Resistance (The Variant Series #2)

by Jena Leigh

  “How long you plan on putting them off?” he asked.

  Not that he wanted Nate to give the Agency a leg up with inside information on the events of the day, he just wasn’t sure how long his friend would be able to delay the inevitable.

  Nathaniel sighed. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, his voice gruff from exhaustion. “She never mentioned…”

  As Nate trailed off, Aiden raised a hand and gave in to his urges, droplets of water sliding into place on the glass above his head.

  Nathaniel stopped mid-pace and read the sentence Aiden formed in rainwater on the window. Aiden’s words had their desired effect. Nathaniel sank into one of the empty chairs next to him.

  “You know what Grayson would say to that.” Nathaniel slouched in his chair. “Profanity—”

  “Is the linguistic crutch of inarticulate bastards.” Aiden smiled. “I remember. You’re still an asshole.”

  Nathaniel snorted.

  The saying was a remnant of days gone by. Days Aiden spent living under Grayson’s roof and following Grayson’s rules. A saying that dredged up mixed emotions, but mostly happy memories.

  “Alright, so what are we going to do about Alex?” asked Aiden. “Their school lets out for the summer in less than three weeks. With everything that’s going on, maybe you’re right. Maybe we ought to tell her something about what’s coming for her.”

  “What if we tell her the wrong thing?”

  Aiden shrugged.

  “You can’t tell her anything,” said a small voice from the kitchen’s entryway.

  A bleary-eyed ten-year-old leaned sleepily against the doorframe, hair tousled from sleep. His duvet hung heavily around his slight shoulders, an immense cloak that tailed behind him and disappeared down the darkened hallway. He blinked repeatedly behind his glasses as he tried to bring the world into focus.

  “What are you doing up again, Brian?” Nate asked with a sigh. “I thought you finally went to bed.”

  The boy frowned, a gesture that succeeded in making him appear even smaller. It seemed as though the weight of his thoughts, even more so than the bulk that enshrouded him, diminished him.

  “I dreamt about your conversation,” he said slowly. “Needed to tell you not to do it. Alex can’t know any more than she does already.”

  “Which is nothing, right?” said Aiden. “I mean, I know I haven’t said anything.”

  “She saw the ship that time she went digging in my head,” Nathaniel reminded him. “Alex saw herself on the deck of the Misty Rose.”

  Brian shrugged, the duvet rising and falling around him. “She hasn’t forgotten what she saw in your head, Nate, but she doesn’t know what it means, either. And you can’t tell her. She has to find out on her own.”

  Nathaniel growled in frustration. “What if something’s changed? What if that’s why we didn’t see this attack from Masterson coming?”

  “You would know if something had changed, Nate,” Brian said cryptically. “And we wouldn’t be here right now, having this conversation, if everything wasn’t still on track.”

  “I still don’t like it,” said Nate.

  “No one likes it, Nathaniel.” Aiden rolled his eyes. “Christ. None of us want it to play out like this, but I don’t really see as how we have a choice. If Brian says this path is the lesser of a thousand evils, then—”

  “He’s ten!” Nathaniel shouted, before wincing and lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper. “How do we even know he’s got it right?”

  The room fell silent.

  Nathaniel sighed. “No offense, Brian. I trust you, I just don’t know if I trust your abilities yet.”

  Brain was frowning at his feet. “It’s okay, Nate. I get it.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then looked up. “I know I’m still a kid. And I know you’re afraid I don’t understand how important all this is, but… I do understand. I get it, Nate. And I don’t want to lose them, either. I don’t want Alex or Declan to die.”

  — 13 —

  “It’s time for you to wake up, pet.”

  Alex opened her eyes, the last threads of her dream unraveling with the warmth of the morning sun as it crept through the blinds.

  Had she been having a nightmare?

  Her eyes slipped closed as she tried to grab the fleeting images before they could disappear entirely.

  A boat.

  No, not a boat. A ship.

  She’d been lying on the deck of a fishing vessel. It had been storming. And she’d been so cold. So tired. But someone had been holding her hand…

  Wait a minute.

