“Excuse me?”
“He’s your son.” My chest burned as anger ripped through my rib cage. I stood and glared down at my father. “He is your son, not the CEO.”
Of all the things I’d known Milton Ashby to do, stare at me with his mouth open hadn’t been one of them. Until now.
“For one second, can you pretend that we’re your children and not cogs in the Ashby Corporation machine?” My father’s face somehow managed to look remorseful, but not an ounce of sympathy bubbled from my heart. “One of your sons is dying right now because another son almost beat him to death. Do you understand how catastrophic that is?”
“Of course I do.” He stood and looked down his nose at me like he always, always did.
“Your priorities have always been so messed up. Mom killed herself, and you were more worried about how it would look in the papers than why she did it in the first place.” I shook my head, and tears tumbled down my cheeks. “You paid to have her depression and grief buried. You paid to smother her pain. Her dignity.”
Milton frowned and dropped his gaze to the tile.
“The son, your son, who almost died tonight? He found his mother’s dead body, and you sent him away. You left him when he needed you.” My entire body shook in anger, and more blood dripped from my shoulder. A droplet of blood rolled from beneath the gauze. “If he weren’t the one officially taking over your company, I’m not even sure you’d be here right now.”
“That’s not true,” he protested, but his gaze was anywhere that wasn’t my face.
“It is and you know it is.” My teeth ached from grinding them together. “The only thing that ever mattered to you was the company. Not your wife. Not your children. Not our family. You only had eyes for the company.”
My father held up his hands, palms out. “I know it seems that way—”
“It seems that way because it is that way.” With a strangled growl, I spun around and started walking. Where? Anywhere that wasn’t by him.
“It was supposed to be you.” Milton’s voice echoed in the cavernous room, rattling the floors and shaking my limbs.
I turned around slowly, unsure if I really cared to hear him out. “What do you mean?”
He smiled a little. “When I finally accepted the fact that Hudson wasn’t up to snuff, you were my next choice. The only reason I changed my mind was your lack of a backbone.”
Darkness crept into my vision, and my heartbeat, suddenly loud and slow, overcame my being.
I waited in silence. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place like a game of Tetris, and all I could do was watch in horror as everything came together.
“You did everything I ever said. You dated Richard because I asked you to, and you were miserable. No spine at all.” My father smiled again, bitterly. “If I knew you had this in you, I would’ve left the company with you as I intended.”
The anger shaking my bones vanished in an instant, replaced with a sickening realization that almost brought me to my knees.
Everything had been some sort of game to him. He hadn’t felt guilt at seeing me unhappy with Richard. My father hadn’t been relieved I left him because he knew I didn’t love Richard. He had been happy about it because it validated his original choice for his successor.
My father used my loyalty to him as some sort of test.
Hudson hired someone to kill me because I had been my father’s original choice.
Gerard might die for a position he got as a last resort because I couldn’t tell my father no.
“If Gerard doesn’t make it off that table, I’m done.” The words left my mouth in a whisper, barely audible even to me. “If Gerard dies, none of your children will have your company. I hope you’re happy with the bed you made.”
But even as I left my father there, tears dripping from my eyes and rolling off my jaw, I knew I wasn’t talking to him.
I’d made this bed.
Now I had to lie in it.
Thirty-Seven
I sat beside a fountain in the middle of the hospital atrium, surrounded by nothing except uncomfortable chairs and fake plants. The fountain’s water had been turned off, leaving me with the rattling noise of the air conditioner and the occasional code being called on the speakers to listen to instead.
God. My life was a wreck.
Not only had it been a complete and total shock that my father had originally named me his successor, but it also shed some light on the origins of my hit. Hudson somehow found out my father was considering me instead of him, and it sent him over the edge. Hudson bought my contract to keep the company from me, and even with it going to Gerard instead, his payday would still increase substantially if I died.
I drummed my nails on the side of the fountain. How was Blair involved then? They were sleeping together. Had Blair simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time?
No. That couldn’t be right. What had Hudson said during his fight with Gerard?
It was all an act. That bitch was wrong. My heart stuttered with the realization.
If my father had originally picked me, Blair very well might have known. She had been with my father all the time and recorded the minutes for most of his meetings. Legal documents oftentimes required a witness. Had she been privy to some of the talks between Milton and his lawyer? Had Blair and Hudson’s pillow talk been about the confidential meetings she sat in on?
Movement beside me pulled me from my thoughts. Cigarette smoke settled into my nostrils, and my heartbeat escalated. I closed my eyes and took a measured breath. Samson.
“You okay?” he asked, despite knowing the answer.
I bit my lip and dared to look at him. He had smears of Rolf’s blood on his cheek and hands, but otherwise looked the same as he had at the Horseshoe Club. His new suit, unfortunately, had several rips in the sleeves.
That was the surface though. Something else lingered at the corners of his mouth. Something I’d never seen on him before. It was also in the space between his eyebrows and his dropped gaze.
“No.” I tucked some loose hair behind my ear. Most of it still remained tied back in my ponytail, but some had been torn out in the brawl. “Where have you been?”
