by Dannika Dark
“Yes, you can never have too many.”
“How much do you know about them?” I didn’t want to disclose what little I knew about Cyrus since Niko tied into that story. “I’m just curious how someone goes about hiring new people. Seems like it’s hard to find someone you can trust.”
“Why do you ask?”
“When I went to your house, your guard was there.”
Patrick wobbled for a moment before his fists clenched. “My guard?”
“Yeah, the Samoan-looking dude. Nobody else was on the property—just him. It didn’t feel like he was supposed to be there, so I thought I’d alert you that you might want to keep an eye on him. He had someone with him. Don’t know who, but it just felt like he was up to something.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No, he didn’t see me. Who was his last employer?”
Patrick’s nostrils angled in such a way that his nose looked like an arrow pointing to his mouth. I hadn’t really noticed it before until they were flaring with tempered anger. “He came with glowing recommendations.”
It sounded as though someone had duped Patrick, and I wondered whom Cyrus had paid off to get those references. “Well, just thought I’d let you know.”
He reached out and captured my wrist. “When do you think we’ll be getting out of here?”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s up to the guy in charge of this operation. We still have a murderer on the loose.”
“That’s hardly a reason to lock everyone up.” Patrick put his hands on his hips and gazed at the ceiling. “I finally know what jail must feel like.”
I snorted. This place was a five-star hotel in my eyes. These rich snobs didn’t appreciate the basic things in life, like a bed and four walls. Maybe this experience would humble them.
“I’ve gotta split,” I informed him.
Patrick bowed courteously before strolling around the open room.
Father Martin led me back to the stairwell, and as we began our ascent, I realized Patrick hadn’t told me his son’s name. In fact, it seemed odd that he didn’t have a message to pass along. Maybe what he was doing was out of obligation and not love, but wouldn’t he at least want me to tell him to be a good boy?
Ah well. What did I know about being a parent? Kids weren’t exactly in my future.
Chapter 19
Shepherd swung his legs over the edge of the bed and set his bare feet on the cold floor. He rubbed his face repeatedly, erasing the exhaustion that still lingered. It had been a long night rounding up the remaining names on the list, and thank fuck the Regulators had taken over to finish the job. Not a moment too soon, especially after what happened to Blue.
Shepherd grabbed the box of matches he kept on the bench next to his bed and lit a candle. He flexed his fingers, lacerations and bruises accenting the brutal landscape of his scarred hands. Despite the injuries, he cracked his knuckles. He didn’t know what time it was without a clock or window in his room, and because he’d fallen asleep after dawn, his internal clock was on snooze.
Banged up and tired, Shepherd decided to skip exercises on the green-and-gold carpet in front of his bathroom entrance. His knee still hurt when he bent it, so he put more weight on the other leg when he stood.
Shepherd limped to the bathroom to drain his pipe, his gait stiff. In addition to candles, he kept a battery-operated lantern in there for quick trips. Living without electricity hadn’t turned out to be such a big deal. A man learned to acclimate to his surroundings. After he finished and washed his hands, he caught his reflection in the mirror… and it was rough. Dark stubble covered his jaw, and the circles underneath his eyes didn’t do much to improve his appearance. Too tired to shave or brush his teeth, he walked just outside the bathroom doorway and gripped the pull-up bar he’d recently installed overhead.
He leaned his head against his bicep and hung there for a moment. His room looked like a prison cell compared to everyone else’s. Upon move-in, they’d each received the same rustic bed, which was too low to the fucking ground, and an armoire. The rest was up to them. Shepherd never bothered buying a new bed or a chest of drawers. He didn’t like forming attachments. Nothing good ever lasted in his life.
He let go of the bar and strode to the bed, lifting the candle from the bench before it dripped wax on his clothes or set them on fire. Not that he had a lot of clothes to begin with. It made more sense to own a few T-shirts, good jeans, and a jacket. There was plenty of storage in the armoire, but that was where he kept his weaponry. The only things Shepherd needed in life were guns, knives, clean clothes, and a pack of smokes.
