No Broken Beast

by Snow, Nicole

  Everything that makes her special, makes her mine.

  Everything that came together in our own little melody to make Zach.

  “Let me get my shit good enough to love our son right, Rissa.”

  She lifts her head, looking up at me with something like hope in her eyes. “But you already—”

  “No. You heard me. Can’t give him much of a life with a wanted man as a dad, no matter how much I want to love him.”

  And to love you, I want to say, but that’s not something I can ask for. Not till we know everything will be all right.

  I brush my fingertip under her eye, tracing the gleaming line of her lashes. “If you’re up for it, I want to tell him soon, when things are better. First, I need to show you something.”

  Her brows knit together, and she shakes her head. “Show me what?”

  “The next clue.”

  * * *

  It sinks in for Rissa almost immediately.

  We sit on the sofa together, just a little too close, thigh to thigh, the laptop propped between us as we plan, keeping an eye out for Zach as he’s in and out with his tutor. Today’s lessons take them into the trees to identify plants.

  Later, we decide we can ask Ms. Wilma to take Zach for the night, and then head out together to find the point marked by the coordinates and the stars. With any luck, whatever we find there will make all the difference.

  Or at least give us solid leverage to flush Nash out of hiding and get him to reveal where he’s keeping her.

  I have a few ideas, but hell.

  He wouldn’t take her there, not after everything was shut down.

  Would he?

  I’m torn from my drifting thoughts by Zach crying out. Not playfully.

  Clarissa and I are both on our feet in an instant, fighting each other to get out the door.

  She beats me to it, but I’m hot on her heels, my heart pounding. Derek comes through the woods with a sniffling Zach in his arms, and I see the kid’s jeans torn at the knee, stained in blood.

  “Oh my God, Zach!” Clarissa cries, stumbling down the steps and reaching for him.

  Derek offers a reassuring, apologetic smile as he moves him into Rissa’s arms. “Just had a little tumble,” he says. “Zach tried to climb too high.”

  “I told you,” Rissa scolds gently, while Zach clings to her with his arms around her neck. She rubs his back soothingly and turns to mount the steps. “Let’s go get you cleaned up, ZZ.”

  I watch her go for a few moments, trying to calm my racing pulse.

  So this is what it’s like to have a kid you’d die to protect.

  Derek catches my eye and winces. “I’m sorry. I should’ve kept a closer eye on him.”

  “It’s all right.” I shake my head, offering a smile. “Kids will always find ways to get themselves in trouble, and Zach’s more precocious than most. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? I doubt she’ll let him out of her sight today.”

  “Might be a good idea. Give him a hug for me, okay, Papa Bear?”

  Shit. Even Derek sees it.

  That connection between me and my boy, between father and son, existing without words.

  I join Rissa inside and help her get Zach cleaned, bandaged up, and placated with a cinnamon roll. The scolding he gets is halfhearted. We’re both just relieved he’s okay.

  But as we all settle on the couch, Zach sandwiched between us and cuddled up tight, Rissa looks at me over his head.

  “It’s scary being back here with him,” she says softly. “After what happened with all those missing kids years ago...it’s easy to assume the worst.”

  I shudder, something powerful gripping my balls like ice.

  It’s fucking revulsion.

  Revulsion at the idea of Zach being taken, just like I was.

  Broken until he no longer remembers who he is. Or who loves him.

  Whoever could love him, once he’d become a beast.

  * * *

  Twenty Years Ago

  One day, I think they’ll kill me.

  But maybe death would be better than living in here.

  I feel like my insides just burst. Exploded, bit by bit, every time the ring of whipcord-muscled teenage boys around me kicked me again and again. Their brute strength matches mine too well.

  They’re like pack animals, controlled by a single Alpha.

  And every time he tells them to take me down, they do.

  Because if they don’t, they might be up next.

  I’m the latest example. What happens to any Nighthawk who steps out of line.

  I lie on the cold, dirty stone floor in this dark hell-chamber, staring dully at the polished shoe that steps into my line of sight. My reflection in the patent leather is swollen, purple, bloody, barely even human.

  Ha.

  Barely even human.

  Dr. Maximilian Ross looks down at me with his cultured, bearded face twisted with disgust, his voice thick with condemnation.

  “You tried to escape again,” Ross says matter-of-factly. “You know it’s futile, L-9.”

  His voice is hypnotic. There’s a part of me that wants to agree with him just because he said it. Because that’s how my mind was trained.

  That man’s voice is law, certain words tripping off actions that make my body move on its own, even when I don’t want to do what he says.

  But he hasn’t managed to brainwash me enough to destroy the burning urge to run.

  I’ll find my freedom again, or die trying.

  Sometimes, I still think of a girl in a pretty sundress, twirling flowers, and wonder if she’ll hear me through layers and layers of stone if I scream.

  “I won’t...” I can barely talk around the blood in my mouth. “I won’t give in.”

  “Excuse me?” Ross says, calm and confident, then flicks his fingers. “You will, Agent L-9. Everybody out!”

  He claps his hands, then pauses, pointing at one of the other kids. “Ah-ah—not you. Stay.”

