Perrineau straightened; the scent of sickness grew stronger for a moment. Iris wanted to rub it out of her nose.
“My sons,” said the old man, still looking at her. “I want to see them now.”
“Broker will take you to them,” Santoso said. “I have other matters to attend.”
“Really.” Perrineau arched his brow. “Matters like this girl? You cannot control your dick even long enough to kill me?”
Iris held her breath. Santoso looked at Broker. “Take him down to his sons. I will be there soon.”
Stupid man, Iris thought, listening to the contempt in Santoso’s voice. She could smell the predator in Felix Perrineau, could see it in his eyes, and she felt a burst of pure aching relief that Blue had not been raised under his control. How Daniel had made it without turning into his father was also testament to his strength. Or his mother’s.
Perrineau arched his brow. “I’ll await your presence downstairs, then. Try not to wear yourself out on the merchandise.” And without another look at Iris, the old man left the room. Broker followed, closing the door behind them.
Leaving Santoso. He smiled, gazing down at her body as if it were some kind of prize. Iris tilted her chin, goading him with her eyes, making him look at her face even as her hands and arms transformed, her entire body swelling with lean, long muscle. She saw the light reflect golden in his one eye, and she thought of her mother, the scent of her still strong in this room. The leather bindings creaked, the weak one held together by only a shred.
Santoso stared at her body. “You look ready for me, Iris. I think I’ll like you this way. So strong beneath me.”
Iris strained against her bonds. She felt the snap, the immediate easing of pressure around her body, and it made her smile.
“Okay,” she said. “Show me what you’ve got.”
Our father is here, and he’s going to sacrifice himself for us.
Right. Somewhere, Hell was freezing over. And Blue wanted to be there to watch.
“I’m having a moral dilemma,” Daniel said, as they raced up a flight of stairs, pursuing not their father, but the possibility that Iris and her mother might be nearby, trapped on one of those upper floors. “I’m trying to decide whether or not we should let our father know we’ve escaped—thus voiding his deal with Santoso.”
“You mean, you want to rescue him.”
“Um, maybe?”
Blue grabbed the railing, pulling himself along. “We are two sorry sons of bitches, Daniel. We don’t even know if we like our father enough to save his life.”
“It’s not high on my list of priorities,” he admitted. “But I sort of feel obligated.”
Blue grunted. “Good karma?”
“More like … doing for him what he’s doing for us.”
There was not much Blue could say to that. Especially when he felt the same. Which was … more than disturbing. He had spent years hating his father, though it was an emotion his mother had tried to dissuade on more than one occasion. A surprise—he had always thought she would advocate revenge, especially as her legal practice specialized in protecting abused women.
But in the case of the old man, his mother had always kept a remarkably even head. No hard passionate fury or indignation. Unforgiving, yes—but stoic. Which, in turn, had created an odd split inside Blue’s own heart. He hated the man, but he occasionally found himself wondering what it would be like to have him as a father. A real father. A good father.
The facility—wherever they were—had a surprising number of floors, and its decrepitude continued to astound Blue. There were security cameras, but they were mounted mostly in the battered halls, with none in the stairwell accessible only by punching in a code—something Blue bypassed with his mind.
On the sixth-floor landing, with four more flights to go before they reached the top, Blue heard an elevator ding. He found himself slowing, and a moment later heard a voice that stopped him dead. Daniel staggered, eyes wide.
“Dad,” he whispered. Blue held up a hand, silencing him. The voice outside the stairwell was deep, commanding, and utterly unmistakable.
“What do you mean, they’ve escaped? Dammit. Why am I surprised? Santoso is a fool, the worst kind.”
“You could have removed him,” said a man, his voice smooth, cultured. “Your word is law here.”
“And train another? No, Broker. Santoso might be waste of breath, but at least he keeps the wheels turning. And right now that is all that matters.”
Whatever Perrineau said next was lost. Blue braced himself against the wall, forcing himself to breathe. Daniel leaned in close.
