Shaking her head slowly, Lisha prayed she wasn’t condemning herself. “No.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed about, sweetheart. I wasn’t a virgin when I met Jasper, and Connie wasn’t when Thane came into her life. Bodie…well, that’s her story to tell when the baby comes.” Sober brown eyes studied her face carefully. “I know a bit about your history, Alicia—you had the accident when you were ten, right? Basically didn’t leave the house until the night Bodie was hurt and your parents died,” she said tactfully. Those eyes didn’t waver in their perusal, reading whatever Alicia couldn’t hide. “You went to stay with Connie after you left the hospital, and then the rehab place. Who hurt you?”
Surely it couldn’t be that easy to piece together, Alicia thought in horror. But when she looked at her own timeline, she realized it was. Swallowing down a moan of despair, she tried to act nonchalant. “No one important.”
The touch of a soft hand on hers was almost her undoing. Anarchy squeezed her fingers gently, her face set in lines of sympathy. “I won’t push, because you don’t know me well enough yet, but I’d like you to answer me one question honestly. Does Atticus know?”
Kindness smashed the weakened locks on the vault for a second, painful time. She hadn’t known enough of it in her young years to learn how to deal with the notion that someone cared. “Atticus knows my father raped me.”
Alicia’s only experience with a truly furious woman came from her mother. Diane had been in possession of a lethal temper, capable of tearing through walls and gutting people with a knife. That kind of violence—from both her parents—was a deep-seated wound that would never heal.
From what Alicia had heard, that temper had been instrumental in ending her sister’s dreams of dancing.
She was faced with it now, looking into dark brown eyes that brimmed with violent rage, in a hard face that no longer resembled the sweet, compassionate one she was starting to associate with Anarchy. The woman’s hand slipped off Alicia’s, then fisted tight enough to pop the knuckles with white.
Anarchy shot out of bed, dressed in a pair of pink boxer shorts with monkeys holding bananas printed on them, and a lighter pink camisole. Her small body vibrated with an unsettling energy as she paced quickly, seething with every step. “How old were you?”
“F-Fifteen.”
The growl she emitted was nothing like the sound Atticus made. It didn’t make her wet between the legs. It was the noise a lioness used to scare off a predator trying to steal her cubs. “Fucking pedophiles,” she snapped between clenched teeth. “Your father and Jasper’s would have been best fucking friends. Dickless pricks, the pair of them.” She jabbed a finger at Alicia. “You did your father a favor he didn’t deserve by shooting him. Too fucking easy a death for him.”
Alicia shrank back into the pillows. “I did?”
“He’d have wished he’d been born a girl by the time Atticus was done with him. Fuck that, he’d have been praying to go back to the day he was born and crawl back inside his mother’s womb, never to come out again.” She stopped pacing, breathing hard and visibly fighting to calm herself. “Sorry. I’m working through some issues right now, and this set me off. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Were you…” Lisha trailed off, unable to ask something so personal.
“Raped? No, sweetheart. I’m fortunate that I’ve never been in that position, but there are people close to me who understand that level of pain.” Exhaling slowly, Archie ran her hands through her hair and yanked hard. “Okay, I’m good. Atticus is aware of it, which means he has a plan.”
“A plan for what?”
“Doing his damnedest to do what Atticus does, of course.” Evidently, Anarchy had shaken off the murderous rage as she nearly skipped back to the bed and dived in. “I’m not a little, but he’s the essence of a Daddy. Daddies make everything better.”
Well, Atticus was pretty good at that. Simply cuddling into him let the world fall away when she needed to feel free. His scent was a calmer, soothing ragged edges when anxiety nibbled at her nervous system like rats. And his voice…his voice was an anchor that kept her from sliding away into the deep, dark chasm filled with the black fog.
“What we need is a damned good girlie day with some sex talk thrown in. Connie’s the sex queen in Avalon, and she’ll explain stuff in a way that won’t send you spiraling down the rabbit hole into panic.”
