The Family Cross

by Gabrielle Ash

  “Can he do a better job than that last asshole? He was sweating and red in the face within seconds of talking to Fancy Pants.” Samson rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t wait five seconds. He would’ve eaten her in the middle of the restaurant had she not left.”

  Vee shrugged. “Frank said that Rolf’s the best for the job. He’s been putting it off because Rolf’s terms are…steep, to say the least. He can also mimic voices. Perfectly, I might add, and if given the chance, he’ll eat you too.”

  It would be nice to not be referred to as a potential meal for once.

  “Thank you,” I forced myself to say. Anger still simmered beneath my skin, but we would walk away with more information than we had before.

  “I’d walk through fire for Sammy, although I’m duty-bound to Frank if he asks after either of you.” Vee reached over and pinched Samson’s cheek, which he promptly jerked free from. “Don’t die.”

  Samson grumbled incoherently under his breath, strolled over to the door, and jerked it open.

  “Come by anytime.” Vee gave a knowing smile as I trotted off behind Samson, giving the trash can full of puke one last glance. She knew I’d never willingly walk back in there. “Vespertine is much more fun at night.”

  Twenty-Two

  Defeat clung to my shoulders the whole way home, and try as I might, I couldn’t shake it. We were no closer to figuring out who wanted me dead, and the next hit man was a fae that could disguise themselves as anyone they wanted. The unwavering sense of complete and utter doom gnawed on my subconscious even after locking myself in my condo and getting in the shower, and no amount of water could wash it away.

  I dropped my head against the shower wall. What was I going to do?

  Shampoo ran down my neck and fell to the shower floor in bubbly blobs. The true scope of Circle Seven was larger than I thought. I’d met so many supernatural people already, and this was one city. How many operatives did they really have in the country? The world?

  Who was Adam?

  I massaged my scalp under the showerhead. Samson was right about one thing, even if it hurt my feelings: none of this was my business. His life, his past, his future, none of it was my business. There was no reason to spend time worrying about it when my life was on the line.

  Unease covered me like a blanket even after I washed away the remnants of our night on the run. After I slipped into a pair of linen pajamas, the only thing on my mind was food.

  When I opened the bedroom door, the smell of steamed vegetables enveloped me in a cloud. Definitely broccoli. Possibly onions.

  Since my living room was open to my dining and kitchen area, the source of the mouthwatering scents entered my field of vision soon after saliva pooled beneath my tongue.

  Samson loomed over the table, popping open Styrofoam containers. He glanced up at me as he peeled the lid off some rice.

  We stared at each other warily. Samson had avoided talking about the fae from the abandoned kitchen, and after I’d snapped at him in the car, I hadn’t mentioned it either. Yet despite our purposeful lack of conversation on the matter, the weight of his secrets still hung between us like a taut string. I tucked my wet hair behind my ear and dropped my gaze to the food.

  “Uh, here.” He motioned to the assortment of containers on the table. “I ordered dinner. I didn’t know what you wanted, but I thought of the things I’ve seen you eat and guessed.”

  Grilled vegetables. Rice. Lo mein. He hadn’t even opened all the containers yet. How much did he think I could eat?

  “You didn’t have to do that.” The chair I’d been using since Samson had temporarily moved in was pulled out. I sat down and made myself comfortable. It was time to eat, and I couldn’t wait. I hadn’t eaten anything in twenty-four hours. My gaze roved over the table as he opened the last few containers. Spring rolls and sautéed chicken.

  No shellfish. No lobster bisque. We’d known each other less than a week, and he’d done better than Richard had.

  “Yeah, I did.” He plopped down in his chair, bloodied eyes still looking incredibly painful beneath my light fixture. He motioned to the food with a wave of his hand and waited patiently while I figured out what I wanted. “I was a giant asshole.”

  The spoon in my hand felt inordinately heavy as I scooped some vegetables on my plate.

  He was…apologizing?