  Alex’s eyes shot open once more.

  Beside her on the bed, Declan lay sprawled on top of the covers, his jeans and black t-shirt looking decidedly wrinkled. One arm rested between his head and a pillow, while the other lay between them, his fingers still entwined with hers.

  Had he been there the entire time? She had the strangest memory of asking him to stay.

  Alex ran her free hand over her face.

  Oh, crap. Please let that have been a dream, too.

  The currents between them shifted, growing steadily stronger. Declan was waking up.

  “Morning,” he whispered. He made no move to pull back his wayward hand.

  Alex tugged the covers up and over her mouth. “Morning,” she mumbled.

  Oh, God.

  Morning breath times a million.

  And Declan’s breath just smelled of cinnamon. How did he do that?

  “Feeling better?”

  Not wanting to open her mouth again, Alex nodded instead.

  “That’s good to hear. Sleep alright?”

  Another nod.

  Alex felt, more than heard, the low rumble of laughter in Declan’s chest. He pulled himself into a seated position beside her on the bed.

  “Where’s Aunt Cil?” she asked into the sheets.

  “DC.”

  Alex sat up, the sheets falling away. “What?”

  She put a hand over her mouth again as an afterthought.

  At some point during the night, Declan had draped his jacket over her sleeping form. Smiling, he reached his free hand forward and pulled a small tin of cinnamon flavored Altoids Smalls from one of the breast pockets.

  He offered her one.

  “Your aunt and Grayson left a couple hours ago,” he said as she accepted the tiny mint. “They were supposed to meet with the Agency’s Director this morning. Said they’d call to let us know how it went.”

  A meeting with Director Carter? And they’d left her behind? So much for reclaiming her independence.

  She had every right to be with them at that meeting. It was her future. Not theirs.

  The slow fury burning in the pit of her stomach was quickly tempered by thoughts of Friday afternoon and her spotty memories of the event.

  Alex winced. “Decks, what… What did I do? At the school? I mean, I remember there being water everywhere and my head feeling like someone stuck it in a vice, but… How much damage did I do?”

  Kenzie had assured her that no one had been hurt, but if her aunt and Grayson were in DC, it couldn’t have been as uneventful as Kenzie tried to make it seem.

  “Uh,” Declan scratched the back of his head, causing his thick blonde hair to stick up at odd angles. “You, uh… It wasn’t…”

  “That bad, huh?” Alex frowned.

  Declan ran his thumb slowly over her knuckles. Her hand rested so naturally in his that she’d nearly forgotten their fingers were still woven together.

  Fear welled up inside her. What if this was it? What if the Agency finally had the excuse they’d been looking for to put her away forever? Or worse, to put her down, for good?

  “It’s going to be alright, Lex,” Declan said softly. “No matter what happens, I won’t leave your side. And I won’t let the Agency take you. Not without a fight. You have my word.”

  Alex gripped his hand a little tighter, turning her face toward his.

  Declan’s us
ual mask of cynicism had fallen away, the puckish grin she’d grown so accustomed to seeing in moments like these replaced by a furrowed brow and a look of determination.

  He hadn’t spoken those words lightly.

  Declan was making a promise to protect her, and she knew it was a promise he meant to keep.

  Reaching out with his free hand, Declan trailed his fingertips lightly across her cheek, sending a pleasant shiver rippling across her skin. Alex smiled at the sensation.

  She really had missed that.

  Declan lifted his hand, breaking the contact. Alex tried not to look as disappointed as she felt.

  With a ghost of a smile, Declan leaned closer.

  The sound of a door creaking on its hinges caused them to leap apart.

  Accidentally swallowing the last of the mint, Alex coughed.

  The bedroom door inched its way open and a head full of nut brown hair peeked around the corner. Declan immediately disentangled his fingers from hers.

  And just like that, the moment was forgotten.

  Declan’s mask of cynical indifference was already back in place

  “Oh, good!” said Brian, opening the door wider. He had a tray cradled against his side. “You guys are awake.”