He sat on the side of the fountain beside me, leg only inches from mine. “I’ve been outside smoking since I ditched…waiting on you.”
“This entire time?” Somehow it disappointed me. He’d lied to me, and it looked like he used me to get back at his demon dad. The best he could do was smoke? “That can’t be good for your lungs.”
“I was thinking.”
Thinking of ways to lie to me some more? Of how to get a million-dollar paycheck for his stupid fairy spell?
“Tilly.” He hadn’t ever said my name before. Not until the fight with Rolf. It wasn’t even really my name either. No one else said it but me…until today. I wanted to feel happier about it, but it just made my chest hurt. “I know what I am isn’t ideal—”
“What you are?” Surely he didn’t think that’s what this was about. Idiot. “Sam, I don’t care about that.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You—you don’t?”
“No. You could be a goblin that lives in a trash can, and I wouldn’t care.” I pressed on my bandaged shoulder and fought the urge to groan. A goblin from a trash can? Really, Tilly?
Samson tucked his hands into his coat pockets, eyes fixated on the tile floor. “Then you’re not mad?”
I shook my head, and another code echoed in the atrium.
“I’m not mad.” I swallowed and tried to steady my nerves. “But I’m hurt.”
He frowned, like the thought hadn’t ever occurred to him. What did I expect? He murdered people for a living. No time for pesky things like feelings.
“I thought”—another breath—“hoped that we were…friends, at least. I knew this whole thing began as a job, but it didn’t stay like that for me. You can read my mind. Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
“I knew how you felt.” Samson still wo
uldn’t look at me. “But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t change.”
Our conversation the night after my father told us his diagnosis came back in an instant. Adam.
“Just because you’re a demon or whatever—”
“I’m not a demon.”
I turned more, pressing my thigh completely against his. “Oh, really? Frank’s spawn?”
“I’m not.” Samson shook his head. “I’m a cambion.”
Rolf had said that word too. Cambion.
“Frank, at his core, is an incubus.” He looked over at me, probably hoping I’d know what that meant. My face must’ve told him I didn’t. “An incubus is a male demon that has sex with humans.”
My eyes widened. Excuse me? What?
“So…he’s your father?”
“In a way.” He grimaced before running a hand down his face. “Incubi possess humans, usually humans guaranteed to nail someone, and have sex. They suck away the life-force of their partners, coax them into making deals, or in Frank’s case, try to knock women up. The asshole has had the same body the entire time I’ve known him, and unfortunately, it’s a good-looking one.”
My jaw dropped. “Frank made you on purpose?”
Samson shrugged. “Most of the time, a child conceived between a human and an incubus doesn’t survive. Human bodies aren’t meant to have demon powers. They can’t handle it, and it kills them in the womb. So he had sex with a shitload of women and hoped some of the children survived.”
I leaned over a little, knocking his shoulder with mine. “You didn’t die.”
“I didn’t die. Neither did Vee or Adam.” Samson sighed, like he was disappointed. It never occurred to me that he might wish he didn’t exist. “Frank watched us as we grew up. Waited. He wanted to make sure we were born with something he could use before he made his move. He took me in when I was seven, and since I was desperate to get out of foster care, I wasn’t about to ask questions.”
“When he told me who he was a couple days later, I wanted to bolt. A demon adopting you? Scary as fuck.” Samson chuckled under his breath. “But he told me he’d make a deal with me. He’d give me anything I wanted if I stayed with him.”
My heart swelled with remorse. “And what did you want?”
“A new name.” My heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. “Stupid, in retrospect, but at the time I wanted to start over more than anything. I didn’t want to be who I was. I didn’t want to be the kid everyone was scared of. The one everyone hated. That boy. I just wanted to be…well, not me, I guess.”
I couldn’t swallow. Breathe. Anything.
He made a deal with a demon for a new name. He was so desperate and alone he settled for a name?
“Frank asked me what name I wanted. The only book I’d ever had to read was the Bible, and I liked the story of Samson. He was strong…sounded like a badass dude. So that’s the one I picked. In exchange for my new name and Frank using it every time he spoke to me, I would stay with him or he’d kill me.” He looked over at me, and the second we locked eyes, tears dumped out of mine like a waterfall. “Not this again.”
“This is the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard.” I covered my face with my hands for a moment before wiping the tears away. “You poor baby.”
“I’m not a baby. And I’m not telling you so you’ll feel sorry for me.”
“I know.” I wrung my hands together. “Why didn’t you tell me this before? I don’t think I’m too horrible—”
“You’re not,” he cut me off, “and that’s why I didn’t tell you.”
A hiccup punctuated the silence, but I kept my attention on him.
“Your face after you found out Frank was a demon back at The Den…” Samson’s gaze flickered back down to the floor. “You were horrified. Scared. I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”
Cold covered me from head to toe. My entire body coated in the icy grip of shame.
“I fully expected our deal to be over after that first fae. I forced something to kill itself. I wouldn’t have blamed you for trying to get away from me. I wasn’t about to try my luck and tell you about this too.”