  “So…” He cleared his throat. “Thanks for keeping me alive while I was unconscious.”

  I tried not to smile and failed miserably. “You’re welcome.”

  Samson waited for me to fill my plate. He’d gotten entirely too much but did manage to get things I liked. Chicken. Rice. Vegetables.

  “Here.” I scooped some broccoli on his plate. “You need some vegetables.”

  He snorted but didn’t say anything.

  “I think I’m going to call in sick this week.” The place he’d ordered from sent chopsticks, and while I chose to use them, he preferred the plastic fork. I picked up a rice clump and shoveled it into my mouth.

  “Really?” Samson dumped the remaining chicken on his plate. “Can’t say I saw that coming.”

  “Honestly, I’m exhausted. You’re recovering—”

  “I’m fine. Don’t use me as an excuse.”

  The sudden papery texture in the back of my throat prompted a desire to move. Drink. We needed drinks.

  “Fine. I’m exhausted. You’re totally fine.” I rolled my eyes and stood up to go to the kitchen. My refrigerator was bare aside from water bottles and a single bottle of wine. Water would be best tonight. “And we need to figure out what we’re going to do. I don’t think going to work is going to help anything.”

  “Actually, I think it would help.”

  I tightened my fingers around the handle to the refrigerator door. “Really? Why?”

  “I’m not convinced that there’s nothing else to find there.” Samson pointed at me with his fork while I busied myself with getting drinks. “You do nothing but work. The investor that Frank wants to appease knows enough about your business that he thinks you’re a threat to him somehow.”

  “The only ones that would know anything about company affairs would be my family and the board.” As I curled my fingers around the cool, slick side of a water bottle, the weight of what Samson said crashed on my shoulders. “Oh, no. You think one of them is behind this whole thing, don’t you?”

  “Yep,” he said, putting emphasis on the P with a pop of his lips.

  Sickness pooled in the bottom of my stomach, and I grabbed a second water bottle.

  “I think you should go to work and do, well, whatever it is that you do. Keep up appearances, if nothing else.” Samson stabbed a broccoli floret and grimaced. “And I’ll continue looking for pests. Your secretary let me keep my badge.”

  I slid back into my chair and put the bottles on the table. “Of course she did.”

  “And you have that meeting this weekend.” He motioned at me with his fork again, the broccoli hanging on a single prong. “All those fuckers will be in the same room. You can read them all at once. Ask them questions. Hell, you could just be brave and come right out with it. Let ’em fight it out.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” It was my turn to point at him with my chopsticks. Samson laughed until he brought the broccoli to his lips. He scowled the second he started chewing. “The moment I started hurling accusations, I’d lose my job. I’d be disowned. Besides, do you really think the person responsible for this would ever admit it?”

  “No. Just thought it’d be funny.”

  I unscrewed the cap of my water and took a drink.

  “You were pretty brave against that fae though.” He spun some lo mein around his fork and ate it, but that didn’t stop him from talking. “I’ve never seen anyone hit a fae with a fryer basket. Had to be humiliating for him.”

  My gaze dropped to my plate, and my lips curled despite everything in my body wishing they wouldn’t. It hadn’t been graceful or purposeful, but the fryer basket did h
it the target.

  “I have never hit anything before.” A part of me assumed he’d laugh, but he didn’t. “I’ve thought about it several times, but never had the courage to actually do it.”

  “Maybe you’ll get to hit someone again on Saturday.” Samson shrugged. “Or sooner if Rolf shows up.”

  I’d forgotten about that. How stupid.

  “What are we going to do about Rolf?” My mouth, parched again, ached for water. “He could be anyone, and I’d never see it coming.”

  “But you could smell it.”

  My brow furrowed, and I took another drink. “What do you mean?”

  “The fae from yesterday? Smelled like dead shit. He was an Unseelie fae. This one will smell like that. Rolf can mask his appearance and change his voice, but he can’t change his scent.”

  He did stink. His remains did too.

