Worth Dying for (A Dying for a Living Novel Book 5)

by Kory M. Shrum

  Rachel’s eyes narrow to slits. “You want to make me feel better?”

  Her voice can be mistaken for sweet as she crosses the living room and comes to the other side of the bar, opposite Gideon and his juicer. “Is that your goal, love? You want to make me feel better?”

  “Of course.” A shadow of doubt crosses his face. He bends down to look at her over the black rim of his glasses.

  Without warning, Rachel waves her hand and the juicer flies off the counter. The cord anchoring it to the wall gives with a snap and a spark, and the whole machine flies across the room, passing through the breakfast nook and over the cherry wood table. It bursts through the window, shattering it. Gravity takes over once the juicer clears the window and it begins to plummet toward the street below.

  Maisie snorts.

  Ally runs toward the window and shouts. “Look out below!”

  “Not running that goddamn machine at six in the morning would make me feel better!” Rachel screams, her voice shrill. She marches to the bathroom and slams the door closed behind her.

  “It’s almost eleven,” Maisie says from the chair where she reads some lovey-dovey book about emo-vampire boyfriends.

  Gideon sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “That’s a $400 juicer.”

  He says this as if he isn’t possibly one of the wealthiest men on the planet.

  “You could’ve killed someone.” Ally shakes spilled coffee off her hand. “That could’ve hit someone in the head.”

  Gideon looks at the kale leaves in his hands and frowns as if unsure what to do with them now that his juicer is gone. With a noticeable pout, he puts the leaves on the counter and throws back the half glass of green juice. Then he sticks out his tongue and grimaces. “Delicious. You ladies should try juicing.”

  “Yes, your face is really selling it,” I say with an arched eyebrow. “Anyhoo, while she’s—uh, getting ready—I want to look at the schematics one more time.”

  “Right.” Gideon comes around the island to where I kneel by the coffee table. He reaches under the table and grabs a folder.

  Ally comes to kneel on the opposite side of the table as Gideon spreads the schematics along the top. I grab one of the sheets.

  “So here is the utility building,” I say, pointing to a square which is supposed to represent a building. “We’ll turn the power on first.”

  “Yes,” Gideon nods. “Jackson will turn on the power to building 206 first. That’s where the chamber is.”

  I give him a look and we both flick our gaze to Maisie who watches us over the rim of her book.

  “Yes, go on,” she says. “Talk about how you’re going to lock my mom in a torture chamber as a way to bait my dad into getting murdered.”

  “Maze—” I begin, but she’s already slamming her book closed and marching out of the room.

  “Come on Winnie Pug,” she says and Winston hops down off the chaise and trots after her.

  Gideon gives me a cold look.

  “Don’t,” I warn him.

  “She shouldn’t be here,” he says.

  “You’re right,” I snort. “She should be with her homicidal cult parents. That’s so much better.”

  “She could sabotage the plan or interfere.”

  “Maisie understands what has to be done.”

  “Does she?” Ally asks, tapping the side of her coffee mug.

  I scowl at her. “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m only saying that this is a lot for a sixteen-year-old to deal with.”

  “I can hear you!” Maisie calls from her bedroom, her voice muffled by the closed door.

  Ally lowers her voice. “I’m saying we need to figure out where she will be when it happens.”

  It. The murder of her parents. Not only have her mother and father tried to kill me right in front of Maisie before, but Caldwell is responsible for most of the heartache, grief, and torture I’ve experienced in my adult life. Worse, he’s responsible for the genocide of thousands. Hundreds of thousands of innocent people. I know his kill count is that high, because Ally likes to remind me every time I suggest that we should ditch this ridiculous hero thing and go live on some island in the Bahamas. Hell, Gideon could buy us an island far, far away from all this partis, superhero bullshit.

  Yet they’ve made it clear that my superpowers have to be used for good. Boo.

  “We can probably find a way to lure Georgia and Caldwell into A8673 without using Maisie as bait. Then it will be a matter of incapacitating them long enough to get Georgia’s body sealed in the chamber.” Gideon slides the building plans to one side and pulls up what is essentially the instruction manual for a chamber than can easily be mistaken for a medieval torture device.

