by Reinke, Sara
She watched him get out of the car and slam the door behind him, sending another shudder through the Audi’s sleek frame. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek; she rubbed at it with her fingertips. How could things have gone from so wonderful last night—like something out of a dream—to this, like something out of a nightmare?
She got out of the car and stood beside it for a long, uncertain moment, watching as he pumped gas and deliberately kept his eyes turned away from her. The longer he ignored her, the more incensed and hurt she became. Why would he think his leg matters to me? Didn’t last night prove anything? Didn’t it mean anything to him?
And then it hit her with all of the shocking force of a slap in the face.
It didn’t. It didn’t mean anything at all to him.
Rene cut her a glance over the Audi’s roof. “Get in the car, pischouette.”
No different than anything he’s ever done with his hookers, she thought. That’s how he sees last night. That’s how he sees me—no different than one of his hookers.
Another tear fell and again, she swatted it away. “You know something, Rene?” she said, trembling with sudden outrage, pain and shame. “You really are the Tin Man, but it doesn’t have a goddamn thing to do with your leg. Neither one of you has a heart.”
She turned and marched toward the convenience store entrance. Her tears spilled out along the way, despite her struggle to contain them. She rubbed her cheeks furiously with her hands as she stepped inside the shockingly cold, air-conditioned store.
“You okay, honey?” the woman behind the counter asked, even though Tessa knew it was pretty damn apparent that, for the moment at least, she was anything but okay.
“Yes.” She sniffled, dragging her finger beneath her nose and struggling to compose herself. “I’m fine, thank you.” She grabbed a Snickers from a nearby candy rack and pushed it toward the register. She hadn’t swallowed two bites of her oatmeal, and her stomach was grumbling. If ever she’d needed a chocolate fix, it was now. “Just this please.”
The cashier rang up the candy bar and waited while Tessa dug through her purse for spare change. “Where are your restrooms?” Tessa asked, dolling out quarters and nickels.
“Outside and around the corner to your left,” the woman replied, reaching beneath the counter. “Here. You’ll need the key.”
The bathroom was a tiny, dingy room on the far end of the building, away from the gas pumps. Lit by a solitary fluorescent fixture that buzzed and flickered overhead, it sported cracked, gray linoleum floors, a beat-up toilet with hard-water stains, a sink with a perpetual, steady drip and a wall-mounted machine that offered latex prophylaxes in a wide variety of neon colors and tropical fruit flavors. Tessa didn’t want to touch anything, but plucked a slip of toilet paper from a roll on the back of the commode and stood in the middle of the room to dab at her eyes.
Damn you, Rene Morin, she thought, blowing her nose. You absolute asshole.
Of course Brandon and Lina had already hit the road. Of course Rene would wait until they were gone to pull something so downright mean-spirited and nasty, leaving her with no other recourse than to spend yet another miserable day trapped in the car with him for unpleasant company.
I can’t believe I let him touch me, she thought. I can’t believe I thought he cared. I can’t believe I thought I cared!
The worst part was, she did care about him, even now. She’d let him touch her because she had wanted him to; she’d wanted him. She still did.
I love him, she thought. Goddamn him.
After a few moments, Tessa tossed the wadded up paper into an overflowing trash can and left the bathroom. She paused, squinting against the bright contrast of the sun’s glare, after having stood in the relatively dim restroom for so long. She also wiped her hands against the thighs of her cargo pants before pulling the Snickers out of her purse, because it hadn’t been dim enough to hide how filthy everything had been.
As she walked toward the front of the building and the gas pumps again, she felt a peculiar, tickling sensation inside of her mind that immediately sent the downy hairs along the nape of her neck rising. It was the same sort of feeling that would come upon her whenever Brandon or Rene drew near—or any other of the Brethren, for that matter. They could sense one another, even at great distances sometimes; the way that she and Brandon could sense the Elders coming after them. This was nothing like sensing the Elders—which felt in Tessa’s mind like a heavy, looming shadow threatening to engulf her, swallow her whole. Instead, it felt like someone close by, maybe even standing behind her, and she realized.