He circled the bed and set the candle down on his desk to the left of the door. His papers were neatly stacked on one side, a rock serving as a paperweight. Not that there were drafts since he didn’t have a fireplace or vents, but once in a while—especially on windy nights—a draft crept into the room from beneath the door.
He rubbed his bare chest and returned to the bench by his bed. Since he wasn’t the kind of guy who walked around in his boxer briefs, Shepherd put on jeans and then grabbed a white T-shirt before heading out the door.
When he turned down the hall, shirt clutched in hand, he crashed into Kira.
She gasped, staggering backward and windmilling her arms to keep from falling. He reached out to grab her wrist and steady her, but she wrenched away.
Why the hell is she so afraid of me?
Granted, he had a formidable appearance, but why didn’t she have the same reaction around Christian? Most people didn’t like the idea of sleeping under the same roof with a bloodsucking Vampire, even if she had gotten used to his presence back in Bulgaria. Besides, Shepherd always cleaned his plate no matter what she served for dinner. It was all delicious, but for some reason, he didn’t want her to see him as a monster. So he’d flash a smile when she collected his empty plate from the table. People used to say he had a charming smile, but maybe he was so rusty that it looked villainous.
Shepherd studied Kira, her fear still clinging to the palm of his hand like sticky gum. Her emotions were never mixed with surprise, shyness, or even anger. Always fear. He’d first noticed it a while back when she dropped a pan after he walked into the kitchen. He picked it up and felt her emotional imprints all over it. To be honest, it pissed him off. Over the past few weeks, she’d been good about keeping her emotions off his plate at dinner. Maybe she set the table with gloves, knowing he’d feel it.
“Didn’t see you,” he said, breaking the silence. “Where’s the kid? I thought you were watching him.”
She wrung her hands, clearly hoping he’d lose interest and move on.
Shepherd held his hand around the height of his waist, palm flat. “The boy?”
Kira wore a kerchief over her head, knotted in the back. It held together all that beautiful red hair, but now all he could notice were her flushed cheeks, darting eyes, and the way she was worrying her lip. She was taller than Raven but shorter than Blue, which put her at around five-nine. Her shoes were flat, so he always got a true sense of her height.
“Never mind,” he grumbled, shaking his head. “I just thought someone was supposed to be watching him.”
When he walked past her, he couldn’t help but notice her gaze fixed on his tattoo.
Strange woman. At least she stayed out of their business.
Shepherd pulled the T-shirt over his head and tucked it into his jeans. It was a little tight from excessive washings. Either that, or he’d put on some muscle. He rubbed his whiskery jaw, wishing he’d grabbed his smokes on the way out. Because Shepherd’s room was on the first floor, he didn’t have far to walk to the dining room. He’d chosen his room for that very reason, as well as the necessity of locating himself close to the medical room, which had to be by the front door.
When he entered the main foyer, the dim light outside the windows gave him a good idea about the time. It would be dinner soon. Had he really slept that long?
Shepherd swaggered into th
e dining room and halted in his tracks.
The kid was sitting alone in Viktor’s chair, his chin resting on the table. His black hair was unkempt, but someone had given him the change of clothes that Shepherd had left on the dining table earlier that morning. He must have slipped away from Kira.
The candles in the chandelier glowed brightly, as did the sconces on the wall. Shepherd only took notice of one thing: the mittens. He’d thought the kid would refuse. Kids were capricious, unpredictable, and combative. They didn’t like adults telling them what to do. But there he was, wearing those gloves. They weren’t the kind Shepherd would have bought for him. The best gloves for Sensors were made of a thin, breathable material that didn’t make the hands sweat. It didn’t matter what they wore in winter, but the Sensor variety was preferred since they were flexible. For some, gloves dulled the sensory emotions on people and objects, and for others, they completely masked it.
He wondered how strong this kid’s abilities were.
Shepherd approached the table and sat in Wyatt’s chair. “I like those gloves,” he said. “Do you know what makes them awesome?”