  “And you think he’ll be willing to bargain with her locked up?” Ally asks, turning the coffee cup in her hands.

  “Or he’ll murder us all in a rage,” I say. “If someone took Ally and locked her up, I’d destroy the place. I wouldn’t be thinking clearly at all.”

  “Exactly,” Gideon says with a sly grin. “Jackson insists that the chamber will bring back a great many horrible memories for Caldwell. This move is equal parts logistical and psychological warfare.”

  I look at the drawing of the chamber. It looks like a steel coffin but with rounded edges, suggesting the outline of a person. “Are you sure you know how to work this?”

  Gideon puffs out his chest. “I’ve read this manual no less than twenty times. I could turn this machine on with my eyes closed. Now.” Gideon turns toward us, but frowns when he sees the hole in the window again. He speaks to us without taking his eyes off of it. “We will have to act rather quickly today. Caldwell’s hunt will limit our movements, but we should still reach New Orleans on schedule. Fortunately, we are in a cold, windy city. As much as you hate it Jess, the cold might actually work to our advantage this time. Rachel and I will pick up extra hats and scarves, and maybe sunglasses for good measure. We’ll hide our faces well as we leave this afternoon.”

  Gideon crosses to the window and yanks the curtain closed, blocking most of the horrible wind whistling through the broken panes. “So pack up, clean up, and be ready by three this afternoon.”

  “Plan B?” Ally asks before throwing back the last of her coffee.

  “If we aren’t back by four, you should leave the hotel. Hide your face as best as you can and leave out the side exit by the pool rather than the front, in case there is trouble. Walk ten blocks east to the subway and take it five stops to the bus station. Buy three tickets for Albuquerque, but get off in Oklahoma City. Travel to New Orleans from there.”

  I need to remember to pack Winston’s super fake service dog vest if it comes to that. How Gideon managed to find a vest in the first place that fit the obese pug is beyond me. But already it has proven helpful in getting the pug into all the places we would have otherwise been denied. Hotels, stores, buses, and so on. I keep expecting Gideon or Rachel or anyone to say enough is enough! Leave the damn dog! But everyone has been really good about it. It makes me love them a little more.

  “I suppose Gloria will see us coming,” Ally says, crossing to the sink. She turns on the tap to rinse her mug. “And we’re to assume you’re dead?”

  “Exactly.” He leans against the kitchen door frame. “Or captured.”

  “And while we wait, what should we do? Our nails?” I snort.

  “Eat and pack. You can order room service, but don’t answer the door. Tell them you’re not dressed if they insist. Also, I would use this time wisely to check in with friends.”

  My laugh is real this time. “What friends do I have that aren’t here?”

  Gideon gives me a pointed look and I blink at him. “Your fine feathered friend?”

  “Gabriel?” I snort with surprise. “I haven’t seen Gabriel since…well, since Rachel and Maisie have been here.”

  “Rachel will be with me and you can send Maisie out for a walk.”

  Maisie’s bedroom door flies open. “Finally! Let
’s get out of here Winnie.” I give the girl a suspicious stare. How much of our conversation did she overhear?

  “I’ll go with her.” Ally stands and stretches. “I’ll bundle up too.”

  “Great.” Gideon claps his hands. “Keep it short. No more than 15-20 minutes outside.”

  Maisie gives Gideon her usual do-I-look-like-a-moron glare. She is very fond of giving him that look.

  The bathroom door swings open and Rachel steps out, looking better than she did when she went in. Her hair is wet and her eyes are a little puffy, but otherwise, she looks like a presentable young woman. Lucky for her, her darker skin is better at hiding dark circles than mine would be.

  “Breakfast,” she says to Gideon. “Now.”

  “Your hair is wet.”

  She takes one of Gideon’s scarves and wraps it around her face twice, it’s so long. As if in reply to his wet hair comment, she tugs a hat down over her head and yanks on each boot. When she finishes, she gives him a glare, not very intimidating since two tiny slits is really all we can see of her.

  Gideon grabs his leather coat off the hook. “All right, off we go. Remember what I said ladies. Only fifteen minutes out. Don’t open the door for anyone.”