Rene. He just stepped out of the men’s room.
She turned around, unsure whether or not she meant to chew him a new ass or simply grab hold of him and kiss him, and noticed for the first time, out of her peripheral vision, the streamlined silhouette of a maroon Jaguar sedan parked immediately outside of the restrooms, just beyond a brick wall meant to shelter the doors from view.
That’s funny, she thought. That looks like—
And then she realized who had stepped out of the men’s room behind her, who now stood less than a foot away, his eyes sharp and filled with menace, the corner of his full mouth hooked in an icy smile. The Snickers fell from her hand and she gasped.
Hello, Tessa, Martin Davenant said inside her mind. I’ve missed you, darling.
Chapter Thirteen
“Martin…!”
That was all Tessa had time to breathlessly gulp before Martin’s hand clamped against her throat, snapping her windpipe shut. Practically hoisting her off her feet, he forced her backward in skittering, clumsy tow, opening the door to the women’s restroom again and pushing her inside. He shoved her against the far wall hard enough to rattle her brain momentarily. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and fell to the floor, spilling coins, loose peppermints, her cell phone and lipstick across the battered linoleum.
“You bitch,” Martin seethed, his face flushed with rage, his brows knitted deeply. “You goddamn stupid, sneaky bitch!”
“Please…!” she croaked, pawing desperately at his hand, struggling for air. “Martin…please…!”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you? You stupid fucking bitch, did you really think you could get away from me?”
He raised his hand to slap her and she mewled weakly, holding out her own to try and stay him. “Wait…!” she gasped. “Martin, please…! The baby…!”
He hesitated, and the palm against her throat pulled away, leaving her knees to buckle. She collapsed to the bathroom floor, clutching her neck, gagging for breath. “Please…please don’t hurt my baby…” she wheezed.
Pain ripped through her scalp as Martin closed his fist in her hair, wrenching her head back and forcing her to look up at him. “It’s not your goddamn baby—it’s mine,” he snapped, and now he did slap her, striking her hard enough to whip her head sideways, bouncing against the dingy cinderblock wall. “It’s my baby, you stupid fucking bitch, and you’d better fucking believe me—once it’s born, you’ll never see it again. You’ll never see the goddamn light of day again for this, you lousy fucking whore.”
He jerked her by the hair again and she cried out. “I know you took my money,” he seethed, leaning over to speak against her ear, his breath hot, his spittle spraying her face. “I want it back. My ledger, too. Where is it?”
She’d taken both from his secret cache in the library when she’d fled Kentucky. A ledger had been tucked inside the manila envelope along with the thick bundle of cash, and it wasn’t until some time later that she’d curiously peeked inside, discovering what appeared to be thick stacks of invoices and bank records for a company called Broughman and Associates, of which she’d never heard. As she thumbed through them, puzzled, she realized the Brethren’s distillery, Bloodhorse, had paid in excess of three million dollars to the company over the last ten years.
How did Martin get all of this? she’d wondered. Martin worked in the accounts p
ayable department for Bloodhorse Distillery, but beyond that scope, his interaction with humans was strictly prohibited. So why would he have all of these financial records for this company?
“I said where is my goddamn ledger?” Martin demanded, smacking her in the face again, this time hard enough to bloody her nose.
“My purse,” she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I…I put it in my purse…please don’t…!”
“Shut up.” He shoved her away from him, knocking her head into the wall again, leaving her crumpled on the floor. He turned and stooped again, snatching her fallen purse in hand, then turned it upside down, spilling the rest of its contents. When the manila envelope plopped to the floor, he grabbed it, tossing the purse aside. She watched him through a bleary haze of frightened tears as he opened the envelope and pulled out the ledger, the money that remained.
“You spent some of it.” He glared at her, his eyes so filled with murderous rage, she cowered. “It’s coming out of your hide, Tessa. So help me Christ, it is.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, trembling. “Please, Martin…the baby…!”
