“Wyatt, I can explain. But first we need to leave—”
“Leave?” His voice is incredulous. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain what’s going on, Lexy.”
I cringe at the familiar name.
He folds his arms. “You can start with what you were thinking in bringing a debt collector into the building.” His glare at Zachariel and his simmering anger make me want to shrink inside my own skin. “Or should I say back into the building?”
I can’t stand it any more. “Wyatt, I need to speak to you alone.”
That mollifies him… and maybe that was what he wanted all along. I don’t know. I’m not going to order everyone out of the room—at least in here we’re safe from the prying eyes of the exec suite. That leaves the executive bathroom that hangs off my office. I stride toward it, beckoning Wyatt to follow.
I pause near Jax and give her a pointed look. “Don’t shoot anyone,” I say, then keep going.
“Only if he tries to lay a palm on me,” Jax calls as I retreat to the bathroom.
Wyatt joins me, and I close the door behind him. The bathroom is cramped, barely enough room for the two of us to stand. I didn’t factor in the intimacy component of revealing myself to him in this tiny space. I shove my back against the wall next to the sink, gaining as much distance as I can. He does the same on the wall opposite, crossing his arms and not seeming to want to get too close to me, either.
“You look good,” he says, eyeing my suit again then dropping his gaze to his shoes. “And I’m glad you’re alive, Lexy. I just don’t understand what’s going on here. What’s going on with you.” He finally looks up at me, those blue eyes clouded and hurt and already filled with so much pain because of me that I have to look away.
My reflection in the mirror above the sink shows me what Wyatt sees: a woman I barely recognize. My face is rosy. My eyes shine. My hair billows wild, curly, and free around my face. I’m still carrying untold years of life, even with paying out at a steady pace to Zachariel on the way here. It’s the result of an entire night of lovemaking and life energy hits. A result that still has me glowing, hours later, in spite of all the drama in breaking free and getting here.
It reminds me of all that’s happened since I’ve been in a room alone with Wyatt.
I look back to him. “I have to tell you something.” They’re the same words I used with Miral, but somehow they feel empty and barren now.
He cocks his head to the side, waiting. But he can’t have any idea what I’m about to say.
I peer into his wounded eyes and gather my courage. “I’m a debt collector, Wyatt.”
His eyebrows rise, and he gives me a look like he’s seriously not impressed. “Really, Lexy? Come on.” He runs his hand through his hair and leans forward a little from the refuge of his end of the bathroom. “Look, I know something serious has been going on. I’ve known it since Richard died. But why couldn’t you… just…” He throws his hands out, like he’s so incredibly frustrated with me, he simply doesn’t have words to express it. “I’ve been here all the time. Why didn’t you come to me for help? I want to help you, Lexy. I want to… be your friend, at the least.” He inches forward, closing the space between us. “When your father was alive, I thought we were in this together. And then… suddenly we weren’t anymore. And now, when you’re really in trouble, you turn to this other guy. A debt collector, really? Who is this guy, Lexy? And why didn’t you just come to me for help?”
He’s closer now, and I can feel the pain and frustration rolling off him. But I’m about to suffocate on the fact that I couldn’t do any of those things for the very reason that I just told him. It was my biggest secret of all… and he thought I was joking.
I lower my voice. “I couldn’t come to you, Wyatt, because of what I am.”
“What do you mean, what you are? I don’t care if you’re the top shareholder of the company. Or the daughter of Richard Sterling. None of that matters to me.”
“That’s not what I mean.” My voice gets smaller with each word. I stare at the buttons on his tailored shirt. It’s fashionable, probably hand-selected from some new designer in Taiwan. Wyatt’s the quintessential high potential—good looks, wicked smart, killer education—but he would never end up under my palm, because he’s actually the best that high potentials can be. Even though the world is corrupt to the core, it still manages to produce people like him. People who are good and decent and honest—who want to use all their talents to make a difference in the world. Wyatt’s as morally straight as they come. He believes in the cause. He knows in his heart that debt collection is wrong, and he would never sully the Sterling name or consort with criminals or dip his hand into the muck to stop the evil that’s out there. He would always choose to fight them with the strength of his moral compass. Just like my father.