  Rachel gives us one stiff wave, which could have easily been a middle finger in that bulky mitten of hers, and disappears. The door clicks shut behind them.

  “Why does he get to boss us around?” Maisie sulks. “Just because he’s a dude doesn’t make him the boss.”

  “No,” Ally agrees. “But he does have the money and the technology.”

  “Who cares about money? He doesn’t have superpowers.”

  “Shall we get that walk out of the way?” Ally places her empty coffee mug on the table and crosses to the remaining pile of coats.

  Maisie slips on her coat and then slaps her thighs to encourage the sluggish pug. “Come on Winnie Pug. Wanna go for a walk?”

  Winston flops over onto all fours rather ungracefully and his cinnamon bun tail trembles.

  Ally wraps the scarf around her head and hides the rest of her blond hair under her hat. She mumbles words that I can’t understand as Maisie slips Winston’s collar and leash on.

  I tug the scarf down, uncovering her mouth. “What was that?”

  “I said, ‘can you tell it’s me?’”

  I put the scarf back in place and take a step back. No. I can’t. I doubt anyone else could recognize her from the slit between her hood and scarf either. Maisie bundles up too, but she doesn’t have a long scarf. I grab mine one off the back of a chair and wrap it around her head until she’s only a pair of eyes too.

  “Okay. You guys can go.”

  I get two bundled waves and the pair shuffles from the room.

  I watch the door click closed for a second time, a growing sense of unease settling over me. When I can no longer hear feet shuffling down the hall and the clank of Winston’s collar against the chain, I close my eyes.

  “Gabriel?” I ask the empty room.

  Silence.

  I take a breath and try to still my pounding heart.

  “Gabriel, are you still there?”

  Chapter 4

  Rachel

  “I’m freezing!” I yank at the bottom of my dress. The stiff fabric doesn’t give. We hang a right at the next street corner and the wind is even worse on this avenue. “Where’s this goddamn subway tunnel?”

  “Love, perhaps you’d be warmer if you wore pants.” Gideon’s eyes fall on the bare skin between my knee-high boots and the lace of the petticoat protruding from beneath my dress. He grins, the look in his eyes devilish.

  “Why would I hide my legs when I garner such a strong reaction from you, Cariño?” I purr, rolling the word between my teeth.

  “I’m not complaining.” A smile tucks into one corner of his mouth. “You are.”

  I dip my chin into the scarf around my head. Only my eyes are exposed to the bitter air. It’s enough to pull tears from their corners.

  “Will you be all right? We need you focused for the day ahead.”

  “Don’t insinuate that I’m weak.” I glare at him. “I know what has to be done.”

  “Perhaps you’ve changed your mind about murdering the girl. It wouldn’t be weakness. I would understand.”

  I push Gideon. He trips, stumbling on the pavement, but doesn’t fall.

  “Stop questioning me, Gid. Brinkley trusted me with this.”

  Brinkley. I see him in my mind: the leather jacket, the scars, the gruff voice. So rough around the edges, a very fuck-you-I’m-Johnny-Cash kind of man. My hero. He pulled me from a hell worse than I could’ve imagined and returned me to the world of the living. When he liberated me from that merciless drug lord’s tyranny, Brinkley could’ve asked me for anything. Anything and I would’ve given it to him.

  “I don’t question your loyalty to the cause,” Gideon says, righting himself. His smile is tight. “I know what he did for you.”

  “He gave me my revenge.” I unclench my jaw before I crack my teeth. “He made sure there was nothing left of Chaplain.”

  “Almost nothing,” Gideon corrects.

  I stop walking. “What?”

  “If you think about it, Chaplain still lives on in Caldwell. Caldwell has his gift, his partis power. I suppose as long as that exists, a part of Chaplain will also exist.”

  “No.”

  “Regardless, we’ll get the documents, pick up some scarves, and then kill the girl. Then we will be that much closer to saving the world. Are you coming?”