I wasn’t sure if it said more about how gullible I could be or how much I’d come to trust Samson in our weeks together, but I hadn’t thought about his powers as a danger to myself. Not once. “That never crossed my mind.”
Samson turned his gaze toward the wall. He didn’t seem to believe me.
“Sam.” I reached up and placed a hand on either side of his face, turning it toward me again. Light stubble tickled my palms. He closed his eyes, and I hope he heard what he needed to hear. That he believed me. “I never thought you’d do that to me. Not for a second.”
I dropped my hands from his face and instead held one of his hands between mine.
“My lack of self-preservation aside…” I smiled. “I am grateful to you and everything you’ve done to keep me safe. I just want you to be honest with me.”
He looked down at my hands around his and smiled a bit. Enough for me to notice, but probably not anyone else. I held the hand of a cambion. A demon’s child. How things could change in the span of a few weeks.
“So…what do you want me to do about your brother?” Samson asked, lightly running his thumb over my knuckles. I’d been waiting for that question. Hudson had tried to kill me, to kill us. My mouth, suddenly dry and chalky, couldn’t form the words. “Do you want me to make the decision?”
I bit my lip and squeezed his hand. Was this how the president felt when sending soldiers off to war? When they had to decide who lived or died? Sure, Hudson sucked. But he was my brother. Family. How could I order Samson to execute him?
“Okay. I’ll go find him.” Samson pulled his hand away and stood. He tucked his hands in his coat pockets. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
The easiest thing would be to let Samson go alone. If he went alone, I wouldn’t have to watch my oldest brother bleed out on the floor. I wouldn’t have to watch Samson and Rolf try to tear each other’s hearts out. But the easy thing was hardly ever the right thing.
I pushed off the edge of the fountain, floor unsteady beneath my feet. Samson looked me over from head to toe before nodding toward the hospital exit.
One way or the other, my contract would end tonight. I didn’t want to die, and despite everything, I didn’t want Hudson to die either.
Thirty-Eight
The Ashby Building, a place I’d built up to be some sort of monument to the things my family had done, might be where someone took their last breath tonight. It might be me, but at that point I didn’t care. I was tired of running. Tired of worrying about people who couldn’t care less about what happened to me.
It would end tonight. One way or the other.
“Do you think he’s here?” Samson asked as we walked through the empty parking garage. Loiterers wouldn’t know we walked toward the Ashby Building to kill a fae assassin and an Ashby heir, but beneath Samson’s coat were a couple of guns and several blades. A month ago, the thought of would have made me vomit.
“The police are at his house, so he can’t be there. My father is at the hospital panicking, and if Hudson were to show up at his house, his security system would alert the police too.” I crossed my arms in an effort to still the shake in my hands. “This is the only other place I can imagine him going.”
The summer air, still warm despite the late hour, brushed loose hair across my neck as we walked through the concourse connecting the garage to the front door. Some lights were on, but they always were for security purposes. Tiffany’s computer monitor glowed at the reception desk beyond the glass doors, but the camera outside the front door had been shut off.
Someone was here doing something they shouldn’t be. That boded well for our hunt.
While no one knew where Hudson had gone after the Horseshoe Club, the feeling in my bones pointed here: the Ashby Building. If I can’t have what was promised to me, then no one can. I couldn’t be sure how
far Hudson would take that particular threat, but even he was smart enough to know his time of freedom was coming to an end. The police were looking for him. He couldn’t go home. Hudson would be spending his last moments with the thing he wanted and couldn’t have: the executive’s suite. He spent every possible moment in our father’s office before all this. He’d spend his last ones there too.
If nothing else, the Ashby Building was a place to start.
I took out my ID card and swiped it in the little black box attached to the wall beside the door. Anytime between five at night and five in the morning, employees had to access the building with a card. Not only did it secure the building, but if anything were to happen, like a murder for example, there would be documentation of employees going in and out.
Right now, the only names to show up would likely be mine and Hudson’s. Security would have a field day tomorrow if things went south.
“Here.” Samson held the door open with his boot and passed me a pistol. “There are ten bullets in the magazine. One in the chamber. Use them wisely.”
“Wisely? I don’t know how to use this at all.”
He rolled his eyes. “Aim at anything that moves. Pull the trigger. Ask questions later.”
The gun, heavy in my palm, didn’t make me feel any safer. It made me sick. I didn’t want to use this. “That sounds irresponsible.”
“Talk to me about it after we’re done here.”
He held the door open, walked inside, and twisted his head around. He moved his arm and allowed me inside.
“Stairwell,” he whispered. “Back left.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. That was a ton of stairs. “No elevator?”
Samson snorted. “No. The doors would open, and I guarantee one of them is standing there with a gun waiting to shoot us. I’d rather not be at the mercy of waiting on slow ass electronic doors to close.”
“They could be doing the same thing with the stairwell, right?”
Samson shrugged, face outlined by the streetlights pouring in through the windows. “Could be. But there are three stairwells and an elevator. We have a much better chance of getting in there if we use the stairs.”
The Family Cross Page 24