by Rose Wulf
“I think I just answered that,” Eric replied. “But I’m in a good mood. I’ll tell you where he is. If you hurry, maybe you can still save him.”
****
The cold pillow beneath Dean’s face roused him from a deep, disturbingly comfortable sleep. His entire body was unusually relaxed. Gathering the motivation to roll onto his back seemed like too much work. He hadn’t just woken from a normal night’s sleep. That had been a healing sleep. It was a sensation he’d been all too familiar with for the vast majority of his childhood. And, like always, it was hard to chase the remnants of the healing-fog from his mind. So he worked on piecing together the details he could, hoping to jog his memory.
Sunlight flooded the room. His childhood room, of course, because no one ever took him home to heal him. But sunlight meant daytime, which probably meant he’d missed work. He was pretty sure it hadn’t been daytime the last time he’d been conscious. It had been night—or at least evening. He’d been outside.
Eric. The little bastard had taken advantage of his distraction, snuck up on him, and goaded him into acting like an idiot. It was all clear now. He almost wished it wasn’t.
But how did I end up here? That was the one answer still eluding him. Eric had fried him. There was no denying it. Dean remembered the kid’s hands landing on his chest a moment before his body felt like it had erupted within itself. He even vaguely remembered Eric laughing over him. So how the hell had he gone from being at Eric’s mercy, unconscious and isolated, to properly healed and resting in his parents’ house? He hadn’t thought to call anyone first, and no one had been expecting him before morning. No one should have been looking for him.
Knowing he wouldn’t get the answer if he continued lying in bed, Dean rolled to his feet. His muscles were faintly stiff, indicating he’d been asleep for a while, but that didn’t surprise him. He’d been thoroughly electrocuted. He was lucky to have survived at all.
And with every step he took, as his mind rose to full consciousness, the more he felt like an absolute moron. He really was lucky to be alive. By rights, even if Angela had been only fifteen minutes out, he should have died. The only real explanation—which lacked all sorts of logic—was that Eric let him live. Why the hell would he do that?
He wasn’t any closer to a sensible, satisfying answer by the time he descended the staircase nearest the living room. Low voices drifted down the hall, assuring him the house wasn’t empty, and he followed them until he found himself in the entry to the living room. His mother and father were sitting on the loveseat, talking with Logan and Angela. No one noticed him immediately, so he let himself lean against the doorframe and asked, “What’s a guy gotta do around here for some food?”
Four heads swiveled over to him, their conversation immediately dying. Lillian pushed to her feet and crossed over to him, pulling him into a hug as she said, “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Guilt returned, churning in his empty stomach, and Dean returned his mother’s hug for several seconds. “Sorry,” he offered.
“What are you in the mood for?” Christopher asked, standing now just a few feet behind Lillian and parallel with the opening to the kitchen. His words were light and his smile was small, but the relief was nearly as visible in his eyes as it was in Lillian’s embrace.
Turning to face Christopher, Lillian said, “Let’s just start dinner a little early. I’m sure he’s famished.”
“Dinner?” Dean repeated, eyebrows lifting high on his forehead. Shit, did I lose the whole day?
“It’s after four,” Angela declared as she and Logan stood as well.
Dean cringed, but it was Logan who spoke next. “How are you feeling?”
Shrugging helplessly, Dean replied, “Hungry … and stupid.” He paused, hating to have to bring up the question that was nagging at him, and finally asked, “How’d you find me?”
The hesitation in the air couldn’t have been more obvious and for a long second no one seemed to want to look at him. Before he could ask about that, though, Angela finally answered him. “Eric called me.” Her tone was short, her jaw tight, and she held his gaze for another long second with narrowed eyes before spinning and stomping to the sliding glass door.
Dean stared after her, caught off-guard by her anger. He couldn’t dwell on it, though, because then her actual answer slammed into him. Eyes widening, he looked to his brother and asked, “Eric called her?”
Logan inclined his head, expression somber. “With your phone,” he added.