And he’ll never want anything to do with me once he knows.
I’ve been silent too long. Wyatt edges closer. He places a hand on the wall behind me, so he can peer into my eyes and capture my attention.
Softly, so softly it’s almost a whisper, he says, “Tell me, Lexy. Tell me what it is. Let me in. That’s all I’ve wanted, all along.”
But it’s not. I know it’s not. And I’m going to tell him anyway.
His face is so close, I could lean forward and kiss him. Yet we’ll never be further apart than we are in this moment.
I look straight into his sky-blue eyes. “I’m a debt collector, Wyatt.” It’s a whisper.
His shoulders slump, and he pushes away from the wall, disgusted. He looks to the ceiling. “That wasn’t funny the first time, Lexy.” He peers back at me, fatigue drawing down the corners of his mouth.
I reach for him, palm forward. He frowns but doesn’t pull back. When my palm touches his forehead, he whips his head away and scowls, even though I haven’t transferred anything, one way or another, giving or taking. I would never do that, not to him. I lower my palm but hold his gaze. Then, slowly, realization dawns on his face. I can tell the moment it hits him, because all the color drains from his cheeks, and he’s as white as the ivory paint on the walls. Only his eyes have color, and even they are surrounded by wide, white oceans of shock.
“You’re not joking,” he says, his voice as whispered as mine.
I shake my head. Once. A tiny motion, but it seems to rock him backward like a physical force. He reaches for the wall to brace himself.
“How is that even possible?” he asks.
I understand. I couldn’t believe it, either. For months after Glenn died, I would wake up still thinking I was normal. Still believing that it wasn’t real, that I was mistaken, that something else had killed him.
I don’t say anything.
Wyatt shakes his head. “All this time I’ve known you… all this time we’ve been working on…” He stops and looks me in the eyes. This time there’s fear in them. “You could kill me right now.”
“Oh my god, Wyatt—” I stop myself because he’s backed so hard against the wall that he looks like he wants to melt right into it.
“You’re working for them.” He throws the accusation at me.
“Wyatt, I’m not—”
“Of course you are.” He says it like he’s stunned by it, then runs a hand through his hair again. “First the bill, and then the Akulife buy—”
“They forced me to do those things!”
His eyes are growing wider. “You’ve been working for them from the inside all along—”
“For god’s sake, Wyatt!” I step toward him, but that just makes him shrink harder against the wall. “Shut up and listen to me. Okay, yes, I lied. Yes, I kept this a secret from you, from everyone, forever. For years I’ve pretended I wasn’t what I am. But that doesn’t mean I’ve been working for Gehenna. I’ve been working for Lifetime and Sterling and my father. All this time, even though I am what I am, I’ve been fighting to stop debt collection. And now I’m fighting to stop Gehenna. Because they’re worse than anything you’ve ev
er seen. Anything you can imagine. And someone has to stop them.” I pause and soften my voice. “I’m fighting to save you, Wyatt. You’re in danger here, so I came for you. Miral is in danger, too. I need you both to leave with me, so I can take you somewhere safe.”
But he just shakes his head. I’m not sure if he doesn’t believe me or if he just finds it all so unbelievable. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
It hurts. I was waiting for it. I knew it was coming. And it still hurts like a blade of ice running through my heart. “I’m the one who’s trying to save your life.”
He frowns at me, like that’s the first sentence I’ve said that he’s actually heard. Or maybe they’re the first words he believes.
“You could kill me right now,” he says again. He scans the tiny confines of the bathroom, like there might be some way he could escape if he needed to.
“I could have killed you any of a hundred times.” My voice is getting weaker again. The ice dagger in my chest is burning me with the pain of having to say that. Of him not giving me the slightest benefit of the doubt. “Frankly, I’d like to strangle you for being so difficult for me to save.”