  “And he won’t attack unless you’re alone. Since I’m sure Vee mentioned seeing me to Frank, we need to assume that Rolf knows who I am and what I can…do. He won’t attack unless he can be sure he’ll win, which means he needs us separated or he’ll wait until in an environment that facilitates a quick kill.”

  Quick kill. The thought sent a chill down my back. Samson didn’t seem to notice my shoulders shudder.

  “So pay attention to scents. Don’t go off with anyone alone…like I told you to do that at the restaurant, and you ignored me.” Samson gave me a look. One I did not like.

  My face burned, and it took everything I had not to bury it in my hands. “I know. I won’t do it again.”

  He chuckled and leaned back in his seat. “Must’ve been eager to get away from ol’ fish face though, huh? Getting eaten by a fae might not have seemed too bad.”

  If I’d had anything to drink, I would’ve spit it all over him as laughter ripped from my lungs and sent me into a shaking mass in my chair. Fish face? Did he call Richard fish face? I chuckled in a crumpled heap in my seat and dropped my forehead on the table with a thunk, narrowly missing my plate.

  As my chest shook in the first bout of unguarded happiness I’d felt since this whole mess started, Cliff’s words from the motel crept back in. He must trust you…and that means a lot from a man who can see everyone's secrets.

  Samson had trusted me with his body at his most vulnerable. Maybe one day he’d trust me with his secrets too.

  Twenty-Three

  Despite my many misgivings, I forced myself into a pencil skirt and into my office the next day. Almost no one realized I’d been gone, and while it stung, the fact remained my absence didn’t create much in the way of waves. The only one to question me had been Eliza, and she didn’t ask many questions after I told her I dumped Richard.

  A significant portion of my fear had been in what Richard or my father might say upon my return. Would Richard grovel at my feet in front of everyone? Would my father call me in for a meeting to tell me how irredeemably stupid I’d been and disown me? Neither of those things happened. In fact, I didn’t hear from either of them the rest of the week. I didn’t even see Richard milling about among the cubicles.

  “Ready?” Samson asked as we walked into my office on Saturday morning—the day of my father’s surprise meeting. We were the only ones on the floor.

  “I suppose.” My stomach twisted into several knots as I checked the desk phone. No messages. No missed calls. “Actually, no. I’m not. I’m not ready for this.”

  “My snoopin’ around the past few days didn’t find anything useful. This is probably our only shot at getting all these people in one place.” Samson opened the door to my office and motioned for me to get a move on. “Keep your eyes open. Look for anything out of character or suspicious.”

  “I’m not good at this sort of thing.” I gave him a look. So impatient. I could procrastinate if I wanted to. “And just what are you going to be doing? Your contractor thing isn’t going to work on a weekend, and I don’t want to get eaten because you aren’t around.”

  “I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll figure something out if someone catches me.”

  We hopped on the elevator, and I slumped against the side of the wall. I was tired, stressed, and worried. Tired from fear. Stressed from running. Worried about dying. This was exhausting.

  “Hey.” Samson nudged me with his elbow. “It’ll be fine. Even if Rolf’s in there, he won’t risk outing himself unless he’s sure he can kill everyone in the room before they run away. Frank would have him hunted down in a heartbeat if word got out.”

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Inhale. Exhale.

  “I’m so tired.” My eyes watered. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted to sleep without being scared to death that someone was going to crawl out of the ground and gnaw on my neck.

  Samson nodded and looked at the ground. “It’ll be over soon, okay? Rolf and Frank can’t keep this up forever. We’ll figure it out.”

  The elevator pinged as it slowed to a stop at the CEO’s suite, and the urge to throw up grew exponentially. I looked over at Samson with a grimace. “I hope you’re right.”

  The doors opened.

  And much to my horror, my father and Richard stood on the other side.

  It had never occurred to me what would happen if my father met Samson. Milton Ashby always sat upon his throne on the forty-sixth floor, never once in the three months of my employ going out to venture among his employees. The idea that he’d ever cross paths with my telepathic hire had been so minute and improbable that I’d devoted most of time to worrying about the monsters trying to kill me instead.