  “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock, kid?” asked Declan.

  Brian ignored him.

  “Good morning, Brian,” said Alex, trying to compensate for Declan’s grousing.

  “Morning!” he replied.

  “What’s that on the tray?” asked Declan.

  “Something for Alex,” he said. “Thought you might be ready to eat, so I brought you some toast. There’s also a cup of water and another cup of ice chips in case your throat’s still sore. Wasn’t sure what you’d be up for, so if you want something else, I can always run downstairs and get it.”

  Brian slid the tray onto the bed beside Alex.

  “Wait,” said Declan, looking over the contents of the tray. “There’s only one plate of toast here. Where’s my breakfast, kid?”

  Brian rolled his eyes behind his too-large glasses, then pushed the frames further up the bridge of his nose. “Like I’m going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

  Alex tried unsuccessfully to hide her smile.

  It was pretty obvious that Brian idolized his two adopted brothers—Declan in particular—but even hero-worship appeared to have its limits.

  “Go get it yourself,” said Brian, sinking down on the bed next to Alex.

  “Aww, thanks Brian.” Alex gave the boy a feather-light hug, careful not to brush against his skin. “You’re the best.”

  Declan mumbled something about disrespect, brown-nosing, and bacon under his breath.

  “Oh, hey!” said a second voice from the doorway. “It’s a party and no one invited me. I’m crushed. Crushed, I tell you.”

  “Morning, Kenzie,” said Brian.

  “Toast?” offered Alex.

  “Is that blackberry jam?” Kenzie wandered closer and sat at the foot of the bed, a steaming mug of coffee clasped in one hand. “Don’t mind if I do!”

  With her nausea gone and an empty stomach, the ordinary scent of morning coffee was divine. Alex breathed in the aroma with a smile.

  Kenzie noticed the longing looks Alex was sending toward her mug.

  “Here,” said Kenzie, offering up her coffee. “I’ll trade you.”

  Alex accepted the cup gratefully as Kenzie reached for a piece of toast.

  “Hey, you’re up,” said Aiden from the doorway. “Perfect. I just need to get in here real quick…”

  Nathaniel appeared behind him. “Someone call a family meeting and forget to tell me?” he asked, eyeing the collection of his siblings all scattered on the bed around Alex.

  Aiden made his way over to the closet and rifled through his shirts. Pulling one off its hanger, he stripped off the basketball jersey he’d been wearing since the day before and stuffed it in a duffel bag in a corner of the closet.

  Alex tried not to stare at the muscles in his back flexing as he tugged on a clean shirt.

  If only Cassie were here to see this.

  Oh.

  And there went his pants.

  “Jesus, Aiden,” Declan grumbled. “Can’t you get changed somewhere else? There are ladies present, you know.”

  “I’m wearing boxers, jackass,” said Aiden as he climbed into a pair of faded jeans. “It’s not like I’m walking around in a g-string. Alex’s virtue should still be intact.”

  Alex studiously pretended not to realize what was happening, while Kenzie was too preoccupied with the food on the tray to notice anything going on behind her.

  “Phmoast?” offered Kenzie around a mouthful of her breakfast. She held out a slice to Nathaniel.

  Nate held up a hand. “Uh, no thanks. I’m good.”

  “Heard from the boss yet?” asked Declan.

  Nate shook his head. “Actually, they ought to be meeting with the Director right about…” He stole a glance at his watch. “Now.”

  * * *

  “Just follow my lead, Cecilia.”

  Cil smoothed out the lines of her blouse for the hundredth time and made a valiant effort not to fidget.

  She should have changed.

  The orchestral sounds of Debussy carried through the air around them at a low volume, overshadowed only by the low notes of conversation taking place in the room around the corner.

  The waiting area was drenched in early morning sunlight, setting the golden hues of the marble floors and the matching colonnades aglow.

  Cecilia Cross was officially out of her element.