“Did I just hear that correctly? Did our father imply that he runs an organization that kidnaps, rapes, and murders?”
“Yes.” Blue’s throat hurt; his heart hurt. Everything hurt. “You’re surprised?”
“No,” Daniel said. “But why did it have to be this?”
Blue did not know whether to laugh or cry. His father was a monster. Not only that, if this was his business, then that meant he also worked for the Consortium. Which explained why he knew so much about Dirk & Steele.
He played me. He never intended to turn in the agency. He just wanted me to find Daniel for him, no questions asked.
And that was exactly what Blue had done.
Daniel walked to the stairwell door; Blue ran to catch up with him. “What are you doing?”
“Ending this,” he said. “No more running from him, Blue. No more attempts to coexist and stay out of his way. No more. He’s hurt too many people.”
Blue thought of Iris, how she needed him more than he needed to confront his father, but Daniel walked through that door, and Blue found himself following as if there were a string attached to his gut, yanking hard. Their father was nowhere in sight, but they heard his voice and tracked him to a room filled with long tables and men hunched over ledgers and computer keyboards. Calculators clicked. Accountants. Blue imagined them poring over profits—the cost of a child or a woman’s dignity; the beating of a heart, the removal of a kidney. Slash, dash, cold hard cash—all to be slurped up by his father. Mr. Good Samaritan. The king of philanthropy, with a multibillion-dollar foundation devoted just to helping others. The hypocrisy was disgusting.
Felix Perrineau leaned on a cane. He blinked when Blue and Daniel entered the room, his only expression one of surprise. His mouth tightened.
Daniel grabbed the old man’s jacket and shoved him against the table. Papers flew up and away—and not from the impact. Blue felt a telekinetic wind brewing—a storm.
The man with Perrineau did nothing to stop Daniel. Broker, Blue thought, remembering some of what Iris had said about the man. His eyes were cold.
“You son of a bitch.” Daniel muttered. Accountants scattered, gasping. Perrineau showed no surprise at his son’s presence—or violence.
“Ah,” he whispered. “The sons coming home to roost. How remarkable, seeing the two of you together.”
“As if you care,” Blue said. “We’re just a game to you.”
“Don’t presume to tell me what I feel, boy. Not ever.”
“You’re in no position to give us orders,” Daniel spat. “Not after what I’ve seen. Jesus Christ, dad, I knew it was bad—you’re more mafia than the Godfather—but this, this, goes beyond criminal. Why would you live your life like this? Whatever gave you the right?”
“There are no such things as rights,” Perrineau said, staring into his son’s eyes. “Only power. And I took what I could, as much as I could. The world loathes weakness, boy. It is an affront.”
Blue, keenly aware of Broker watching them, placed his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “Let him go.”
His brother’s jaw flexed, his eyes bright. His fingers jerked loose. Perrineau sighed, smoothing down the front of his suit.
“Your face, son. Who did that to you?”
“Your pets,” Daniel said. “Santoso and his men.”
Something flickered through Perrineau’s eyes; B
lue almost imagined it was anger, but it was so fleeting he could not be certain it was even real.
“Why are you here?” Blue asked, fighting desperately to keep his voice calm, to tamp down his emotions. It was hard. He was too angry, too confused—and, even though he was the one standing here, too afraid for Iris.
“Why did you let yourself get caught?” Perrineau retorted, but waved his hand in Blue’s face before Blue could answer. “Never mind. I sent my men after you and the girl. She was one of the conditions of your release. Taking you, on the other hand, was extra. For my benefit only.”
“Santoso set a price and you jumped? I thought you were the boss.”
Perrineau’s lips thinned. “A man keeps his power only so long as he lives without weakness. You, boys, are my weakness.”
“Bullshit,” Blue said. “The only way we would be a weakness to you is if you cared about us.”
“And who’s to say I don’t?” asked the old man softly. “You? You care to lecture me on love? You, standing here with your thumb up your butt while the woman you’re fucking is upstairs, strapped naked to a table, alone with a psychopath? Where’s the love there, boy? What kind of man are you?”