Shaking his head, Dean replied, “That doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” Lillian agreed on a heavy sigh as she turned and made her way to her preferred chair. “It only makes sense if they have something … worse planned for you.”
Dean and Logan exchanged another look. They both heard the tired, pained exasperation in her voice. The longer this battle went on, the longer she was forced to relive the deaths of her own brothers. After what had happened to Dean the night before, she was surely worried her brothers wouldn’t be the only relatives she lost to their enemies. He felt terrible for putting her through that emotional agony—for putting any of his family through it. Not knowing what else to say, Dean grumbled, “Well … that doesn’t sound fun.”
Logan gave Dean a look that made him glad he was standing well outside of his brother’s reach before asking, “What were you doing out there last night?”
Dean stayed silent for a long second. He hated having to admit what he’d been doing, but at the same time he owed it to his family to be honest. “I was … thinking,” he hedged, shifting his weight again to let himself lean against the wall. “I needed to clear my head. I thought the fresh air would help.”
Logan inclined his head, but Lillian said, “Dean, you should have checked in with someone. You know we’re being hunted.”
“I know,” he admitted, looking away. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t so sure adding that he hadn’t actually intended to go out there until he was putting the car in park would be a good idea, so he bit the defense back. Then he looked up at Logan and asked, “What happened to my car?”
“It’s in the driveway,” Logan assured him. “Nate picked it up.”
Dean nodded, accepting the answer, and silence filled the room. He suspected he wasn’t the only one who didn’t fully know what to say. He certainly knew he’d been an idiot in about a half dozen different ways, and just when he began to wonder if that had something to do with Angela’s latest frustration, Lillian was speaking again.
“Have you heard from Arianna?” Lillian asked gently, obviously seeking to change the subject. She had no idea Arianna was the very subject that had landed him out in the forest in the first place.
Swallowing, Dean shook his head. “Not since she checked in to her hotel. I think she’s worried about international charges or something.” Although, he supposed, that was certainly something he could have missed while he’d been out of it. He’d barely even entertained the idea before he was patting his pockets in search of his cell phone. He found it, in the wrong side pocket. It was surprisingly undamaged, but the only missed messages he had were from work. Disappointment swirled, briefly, in his gut as he dropped the phone into the appropriate pocket. I hope she’s all right.
“Where’s Angela?” Christopher asked as he stepped back into the room.
“She went outside,” Logan supplied, gesturing toward the patio doors as he reclaimed his earlier seat.
Biting back a sigh, Dean pushed off the wall and said, “I’ll talk to her.” It was him she was mad at, anyway. And it was time they settled whatever it was she was really mad about. He was tired of her constant anger. Tired of fighting with her. Tired of being afraid of saying the wrong thing.
No one argued or tried to stop him. He figured he probably wasn’t the only one who saw it his way.
Angela was sitting on Logan’s favorite rock—the same one Dean had used for his impromptu message—with her back to the house. She looked for all the w
orld like an angry, pouting teenager.
Taking a deep, hopefully-steadying breath, Dean jogged down the steps from the deck and made his way across the yard. He was sure this would get messier before it got better. He was just hoping they’d be able to muddle through before dinner. Or at least before he went home that night.
“All right,” Dean began as he stepped up next to her, leaving a small distance between them, “let me hear it.”
“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” Angela returned stubbornly, keeping her gaze forward.
Of course you don’t. “We’re never gonna get over whatever this is if you don’t talk to me, Angie,” he tried, shifting so that his side was to the ocean view.
“You’re an idiot, Dean,” Angela grumbled, her frown deepening. She didn’t wait for him to respond, though, before propelling herself to her feet and facing him as she said, “If you can’t even figure out ‘whatever this is,’ then we’re never going to get better, anyway!”
Dean frowned and kept his tone calm. “Every time I think I’ve figured out why you’re mad at me, something new pops up and throws me off. Like this. Why are you mad at me for being attacked? Or do you think I asked him to call you?”
