by Faith Gibson
“Is that part of your reasoning in choosing me? I don’t have someone at home; therefore, I’m going to be here all the time like I am now? Because if so, I don’t plan to stay single the rest of my life. If the position is going to require longer hours than I already have, that’s not a selling point.”
“No, you being single has nothing to do with my recommendation. Even though it wasn’t what I meant, it was insensitive of me, and I apologize. If anything, I know once you find someone to share your life with, you’ll be more than capable of managing a home and work life.”
Sabrina was stunned. She’d always admired the doctor, but she never knew he held her in such high regard. “May I ask you a question? It has nothing to do with this, but I’m curious.”
“About?”
Sabrina clasped her hands in her lap. “The men who come to visit Mr. Holt. Who are they, exactly?”
Joseph rested his elbows on the arms of his leather chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “You know Rafael Stone is Jonathan’s employer. The others are either members of Rafael’s family or those he holds in high regard. The Stones are hugely responsible for reviving this city over the past thirty years, and they have many they consider family whether by blood or not. Those are the men coming to visit Jonathan. They also consider him and Priscilla family. Is there someone in particular you’re wondering about?”
Sabrina didn’t want to delve into her personal life, not when Joseph was considering her to take his place, but it seemed he knew these men well. She didn’t have to admit to what happened in her past. “They’re all so… intimidating.”
“Yes, they are, but they’re protectors. I can assure you of one thing; Rafael would trust any of them with the life of his wife and unborn son. And now that you’re part of Jonathan’s life? You’ve automatically been added to the list of those under their protection.”
Sabrina sat up taller, scooting to the front of her chair. “Protection? Why would I need protection? Are they some kind of mob? Am I in danger?”
“Oh, heavens no. I only meant you’re one of theirs now. Let’s say you’re driving home after work one night and your car breaks down. You could call any of the men and they’d be there and have you home before Triple A even shows up. I can see by the incredulity on your face you don’t believe me, but I have no reason to lie. These men consider me family since my daughter and niece are married to two of them. I know them, Sabrina. I know the kind of men they are. They’re the good guys. The ones depicted in romance novels. The ones other men could only aspire to being.”
Sabrina relaxed back into the seat and did her best not to roll her eyes. That would be both immature and unprofessional. “That’s ridiculous. I’m nothing more to them than Mr. Holt’s doctor.”
“I promise you are much more to them than that. Don’t let their size intimidate you. Surely you have seen Frey and Abbi?”
“Yes. I’ve met them a couple times.”
“Have you noticed how Frey is with his wife? How he looks at her? Touches her constantly? He’s one of the largest of their Clan, and he would rather die than let something happen to Abigail or their children. All the men you’ve met are the same way. I promise you have nothing to fear from them. Especially Deacon.”
“Deacon?”
“Yes, the black male who seems to fancy you.”
At least now she had a name and could stop calling him “the man”. “Wait. Did you say clan?”
Joseph grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “Eh. It sounds better than tribe. Let’s just say there are a lot of people the Stones consider family, and whether you want to believe it or not, you are now one of them.”
Sabrina needed to direct her boss away from the topic at hand before she laughed at him. “It sounds far-fetched, but I’ll take your word for it. You haven’t steered me wrong in all the years we’ve known each other.”
“Excellent. Now, why don’t you go on home and get some rest? I know today was trying for you with Jonathan’s decision.”
“I will. Thank you for the recommendation. It means the world to me.”
“You’re most welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sabrina’s head was spinning as she left her boss’s office. She felt better about the man – Deacon – now that Joseph had vouched for him as well as all the others who visited Mr. Holt. But being considered one of their own? That was nonsense. As soon as the cancer took its final toll on the man’s body, she would never see his family again. Unless…
No. Sabrina wasn’t the type to ask a man out. But he had already offered to get her coffee. She could always take him up on his offer, just a day or two later. Couldn’t she? There was something about Deacon that drew her to him, besides his good looks and soft demeanor. No. She shouldn’t think about getting involved with a man now. Not when she had to consider Joseph’s offer to take over as chief of staff. If she was even approved by the board. There would be multiple candidates, and some of her colleagues were more than ready to step into Joseph’s shoes. Some who wouldn’t be happy if Sabrina were to get the position. She wasn’t going to worry about that now. Joseph didn’t mention how long she had to decide, but since it wasn’t immediately, she had time to give it some thought.
It was later than usual when she exited the elevator into the parking garage. Sabrina was one of the lucky ones who had a reserved spot. She’d long ago learned to wear sensible shoes, and her soft soles made no noise as she strode across the concrete. Cars on upper decks rolling over the metal joints echoed around her. Honking from the street met with doors closing and people talking. The air wasn’t yet steamy in the New Atlanta early evening, but it would be getting that way soon.