Blue’s breath caught. “Where is she?”
Perrineau snorted. “Find her yourself if she means that much. Prove you’re worthy of something that fine.”
Blue backed away toward the door. “Daniel.”
“Wait,” said his brother, and he turned back to his father. “You came here to die. You know that, don’t you? Santoso plans on killing you in exchange for our release. If he can be trusted.”
“I have safeguards in place to make sure he follows his word. Though with the two of you free, I suppose I might be able to change my plans. Just a bit.”
“Just a bit,” Daniel echoed. “Why did you do it, Dad? All of it. Not just this, but everything else. Pretending you’re dead, searching for me, blackmailing Blue. Why? The only thing I was ever good for was being your verbal punching bag.”
“And what a fine bag you were. So easy, so soft.” The corner of Perrineau’s mouth curved into a smile. “I went to the trouble because my sons believe I am a monster. Callous, uncaring, amoral. And it is true, every bit of it, though I have no regrets, not a single one. Unfortunately, however, my time is running out. I am dying, and that is something I cannot change, though for a time I thought I could. I believed that I had the strength to make the sacrifice required, but I did not. I did not.” Perrineau closed his eyes. “I was offered a chance, an opportunity to participate in an … experiment. A shout against mortality. The only requirement was blood. Your blood or Blue’s. My sons. And I could not do it. I tried, and I could not.” He smiled, grim. “Moments of weakness, boys. Those are what kill even the mightiest of men.”
Blue unclenched his jaw. “So, when did you decide you weren’t going to hurt us?”
Perrineau passed a hand over his face; he suddenly looked his years, and more. “Months ago. Daniel had already disappeared. I thought he would come home, but my … disease … spread, and there was still no word. So I turned to you. I thought it would make an interesting opportunity.”
“You could have just explained, instead of using blackmail.”
“You wouldn’t have believed me. Blackmail, on the other hand, kept you to your word. You found your brother.”
“Santoso found him first,” Blue said. “He wanted to use him against you, didn’t he?”
“The little fuck has illusions of grandeur.”
Blue glanced at Broker, who managed to look bored. “And the Consortium? How do they play into this?”
Perrineau shook his head. “Go to your woman. Kill Santoso if you must. If you and Daniel are free, my job here is done. I can go home to die.”
“Sir,” Broker said quietly. “I am afraid that is not entirely accurate.”
“Oh, really?” snapped the old man. “Care to explain why?”
Broker pulled a gun from his jacket. “Actually, I would.”
Blue’s reaction was too slow; Broker pulled the trigger. The blast took the old man off his feet, slamming him into the table. Daniel cried out.
Broker slammed into the wall with enough force to make a dent. The gun slipped from his fingers and Blue scooped it up. Daniel’s face was terrible to look upon; Blue thought if their father had ever chosen to express any true rage, this was what it would look like: white face, white lips, the tendons of his neck standing out like the thick roots at the base of a tree.
The brothers ran to Perrineau; the old man’s breathing was shallow, his lips blue. He had enough strength to grab their hands, though, and to pull them to his wounded chest, coating them in blood.
“You’re in danger,” whispered the old man, his eyes burning, feverish. “Both of you. All of you. Your people, Blue. The Consortium—”
His voice broke, breath rattling in his throat. Blue looked up and found Daniel staring at the old man, his face stricken. Behind him, Broker still hung against the wall.
“Why?” Blue asked, feeling a scream rise high in throat, drowning in a terrible inexplicable grief. Laughter had seemed so appropriate only days ago, and now … now he wanted to cry.
Broker’s mouth twisted. “He left his fortune to the both of you. Equal partners in all his endeavors, legal or not. But if you’re dead, the money goes to the Consortium. And all those billions will help us quite nicely.” He gazed down at Perrineau, whose eyes were closed, his heart stuttering to a broken stop inside Blue’s mind. “We did not need him anymore. And we do not have time to break the both of you like we broke him.”