Angela tightened her fists at her sides and drew a shaky breath. “That’s just it, you idiot! It’s not something new, it’s the same thing, every time!”
“Doesn’t feel that way to me,” Dean stated calmly.
“That’s because you’re oblivious!” She’d thrown her arms up into the air with her declaration, but when she dropped them again she crossed them over her chest. Narrowing her eyes at him, she asked, “What were you doing out there?”
Doing his best to keep his easily-triggered temper in the back corner of his mind, Dean opted to ignore the oblivious comment and replied, “I was thinking. Trying to clear my head.”
Expression, and posture, unchanging, Angela pushed, “And did you let anyone know where you were going first?”
Eyes narrowing faintly, Dean said, “No.”
“Exactly!” Angela exclaimed, suddenly moving forward and poking his chest with her index finger. “That is exactly my point! You’re a damned hypocrite!”
Dean reared back, eyes wide until his scowl took over. “Excuse me? Now you’re upset because I’m a hypocrite? How do you figure that?”
“How is what you did any different than when I needed to clear my head on Thursday?”
So that was her angle. She was upset because he’d gone and done pretty much the same thing she’d done just a few days before. Something he’d been particularly infuriated over. In most cases, he supposed, she was probably right. But there were a couple of details she was conveniently forgetting. “You’re right,” he began, inclining his head, “we did a similar thing on different days.”
“Well, I’m glad you can acknowledge at least that much once it’s pointed out to you,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her tone as she stepped back again.
Narrowing his eyes, Dean continued, “But there are differences, Angie. I wasn’t ignoring my phone, for starters. But more importantly, there’s a difference between us.”
Angela’s eyes widened and her head reared back as if his very words had greatly offended her.
Dean didn’t wait for her to interrupt. He knew she wasn’t going to like his argument. “You’re the heir, Angie. If they get you, they win. I’m just some guy who can shoot fire from his fingertips. You’re the one they really want.” He knew she knew that, but it seemed like the longer this went on the more she chose to put it out of her mind.
It didn’t take a lot of effort to recognize the flare of anger in her eyes. She ground her teeth for a second before finally demanding, “So, what, you’re unimportant? Is that your argument? Because that’s a terrible argument. If you weren’t important to them, too, they wouldn’t have gone after you! They’ve been going after all of you, idiot! This isn’t just about me!”
“No,” Dean agreed, his own anger rising a little more to the surface. “It’s not all about you. This is about our family, dammit, and protecting our family means protecting you. So yeah, I’m a lousy hypocrite. Feel free to yell at me for it if that makes you feel better. And yeah, I should have checked in. You really want to get mad at me for doing what you did and being the one unlucky enough to reap the consequences? News flash, Angie—I’m glad it was me.”
Angela sucked in a breath and tears spilled over the edges of her eyes. “You’re an ass, Dean.” She spun on her heel, then, and bolted toward the house.
Dean stared after her, still feeling thoroughly confused. They’d certainly argued again, and he supposed he could understand her being upset at what he’d done, but the rest of it made no sense. What the hell is going on in her head? He and Angela had always been prone to arguments, but in the past that had always been attributable to his short temper—or her boyfriend. Now, though, it seemed so much worse. It was like she went off on him for every sound that came out of his mouth.
Every time they argued he became more and more concerned that this battle they were waging with the Matthewses was going to cost him his sister no matter how it ended.
Chapter Fourteen
Eric followed his older brother into the formal living room, glancing around in search of his bossy sister-in-law. “I’m surprised you got permission to let me through the front door,” he commented. He still couldn’t quite believe Jacob had allowed Sarah to throw both himself and their father out of the house a few weeks earlier. It was fortunate, at least, that their father’s house had been mostly ready to move into. But that didn’t mean he was anywhere near forgiving the woman—or his brother.
Jacob narrowed his eyes at him and gestured to the couch. “You’re allowed to visit, Eric. But not if you aren’t careful with your words. Now sit. We need to talk.”
“Gee thanks, Jacob,” Eric returned as he collapsed onto the couch. “That was the warmest, most inviting offer I’ve ever heard.”
