The Family Cross

by Gabrielle Ash

  People that shouldn’t exist. Like shadow walkers and telepaths. Magical people had lived right beneath my nose my whole life, and I never knew it because I refused to see it.

  “Circle Seven…” The name left my throat quiet. “Are you thinking they’re a customer of ours?”

  “I doubt it. It’s all underground. Hidden behind a hundred shell companies. I mean, I know some of the shells, but my old boss isn’t stupid enough to put roots down with an actual company.” Samson gave a cynical laugh. “All people had to do was call him up and say ‘Frank, I need one of your monsters.’ He’d find the best one for the job, give ’em a call, and that was it.”

  Frank. Frank and his monsters.

  “So what does this have to do with the room you shouldn’t have been given access to in the first place?” I held on tight to the door when Samson made a quick merge. The traffic in this city would send me into cardiac arrest one day. “If Circle Seven wouldn’t be a customer, then why does anything in that room matter?”

  “Because, Fancy Pants, it was filled with names. Names of rich people and their companies that are all fighting for space in the same market.” Samson weaved into another lane with a jerk of the wheel. I hugged myself, unsure I wanted to hear his answer. “It made me think of your contract differently.”

  “Care to share?”

  Samson turned into a public parking garage, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel as he drove up the levels.

  “Maybe someone isn’t trying to kill you over something you own or something you did.” Samson pressed the knuckles of his unoccupied hand to his lips, like he didn’t want to say what he was about to say.

  “Then what other reason is there?”

  With a loud, exaggerated sigh, Samson dropped his hand against the armrest of the door. “Maybe someone is trying to kill you simply because they’d benefit if you died.”

  Sixteen

  Lunch went by in a blur, and Samson slunk off to investigate some more afterward. Officially, he’d been hired to check the break areas for ants, but anyone who talked to him for longer than five seconds probably figured him for a fraud. It didn’t matter what they thought though. They wouldn’t say anything to him simply because he was with me.

  Samson’s investigating and the growing amount of emails collecting in my inbox didn’t reach me though. All I could think about was Samson’s new theory, and it followed me home and lurked around in my subconscious as I got ready for the dinner I didn’t want to go to. Richard’s offers to pick me up were easy to turn down because in the event of a scuffle, I’d rather have Samson at my side.

  Someone might want me dead for no specific reason at all. They might just need me to die because it would peripherally help their business. If an Ashby died, it would hurt our stocks. Big deaths like that always did. But wouldn’t killing Hudson or Gerard be more beneficial to them than killing me?

  While the visor in the car wasn’t the greatest thing for last-minute adjustments, I needed to busy my hands and clear my head. My hair had tangled up with my earrings and stuck in my mascara. I didn’t wear it down often simply because it was a nuisance, but the headache tearing away at the inside of my skull couldn’t handle an updo. Stress. So much stress.

  Hit men. Death. Circle Seven. Work. Richard Jones.

  “I can’t do this.” My hands were sweaty, and it took everything in me not to wipe them down the front of my dress. Samson had parked along the curb a block away from The Dove, and even though I could see warm lights flooding onto the pavement and smiling valets, everything screamed doom and gloom. “Let’s just go see that Vee woman.”

  Samson rolled his eyes before returning them to the ceiling of dark clouds hanging above us in puffy cushions. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but it would be soon, be it by rain or sunset. “Do you want to be stuck with this dude forever? Because if you keep this up, you will.”

  “No.” If I didn’t calm down, my heart would explode inside my chest and break clean through my sternum. “The only reason I went on a date with him in the first place was my father. I figured it would be fine and we’d break it off amicably right after. Richard had never shown interest, so I thought the date was something our fathers came up with.”

  I slumped against the seat and thought back to how Richard treated me at the benefit. How he purposefully made me feel stupid. I understood him not believing Popped Collar’s teeth were real—I’d tried talking myself out of it too. But he hadn’t even tried to console me. All he did was make me feel like a fool.

  “But he never broke it off, and I was too scared to do it. Now, after only three months, he’s going to propose to me.” The pressure in my head beat against my skull with every heartbeat. “Why am I such a doormat?”

  Samson pursed his lips and shrugged. “I don’t know. But you’re a doormat with a price on your head, so break up with him fast. We need to see Vee.”

  He was so unhelpful.

  “What if there’s a hit man in here waiting to murder me?” My question came out in a high-pitched whine.

  “Most people like me have abilities or bodies they can’t risk using in a room full of people. Like Cliff. He has to shift first.”

  “Uh—”

  “And Officer Douche couldn’t use his shadow-walking shit without drawing attention to himself. He had to wait until he got you alone.” Samson rolled back into the street, heading straight for the valet. “Frank’s whole business model falls apart if people start noticing his assassins aren’t normal. The second the real world finds out we exist, we lose. If Frank doesn’t kill us, the government will.”

  The second the real world finds out we exist, we lose.

  “That is our advantage.” Samson pulled the Mercedes over in front of the valet and unlocked the door.

  “Then why’d you leave Popped Collar in the alley to be found by police?”