  I know who it is without even seeing him.

  The boy with the silvery eyes, shining like gunmetal.

  The boy who does everything Ross says without question.

  With pleasure.

  The boy who strokes my cheek and tells me I have such lovely hair.

  Right before he tears me up with his fists and his kicks and leaves me bleeding some more.

  The sound of the door closes, locks, leaving me alone with him.

  It’s a dark and final thing like a coffin slamming shut. A promise, hateful and hard and awful.

  As sinister as Nash’s smile. He grips a handful of my hair and jerks my head back, staring into my eyes with his own wide and mad. His lips slink to my ear, and his breath pours out real hot and thick and disgusting.

  “Now, Lion-boy, listen good,” he says. “Listen to what I say like you do with the Doc, and let’s get that cool fucking mane off you...”

  * * *

  Present

  I come back to the present gasping.

  Holy shit.

  Up till now, I’d managed to keep the memories at a distance. Half-forgotten things, but now I feel them sick and dark and real inside me. They’re heavy, weighing on my heart like a damn boulder.

  The room focuses around me in a sudden sharpness, and I realize Zach is staring at me with wide, worried eyes. Rissa’s hand is on my arm, gripping tight.

  “Leo? Hey,” she whispers, giving me a little shake. “Are you all right? Are you with us?”

  “Yeah,” I answer raggedly, covering her hand with my own and squeezing it tight. “I’m okay, but I need you to stay here with Zach.” I take a deep breath. “You can’t come with me tonight, sweetheart.”

  Her brows knit, and she shakes her head fiercely. “Huh? No, I—”

  “No. Just listen.” I can’t help how my voice turns harsh. I can’t argue over this, even with the wounded look she gives me. “I remembered more. Remembered things I won’t say right now, but I’ll tell you later. Trust me, wom
an.”

  She’s staring at me, almost betrayed, but I hold my ground.

  Because I know some things are worse than Nash killing Deanna.

  Nash knows exactly how to pull my leash. Ross taught him.

  I can’t fucking let him make me hurt Rissa. Make me hurt Zach. Make me hurt my own family.

  “Leo?” Rissa whispers again, looking up at me as I stand.

  “It’s too dangerous,” I finish. “I’m too dangerous. I can’t explain right now. Just need you to stay put.”

  19

  Off the Beaten Path (Clarissa)

  I’m so flipping mad at Leo I could pop.

  I have been for days.

  Because he just had to go and pull that macho crap on me, didn’t he?

  Because he went tearing off into the night and left me here alone to mind the house like a good little girl. I don’t understand.

  He wouldn’t even know where to look next if I hadn’t gone digging at the old house. And then he tells me he’s dangerous, but won’t say why?

  Nope. He just disappears, leaving me to put Zach to bed and pace all night, sleepless and worried.

  He came back hours later covered in dirt, holding a dirty Sweeter Things box.

  It had a drive inside plus another piece of paper in Deedee’s handwriting.

  I saw what was on the first drive.

  All those documents, but what’s here...it’s worse.

  Photographs and videos of people bound to tables, hooked up to strange devices, screaming in pain, the Galentron logo clear on much of the equipment and on the walls. People in white masks and coats, moving clinically, jotting down notes like nothing was happening.

  It makes me feel sick.

  But what’s worse is when Leo says it’s not the end.

  He won’t tell me much. Not where he found the cache, not what it means or how he knows there’s more.

  There’s also another set of coordinates in star-numbers and degrees and time. Deanna left me messages Leo’s been intercepting.

  He heads out into the night again and again, while I sit here staring at the laptop, trying to do something useful cataloging the data. I wish I could piece together a timeline.

  Something we could use to present a clear case in court and completely destroy them.

  Whatever else happens, I won’t give this up. It’s even bigger than my sister now.

  Not after seeing what’s being done to the people on these videos.

  Not when, in one of the still photos, old and clearly scanned from film to digital, I see his face.

  A teenage Leo, maybe a couple years before we met again at my house and he came stumbling into my kitchen.

  He’s bound to a table, veins bulging in his neck, a roar of pain on his face as they pump something into his body from an IV pouch. I also see that horrid man I remember skulking around the house, Dr. Ross, standing over him like the grim reaper in a lab coat.

  God. What did they do to him?

  What would they have done to all of us, if Leo hadn’t given up everything to stop my father and his friends?

  I can’t even look at this stuff when Zach’s awake.

  I’m not risking my son’s innocence.

  It’s bad enough that every night I pass out in the morning darkness, I keep seeing those awful photos in my head. And it’s even worse that I’m alone.

  Was it just one blissful night?

  That’s all we had before Leo pulled away.

  He’s just that firelight out in the dark again, so close and yet so far.

  How could he be dangerous?

  How could he tell me that and shut down on me, not even hours after saying he wants to be a father to Zach?

  Maybe it’s the price to pay for being stupid.

  I thought there was hope. Thought we could start over.

  But I don’t know if that’s even possible as long as Leo’s keeping his secrets.

  I sigh, pressing my fingers to my temples—only to rocket up in my seat as something crashes against the glass front door of the house.