“I d-don’t think I want to know…”
“Oh, sweetheart, yeah, you do. Right now, you have memories of what that asshat did to you, and expectations of what Atticus will do. My assurances won’t make a dent in those fears because you don’t know me well enough to trust me—but you do trust Connie. By the time we’re done, you’ll be jumping Atticus’ bones.”
Oh God, she’d unleashed a sex bunny. Alicia wasn’t sure how to respond to the gleam of delight in Anarchy’s eyes. “Listen, Anarchy—”
“Please, none of that Anarchy crap. Just about everyone calls me Archie.”
“Oh. Okay, I guess…um, Archie, I think jumping bones is a bit ambitious.” It hadn’t been, she reminded herself, up until she remembered how much it fucking hurt. Telling herself she was prepared for the pain and feeling that pain were opposite sides of the scale.
“Do you want to have sex with Atticus?” Archie asked bluntly.
One slow nod.
“Then it’s not too ambitious. Let me call Connie and get this ball on the move. You’re going to have fun, Alicia, I promise.” Grinning, Anarchy reached for her cell phone on the bedside table. “Buckle up, buttercup.”
Oh, fuck.
*
Everyone was in position by five a.m.
Two hours after leaving his princess asleep, Atticus was in full mercenary mode. Six blocks away, two of his tech guys were posing as cable guys checking wiring while their colleagues hunkered down in the van with the remote surveillance gear.
The Alpha team’s black panel van was parked two blocks away, outside a derelict house on the edge of the warehouse district. Patrick had taken it for a drive around the night before, getting the vehicle good and dusty so it didn’t stand out quite as much, and obscuring the license plate.
Already, the tech guys had confirmed that the warehouse was empty. No heat signatures, no movement on the satellite images, nothing at all to suggest Fable’s crew was in the vicinity.
“This feel odd to you?” Jasper murmured, a black beanie pulled down over his shock of white-blond hair. His eyes scanned their surroundings constantly, looking for any sign of movement.
“This is an odd place.” Atticus wasn’t keen on abandoned buildings. Ghosts lurked in the corners, and he, of all people, knew that not every ghost was friendly. He had several of his own that were distinctly vindictive. “Got a bad feeling, J?”
“Not bad, just…off. Something doesn’t feel quite right.”
Unfortunately, Atticus felt it too, a vague itch that he didn’t trust. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, aware that their advantage was ticking past, second by second. The Alpha team was waiting, poised to move the second he gave the command, but they maintained radio silence as directed.
“If I were a crazy psychopath intent on dominating not one city but two, by taking over various criminal elements, would I be stupid enough to give someone a whole two days’ notice to get the jump on me?” Atticus murmured, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Or would I be smart enough to know that I could take out an entire security force in one fell swoop and leave the thing I want most unprotected?”
Jasper glanced at him. “You think they set us up once to set us up again?”
“Crazy bitch was banking on me doing this. Even if Alicia wasn’t mine, Fable has to know the Heisler reputation for protecting those who need it, and going the extra mile to succeed. Goddamn it.” He’d gone into this with his emotions in full control, he realized. Lisha’s life had been threatened, so he responded as her Daddy, not her guardian.
“It happens to
the best of us, Att. Look at the fuck-ups I made with Anarchy.”
“I don’t fuck up, J. I pride myself on that fact.” He touched the bud in his ear. “Alpha, do you read me?”
There was the faintest click. “Alpha reading clear. Are we green?”
“No. Stand down. Wait for further orders.”
“Got it. Standing down.”
“We’re calling it off?” Jasper asked, clearly unsurprised.
“I’m testing a theory. Give me a couple of those smoke canisters, would you?” Atticus opened his door and slipped out, adjusting the thin black body armor he wore over his shirt. Lighter and more flexible than the original Kevlar jackets his team used to use, the vest had proved to be worth more than the thousands of dollars it cost to buy. “Stay here. If anything kicks off, you don’t come to the rescue. Get the fuck out of here, meet up with the team, and do recon.”
“Planning on smoking out a rat?”