The humor falls flat because there’s still fear in his eyes.
It makes my eyes sting, but I refuse to cry in this bathroom with him. Not while he’s afraid of me. And I know, once he gets past the fear… he’ll find the loathing. And when he has time to think about it, there will be the betrayal as well. But we don’t have time for any of that now.
He can hate me all he likes once he’s safe.
“We need to go, Wyatt.” I say it quietly, but my voice is firm now.
He frowns for a long stretch of seconds… then he gives me a small nod. But he waits for me to lead the way out of the bathroom, just so he doesn’t have to get too close to me.
As I step out of the tiny room, the ice dagger in my heart breaks into a million pieces. They float through my bloodstream and spread to every crevice of my body. Every part of me is sliced by the sharp, cold edges of Wyatt’s fear.
Now he knows… and he fears the thing that I am.
Just as I always knew he would.
The taxi is crammed with the five of us, but now that I’ve convinced Wyatt and Miral to leave Sterling, there’s just one place I can think to go: Madam Anastazja’s.
I just hope Zachariel doesn’t die before we get there.
We have to be the strangest assortment of people our cabbie has ever had for a fare. Wyatt’s in the front seat with his high potential business attire and a suspicious twitch that keeps him glancing over his shoulder. In the back, I’m sandwiched between Miral and Jax on my right and Zachariel slumped against the window on my left. Miral clutches her box labeled biohazard against her hot-pink sari, while Jax keeps her hands tucked under her brown trenchcoat with an obvious show of having her holstered gun at the ready. Zachariel floats in and out of consciousness. I keep my palm near his upturned limp hand, ready to give him a boost whenever his breathing gets too ragged or the gray death that’s hovering over him gets too near.
The hour drive from the downtown towers to the east side seems to take at least three. We don’t discuss our plans, or really anything at all, not with the cabbie there to hear them. I doubt Moloch would find him, although I don’t know where all of Gehenna’s tentacles reach. Better not to give away anything we don’t have to.
Before we even left the Sterling tower, Zachariel tried to make contact with his handler—which wasn’t easy given his palm screen was compromised and using someone else’s screen was tough to authenticate. He got no immediate response. Once we hailed the taxi, the injuries Seth inflicted finally seemed to reach a critical state, and Zachariel lapsed into semi-consciousness. That’s when I realized we needed to get to Madam A’s as soon as possible. Not only would she give us safe haven, at least for the moment while we figure out our options, but more importantly, she has a very special debt collector—one who can localize the effects of a life energy transfer. I don’t entirely understand what this Lirium character does, but it seems like Seth did the same thing in reverse—draining Zachariel in just one spot of his body, leaving damaged zones behind that are slowly killing him.
If it’s the same, then maybe Lirium can reverse it.
We don’t have many other options. We can’t risk taking Zachariel to the hospital—debt collectors in medical centers are grim reapers, not patients—and he’s key to fixing all of this. Not that I want him to live solely so he can fix my problems. I owe Zachariel more than I can probably repay. But we either need to stop Gehenna and put Moloch behind bars or we all need to hide somewhere Gehenna can’t reach. I’m seriously considering Witness Protection for everyone as a backup plan. But I would much rather score that first option… and for that, Zachariel’s slashing skills are key.
We’re finally nearing Madam A’s, so I pump more life energy through our joined palms. The slow-simmering mercy-hit glow inside me compensates somewhat for the ice-cold glare I get from Wyatt every time I touch Zachariel. He rouses for a moment, lifting his face away from the window and blinking at the hazy, smog-filtered afternoon light.
“Where are we?” he asks, voice thick.
“East side,” I say, quietly, although all the occupants of the taxi are listening in. Only Jax knows where we’re going, and even she doesn’t really know why. “I know a safe place we can stay for a while.”
“Good,” Zachariel says, his voice breathless. “Leaving the area is good thinking, Wraith.”
