah, hang on." The man exited stage left in one hell of a hurry. Drake glanced up at the television that was streaming a national news network.
The door into the lobby opened again, and a younger man exited. "I'm Chief Reardon." He extended his hand to Drake who shook it.
Drake presented his credentials again and asked, "Sir, may we speak in private?"
"Certainly." Drake followed through the door to the reception area and into an office at the back of the facility.
"What business does Guardian Security have here?" The chief motioned for Drake to sit.
"That's unknown, sir. My goal at this time is to gather information and see if there is anything Guardian should be involved in. Of course, as a courtesy between our agencies, if we believe there is any information you need to know, we will ensure you are read in immediately." The way he'd phrased his response made it seem as if they were investigating a case. Meh... he'd stretched the truth farther than that without it breaking, and the stretch stroked the chief's ego.
Drake (The Kings of Guardian Book 11) Page 1