Sabrina clicked the unlock button on her key fob, and the headlights blinked as the alarm sounded. When she was about ten feet from her car, an aluminum can skidded across the concrete. Having thought she was alone, the hair on Sabrina’s arms stood on end as if she’d touched a raw electrical wire. She turned to see if someone was behind her, but there was no one there. There had to be, though. There was no wind blowing to have pushed the can along the ground. Hurrying, she got her door open, and she slid into the leather seat of her sedan. Once safely inside with the door locked, Sabrina looked in her rearview mirror.
Shivering, she started the engine and backed out of the spot. When she put the car in drive and accelerated forward, she took another glance in the mirror. In the corner, the shadow of a man slipped behind a concrete pillar. “It was another doctor. That’s all.” At least that’s what she tried to convince herself.
Drago bit the end of an unlit cigar while staring out the passenger window of the SUV. He’d tossed Arden the keys, because if Drago got behind the wheel, he would have played demolition derby with the humans on the road. After finding his mate murdered, Drago spent a week hunting the Goyle responsible. When he finally caught up with the male, he’d been holed up in an abandoned warehouse. The other Gargoyle didn’t have a sword with him, probably having rushed from the hotel where they’d been staying. It wasn’t a fair fight, but killing Drago’s mate hadn’t been fair either. Before he took the male’s head, Drago asked why he’d felt the need to kill to the human woman. The male, like an idiot, shrugged and said because he could. Drago shrugged his own shoulders and swung his sword with all the rage he held inside. He’d tasked a couple of his followers with cleanup. Even though the warehouse was abandoned, they didn’t need some homeless human stumbling upon a decapitated Gargoyle.
Audrey had given Drago a purpose outside of defeating the American King, if only for a couple days. Now that purpose had been taken from him, and there was nothing left but rage. It simmered below the surface waiting to be unleashed. Arden drove silently, letting Drago stew in his turmoil. He only spoke when Drago gave him direction or asked yes or no questions. They needed money. He still had some of what Kallisto had sent, but assembling an army was costly. The Greek Goyles had pledged their loyalty to him. All except the one who was no longer with his head.
If he asked them to do something illegal or immoral, they would.
If he was going to go up against the Stone Clan, they needed swords. They couldn’t fight against other Gargoyles and win without them. Swords of the caliber they needed required cash. Finding someone to forge them wasn’t impossible, but finding someone who could forge the number of weapons they needed who wouldn’t ask questions was. Most of the Greeks had managed to travel abroad with their own, but some had not. Those Unholy who were taking to the new drug well – the Reborn – also needed to be armed. Drago required funds for more of the serum as well as weapons. He’d received a call from Trexon only minutes before with the good news about the success of the latest experiment.
It was imperative the newly arrived Greeks had ways of making money outside of regular jobs, and Drago knew a way to accomplish that. Kavin and Burk, along with quite a few Gargoyles from Greece, were doing well in California. Kavin had managed to get in with a security firm who took jobs which weren’t legal. Mercenaries for hire. It suited the Gargoyles perfectly for the time being, and those who had come from Greece who were willing to work were fitting in well.
Drugs were a messy business, one Drago wasn’t interested in. People, however, were a different story. For whatever reason, most Gargoyles were not only naturally fit but handsome as well. With nothing more than a look, both women and men gave themselves over to a night with the males. At least that was what Drago had experienced in his long life. Human trafficking was a lucrative business. Even Alistair, with all his money, had been involved in the trade. Over the last thirty years, with governments focused on rebuilding, the fight against such things had fallen through the proverbial cracks. Drago was ready to take advantage of the less than stellar job the American police did in tracking down those who bought and sold humans.
It was another reason for having a base of operations on the Eastern seaboard. Moving humans quickly was imperative to success, and the man they were going to meet needed someone who could provide humans in a timely manner. Drago had to be successful for his ultimate plan to succeed. He glanced in the side mirror at the large, paneled truck following along. Instead of showing up at the meeting empty-handed, Drago was going to show Mr. Collins he and the Goyles were more than capable of delivering the merchandise.
Chapter Three
The Basement was the lowest level of the penitentiary. It was where the Unholy were locked away from the other inmates. Isabelle wasn’t allowed in the Basement, so Dante was on hand to assist in interrogating the Unholy Deacon and Slade had brought in. Normally, Gregor or Deacon would take the lead in whatever was going on in the building since they were both wardens, but the male they had in custody was unlike any Unholy they’d ever encountered, so Frey was there in official Clan capacity. Deacon and Slade stood off to one side, while Dante stood next to the door.
“What’s your name?” Frey asked the less-than-monstrous-looking Unholy who was secured to a chair in the middle of a large room that was otherwise empty.
“I want my lawyer.”
All the Goyles looked at one another. They’d never heard one of the creatures speak much less with reason.
“You aren’t under arrest, so there will be no lawyer. My name is Geoffrey Hartley. We only want to ask you some questions about the Unholy you live with.”
“I know what you are, Mr. Hartley. Or should I call you Frey? Isn’t that what your family and friends call you?”
“Are you saying you’re my friend? Because if so, this will go a lot smoother.”
“No, I don’t reckon we are. But I do know you and all your buddies here aren’t any more human than I am. I’ve seen all of you when you’re out hunting us.”
