“Hello? Faythe?” my uncle said into the phone. My silence was the only reason he had to suspect trouble; I’d already spoken to him twice that morning, planning our now-defunct attack.
“Yeah, it’s me.” I leaned with my head on the window, letting the cold glass leach some of the heat from my utter humiliation. “Call your men back, if you’ve already sent them. There’s been a change in plans.”
“What happened?”
“Malone found out about the funeral and came in early with eight cars full of toms. Kenton Pierce challenged me, and Colin Dean fought in his place.”
“What happened?” He sounded sick, and he hadn’t even heard the worst yet.
“He nearly killed her,” Jace called from the front seat as he steered us around a sharp curve, and I groaned, but couldn’t argue.
“Marc called the fight when I lost consciousness.” I closed my eyes, and realized I never wanted to open them again. “I lost, Uncle Rick. They kicked us out. We’re on the way to Marc’s house in the free zone now, and the only good news I have is that we got Kaci, Manx, and Des out before Malone and his men saw them. And Holly, too. She was there for the funeral.”
There was silence, other than the highway wind, as my uncle considered the new information. “Are you okay?”
“No,” Marc answered for me. “She has a concussion, a broken nose, two black eyes, a cracked rib, a possible skull fracture, and more bruises than I can count. She’s supposed to be resting.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, speaking through pain I refused to elaborate on. “And we’re going to get it back. All of it. We’re gonna go back in, and this time we will surprise them. If you’re still with me.” Because the third time was a charm. Right?
“You know I am. But you have to heal first. Call me tomorrow, and we’ll make more concrete plans. Okay?”
“Of course.”
“Guys, make sure she gets some rest, okay?”
I smiled in spite of myself as the guys answered. Uncle Rick sounded so much like my father that I was both happy and sad at the same time. I couldn’t believe how much I missed him, though I knew how disappointed he’d be in me if he were still there.
By the end of a nine-hour drive spent sandwiched between the other two cars in our caravan, the least significant of my injuries had become dull throbs and most of my sore muscles had stiffened up. But my cracked rib and pummeled face hurt like Dean had come back to kick me while I was down, and my head had become the source of all earthly misery.
When we turned into Marc’s driveway, my heart leaped into my throat. I didn’t want to go in the house. I didn’t want them to see me in my current state, and I didn’t want to face them after my failure. But they already knew what had happened—my mother had called Michael from the car right after we’d left—and I couldn’t avoid facing my own Pride. Not if I claimed to be their leader.
Vic pulled his car in behind Marc’s—which he’d left when we’d brought him back to the ranch—and we parked beside him, behind Ryan’s POS. Parker stopped right behind us.
Marc was out of the car before Jace could kill the engine. He opened the rear passenger door, but instead of helping me out, he got in next to me. “Are you okay?”
I put my head on his shoulder and let him hold me. “I have honestly never been less okay in my life.”
“Yeah.” He hesitated, and I knew there was more. “I only have the one bed. I want you to take it. You need to rest, and I’ll…I’ll just watch you sleep.” They’d have to watch me for a while, because of the head trauma. “I’ll have everyone else leave you alone until you feel like…being with people.”
“No.” I shook my head firmly, in spite of the pain. “I appreciate the bed—I feel like I could sleep for a month. But I have to talk to them first. How can I claim to be their Alpha if I can’t even face them?”
“It can wait a couple of hours,” Jace said from the front seat, twisted so that he could see us both.
“No, it can’t. It’s already waited more than nine,” I insisted. Someone knocked on the car window, and I looked up to see my mother peering anxiously at us. “Let’s go. They’re probably worried enough as it is.”
I made it to the house under my own power, but my left hip hurt with every step, so I let Marc help me onto the porch. Jace held the door open for me, and the collective gasp when I stepped into the living room could have silenced the crowd at Texas Stadium.
Michael stood from the couch, where he’d been talking softly to Holly, and briefly, I wondered how he’d explained all this to her. We could always tell her I’d fallen out of a tree….