“Trying my best,” I say with a small smile. I boost him with even more life energy, but I can feel what he means about it being pointless. No matter how much I feed in, when I reach past the transfer point, the well of his life energy is still shallow. He’s a leaky bucket I can’t fill on my own. I need someone to patch up the holes. For now, all I can do is keep him afloat.
The taxi pulls up to the old Mission-style church that houses Madam A’s brothel-sanctuary. Only today it’s not just sick kids seeking her help, but refugees from another sort of debt collectors. We file out of the taxi, and I lead everyone to the back steps. I don’t know that it matters much, but coming in the front door with the entire troupe seems problematic at best.
The alley is empty, and we’re far enough off the street not to be seen. I slip my arm around Zachariel’s waist, grabbing his hand to boost as I go. Together, we make it up the three-step stoop, and I pound on the rust-covered door. Jax, Miral, and Wyatt form an agitated trio at the bottom of the steps, glaring up at me by turns as they wait. Wyatt in particular seems ready to crawl out of his skin, although he doesn’t have the wide-eyed fearful look quite so strongly anymore. I can’t tell if he’s angry I’m helping Zachariel, has some kind of crazy jealousy about our close contact, or if he just can’t believe he’s been roped into associating with debt collectors. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been lying to him for years. But I can’t worry about him right now—I need to negotiate a way into Madam A’s good graces. I figure showing up with a half-dead collector on her doorstep might not be the best approach, but it’s the only one I have. At least this time I have more to offer than a small one-time payout in exchange for her help.
A girl answers the door—slim, long dark-brown hair, barely out of her teens. She’s delicately pretty, with the face of a near-child and big brown eyes. I would think she was one of Madam A’s girls, but she’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with a sharp-eyed glare for us showing up unannounced on Madam A’s back stoop.
She quickly takes in Zachariel’s debt collector gear and my skin-tight suit and starts to close the door.
“Wait!” I say, holding up my free hand, although that’s probably not the best gesture for a debt collector to make. I drop it and speak quickly, “My friend needs help. Madam A knows me. I’ve done work for her before. Tell her Wraith is here.”
Her brow wrinkles up, but she doesn’t slam the door in our faces. “You’re a debt collector.”
It’s not a questi
on, but I answer anyway. “Yes. And I’m here to pay out. As much as Madam A wants. But I need help for my friend first.” I figure if she’s not one of Madam A’s girls, then she’s one of the family members. Either way, she should know how things work in Madam A’s hospice.
The girl nods, but I’m not sure she’s actually agreeing to anything. “Just a moment.”
Then she closes the door.
“That went well.” Zachariel grabs hold of the stoop railing, trying not to lean on me, but it’s obvious he can’t stand on his own. “What is this place?”
“A brothel that’s a front for debt collectors to give life energy hits to terminally sick kids.”
Zachariel’s smile brightens his pale face a little. “You certainly keep interesting friends, Wraith.”
“You’re one to talk.”
That earns a chuckle from him that just turns into a cough. I bite my lip and debate boosting him again. Before I can decide, the door swings open. The girl is back, but she’s brought Lirium and Madam A with her.
Relief gushes through my body. “Just the people I wanted to see.”
Madam A scowls at me and crosses her delicate arms over her killer gold lamé dress. She’s not exactly letting me in the door. “Wraith… bringing trouble to my door, I see.”
I grimace, because there’s not much denying it. Instead, I jump straight to my best offer. “I was hoping Lirium and I might do a little business together.”
Madam A’s perfectly manicured eyebrows lift, and Lirium looks no less surprised. Given the last time I was here, I literally ran away from the idea of doing mercy hits with another debt collector, I can understand.
“Circumstances have changed,” I say to Madam A, with as much apology as I can put in my voice. “Can you just let us in long enough for me to explain? I promise it will be worth your while.”
She still looks skeptical, but Lirium seems more curious than hostile. “What kind of business?”
The Debt Collector (Season Two) Page 27