  In hindsight, that was clearly a mistake.

  Richard, mouth agape, stared in abject horror.

  Aside from a brief glance his way, I dismissed Richard’s expression from my mind. My father was entirely more important.

  “Matilda.” I heard none of the anger I’d expected. “You’re on time. We’re still waiting on William.”

  I didn’t know who William was, and I didn’t much care either. Milton would say something about Samson, and I’d rather him get it over with.

  My father’s hard gaze slid over to Samson. He extended a hand. “Milton Ashby.”

  Samson accepted his hand, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that the two of them were at war with each other to see who could squeeze harder. My father made a big deal about handshakes, and growing up he often told Richard his was too flimsy. “Carlisle Brown.”

  “Hm.” Milton pulled his hand away. “How do you know my daughter?”

  My daughter. He never said that.

  “Columbia initially,” Samson said without missing a beat. Columbia? Had I ever told him about Columbia? My degrees hung on the wall in my office. Maybe he saw those. “Now, we’re dating.”

  My heart stopped beating. My soul left my body. The world tipped ever so slightly on its axis, enough for my internal temperature to skyrocket and manifest as a raging inferno on my skin. Rolf wouldn’t need to kill me in a few seconds. Either I’d spontaneously combust, or my father would take care of it for him.

  Dating? Dating?

  My father stared at him. Richard’s mouth dropped open. Samson couldn’t have chosen a more likely scenario?

  “Are you now?” Milton’s voice, measured and purposeful, remained steady just as it did in business meetings. He might be angry, but he’d wait to address whatever made him mad until it better suited his needs. He’d taught us that at a young age. You can be mad all you like—just don’t let them see you squirm until it’s useful.

  “Yep.” Samson put emphasis on the P again as he had the other night.

  “Do you have family in the area?” Milton asked next.

  I prayed this conversation would end.

  “No.”

  My heart dropped. He couldn’t leave it without explanation—

  “Mom died. My dad is an asshole.”

  Every ounce of air inside my lungs vanished. Asshole? Did he just say asshole to Milton Ashby? I bit my tongue to keep from passing out. First, we were dating. No
w, he does this.

  This was what he had in mind when he said I’ll figure it out?

  My father didn’t recoil. He didn’t really react at all. “Well, I hope you’ve found support for your endeavors elsewhere.”

  The crushing pressure in my chest eased as my father’s words sank in. He would wait until later to address this. Thank God.

  “While it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Brown, I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside the office for the duration of the meeting. It’s a family affair. I hope you understand.” Milton looked over at me and nodded toward his office.

  “I do,” Samson said, lingering next to the elevator. His eyes were alight with glee. Strangle him. I would strangle him after the meeting.

  Richard and the underlying scent of brandy around him stole my attention from Samson when he walked beside me. The smell of liquor reminded me of what I should be sniffing for: Rolf. Rot. Death. Wet foliage. Hopefully he’d stink like that fae in the kitchen, so I’d notice it easier.

  My father remained stone silent while we walked toward the office. Richard kept his gaze on his loafers. A part of me truly felt bad for him. He’d likely thought my acceptance was a guarantee, and given my father’s place at his side by the elevator, he still had Milton’s favor.

  Richard had seen his parents growing up just as I’d seen mine. The cold indifference. The infidelity. I know he’d seen it just as I had. He didn’t love me. But if you grew up with parents with lukewarm feelings toward one another, would you expect anything less when it was your turn? Before this whole hit business, had I expected anything different? Would I have said yes if not for a close call with death?

  My father’s mahogany bookshelves and his impressive collection had nothing on the sheer amount of people milling around along the walls. The board used two of the chairs at the glass table, but the rest remained standing. While the board didn’t make many decisions since my father was the owner and majority shareholder, it made sense they were there. They were his official business advisors, after all.