“Faythe…?” Kaci stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding an unopened can of Coke, staring at me as if she didn’t quite recognize me. Or didn’t want to.
“I’m fine. Really,” I insisted. But as soon as she heard my voice—thus had to believe what she saw—she dropped the can, and it rolled under the nearest cabinet.
“Yeah.” Michael came closer, studying my face in the inadequate light. “Wherein ‘fine’ means ‘beaten to within an inch of your life.’”
“More like half an inch.” I tried to smile, but the expression felt all wrong. “But I really am fine. I wouldn’t mind sitting down, though.”
Marc led me to the couch where I sat next to Holly, who stared at me with her mouth hanging open. Her face was tearstained, her makeup a distant memory, yet she was stunning next to me, I had no doubt.
“What…? What…? What…?” But she couldn’t complete the thought.
“She keeps saying that,” Kaci said, sinking onto the couch on my other side. “Pound her on the back, and she may actually finish a sentence.”
The rest of the enforcers followed us in, carrying suitcases, and the minute he saw Manx, standing near one wall, rocking the sleeping baby in her arms, Owen dropped the bag he carried and made a beeline in her direction.
“You’re okay?” He peeked at the baby, then stared down at her like the sun couldn’t shine on a world without Manx in it. “Both of you?” The obvious fear and love in his expression broke my heart. Owen didn’t have a poker face; everything he felt could be read clearly on his features and there wasn’t a mean cell in his entire body. His heart could be broken so easily.
“We are fine.” She smiled up at him, her features mirroring the transparent relief on his. “Now.”
No, Manx wouldn’t break his heart. But life just might. Owen wasn’t a leader, and he was only a competent fighter. And in our world, men like that, ordinary, bighearted gentlemen, didn’t get to marry and raise families, because they couldn’t protect them.
At the sound of my mother’s heels on the scarred hardwood, I looked up to find her watching Owen with a mixture of pride and fear, as if she were thinking the very same thing. Then she glanced around the room for Ryan, and for the first time I noticed him standing in the corner alone, watching. His gaze met mine, but I couldn’t read his expression, and I didn’t have the energy to deal with him at the moment.
“Dean did this?” Michael knelt in front of me for a better look. He started to tilt my face toward the light, then seemed to think better of it. “How bad is it?” But he was talking to the doctor, who’d just come in the door with his medical bag.
“Who’s Dean?” Holly asked, her eyes still glazed with shock. “Some kind of mafia hit man? Why was he after Faythe? Is this some kind of…safe house?”
“You didn’t tell her?” I frowned at Michael, though the movement hurt every muscle in my face.
He shrugged miserably. “No matter how I start, it sounds ridiculous. And, I have to admit, the automatic death sentence is a damn strong deterrent.” He turned to Holly then, still kneeling, and put one hand on her leg, and his love shone even through his fear and frustration. “But I swear on my life that I am not in the mafia. None of us are.” Before she could argue, he turned back to the doc for an answer.
“Obviously Faythe’s nose is broken,” Carver said. “And I suspect she has a
hairline skull fracture and a cracked rib. Other than that, she’s basically one big bruise. And there seems to be residual pain and soreness in her left hip and shoulder, from impact with the ground.”
“Impact…?” Michael raised one brow, at me this time, but Marc beat me to it.
“The bastard picked her up like a clean and jerk, and threw her at the ground. Then he tried to kick her face in.”
“Damn it, Faythe…” Michael swore, standing, and his green eyes darkened with rage like I’d rarely seen in him. “I’ll kill him.”
“You’ll have to wait in line,” Jace said, just as Holly squeaked, “You kill people?”