“The baby?” He snorted, closing the distance between them in one broad stride. Again, his fingers closed in her hair and again, she cried out as he jerked her, stumbling, to her feet. “The only reason you’re still drawing breath at the moment is because of that baby. Do you understand? The only goddamn reason.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together to stifle a terrified whimper. She could have called mentally to Rene for help, but kept her mind shut tightly. Obviously Martin had followed her, but she didn’t know if he knew about Rene—and even if he did, she was willing to bet that he didn’t realize Rene was like them, of Brethren descent. She hadn’t, either, the first time she’d met him; she’d been able to sense him, as she’d sensed Martin outside, but she’d dismissed it as having only been aware of Brandon. Martin probably thinks he’s just sensing me. He doesn’t know yet who Rene is—what he is. If he did, he’d kill him.
Please stay where you are, Rene, just stay outside, she thought. Please, God, don’t go trying to prove you’re not really an asshole and come knocking on this door to apologize.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered to Martin as he let go of her hair.
He arched his brow. “Do? I’m going to drag your sorry ass back to Kentucky, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to tie you to the goddamn bedposts until that baby’s born and after that, I’m going to wear out your sorry goddamn hide.”
Oh, God! Tessa’s mind raced as she struggled to think of some way out of this, some desperate hope of escape. She couldn’t let Martin return her to Kentucky; she couldn’t leave Brandon alone to face the Elders. And I can’t leave Rene.
“Wait,” she said. “Martin, please…listen to me.”
His hand clapped roughly against her throat once again, and he pushed her back against the wall. “And why would I want to do that, Tessa? You stole my car, my money, my baby, for Christ’s sake. What makes you think I want to listen to anything that might come out of your lying, thieving goddamn mouth?”
“I did it for you!” she gasped. “Please, Martin…I was trying to find Brandon for you!”
“Oh, give me a fucking break,” Martin said with a laugh. “You were trying to find your pansy-ass, deaf-and-dumb brother so you could protect him somehow. You wanted to escape right along with him!”
“No!” She shook her head, clutching at his hand, trying to pry his fingers away from her windpipe. In that moment, with tiny pinpoints of light dancing in her line of sight as she strained for air, she decided to take a desperate chance. “I…I followed Caine and Emily to find him. Caine wanted to bring him back, impress the Grandfather, but I was going to bring him back for you! Caine told me he and Emily were going to leave the farm, so I followed them. I was going to bring Brandon back, let you deliver him to the Elders.”
Martin didn’t say anything, but he removed his hand, leaving her to choke and wheeze again.
“I just…I wanted to please you,” she said. “I wanted you to think of me…like you think of Monica. I wanted you to be pleased with me like that.” She looked up at him, shuddering. “I know where he is—where Brandon is going. Please, I was following him and I can take you there. He won’t run from me. He trusts me. Think of how pleased the Elders would be—the whole Brethren council. I can show you where he is. I can take you there, Martin.”
“And what precisely is supposed to prevent Caine and Emily from finding him first?” Martin asked.
“Because they’re dead,” she said, and watched Martin visibly react. He stepped back slightly, his eyes widening in undisguised surprise. “They’re dead, Martin, both of them.”
Just as her father and grandfather would understand the implications of Caine’s death, so, too, would Martin. Especially since his family, the Davenants, stood to gain the most from the loss.
“Caine is dead?” he asked softly, his voice filled with something nearly like wonder; a child on Christmas morning who’s come downstairs to discover Santa’s boot prints in the cinders by the hearth.
Tessa nodded, gulping for breath. “He was shot in the head. He died. Emily, too.” Here it was, her final card, what she hoped would be her ace in the hole. “But not before she called the Grandfather and told him about Caine.”
Martin’s face darkened, his brows narrowing again, and she knew her hasty plan had worked. He knew—as she did—that Augustus Noble wouldn’t hold to his word to kill Brandon now. In light of Caine’s death, the Nobles were equal to the Davenants now in male heirs; by Brethren law, the two clans would have to share supremacy until Brandon or Daniel underwent the bloodletting. Then the Nobles would rule again. And considering Daniel was only four years old—more than a decade away from his first kill—that left Brandon as the most reasonable ace in the hole. But only if he lived.