  I can’t draw enough breath into my nose. The idea that even the smallest part of Chaplain still exists—Chaplain the rapist. Chaplain the snuff filmmaker. Chaplain with the burning eyes that haunt my dreams. Oh, how I play the day we met over and over in my head—Chaplain with his long and easy stride, his black turtleneck and leather pants. His curls. The way he reached out and tucked the hair behind my ear as if he didn’t need permission to touch me. And the stupid way I’d liked it. What a fool I was. What had he said?

  “You’re beautiful enough to be an actress. Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  God, I’d lapped it up. I followed him back to the run-down white house. As soon as I saw it, my insides screamed. Run away. Get away from this place. On the pavement outside, I turned to Chaplain, ready to make my excuses, but he trailed a soft hand down my arm. His smile made me go hot all over.

  “You’ll understand why I’m renting such a shithole, when you see the set up,” Chaplain said, his voice amused. It was enough to coax me inside. Why? Because I was raised to be polite. To be a good, accommodating girl. And look where the hell it got me. See if I’m ever polite again.

  The moment the front door closed behind us, the second my eyes focused on the bed in the spotlight, he jabbed a needle in my arm. He dosed me with enough heroin to sink a moose.

  My legs gave instantly.

  “My beautiful girl. Mi perra. You’re going to make me so much money.” His breath was moist on my ear. My body sagged in his arms as he ripped away my clothes and the cold air licked my skin.

  Blind terror. Panic pulsed from my heart. Do you know what it means to be a prisoner in your own body? My arms and legs were made of wet sand. I couldn’t push him away. I couldn’t get my tongue to form articulate words. Fighting wasn’t an option. I had only one choice: go inside myself. Endure this. Or be broken by it.

  And no one is going to break me. Not Chaplain. Not Caldwell.

  “Are you all right?” Gideon asks. There’s an edge to his words. I know that tone from Brinkley. Are you still here with me? Are you in control of yourself? Are you about to completely lose your fucking mind? This tone is always my cue to pretend.

  But a lump of coal is stuck in my throat and it’s burning.

  “Maybe we should head back to the hotel.” Gideon turns, surveying the street around us.

  “Caldwell has to die,” I say.

  “Oh, he will.” Gideon slips his hands into his po
ckets. “Either you or Jesse—”

  “I’ll kill him,” I say and hear the tremor of mania in my voice. I release a slow exhale. “It’s what Brinkley wanted.”

  Back in the St. Louis asylum, Brinkley told me what he wanted. Protect Jessup. Do what Jessup can’t. Kill the monster. And I will because the fact remains that Jessup can’t kill him. She doesn’t have it in her. I have it in me. Chaplain saw to that.

  Gideon takes my gloved hand in his and pulls me down the stairs leading into the underbelly of the city. I can hear the subway squealing somewhere down the tracks.

  This place is filthy. Soda cans and wrappers cluster in the corners of steps, kicked by rushing feet. The air is sour. The steps are smeared with mud from countless shoes.

  “It smells like a dumpster down here.”

  Gideon shrugs. “Welcome to New York.”

  I use the scarf to hide the vehement emotions puppeteering my face.

  You are so beautiful. You could be an actress.

  I am an actress. Every day. The more I think of Chaplain as somehow alive, the more the urge to plunge my thumbs into Caldwell’s eye sockets intensifies.

  How will it feel? Wet? Resistant until the eyeballs pop? Then perhaps warm as I slide in deeper. I imagine if I close my eyes at that very moment, I could pretend it’s Chaplain I’m murdering. And when his power transfers from his body to mine, will I feel Chaplain? That last piece of him absorbed by my body, becoming a slave to my will as I was once a slave to his.

  I would own the last piece of him. That’s exactly how I want it.

  Put Chaplain from your mind for now, my angel Uriel commands. He’s little more than a dim shape in the corner of my eye, but his presence is unmistakable. The flare of heat. The weight of him. You are frightening your companion.

  Gideon is tense beside me. I push through the turnstile, our tickets disappearing in the machines only to reappear on the other side. The lace brushes my thighs as I jog to keep pace with the pushing crowd. The train is about to close its doors when we descend the final steps onto the concrete platform. We dart through, into the warm car. Warm from bodies. Warm from artificial heat pouring through unseen vents. There’s only one seat.