“Michael. I’ll be fine, and we have bigger things to worry about.” I cleared my throat and summoned my Alpha voice, hoping it hadn’t been revoked in light of my humiliating near-death experience. “First of all, sleeping arrangements. We’re going to be here for a few days at least, and the quarters are obviously cramped. Though we are grateful for the ‘safe house.’” I smiled at Marc, and he tried to smile back, but obviously my broken face kind of killed the humor. “Marc, do you still have those air mattresses from last time?”
“Yeah. Two of them. In the hall closet. And there’s a hand pump, too.”
“Good. Take Parker into town and buy several more. And get an electric pump, or we’ll never get them all blown up. Also, blankets and pillows. Use Parker’s company card.” Which my father had issued to each of us, for Pride business expenses. And this definitely qualified, even if we weren’t officially in the Pride anymore.
Marc nodded, though I could tell from his scowl that he didn’t want to leave me here. But he wouldn’t argue, because it wouldn’t be safe for Parker to go into town—in the free zone—without him. The local stray population knew Marc’s scent from the time he’d spent here, and most of them would know what he’d suffered to help them, after Malone’s plot to tag them all with GPS tracking chips.
“Mom…” I turned, holding my sore side, to find her watching me, one arm linked through Ryan’s. “You, Kaci, and Manx can stay in the front bedroom. Michael, you and Holly take the middle room. It’s small, but you’ll have it to yourselves.” For at least some semblance of privacy, though we’d be able to hear anything they said. “The guys can camp out in here.
“Ryan…” I started, then stopped. I wanted to kick him out. Driving the refugees into the free zone didn’t absolve him of past crimes, and I still couldn’t look at him without remembering that he’d set me up to be kidnapped and sold. But we needed him, and I couldn’t let my personal grudges stand in the way of the Pride’s well-being. The greater good, Faythe.
“Are you staying?” I finally asked. “Can we trust you?”
“Yes, on both counts.” Ryan nodded calmly. “I want to make up for—”
“No. You can’t.” I wanted there to be no mistake about that. “But you do owe me,” I said, and he nodded again. “Take Vic into town and get food. Lots of food. Manx, will you show them what kind of diapers you need?” I asked, and she nodded, but before she could move, Owen was already digging in her diaper bag for samples.
I looked around the room, taking it all in. Meeting each pair of eyes. Wishing desperately that my father were there. Had we buried him only that morning? It already felt like an eternity had passed since I’d seen him.
Marc hovered near the door, holding his car keys, ready for action as usual. Jace stood in the doorway to the hall, watching me carefully, his expression a mixture of concern for me and…restlessness. He looked like he wanted to do something about our current situation, and standing still was about to kill him.
Most of the other guys looked pissed off and a little disoriented, but not truly traumatized by our forced relocation, because the burden wasn’t theirs, and neither was the responsibility. They had the luxury of following orders, and evidently the confidence that I would know what to do soon, if I didn’t already. That I could lead them.
If only I had that same confidence in myself.
My mother looked exhausted, plain and simple. I caught Ryan’s attention and nodded subtly toward an empty armchair, then pointedly at our mother. He led her to sit.
Kaci sat glued to my side, oblivious to the many bruises my clothes hid, clinging to the only thing she understood, the only thing she still had, when the rest of her world had been ripped out from under her. She was homeless and on the run—again—and the only difference this time was that she wasn’t alone. And for the moment, that was all I had to offer her.
Holly… My biggest regret of the day—other than not being able to pound Dean into a large puddle of pureed tomcat—was that Holly had been with us when the proverbial shit hit the fan. But truthfully, I wasn’t sure how safe the south-central territory would be for her now, without us there, and the only alternative would mean separating her from her husband.
At the moment, she looked confused and scared, but mostly mad, and my opinion of her went up another notch at the steady spark of anger in her eyes.
“As of now, we are officially in exile,” I began, when I was sure I had everyone’s attention. “However, I have a plan. We will take our territory back. But it’s going to take a few days to organize, which is actually kind of convenient, because it’s probably going to take a few days for me to heal. Right, Doc?” I forced a good-humored smile his way, and he tried to return it.
“At least.”