“If you don’t want to be included in our plan, feel free to leave,” Jacob shot back as he settled into his armchair. “I’d be happy to tell Father you’ve lost interest.”
Glaring angrily at his brother, Eric replied, “Shove it, jackass. What’s going on with this plan?” More importantly, why wasn’t he being more included in the planning process? Jacob was the one who’d failed to choose the right side when Sarah had thrown them out. Jacob was the one who’d screwed up their revenge. But he knew better than to voice his questions, at least at this point, so he bit his tongue and waited impatiently for an answer.
Jacob settled back, one leg crossed over the other, and his voice was casual as he said, “We want revenge for Emma’s death, right?”
“Damned right,” Eric confirmed with narrowed eyes and a sharp nod. Some days it felt like he was the only one still upset over their sister’s loss. It was nice to hear Jacob at least remembered how they were supposed to feel.
Ignoring Eric’s interruption, Jacob continued, “Killing Logan would have felt good, but perhaps we’ve been coming at this from the wrong angle. Logan took our sister away from us. Shouldn’t we take a sibling away from him?”
Scoffing in frustration, Eric shot forward and threw his arms up as he exclaimed, “What sort of plan is that? It’s always been the goal to kill Angela!”
Narrowing his eyes at Eric, Jacob said, “If you’d let me finish, I’ll explain.”
Eric ground his teeth, but obliged his brother and settled back into the couch. This had better be worth it.
“Of course our ultimate goal is to get rid of Angela,” Jacob agreed plainly. “But they’ve likely reached that conclusion. You notice they’re far more aware of the danger surrounding her than they are of the danger surrounding themselves.”
“Get to it, Jacob,” Eric snapped. He didn’t need to be told this. Hell, he’d been doing most of the spying lately! Not to mention the agonizing months of insight he’d gotten while dating Angela.
Jacob’s glare returne
d, but his voice was as calm as ever. “It’s time they felt some of our agony. Now that we know Arianna’s in Italy, we won’t need to spy to know where an easy target will be this weekend.”
Eric’s head tilted to the side as he considered Jacob’s point. He’d heard about the information Jacob had found while raiding Dean’s apartment during the night. Jacob had discovered a travel itinerary, secured to Dean’s refrigerator by a magnet. Hand-delivering them not only the reason Arianna had disappeared, but the exact date and time she would be returning. And since her precious Mustang was still being put back together at Denny’s, Dean was the obvious choice for who would be retrieving her from the airport. That was a long stretch of road. They’d be easy pickings.
“So you’re suggesting,” Eric began, thinking as he spoke, “we take out Dean and his girlfriend as our revenge?”
Jacob inclined his head. “The Hawkes are big on guilt, so Arianna’s death would weigh on their collective conscience by itself. But they’re not used to losing one of their own. Dean’s death would severely upset their perfect little circle. They would get angry, and sloppy, and in the process become much easier for us to target.” He paused, lips lifting in a faint smirk. “The best revenge, from my perspective, would be to let Logan live. Let him be the sole survivor.”
“Let him live?” Eric repeated incredulously. “He killed Emma!”
“Yes,” Jacob said, inclining his head as his expression returned to normal. “So we should kill his siblings, not him. He should suffer for a long while, not just a handful of seconds.”
Eric opened his mouth, angered at the idea of letting the murderer live, but before he could voice his anger, Jacob’s point finally sank in. He sat back, mouth closing, and mulled the idea over for a long minute. Even since before Emma had died, while they’d been stuck watching her suffer, he’d wanted Logan’s head on a platter. He wanted Logan to hurt like Emma had hurt—like he was hurting. But Jacob’s argument was making him realize he couldn’t have both. Emma’s pain had, at least, ended. His was ongoing. And Jacob was right. Logan should suffer as much as possible. A day shouldn’t go by when he didn’t feel the pain of such a deep, personal loss. When he didn’t remember it was his fault he had to live with that pain.