No Peace for the Damned (4 page)

Unfortunately, the Network’s southwest headquarters were
not
downtown. Not even close.

I followed Thirteen’s car nearly fifteen miles before turning off the highway. The occasional cookie-cutter neighborhood sprouted up to separate one long cornfield from the next, but that was it. Eventually we were so far out that the faded green street signs no longer posted street names, only county grid numbers. We turned from E 450 to S 900, and then onto a road that didn’t even have a number to post.

Masses of spindly weeds covered the uncultivated land. Thirteen’s car turned sharply.
Crap! Was he driving into that field?
Then I saw the imprinted path. Tractors might have ridden on the trail just fine, but there was no way my week-old BMW was going to survive this. The steering wheel jerked as I dipped into the field.
Shit!

The trail disappeared into the cover of woods at the edge of the field. From the jerks of the tires I figured we were on gravel now. Off in the distance, between the thinning trees, I caught the gleam of white siding.

The gravel trail snaked past a thick grouping of fir trees, and I could make out a clearing up ahead. Thin grass stretched in a nice open yard before the small home in the distance. It looked pleasant. Quaint.

I imagined driving up to my family’s estate. Past the guards and the glowing stone wall, the main house would shine with its golden bricks and enormous windows. The home was stunning. Just thinking about it made my stomach roll.

I parked in the grass next to Thirteen’s SUV and watched as he and Banks walked toward the front porch. I turned off the engine but didn’t move. Up close, I could see that the chipped clay roof tiles had run and stained the worn siding. Someone, probably Thirteen, had put a pot of perennials on the cement steps leading up to the wraparound porch, no doubt trying to make it more welcoming.

It wasn’t much at all. But it was mine.

Shane had been the one to donate the old farmhouse to the Network, as well as the nearly three hundred acres surrounding it. It had been left to him a couple of years ago, after his parents died. I knew from Thirteen that it was just one of several private donations that helped keep the Network staffed and operational over the years.

I peeled myself from the car and hauled out my black backpack from the backseat. I threw the bag over my shoulder and walked the broken stone path around to the front of the house.

Banks winked at me as he held open the metal screen door. I stepped past him into the tight entryway. A large great room ran the length of the house to my left, furnished with a couple of tattered, oversized couches and several worn ottomans. The far end of the great room opened into the kitchen, complete with yellow flowered wallpaper and cobwebs that had been there since disco. A thick wooden table was centered in the small room, making it nearly impossible to walk through. Off the kitchen, a narrow corridor led to the only bedroom in the house. A tiny full bathroom, a back door to the rear acres, and a narrow stair to the second story loft completed the home. There was no basement.

I looked out the tiny window over the kitchen sink. The sun shone brightly in my eyes until I had to turn away. Curtains. After I doused the whole place in bleach, I’d have to get new curtains for the little window. And maybe some for the windows in the great room, too. Nice curtains. Yellow ones. And maybe a throw pillow. Nothing with fringe and tassels like the ones on every freaking sofa at the estate. But cute ones. With flowers. Slowly, I felt a smile tug at my lips. Wonder if the bedroom needed curtains too?

Thirteen and Banks talked quietly in the kitchen while I explored.

“…should have the rest of the report by next week. I want you on the call when it arrives so we can make a decision and get everyone moving as quickly as possible. Assuming, of course, it gives us information to move on. I just hope it’s not too late.”

I walked back to the kitchen, and Thirteen turned to me and smiled. “Not a lot to it, but it’s safe and it’s yours.”

“For now,” Banks added with a sideways glance at Thirteen.

I took the key from Thirteen. “Who else has a key?”

He thought about that a minute. “Jon and Theo each have one. They’ve met informants here in the past.”

“Do you have a key?” I asked Banks pointedly.

He narrowed his gaze but said nothing.

Thirteen said, “If you have a key, please give it to her. This is her home now. It would be an invasion of privacy for anyone else to have unfettered access.”

Without taking his eyes from me, Banks reached into his back pocket and pulled out a large circle key ring with more keys than I could count.
How in the hell did he ever sit comfortably with a wad of metal like that in his back pocket?

He moved his fingers swiftly, counting off the keys until he found the right one, then unwound it from the ring.

“Someone else should have a key. A backup,” he growled, and slapped the key to my palm. Then he tromped loudly down the corridor from the kitchen and out the back door. The door slammed shut, shaking the cabinet doors.

“If he’d just said he was keeping his key as a backup I would have understood,” I admitted to Thirteen. Wouldn’t have stopped me from making him hand it over, but I’d have understood his reasoning. “But what the hell was that all about?”

Thirteen’s eyes were still on the back door. “With Network members missing, Banks is worried for me, that’s all.”

But there was more he wasn’t saying, and I’d been trying to be less intrusive with Banks and Thirteen in the last couple of weeks. Maybe I needed to rethink that approach.

“I’ll try to arrive a little early tomorrow evening. The others were shaken this afternoon, but I know they’ll have recovered and be full of questions by the time we meet again. Also, I wanted you to have a bit of time here by yourself. Get to know the place. Get as comfortable as possible before we really begin. Did you see the security monitors in the back?”

“Yeah, I saw them.”

“Good. I know I haven’t given you a lot of time to get things the way you like, but hopefully it will be enough.”

Thirteen looked down at me then, and his face softened. His daughter flashed in his mind. A decade younger than me, she’d only been twelve when Thirteen’s enemies had killed her to get to him. It always made my chest swell with emotion whenever he looked at me and saw her.

“I know the place isn’t much,” he said finally, “but it is, for all practical purposes, yours.”