“So you were going to lead me to your brother—your twin,” Martin said slowly, locking eyes with her. “You’d let me kill Brandon. You’d screw your family—your own brother—to help mine.”
“I’m a Davenant, Martin. My loyalty lies with you—my husband.” He rolled his eyes, opened his mouth to shoot back some derisive remark and she reached for him. “My grandfather said so—right to my face. Your father was there, too. Ask him about it. He told Allistair I’m his granddaughter now.”
“So if something was to happen to your youngest brother…?” Martin asked, his gaze unflinching. “If Daniel was to die…some tragic accident like your poor bitch of a grandmother…and the Davenant dominance secured…Your loyalty would still lie with me?”
Oh, God, she thought, suppressing an inward shudder. What is he saying? Not only a thinly veiled threat against Daniel, but Martin’s words seemed to imply some sort of culpability in Eleanor’s death, as well, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe, much less speak. She stared up into Martin’s dark eyes, smeared with reflected glow from the fluorescent tubes overhead, and trembled. You son of a bitch, what did you do to my grandmother?
He was waiting for an answer, and it took every ounce of deception that Tessa had practiced and honed over her four years of marriage to deliver one to him. “Yes, Martin,” she said.
Martin dragged her out to the Jaguar, holding her tightly by the crook of her arm and leaving her purse behind, all of its contents scattered across the bathroom floor. He thumbed off the alarm, opened the car door and shoved her unceremoniously inside. As he walked briskly around to the driver’s side, Tessa scanned the lot. She saw the low-slung Audi still parked at the gas pump; Rene was just finishing filling the gas tank. She watched as he returned the nozzle to the pump, her lips pressed together in a thin, anxious line, her breath bated, her heart pounding. Don’t turn around, Rene, she thought. Don’t look this way. Please don’t see us.
Martin got in the car; the report of the car door slamming startled a quiet yelp from her. “I don’t believe you, Tessa,” he said, as Rene punched a button on
the gas pump’s automatic credit card payment pad and stepped back, waiting for a receipt to print. “Not for one goddamn minute, not about wanting to help me or my family.”
He started the Jaguar, pumping the gas pedal so the engine gunned. As he put it in gear, he shot her a dark glance from beneath furrowed brows. “But I do believe you know where your brother is. And you are going to take me there. You do that, and you and I can negotiate the matter of your punishment for leaving.”
She nodded as they drove past the Audi toward the parking-lot entrance. “I’m not lying to you, Martin,” she said in a hush. Rene glanced over his shoulder as the car passed, his brow raised slightly, his expression puzzled, as if someone had just tapped him on the shoulder unexpectedly.
“Really?” Martin pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward the interstate entrance ramp. “Then who the fuck was that guy?”
Oh, shit. From the feel of things, her heart had collapsed into the middle of her gut. Had she really been so stupid as to think Martin would have missed the fact she wasn’t traveling alone? “Wh-what guy?”
His hand shot out, his fingers closing painfully against the shelf of her chin. “What do you think—I’m fucking blind? The guy with the goddamn Audi—the guy you pulled into the station with.”
He’d seen enough, tailed her long enough to know about Rene, then, but he still clearly had no idea what Rene really was. Like Tessa had at first, Martin simply thought he was human. “Nobody!” she whimpered and when his hand crushed all the more against her jaw, she cried out hoarsely. “He…he’s nobody, Martin, really! A private investigator I hired, that’s all.”
“A private investigator?” He gave her head a rough shake.
“Yes!” she cried. “Like on TV, Martin, to help me find Brandon!”
“Did you fuck him?” Another painful shake. “Because if so help me Christ, if you’ve disgraced me and my family by fucking some goddamn human carcass, I’ll—”
“No! No, I swear, Martin! He’s just been helping me track Brandon!”