  My heart thuds, slamming up and down and back and forth like my chest is shaking and rattling it around. Opening my eyes, rising warily to my feet, reaching for something I can use as a weapon.

  I come up with a stick of French bread. Awesome.

  Still, I hold that stupid baguette like a baseball bat, creeping toward the door.

  Only to drop it with a silent scream caught in my throat.

  I see Leo slumped there in a hulking mess, covered in blood.

  “Oh my God!” I whisper, ripping the door open.

  He tumbles inside, collapsing with the full force of his heavy weight across the threshold. Panting in little panicked breaths, I drop to my knees, reaching for him, then jerking back.

  His clothes are tattered, but there’s so much blood everywhere that I don’t even know where he’s been hurt, where to find the wound.

  “Leo!” I gasp. “Leo, are you—”

  “Breathe.” Despite the raw, gritty edge in his voice, he’s surprisingly steady, calm. “It’s not all my blood. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  I bite my lip, clutching my hands together. “Where?”

  “My thigh.” He hauls himself up, wincing, squinting one eye open as he props himself in the doorframe and lets his left leg sprawl out. His jeans were sliced open by something that made jagged tears, something serrated, and there’s a deep gash in the muscle underneath. “Fucker used a hook knife.”

  Gasping, I clap my hands over my mouth. “Oh God, we need to get you to a hospital—”

  “No hospital!” He grinds out. “I’m still a wanted man, Clarissa. They’d handcuff me to the bed.”

  “Shit.” My head is spinning.

  He lets out a bitter laugh, huge shoulders shaking. “Yeah. Just help me in and I can stitch it up. Wouldn’t be the first time.” When I don’t move, he offers me a tired smile. “Don’t worry. You’d be amazed how fast I heal.”

  “I’m going to worry.” But I shift around, kneeling against his side, draping one of his thick arms over my shoulder. “You weigh as much as a Mack Truck, you know. But come on.”

  “I’ll try not to crush you.”

  That sardonic humor, nearly groaned against my ear, gives me sweet relief. If he’s teasing me, he’s going to be fine.

  But I still don’t breathe until I get him standing, staggering, limping and trying to carry all his weight on one foot as I guide him inside and kick the door shut behind us. He steers toward the couch, but I shake my head firmly and pull him along.

  “Let me take care of you,” I say.

  He gives me an odd look from the corner of his eye, but he says nothing.

  He just lets me drag him deeper into the cabin, lurching one step at a time.

  I’m about to collapse under his weight by the time I get him slumped into the bathtub, his legs hanging out the side.

  “Rissa—”

  “Don’t,” I say, my voice thick, hurting, as I fumble with his shoelaces. “I need to do this. I need to take care of you. You asshole, you left me here worrying about you every freaking night, and then you come back like this.”

  He catches my hand, stops my fussing, looking at me intently. “Better me than you, babe. And it could’ve been you.”

  “No.” I shake my head firmly. “You’d never let that happen to me...”

  “I might be the one to do it,” he says urgently, staring at me, amethyst eyes sharp-edged as cut gems.

  What does he mean? My heart skips a beat.

  “You don’t get what I am, Rissa. You don’t get me.”

  My jaw tightens. I stare right back at him, then jerk my hand away and pull his boots off firmly before dragging at his clothing, starting to strip him down.

  “So tell me,” I demand. “What happened tonight? What did you think you were protecting me from?”

  So he tells me while I wrestle him out of his clothes and start filling the bath with hot water.

&
nbsp; He tells me in unflinching terms, nothing spared, one word at a time.

  I feel like I’m there, living his memory through those bright, determined violet eyes.

  * * *

  Hours Ago

  It’s late.

  Almost nine o’clock, to be precise, because the note on the second cache pointed Leo to the constellation Capricorn as seen from a spot in the valley at nine fourteen p.m., and he’s almost there. He consults his compass and stops to use his telescope, checking the constellation against the horizon, the North Star.

  Maybe this will be the one.

  The one that has not just evidence of Galentron’s crimes, but the incriminating stuff that just might exonerate Leo.

  Might let him go back to having a life in the light, a life with me, with Zach.

  That’s what he’s truly been looking for all this time. A way to be with us.

  It’s an oddly warm October night. Leo swelters in his layers, his own sweat masking scents around him, the scents of brush and dry earth and old, faint chemicals that remind him this used to be Galentron’s playground.

  Too many memories, he says.

  Too many terrible things.

  He can’t wait to find this cache and haul ass back to us.

  He crests a pile of tumbled rocks, checks the angles again, then slides down to a spot that looks innocuous, but he can already tell something’s off.

  It’s too loose.

  A little depression against the rocks, with more tumbled in it, small pebbles with a few tough plants growing out.

  He brushes them aside to dig, planning to push everything back in place to make it look like no one was ever here.

  It’s so dusty.

  He’s trying not to cough, breathing shallowly through his mask. He searches deeper in the ground...only for his fingers to feel cardboard.

  A feeling he recognizes now, after finding it twice before.

  Another box from my shop. Inside, there’ll be another cache Deanna hid.