  “Eh…I like a little chaos every now and then, and I don’t care if Circle Seven falls apart.” Everything had been absolute chaos since I met him in the coffee shop, so I didn’t doubt it for a second. “Stay in the restaurant. Don’t go anywhere else, not even the bathroom. I’ll be around.”

  “How?” The Dove had a strict dress code and served high-rolling clientele. Knew them all by name. There was no way he’d get inside, especially with his jeans and jacket.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get in there. Just go take care of business.”

  My door opened, and a wave of sticky heat rolled inside the Mercedes, revealing the lowered hand of a college-aged, starry-eyed valet trying to help me out of the car. He probably made more money in tips here than most college graduates did with their degrees.

  As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I looked over my shoulder at Samson again. Would he really be there? Would he find a way inside?

  The valet shut the car door and escorted me to the entrance of The Dove, careful to guide me around the potted plants and valet podium. My heart lodged itself in my esophagus, and I couldn’t do anything except put one foot in front of the other. The idea of having to break things off with Richard was hard enough to swallow, but the idea that danger could be lurking nearby made it so much worse.

  A burst of cold air enveloped my body when the valet opened the door, and the fear of what lay over the threshold started to fall away. Samson was right. I had to take care of business with Richard.

  As for the potential monsters, I’d just have to trust Samson. I didn’t have much of a choice.

  I’d only been to The Dove once, and it had been for one of my mother’s birthdays. It was so long ago I couldn’t remember what it looked like or how the food had been, but the thought that she’d been there and walked where I did settled my stomach. If my mother had the strength to tolerate my father for as long as she did, I could dump Richard.

  Richard already sat at a table: a small one sitting in the middle of the room and in the direct view of everyone in the restaurant. Great. We’d have an audience.

  “Matilda,” he
said with a smile. Perfect teeth in perfect rows. There were thousands of dollars’ worth of dental work in that mouth. Richard stood and pulled out my chair. A waiter came by almost immediately and poured a dark red into my wineglass.

  I sat in the chair and breathed in. I could do this. I could do this.

  “I already ordered for you,” Richard said as he dropped into his chair.

  “Oh.” My throat was so unbearably dry. “You shouldn’t have.”

  He really shouldn’t have. I hated that.

  I picked up my glass and took a sip, relishing in the bitter red more than I probably should have. This required a clear head, not a drunk.

  “My meeting with my father went well.” Richard smiled again—proud. It made what I was about to do worse, even though there were more qualified people that should’ve been promoted over him.

  “Richard—”

  “I got a director’s position.” He beamed, the smile reaching his eyes. “Set me up for the next step.”

  Next step?

  Movement in my peripheries pulled my attention away. Samson sat at a table along the wall. He raised an eyebrow, nodded toward me, and smirked.

  I narrowed my eyes. How in the world did he get in here?

  “As of this afternoon, it’s been made official. Signed the contract and met with HR.” Richard kept talking, but my attention was elsewhere.

  Samson had blood on his nose. Again. Was he sick or something? Telepaths got sick, didn’t they?

  “Matilda.” Richard’s voice pulled me back into the situation I desperately wanted to avoid. My empty wineglass couldn’t distract me anymore, so I had nothing else to turn to except the one pair of eyeballs I didn’t want to look at. Richard leaned forward a little, shoulder inches away from tipping over his own glass of wine. “This promotion changes everything.”

  “Does it?”

  He looked down at the table for a moment before turning his gaze back up. “It changes absolutely everything.”

  A waiter with a silver tray and a mustache brought out the first course. Lobster bisque. Not the best choice for someone allergic to shellfish. “Sir—”

  “Let the man go, Matilda. He’s got other tables.”

  At Richard’s words, the waiter scurried away, leaving me with a soup I couldn’t eat.

  Richard brought his spoon to his lips. Samson still sat at his table, waving around a croissant. He’d been trying to get my attention. He tapped his wrist, and even though he didn’t have a watch on, I got the message.

  “So what do you think?” Richard asked. If he noticed I wasn’t eating, he didn’t let it slow him down.

  “About?”

  He paused, spoon hovering in front of his mouth. “My promotion.”

  Oh. Right. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Good.” He smiled again and set his spoon down in the bowl. “You know, I planned on waiting until dessert, but I don’t want to.”

  No. God, no. No.

  Richard dug into the pocket of his suit jacket, mouth hanging open as he wrestled with the box I knew was inside. The sounds of the room dissolved into nothing as a baby-blue velvet box appeared in my line of sight. My eyes burned when the box turned into a ring. A princess-cut diamond bigger than my thumbnail.

  “Richard.” I stared at the ring. “I—”

  “It’s soon, I know. But we’ve known each other for a while.” He placed the box in front of my untouched lobster bisque. “Our families have been working together for decades. It’s time to bring them together.”

  Families. Time to bring together our families.

  I picked up the box and turned it around, the diamond catching the light of the chandelier overhead perfectly. Such a shame. It was a beautiful ring.

  Richard had already looked away from me and took another bite of his soup. For some reason, the action sent a jolt of rage to every nerve ending in my body, and it took everything in me to not toss my bisque in his face.

