Race the Darkness

by Abbie Roads

  “No sweat off my balls. But don’t you dare hate Isleen. She’s the granddaughter of this woman you loved. She’s innocent. And she needs you to help her. She’s been having dreams that come true. And this was one of them.”

  Chapter 14

  Three days later…

  “Xan, she’s had a break from reality.” Uncle Matt spoke the words real slow, as if allowing each syllable time to be absorbed before moving on to the next one. The asshole didn’t even bother hiding that he thought Xander was a weak-minded fool.

  The muscles between Xander’s shoulder blades went taut. He rolled his neck, both hearing and feeling the snap-crackle of restrained pissed-off-ness.

  They sat at Xander’s kitchen table, Matt enticingly close—so close it’d be no trouble for Xander to pop his fist into the guy’s too-perfect schnoz.

  For shit’s sake, she’s practically catatonic. Matt’s thoughts were nothing Xander hadn’t been hearing for a full three days. At least, when he chose to listen. He’d discovered that while within a certain proximity of Isleen, he could control what he heard and he never hurt. For the first time since the lightning strike, he could turn it off and on at will—the only silver lining in this funnel cloud of doom they were all swirling in. And he fucking hated storms.

  “She isn’t catatonic. She responds to me.” That was a half-truth, and he damned well knew it. The only time she responded to him was when he got in bed with her. She snuggled up into his body, clinging to him as if she were about to be swept away by a rushing current of pain. He would whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m with you. I’m here with you.” He didn’t know what else to say. Eventually, her grip on him would relax—not let go. Just relax.

  “Dad’s the one who’s gone crazier than a tin of mixed nuts.” When Xander cared to listen to Matt and Row’s thoughts, he heard all about Dad raving nonsense and trashing the house and the Institute. “There’s a reason you’re sitting here in my cabin, drinking my coffee. There’s a reason Row is cooking in my kitchen, using my oven for her cinnamon rolls. Dad’s lost his jacks, and neither of you want to be there. So don’t tell me Isleen’s the one with the problem.”

  “Hush now and eat.” Row slid a plate in front of each of them. Her cinnamon rolls were a sweet nirvana and an effective diversion from the blowout he and Matt had been edging closer to for days. “I’ll take one up to Isleen and see if I can get her to eat.” If she doesn’t eat—

  Xander flipped the switch and turned off Row’s thoughts. Control was a wonderful thing. He didn’t need to hear any more about how worried Row was about Isleen. He had his own goddamned set of worries. There was no denying the situation was dire. She hadn’t gotten out of bed in three days. Hadn’t slept either. Not one wink. She just stared, but saying that wasn’t accurate—to stare implied she was actually looking at something and she wasn’t.

  She’d barely eaten enough to keep a spring sparrow alive, and she wasn’t talking. Not one word. But Xander clung like a burr to the fact that she sought comfort from him. She wasn’t all gone. A piece of her remained.

  They ate in the safety of silence, and Xander let his attention stray out the cabin’s many windows. The sky was the color of sorrow. Birds didn’t sing, branches didn’t sway, leaves didn’t rustle. It was kinda like the stillness of grief had pervaded the entire world.

  Row came back downstairs and set the cinnamon roll on the counter. Only one bite was missing.

  Matt’s gaze landed on the uneaten roll, then bounced back and forth between their empty plates. “She needs to be evaluated by a psychiatrist.”

  Part of Xander recognized the truth in his uncle’s words. The other part said she just needed time.

  “I’ve contacted Dr. Hendrix. He’s a trauma specialist,” Matt said. “Once I explained Isleen was one of the women from the news, he agreed to make a house call this afternoon. After the funeral.”

  A cold jet of energy zipped along Xander’s scars. He recognized the feeling. The Bastard in His Brain was preparing for a performance. “By some miracle, her name hasn’t yet been leaked to the media, and you pull this? It’ll only take hours before the news vans are lined up at the end of the driveway.”