“Then you should know what we’re capable of.”
“True, but you don’t scare me. If I tell you what you want to hear, you’ll either kill me or send me back, and they’ll kill me. Either way, I’m dead. And I’m okay with that. I didn’t ask to be turned into a monster.”
“We aren’t going to kill you, and if you help us, we won’t send you back either. What’s your name?”
The male blew out a breath and looked up at the ceiling. Frey waited patiently for the man to decide whether or not he was going to cooperate. After a couple minutes, he looked at Frey. “Evan Powell.”
“Thank you, Evan. Can you tell us how you came to be an Unholy?”
Evan shifted in his seat and returned his stare to the far wall. “I got out of the military and couldn’t find a job. I made a deal with the devil, and I lost a part of myself I didn’t think was left. Turns out I was wrong.”
“What part was that?”
“My humanity. I did things for my country. Saw things. It changed me. Then I agreed to work for Gordon Flanagan, but I didn’t understand the consequences of what he was offering.”
“But you’re not the same as you were before, right? What happened to set you back to normal?”
“I guarantee I’m not normal. As for how I’m able to think for myself again, that’s a blur. The past several years are nothing more than static, like when a radio is set between stations. One minute I’m a soldier without a platoon. I’m looking for a job that no one will give me. The government taught me how to hunt and kill, but they didn’t teach me how to reacclimate to being back in society. You can’t live without money, and you can’t get money without a job. So, when I was approached with an offer that sounded too good to be true, I took it. A few days later, things went from bad to worse. I was nothing more than an animal in a cage following orders. The next thing I know, I’m being led out of a building, walking behind others like me. Until those two grabbed me.” The male gestured to where Deacon and Slade were leaning against the wall.
“After you were turned, did you have the ability to think for yourself?”
“Yes? Maybe. I don’t know. I think at some point, whatever was done began wearing off, but it was all I knew by that time. I had no one waiting for me. Nowhere to go, and no money to get there with.”
“I thought Flanagan paid you.”
“It was a lie. He promised the world, but that world was only a different kind of hell than the one I’d been living in. I guess I should have read the fine print.”
“You signed a contract?”
He nodded. “For all the good it did.”
“How many humans have you harmed since agreeing to join Flanagan?” In the thirty years since Flanagan raised the first Unholy, hundreds of humans had been injured, but less than twenty had died at their hands, as far as the Clan knew.
“None. Most of the time, we were told to fight each other.”
“And the other times?”
“Until Flanagan disappeared, that was it. Now the new boss is building an army. One that can fight against you.”
“How do you know this?”
“They think the Unholy are all mindless zombies. Most might be, but I could hear them talking.”
“You said ‘they’. Do you know the names of the men in charge now?”
“No last names, but the big boss is Drago. He had two helping for a while – Kavin and Burk – but I haven’t seen them around lately. Two more showed up not too long ago. Their names are weird too, like Ren and Trax. I’m not sure, though. Drago hasn’t been around for a couple weeks or more that I know of.”
Dante pushed off the wall. “Evan, do you know if any of the other Unholy are experiencing the effects wearing off?”
“We don’t really talk to one another.”
“What about those of you who have undergone treatment to counter the effects? How many are there?”
“There were twenty of us in my group. I’ve noticed a handful of others who were taken a couple at a time, but that’s it.”
“Can you tell us who administered the test?”
“I’m pretty sure it was a Dr. Craven.”
Dante’s demeanor went from stoic to contemplative. That name meant something to him. “Thank you, Evan. Frey, can I talk to you outside?”
Frey inclined his head and followed his cousin out the door. Deacon and Slade remained silent while waiting. Deacon almost felt bad for Evan. He’d heard of men and women returning from war without the means necessary to return to civilian life. He never understood why the government didn’t take more care of their soldiers once their tours were up, after they’d given so much of themselves. He’d seen countless wars over the years, and although he hadn’t fought in any of them, he knew Frey had. If the male wasn’t Gargoyle and part of a huge Clan who had his back, he might have turned out like Evan.
Deacon didn’t have to reach out with his shifter senses to know how Evan was feeling. The sadness and fatigue were like a small cyclone, circling the man and emanating outward.
When Frey and Dante returned, Evan said, “Please, just kill me now. I can’t return to the others, and I don’t want to be locked up in here for the rest of my life.”
Frey walked over to stand in front of Evan. “We’re not going to kill you. With your permission, we’d like to take a blood sample.”
“What for?”
Dante stepped up beside Frey. “We’d like to see if we can determine what you were given to counteract what made you an Unholy. We are going to put you in a cell for the time being. If you cooperate, you will be treated well.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You’ll be treated like any other Unholy, with no privileges.”
“I’d rather just die.”
“Evan, do you not have family out there looking for you? Parents? A girlfriend or wife?” Slade asked. The male was naturally laid-back, but the concern for their captive was palpable.
Evan hesitated before answering. “No. They… I reached out to them when I got out of the service, but they’re pacifists. They told me if I enlisted not to come back when I got out.”