  I closed the box.

  “Richard, I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you.”

  He dropped his spoon, and the sound of metal hitting porcelain echoed to the ceiling. “Why not? I don’t understand. Your father said—”

  “I’m not my father.” I reached over the table and placed the box in front of him. “You realize you’re asking me to marry you and you’ve never, not once, kissed me?”

  Richard gaped like I’d slapped him.

  “Richard”—I pointed to my soup—“I’m allergic to shellfish. You asked me to marry you, and you ordered a bisque that could kill me.”

  He picked up the ring box and opened it again, like I’d change my mind if I gazed upon it again. “Matilda, wait—”

  “Congratulations on your promotion. I hope to work with you amicably.” Stress left my body in waves as the words left my mouth. “But I’d like for this relationship to be strictly professional from now on. It pretty much was already.”

  “Matilda, I didn’t know—”

  “Miss Ashby.” The maître d’ appeared at the table with a crimson face and wide eyes. An unfamiliar scent caught my nose. Damp. Like wet mulch. “I need you to come with me.”

  My mouth twisted into a frown. “Why?”

  “Someone is on the phone asking for you. Family, I think. It’s an emergency.”

  I looked over at Samson and stood. He was frowning too.

  “I’ll be right back, Richard.” I didn’t look at him before I turned away. I couldn’t. While I didn’t want to marry the man, I didn’t like feeling responsible for anyone’s pain.

  The farther I got from our table, the farther I drifted from guilt and closer to panic. Samson had said not to leave the table, but what if something was wrong? Had something happened to my father? My brothers?

  I couldn’t breathe. Were they in danger too?

  The maître d’ weaved through the ocean of tables and took me down a skinny hallway on the side. “Just past here, Miss Ashby. Beyond the restrooms.”

  Beyond the restrooms? Who talked like that?

  Women’s restroom. Men’s restroom. Where was the phone? Wouldn’t there be an office? There was nothing left in the hall except—

  It didn’t occur to me until I found myself face-to-face with the rear exit that something was wrong.

  “Best keep moving, Matilda Ashby.” The maître d’s voice cracked at the end as it changed into something rough and thick. “Best keep moving, or I’ll eat your boyfriend after I’m done with you.”

  Seventeen

  Cold sank into my bones as the maître d’s words repeated over and over again in my head. Eat, eat, eat.

  Idiot. I was an absolute idiot. A gullible idiot. It was truly a wonder I hadn’t been killed yet.

  Despite everything inside that begged I scream at the top of my lungs, I kept silent and turned the doorknob. While I didn’t want to marry Richard, I didn’t want him to get killed over something he had nothing to do with. Samson should be following me anyway. We could use this guy’s need for secrecy to our advantage, and maybe if I lured him somewhere…we could take care of him afterward.

  I closed my eyes. Take care of him? Really, Tilly? Are you in the mob now?

  “Good girl.” He pushed me forward with a hand on my lower back. “Go outside. You smell delightful.”

  The back door opened into a dark and wet alley. It had rained in the short time I’d been inside The Dove, and the heavy curtain of moisture we walked into meant it would rain again. To the right, I could see cars driving by and people walking on the sidewalk with umbrellas. To the left, a wall and the beginnings of another alley. The maître d’ led me to the left with his hand on my back, quiet except for his breathing. A drop of rain hit my arm and rolled to my elbow before dripping on the ground.

  We passed door after door, dumpster after dumpster. The scent of rotten fruit and hot meat merged with the damp, sticking in my throat with each breath. I really didn’t want to die in such a nasty place. We hit the end of the alley as a police siren shrie
ked somewhere in the borough.

  “Ah.” His voice was completely different now. Deep with vocal fry. “Here will do nicely.”

  The maître d’ reached over to a padlocked door as we turned to the next block of restaurants with several floors of apartments on top of them. He gripped the lock and crushed it beneath his long, bony fingers. The crumpled metal broke off in his hands, and he dropped it to the ground as the door creaked open, revealing a dark void beyond the threshold.

  As the darkness loomed, a swell of regret bubbled in the back of my mouth.

  I had two choices, the most obvious being to run. There was no telling what maître d’s supernatural affliction was though, and given my lack of training and inexperience with fighting professional hit men, he’d likely catch me. He’d kill me, apparently eat me too, and then he might go after Richard on principle.

  I stared into the dark. If I didn’t run, my only other choice was to trust that Samson would come for me. My original plan.

  A shaky breath shook my chest, and I stepped into the empty room. The faint smell of fried bacon hung in the air, a memory of what used to be in the dark space. A kitchen. The maître d’ had sequestered me into an unoccupied restaurant.

  My eyes adjusted to the faint light of the moon, making out stacks of empty boxes thrown against the walls and metal tables lined with rolls of plastic wrap. A broken crate sat a few feet away, and a rat scurried across the floor so close to my feet I could hear it chitter. I would’ve screamed in the company of anyone else, but the last thing I wanted was for someone to come looking for me and find us here. Well, unless it was Samson. He’d better be coming!