I could be suspicious of everyone else, but Thirteen’s motivations rang true for me. He wanted me to feel what the freedom of living here meant. To spread my wings and enjoy my first real taste of independence.

Eighteen seconds. That’s how long it took to walk from the front door to the back door of my farmhouse, hitting every room on the way. It had once taken me more than twelve minutes to go from one end of the estate’s main house to the other.

I sat at the kitchen table and looked around. The sun was finally setting and shadows were growing longer. I liked that. For so long, I’d lived in the shadows. Or at least tried to.

The far corner of the estate’s navy guest room had always had the best shadow. No one had ever thought to look for me there because it was basically out in the open. No furniture or draperies to hide behind—just darkness. That’s what made it perfect.

I took a long, slow swallow of whiskey and shut my eyes.

I was back in that room, hearing the footsteps tiptoeing down the hall, trying to sneak up on me. I knew they’d be coming. Their thoughts always gave them away
.

I rolled out of the bed and silently moved into the dark corner. I slept in a different guest room every night, but they always found me. They were outside the door now. Malcolm and Markus. At least it wasn’t Father again. My ribs still ached after his little session with me the night before. He didn’t let the boys watch because it disgusted him to see how they reacted to me now that I was a teenager. But by keeping them away last night, he had guaranteed a visit this morning
.

The door creaked open and light from the hallway spilled in behind them, keeping their faces dark
.

“Do you see her?” Markus whispered
.

“Shut up!” Malcolm hissed, then tried to shut the door. Markus pushed past him until he was all the way in the room. Malcolm growled
.

I stood statue-still, not even breathing. Their matching blue eyes strained as they searched the room. Markus was growing his brown hair long, but it still wasn’t to the length of Malcolm’s dark blond. He didn’t have Malcolm’s bulk yet either, but it didn’t matter
.

Their senses weren’t as good as mine. They could turn on the lights or open the drapes and find me standing there, but the search was part of the thrill. At least for Malcolm
.

“She’s not in here,” Markus said. Then he picked up a silver letter opener from the desk next to the door. He examined it for a minute then slipped it in his pocket. Damn it. I hadn’t seen it there. Now he was armed
.

“Oh, she’s here all right,” Malcolm purred, then he called out in a deep, sing-song voice, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Markus chuckled, but it was more nervousness than amusement. Markus was scared of me. He was scared of everyone
.

Malcolm snuck around the side of the bed. I would have made a run for it except Markus was still by the door. He wasn’t as powerful and certainly wasn’t as into this game as Malcolm, but he’d try to take me down if I got too close
.

Malcolm leaned back on the bed but kept one foot on the floor. “How about this,” he said as he fluffed the pillows behind his head. “I’ll give you to the count of three. If you don’t show yourself, we’ll turn on the light. Not even you can hide from the light.”

Actually, I could. I could go completely invisible now. But for some reason, I didn’t want anyone to know that yet. And Malcolm’s game wasn’t enough of a threat to give away my new secret
.

“One…two…last chance…”

I didn’t move
.

“Three.”

Markus flipped on the light and I squinted into the sudden glare. My eyes had barely adjusted and Malcolm was there. His body slammed me against the wall. His hands immediately went to my chest, his mouth to my neck. He sucked in the skin between his teeth and squeezed at my breasts hard enough that I cried out. The next moment he was flying backward. He slammed against the armoire on the far side of the room, breaking it with a loud crack
.

I crouched and turned to Markus. His eyes were wide, the letter opener clutched so tight in his hand his knuckles were white. I didn’t wait for his attack. I sent him backward so hard and fast that when he hit the door it broke from its hinges
.

Then Malcolm was back, looming over me. He stood just far enough away that I couldn’t reach him without stepping closer. His power bit along my skin, reminding me how much stronger he was becoming. I wouldn’t be able to fling him across the room again. His eyes were dark and his thoughts swirled with images of what he wanted to do to me. He smiled and wiped the blood trickling from his mouth with a piece of cloth. A piece of my shirt. I suddenly felt the sting of scratches across my chest where he had clung to my nightshirt when I sent him flying. Shit. This was all foreplay to him
.

Suddenly the bedroom door shattered. We both jumped. I shielded myself from the debris then was instantly pinned against the wall by an invisible force. From the corner of my eye, I could see Malcolm facing the door, standing at attention
.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Father roared from the bedroom door. He came into the room, stepping over Markus as if he were a stain on the floor. A frustrated glint twinkled in Malcolm’s eye. He wouldn’t get to finish his game, but at least I’d be punished for his fun
.

I closed my eyes as Father moved across the room. A slap against Malcolm’s face made me flinch. Then his hot breath was on me. The muscles around my ribcage clenched as if they knew they’d never get the chance to heal before being broken again
.

“Looking for attention again, Magnolia?” he hissed, spittle hitting my cheek as he spoke. “Well, I can give you all the attention you need.”

I shook myself back into the farmhouse’s kitchen. My pulse slowed and I took another drink. Thirteen had wanted me to have freedom here, but until this moment, I hadn’t really known what that meant. He didn’t want me running all over town by myself—he was still too worried about my safety for that—but he wanted me to feel the freedom of not being on guard every minute of every day.

Those people from the meeting today didn’t think like my brothers. I realized now that I had expected them to. In their thoughts I hadn’t found any of the malice or deep hatred that coated Malcolm’s mind. Or the fear and anger that haunted Markus. Instead, their thoughts were like Thirteen’s—intelligent, aggressive, concerned.

I remembered the way Chang had nearly passed out at the sight of me. And the way Theo had looked at me during our strange moment before I left. Even their lusty reactions to me weren’t as repulsive as my brothers’.