  “He’s a professional. A trauma specialist. He’s dealt with this kind of thing before.”

  “I don’t fucking care if he’s Sigmund Freud. You are not making decisions about her, her mental state, or her future. If he shows up, he better be an MMA championship fighter wearing a bulletproof vest.”

  “You’d be content to allow her to continue this way? That”—Matt pointed over his head to Xander’s loft bedroom—“isn’t living.”

  “You didn’t see the shithole she was imprisoned in. You didn’t see that bitch who held her captive. And you certainly will never see all the scars her body bears from what she’s endured. She’s been through the absolute worst life has had to offer, and she’s going to come out the other side. She just needs time. And patience. Not you trying to force her into the nuthouse.”

  “She needs treatment. Medication. Counseling.”

  She needs me. I can heal her. The words floated around inside his mouth tasting sweet and true, but Xander clenched his teeth and didn’t let them loose. They sounded insane and would only be lighter fluid on Matt’s flickering flame.

  “Xan, I agree with your uncle.” Row had been strangely quiet for the past few days. She usually had too much to say on every topic and always sprinkled her language with expletives—unless she was upset. “You know I wouldn’t say this if I didn’t honestly believe it was the only way. You’ve given her time. She’s not snapping out of this. How much longer are you going to let her deteriorate? You have to think about her physical health. She’s already drastically underweight, and now she’s barely eating.”

  “I won’t have her trading one prison for another.”

  “The poor girl. What she went through… And Gale being…murdered… It’s almost too much for me. I can’t imagine what it’s like for her.”

  Wasn’t that the mind fuck they were all dealing with? Someone had snuck onto the property, into the house, and poisoned Gale. The only lead was the black sedan parked at the end of the driveway, and that had led nowhere. Xander even had Kent find out if the tattooed consultant guy had seen anything. Nothing.

  The BCI was beyond puzzled. Why take out Gale? She had dementia and memory problems. She was no threat. Isleen would’ve been the better target. Which scared the piss out of Xander—and he didn’t do scared. The best the BCI could offer was an officer stationed at the end of the driveway, one outside the main house, and a guy outside Xander’s cabin.

  “I’ll give her two more days. You refuse her treatment then, and I’ll go through legal channels.” Matt shoved back from his seat.

  A cold electrical burn seeped from Xander’s scars outward, infusing the rest of him with its anger. The Bastard in His Brain spread, taking over cell by cell. “You’re asshole enough to do that, aren’t you?”

  “I’m the only one thinking about this. I’m not bewitched like your father was with Gale or you are with her.”

  Xander shoved back from his seat and stalked around the table to stand toe to toe, nose to nose with Matt. All he had to do was cock his arm back and let it fly. His hand curled into a fist. “You try to take her away from me, and I’ll kill you.” He was surprised by the vehemence of his words, but not their meaning. He would kill anyone that tried to come between them.

  “You want to fistfight over her?”

  “We’ve fought over less.”

  “Boys. Stop it. Right now.” Roweena shoved her way between the two of them. “Matt, leave. Xan, calm down. Nobody is going to do anything today. Today we’re supposed to be saying good-bye to Gale.”

  “We’re not done.” Matt backed off and pointed at Xander. “Little boy, you need to wake up to what’s really happening here.”


  “You know what’s really happening? I’ll tell you, old man. You’re jealous. Dad had Gale. Knew what it was like to be loved. Who have you ever had? Nobody you didn’t buy and pay for. Not one person can tolerate you other than family. And we don’t even like you very much.”

  “Xander.” Row gasped his name as if he’d just shit on a holy relic. “That’s low.”

  Something dark and dangerous contorted Matt’s features. Something that promised payment for that truism at a future date. Without another word, he left, slamming the door so hard on his way out that the thing bounced back and forth, unable to latch.

  “You two.” Row sounded like an exasperated mother. “You’re too much alike. That’s why you’ve always locked horns.”

  “We’ve locked horns because he’s an asshole.”