“So why didn’t you just kill him in his sleep?” Daniel whispered. “Do the same to us? Why the show?”
“Why not?” Broker asked softly. “I was bored.”
I am going to kill you, Blue thought, and maybe he would have—but an odd thing happened: The building began to shake. First the floor, then the walls, until everything was swaying and jerking, bucking the world on the back of a slow bronco. Some of the accountants were still in the room, huddled in the corner. They closed their eyes, covered their faces.
Daniel staggered. “What is this? A bomb?”
Blue grabbed their father. There was room for only one person under the wooden table, and Blue shoved the old man beneath. He grabbed Daniel’s leg and yanked him down, forcing them together in a tight huddle. Broker shouted, but still he hung spread-eagled, with the first hint of real emotion—anger, fear—appearing on his face.
“Earthquake,” Blue said, remembering too late that quite a few of those had been striking this area.
“Jesus,” Daniel muttered. “I hope the ceiling doesn’t come down.”
But it did.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Iris was still smiling when Santoso took off his pants. He wore no underwear, and he was quite aroused.
“I hope you realize I’m a hard woman to satisfy,” she said. “I don’t know if you’re really up for the job.”
Santoso touched himself, which was stomach-churning enough without the additional sight of him running his tongue over his lips like a porn star wannabe. Some of the circus women had foisted those movies on her; Iris knew what she was talking about. And he sure as hell wasn’t any Rocky Piledriver.
Or Blue Perrineau, for that matter.
Santoso took off his shirt. His chest glistened, tattoos rolling against his lean muscles. He walked to the counter and opened a drawer. He took out a gun.
“I am going to undo your restraints,” Santoso said. “If you hurt me, I will kill you. I have your mother now. I do not need you alive unless you are willing to pleasure me.”
Liar, Iris thought, remembering what Broker had told her. Santoso had not harvested her ova yet. Until then, she was safe. Mostly.
“What happened to Songbird?” she found herself asking. “Did you tell her the same thing?”
Santoso bared his teeth; smile or grimace, she could not tell. “Songbird was all used up when you met
her. All those women, ready for fresh replacements. But the facility …”
Oh, yes. Definitely a grimace. Even, she thought, rage.
“Why did you blow it up?” she asked, willing him to watch her face as her hands slowly loosened the leather.
“I did not blow it up,” Santoso said through gritted teeth. “That was Perrineau’s doing. He was jealous of the idea. Could not stand the improvements I made to the business. So he destroyed them when he had the chance. Broker told me so.”
“Really,” Iris said, questioning how much of what Broker said was the truth; wondering, too, how many people were going to die before this was all over. “So when you discovered you had Perrineau’s son in your possession …”
“It was the perfect opportunity. Like now.” He moved close, his gun wavering with each step. He was too excited to hold it steady. Iris wondered if he would come if she breathed on him. Not that she wanted to try.
“You have someone waiting for you,” she reminded him, feeling everything inside her go still and small, focused like a needle point on the man in front of her. Just one chance—one chance to do this.
“Perrineau is already a dead man,” Santoso said. “He can wait.”
He reached out to touch her. Iris moved. She wrenched herself sideways, rolling off the surgical table, still tangled in the thin leather restraints, but not enough to completely handicap her. Santoso shouted, running around the table, but Iris rolled sideways again, this time getting free. Her body melted into the leopard, though she kept her voice, her humanoid face. Let him fight a Sphinx. She would kill him as a riddle.
The two of them circled each other, and just as Iris had anticipated, he did not shoot her. Instead he ripped off the bandage covering his eye. The flesh around the socket was red, swollen, but there—there in the heart, cushioned—was a flash of gold. A familiar eye in a terrible face.
“It is remarkable,” he whispered. “The properties of your kind. Your flesh truly is more than human.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Iris said, looking for her mother in that gaze. “I’m going to burn your bones.”
Eye of Heaven Page 33