He picked up two canisters. “Nope. Finding out what boobytraps the crazy bitch has left us. If this goes wrong, you tell Alicia I love her, and you make sure Braun takes her in. No excuses, Jasper. He takes her in and looks after her. No more shuffling her around, making her feel like she’s not wanted, not loved.”
“Shut the fuck up. Tell her you love her yourself, asshole.”
Giving his friend a pointed look, Atticus shut the door quietly and slipped around the back of the van. Like one of his ghosts, he hunted the shadows, using old pallets and shipping crates dumped haphazardly around the abandoned parking lot as cover. He tugged his own cap lower, hoping that and the tactical paint on his face would serve their purpose.
Several windows of the dilapidated building were smashed. The main door was on tracks, designed to slide open. Instead of using it, opening it a few inches and tossing in one of the canisters, Atticus opted to use the gaping holes.
Tugging the pin loose on the first canister, he lobbed it through the window nearest to him, hearing it clunk on the concrete floor inside. A few moments later, he heard the hiss as it detonated, filling the place with smoke. But nothing happened.
No shots were fired from the shadows dawn created. There were no obvious signals from the enemy, not that he believed there were any in the vicinity. He did spot the glint of a CCTV camera at the edge of the building next door, and gave it a friendly little wave.
Why not? Crazy cunt already knew he was there.
He’d put money on it.
Atticus popped the pin on the second canister and threw it through a different window, ten feet from the first. Another clunk, another hiss, and…nothing.
If the itch in his bones was right, Fable had done something to the building. She had to have rigged something to catch them out. His guess was the door, or a trip wire inside the empty space.
There was no reason to taunt death by touching anything else, he decided. His team wouldn’t be going inside, and Fable wouldn’t be taking blood from anyone under his care. He’d just have to—
As Atticus took a step back to return to the van, he heard a long, high-pitched whine. So high, he was sure it was designed to not be heard. His stomach sank into his feet as he spun around and bolted like an Olympic sprinter off the mark, gesturing to Jasper to get down.
One hundred feet away from the building, the van almost within reach, he felt the explosion ripple under his feet. A second later, a wall of fucking heat hit him in the back and scooped him up, tossing him effortlessly to the ground as the blast echoed in the early morning and fiery debris rained down around him.
Momentum rolled him a good twenty feet.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groaned, unable to think with the ringing in his ears. His arm came up, covering his face as part of the warehouse siding whistled past like a goddamn blazing comet, missing him by inches.
Chunks of bricks and flaming wood crashed into the ground, smashed into the pallets and crates, setting them on fire. The building itself was pretty much gone, blown apart, with the skeletal remains burning in an inferno.
“Gotta go, Att.” Jasper was right beside him, slinging his arm under Atticus’ and hefting him up, with as much help as he could offer. “That was too fucking close for comfort.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Probably blew your fucking eardrums out.” Half dragging him to the van, Jasper cursed. “I think she just fired a warning shot over our bow, Atticus.”
Eyes watering, Atticus caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head. Was he imagining things, or was there a purple gremlin dancing out of the flames? He shrugged off Jasper’s arm and turned, coughing as the thick smoke from the fire drifted on the still air. “Do you see her?”
“See who? Well, fuck,” Jasper drawled.
The gremlin was almost pretty. Almost. The psychotic glee in her eyes spoiled any sense of prettiness. She pranced toward them, skipping around the debris of the explosion, and stopped a few feet away.
Five-eight, blue eyes, purple spiky hair. Slender build, muscled. Early twenties.
Atticus logged every detail down to the offensive tattoos on her arms and neck as he swayed in place. Someone had taken a wrong turn in life, he thought.
“Good morning, gentlemen. It’s going to be a hot one today.” Smooth voice, slightly husky, with a deadly edge. “Forgive me for the theatrics. We spent all day yesterday rigging this bitch, and when you turned around without opening my present, I thought I’d give it to you anyway.”
“Fable,” Atticus managed to say without choking on the smoke.