  Grayson, on the other hand, looked perfectly at home in such ornate surroundings. A crisp tailored suit, clean-shaven, not a hair out of place.

  He seemed entirely at ease, despite the gravity of their situation. This was his world. One of old money and even older power.

  An attractive young couple ahead of them in line was escorted around the corner and out of sight. The maître d’ gave Cil a once over—and a disapproving frown—before turning his attention to Grayson.

  Cil glanced down at her dark jeans and white blouse, an outfit that was now entering its second day. Another quick attempt to smooth out the wrinkles she’d gathered sitting beside Alex on a bathroom floor for half the night revealed a splotch of blue paint dried and crusted onto her sleeve.

  She really should have changed.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Grayson.” The maître d’ inclined his head in a small bow. “A pleasure to have you with us again. Director Carter has already arrived. Please follow me and I’ll be happy to show you to your seat.”

  “Thank you, Tomas,” said Grayson.

  Grayson’s hand went to the small of her back as they were led around a corner and into the expansive dining area. Cil struggled to take it all in while still scanning the room for the Director—and for anything that seemed out of place.

  Just because Dana Carter had offered an olive branch and a meeting on neutral ground didn’t mean she wasn’t up to her old tricks.

  Glass panes lined two of the exterior walls, stretching from floor to ceiling and displaying a beautiful panorama of the park across the street. Tables covered in white cloths were scattered around the room, most of them already occupied by men in pale suits and women in designer sundresses. All of them enjoying a Sunday morning brunch at Chez Pierre.

  The Director was seated on a slightly elevated partition at a four-person table that had been set flush against the glass wall. From where she sat she had a clear view of both the park and the entire dining area.

  “Good morning, Jonathan,” said Dana, her voice like liquid metal. “Cecilia. I trust your journey here was pleasant.”

  Journey? It’s not as though they’d spent the morning on a plane.

  They’d simply jumped—

  Oh, thought Cil. But Dana knew that, didn’t she?

  Grayson had always hated to teleport, preferring to take the long road when traveling to faraway places. Granted
, jumping was an experience that took some getting used to, but Jonathan outright despised it.

  And that was something else that Dana was well aware of.

  It was a dig at Grayson right out the gate. Dana was the only woman Cil had ever met who could so successfully gloat without even cracking a smile.

  Grayson was staring at Dana through narrowed eyes. He slid out a chair for Cil, then another for himself. This meeting was already off to a lousy start.

  “Good morning, Dana,” Grayson said as he settled into the chair.

  “More coffee, Tomas,” ordered Dana.

  “Certainly, Director. And for you and your companion, Mr. Grayson? Can we bring you something to drink?”

  “Coffee,” said Grayson, without turning his head. He and Dana were locked in a staring match that was starting to make Cil uncomfortable.

  She smiled awkwardly up at Tomas. “Just water, thank you.”

  “Of course, madam.” Another frown. “It would be a pleasure.”

  Tomas sauntered off.

  The corner of Dana’s mouth quirked upward in a vicious smirk. “I warned you, Jonathan.”

  Immediately down to business. Dana never was the sort for prolonged pleasantries.

  Grayson stared steadily ahead. “The event at the school was kept well under control. Alex is already—”

  Dana scoffed. “Twenty-eight thousand dollars in property damage and fourteen hundred witnesses is your idea of keeping her under control? Christ, Grayson. I’d very much hate to see what you consider out of control.”

  “No one was there to witness the accident except for the O’Connell children,” said Cil. “Her teacher’s memory of allowing Alex a hall pass has been altered by one of your men, and no one else saw her after she left her classroom. There’s nothing left to tie her to the accident.”

  “Accident?” Dana turned her icy blue gaze on Cil. “An accident would suggest that the event was entirely unexpected. It wasn’t an accident, Cecilia. It was an inevitability.”

  “The event’s been cleaned up,” said Grayson. “The repairs to the school will be completed by this evening and the abilities are already out of Alex’s system. She’s no longer at risk of losing control.”

  The smug look on Dana’s face caused Cil’s stomach to drop.