“Until then,” I continued. “This is home. I want everyone to get plenty of rest tonight, because tomorrow, we make plans to bury the new council chair. And don’t worry about the shovel shortage,” I said, glancing from face to determined face. “Because Calvin Malone has just dug his own grave.”
Twenty-five
“Holly, would you like a drink?” I asked, eyeing Michael, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that already. But he only shook his head, and I caught a flare of annoyance in his frown.
“She doesn’t drink. Alcohol has too many calories.”
And homemade cocoa doesn’t? I glanced from my brother to his wife, whose hands were actually shaking in her lap. “I think she’d make an exception today.”
Holly nodded, crossing her legs beneath her funeral skirt. “Something strong.” Maybe some of my clothes would fit her, until we could take her shopping.
Michael stood, and I called after him as he headed for the kitchen. “There should be several bottles left under the sink, and with any luck, the ice tray’s full. But I doubt there’s anything to mix with, other than Coke.”
While he poured, I glanced around the living room, assessing the general level of despair while I tried to decide how best to help my brother tell his wife that he wasn’t entirely human. And neither was his family.
We had a little more breathing room, with four of the toms gone on errands, but Marc’s small house was still a tight fit for a group our size. I’d sent my mother to lie down, and Jace had blown up one of the air mattresses in the front bedroom for Manx and Des, who were both already asleep. He’d blown the other one up for Kaci, but so far she’d refused to leave my side, and I couldn’t really blame her.
Owen, Brian, Carver, and Jace were playing poker at the card table in the kitchen, but had only made it through two hands so far, because Owen kept leaving to check on Manx, and Jace kept staring at me rather than at his hand.
Michael returned with a drink for his wife—whiskey and Coke, based on the scent—and sank onto the couch next to her, drawing in a long, tense breath. He was ready. But I couldn’t let him do it.
Disclosure of our existence to a human was a capital offense, punishable by an automatic death sentence. In this particular case, we had no choice—Holly obviously knew something was very, very wrong, and even her mafia fixation would cease to make sense once we started planning for the renaissance of the south-central Pride.
But I couldn’t give Malone a chance to take another brother from me or a husband from Holly. And if they didn’t want to kill me for handing Lance Pierce over to the th
underbirds, then disclosing our secret to Holly wouldn’t change that.
“Michael. Let me.”
He frowned. “Faythe…”
I shrugged. My Pride. My responsibility. “What are they going to do? Kill me twice?”
“You sure?” Michael asked, eyeing me closely.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, what the hell are you talking about?” Holly drained her short glass and coughed, then clutched it like nothing else in the world made sense at that moment. “If you’re not some kind of mob family, who were the men in those cars and how can they kick you out of your own home? And if we had to run away to protect the women and children, why did we leave Faythe behind?”
Michael put a hand on her arm, trying to calm her. “Faythe isn’t a woman—she’s an Alpha.”
I frowned at Michael, warning him not to say anything else. All the important facts needed to come from me, or he’d be opening himself up to serious trouble.
“Um, point of fact,” Jace chimed in from the card table, flaunting an actual grin—the first I’d seen in a while. “That’s not an either/or. She’s very definitely a woman, too.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed in irritation, but he refrained from replying, probably because his own personal life was in a bit of a shambles at the moment. He knew about me and Jace—we’d made a detail-less disclosure to the adult members of the household, out of necessity—but Kaci did not, so I shot Jace a censorious glance.
He shrugged in apology, but didn’t look very sorry.
“I’m not following any of this,” Holly snapped, and I had to respect her spirit. “Look, I know something’s wrong, and you guys have always been a little weird—sorry, but it’s true—and I’m sitting here scared to death that someone’s going to bust down the door with an automatic weapon and equalize us. So I wish you’d just spit it out. Whatever you have to say can’t be worse than what I’m imagining.”
“Don’t bet on that…” Kaci mumbled, and I put a hand on her arm to quiet her.
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