“Oh, my reputation precedes me. I do love when that happens. Soon, it will be a common occurrence, along with the sense of fear my name brings. You have been a very naughty boy, Mr. Heisler. Holding my Jakub prisoner after he was kind enough to deliver my message.” She wagged a finger, apparently oblivious to the living hell she’d created. “He paid a dear price for not coming home last night.”
“I’m sure he deserved it.”
“He was loyal,” she snapped. “That’s why I only cut off his balls before I shot him. If he’d betrayed me, I’d have made him eat his cock before feeding the rest of him to my puppies. They’re hungry,” she said with a pout. “Not enough bodies to feed them all.”
Sweet baby Jesus, she was actually insane. “What do you want?”
“I think you know exactly who I want. Jakub told you that. But, just in case that explosion knocked essential details from your thick head, I’ll remind you. Do not reach for a weapon,” she snarled at Jasper as his hand slid toward the small of his back. “I blew that bitch to hell, but I have another warehouse full of my followers just a couple of doors down. One word from me,” she tapped a finger on her chest, “and they’ll mow you down in a hail of bullets before you can pull the trigger. Wired for sound, idiot.”
Jasper dropped his arm.
“Smart move. Now, I want a certain bald murdering whore. Rolls around in a wheelchair, seems to be a pathetic piece of shit incapable of taking care of herself. Elliot had a lot of fun with her over the past few weeks until you fucked it all up.” Fable sniffed dismissively. “Did she tell you he made her cry? He sent me some detailed reports. I made myself come every night, thinking of his fingers hammering inside that dry cunt while she cried like a little bitch. Gave me some ideas for when I get my hands on her.”
Atticus’s shoulders snapped straight. He calculated the distance between them, his physical state, and whether he could get his hands around that slim neck. Strangle or snap, he didn’t care. He coughed again, feeling his chest grow tight as the smoke grew thicker. “Never going to happen. What the fuck did she do to you?”
Somewhere in the distance, sirens were stirring into life.
“Don’t be stupid. That fucking whore was sleeping with my Abraham. Refused to put out that virgin pussy for his customers, so he taught her a lesson. Then he became addicted to it, to that, and she put a bullet in him. Killed the man I loved, killed my ticket to a happy life. I want her fucking dead.”
<
br /> Oh, good God. This was what the vendetta was about? The psycho had been having an affair with Abraham, and she was pissed?
“This is what you’re going to do. Go home, put the bitch in your truck and drive her to the hospital where your men picked up Koda. Yeah, I know about that. He’ll pay, too.” Her head cocked. “Leave her there and walk away. You have until noon, or I’ll repeat the pyrotechnics with your house, to start. Every building you own will be ash in the wind. The people you love will die screaming and—”
Blood spurted from her temple before she could finish the sentence.
Atticus watched, stunned, as the manic glee and rage in her eyes was snuffed out as though someone had flipped a switch…or put a bullet in her brain. In what felt like slow motion, she crumpled to the ground with smoke swirling around her, sprawling inelegantly on the dirty ground amongst burning debris and hot ash.
It took seconds for a pool of blood to form beneath her head.
He hadn’t even heard the shot.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” Jasper demanded, flattening himself against the side of the van and scouring every building in the vicinity.
The heat and smoke was a killer. Even outside, the smoke was becoming inescapable with no breeze to stir it away. The sirens were a little louder now, muffled by the damn stuff, but Atticus walked over to the body and crouched. With a fingertip, he rolled Fable’s head to the right and studied the entry wound, then to the left.
The exit wound was not nearly as neat, blowing out a good chunk of her face.
“We need to move, Att, now. Police and fire crews will be on their way, and we do not want to be standing here with a dead body.” A short fit of coughing signaled Jasper’s own struggles to breathe. “Not to mention someone just took an impossible shot and struck gold. If they can hit her, they can do the same to you.”
Att was less worried by that than he was by the shouting echoing through the smoke. Someone had done him a favor, intentionally or not, but what can of worms had been ripped open in the process? He had to consider the ramifications of Fable’s death—his plan had been to wipe out the faction, not leave a horde of vengeful assholes in his wake.
Walk For Me: Club Avalon Book 4 Page 34