  “So are you,” Row said and headed for the staircase. “I’ll go help Isleen get a bath and dressed.”

  “Row?”

  Row stopped at the bottom of the stairs, her face—the face of the only person who had ever loved him—turned to him, and he suddenly saw her age, every wrinkle cutting through her skin. The way her light-purple hair made her face sallow and almost sick looking. For the first time, her tattoos seemed garish and overdone. She was struggling as much as they all were. And he couldn’t bear adding to her burden. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of her.”

  “Xan, that’s not right. I think she’d be more comfortable—”

  He went to her, needing to give her a hug, the same way she used to always be able to sense when he needed one as a child. She squeezed him tight, and things seemed a bit better. Jeesh, maybe he was going pussy or something. But even that thought wasn’t enough to make him pull away.

  “Everything is just such a-a-a mess,” she said. “There’s just so much bad. Gale being murdered in our home. I don’t feel safe now. Your father is a raving, destructive lunatic. What the BCI officers must think of us. You and Matt are fighting. And Isleen…” A breathy hitch in Row’s voice almost melted Xander’s heart into an ooey-gooey mess.

  “It’ll be all right. Things will work themselves out.” The conviction in his tone surprised him. “We’ll get a security system on the house. A gate at the end of the driveway. Dad will always be Dad. I’ll try to not fight with Matt—as long as he doesn’t…” He trailed off, not wanting to reignite his own anger. “Isleen’s going to be all right. She just needs time. And to be with me. She feels safe with me. And that’s something.”

  “I understand about her and you.” She pulled out of his arms, then clasped his face between her hands, staring into his eyes. “I see so much of your father in you and so much of Gale in her.”

  He tried to shake his head in denial that she would compare him to his father, but she held his cheeks in a vise grip.

  “The biggest mistake your father ever made was allowing Gale to leave. The second biggest was never going after her. Don’t make those same mistakes. Promise me you won’t.”

  The way she held his face mashed his lips together.

  “I won’t,” he said knowing full well that he was making fishy lips. “Promise.”

  “Now say it again.”

  “I won’t. Promise.”

  “Again.”

  “Okay. Now you’re just enjoying this.”

  She laughed, patting him on the cheeks. “Wondered when you’d figure it out.” She stepped back and gestured toward the loft bedroom. “Are you sure you want to care for her?”

  “I need to, and I think it’s what she’d want,” he said softly, knowing Row would understand. “She’s mine. My responsibility.”

  “Okay. I already set out her clothes, and there’s a small bag of her toiletries. You want me to swing by after I change and help you get her to the cemetery?”

  “I’ve got her. We’ll meet you there.” He walked Row out onto the porch. “Hopkins,” he said to the BCI guy hanging out on his porch swing. “See that she gets home.”

  “Ms. McNeal, it would be my pleasure to be your escort this fine morning.” Hopkins held his arm out to Row like she was a fancy lady, causing her to giggle like a girl. Xander was going to have to thank the dude later for being exactly what Row needed at that moment.

  Back in the house, Xander went upstairs to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, adjusted to the temperature until it was perfect, then set out the clothes Row had brought for Isleen.

  Something had to change with Isleen. Row was right. Isleen’s body couldn’t handle losing any more weight. He went into the bedroom and sat next to his girl.

  “Baby.” She didn’t look at him. He threw back the covers. She still wore the blue sundress she’d been wearing the day everything went to shit. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bathroom. “You’re going to take a shower. You’re going to get dressed. And then I’m going to take you to your grandmother’s funeral.” His voice was firmer than he intended.

  Gently, he settled her on her feet, keeping hold of her until he felt that she was steady and then stepped back. “Now, get in the shower, wash, and get dressed.”

  She didn’t move or give any indication she understood his words. Maybe she just needed a little direction. By the hand, he guided her closer to the glass-enclosed shower. Without hesitation, she followed him, but that was it. She wasn’t going to be able to do this on her own.

  “Okay, we’ll do this together.” He shucked his boots and shirt, then opened the glass door and stepped inside. The water soaked his jeans, sucking them against his legs like sodden weights, but he’d deal. “Come on, baby.” He held out his hand to her. All she had to do was reach out a few inches and… She stepped toward him. “Yes. Come on.”

  The first pellets of water splashed against the side of her face and arm. She flinched away from them, but he pulled her in tight, shielding her, protecting her from something as simple as water. “It’s okay. It’s just the shower.”

  She leaned into him, her arms sneaking around his waist. Everywhere their skin met was a miracle. Her touch perfectly comfortable in a way he’d never experienced. It soothed something inside him. Hopefully, something in her too.

  While she clung to him, he reached for the shampoo bottle. “Close your eyes. I’m going to wash your hair.” He checked to make certain she was listening, then squirted the shampoo on the top of her head. It’d been only a week, and her hair was already past her shoulders. He massaged the suds into her scalp. “Row brought your shampoo, but I forgot to get it. I guess you’re going to smell like me.” Not that he minded.

  He rinsed her hair, then just stood there under the spray with her. Jesus. Just fucking do it. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her naked before. “I’m going to take off your sundress now and get you cleaned up. You tell me if you’ve got any problems with this and I’ll stop.”

  Slowly, he reached down behind her and gathered her dress up, then pulled it up over her waist to her arms. “Baby, raise your arms for me.” She did, and he slipped the material over her head and tossed it in a soggy pile on the shower floor. With even more care, he slid her panties down her thighs until they fell and caught on her ankles. Throughout the entire process, she full-body leaned against him, shifting herself in response to his movements. At least she was aware of him, comfortable with him, and responsive to him—to a certain extent anyway.

  He squirted his body wash on a rag and began at her shoulders, rubbing the cloth over her skin. Scars and cuts and still-fading yellow bruises marred her flesh. The sight of her skin reinforced his conviction never to allow anyone to control her life. Or hurt her ever again. If there was anything—anything at all—he could do to take away the pain of her grandmother’s death, he’d do it. He’d happily carry the burden for her.

  After the shower, he toweled her off, dressed her, and helped her lie down on the bed so he could get his own shower and get dressed for what was to come.


  Twenty minutes later, he led her down the stairs and out his front door. Her grip on his hand was firm, too firm to be normal, but it was something.

  A bruised sky hung over them. A low rumble of thunder sounded from the west, threatening to rip open the clouds and pour grief over them. Xander’s guts began trembling. He fucking hated storms. But for her, to give her the opportunity to be at Gale’s funeral, he would suck it up.

  He guided her across to the meadow of his yard to a path between two old trees. Green forest engulfed them the moment they entered. The sound of their feet treading on the moss-covered trail was the only noise. When had he ever heard things so quiet? He hadn’t. Ever. Cemetery Hill rose before them. “It’s only a bit farther, but it’s all up hill. You tell me if you get tired. Okay?” He waited for her to answer, but she didn’t, just kept walking beside him, her eyes straight forward.

  Isleen’s breath quickened from the exertion of walking uphill so he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tight next to his body, hoping to take some of the effort from her steps. Part of him was tempted to carry her, but maybe the exertion would be good for her and allow her to actually sleep tonight.

  The path ended abruptly at the bald hilltop. White slabs of stone jutted out of the earth at crazy angles. The men, women, children, and babies buried underneath those markers were the first settlers of the area. Dad stood at the head of an open grave, staring down into the pit as if he himself were about to be buried alive. Roweena and Matt were together on one side of the grave.

  It was no surprise Dad wanted Gale buried on the property. The guy was probably going to erect a tent and live on top of her grave. Even as the thought crossed Xander’s mind, he realized he might do the same thing if the roles had been reversed and something had happened to Isleen.

  He led Isleen to the open grave, stopping across from Row and Matt. If ever a coffin could be called beautiful, it was this one. The polished wood had been carved with flowing swirls of flowers and birds. It was ornate enough for royalty, but pretty enough for a princess.