The boy’s blue eyes glittered with curiosity. They were beautiful eyes, rimmed in black and filled with so much innocence Shepherd would never understand.
“Because gloves have magic powers for people like you and me.” He noticed the skeptical look growing on the boy’s face. “Want me to show you how they work? Go on. Touch my hand.”
Shepherd stretched out his arm, and the boy gaped at all the scars.
“I dare you.”
The boy reached out cautiously and traced his gloved finger along one of the fresh marks. Shepherd glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. As far as they were concerned, the kid was a Relic.
“See that? You can’t tell what I’m feeling, can you?”
The boy shook his head and then touched more of Shepherd’s hand. His fingers were so damn small in comparison.
“Sometimes those things you feel are yucky, aren’t they? Especially when you go to the store… or a party.”
The boy frowned and put his hands in his lap. Shepherd wished he could understand how much Patrick’s rules had damaged the child. Using a Sensor that young to read people was dangerous and irresponsible.
Shepherd folded his arms and gave the boy a curt nod. “I think they make you look like a superhero or something.”
That roused a smile. But then the kid reached up and ran his fingers along the scar that hooked across his own face. It was deep and wouldn’t fade with time. In fact, Shepherd feared as the boy grew and his skin changed, it would become more noticeable. It was in a place he wouldn’t be able to cover with whiskers or a beard.
Fuck Patrick. Making that kid wear a mask at the parties to hide identifying marks had given the boy a complex. And what comforting words could Shepherd possibly have to offer? That scarred people were special? What was so special about his own scars? They were wasted attempts at saving the woman he loved.
They were a constant reminder of his failure.
So Shepherd said the only thing that made sense in that moment. “All true warriors have marks… like yours. Sometimes we win battles, and sometimes we lose, but we’re stronger than everyone else. Don’t let anyone ever tell you different. You got me, little man?”
It shattered him that he couldn’t even call him by a name. Patrick denied him everything that would give him an identity, hoping to brainwash the kid from an early age. But that time at the grocery store, when the kid had defiantly run away from Patrick so he could ride a mechanical horse, had revealed his unbreakable spirit. Deep down, the kid must have sensed something was wrong with his life. He had no sense of normalcy to compare it to, and Shepherd was certain the boy had never watched television a day in his life. Did he know what a father was?
“When you get older, you won’t need to wear the gloves as much. You learn tricks, like how to tune out all those shitty emotions. Uh… I mean sticky emotions.”
The boy giggled and covered his mouth, delighted by Shepherd’s tacky attempt to fix his swearing habit.
Or maybe Patrick never cussed around the kid and Shepherd had just taught him his first swear word.
Great.
Shepherd laced his fingers together and tried to hear Maggie’s laugh in there. Sometimes he caught a flash of her in the boy’s blue eyes or the way he would smile.
It didn’t take but a minute for the kid to settle down, and when he did, Shepherd couldn’t help but notice how he’d put his arms on the table, lacing his fingers together.
Shepherd pointed one finger up.
The boy smiled, copying the gesture.
Shepherd put his finger down.
The boy did the same.
Finding amusement, Shepherd stretched all his fingers out. When the boy mirrored his movements, it became a game. And this went on for several minutes.
By the time Niko walked in, Shepherd and the kid had their thumbs in their ears, wiggling all their fingers. At least Niko couldn’t see how ridiculous the scene was, but he must have picked up on something.
“He likes you,” Niko said, taking a seat on the opposite side.
“I thought Kira was supposed to be watching him at all times.”
“Gem said Kira takes him exploring every few hours so he’ll behave when she’s doing chores. He’s a bright child.”
“Yeah,” Shepherd said, feeling a heavy weight on his chest.
“His presence has healed you in some way.”
Bored with the conversation, the boy hopped out of his seat and skipped into the gathering room. Shepherd kept an eye on him through the entryway and open archways in the wall.
“Maybe the fates have brought him here for a reason,” Niko offered. “To remind you where you’re most needed.”
“What kind of cruel joke is that? Dangling the kid in front of me like a carrot, showing me what I’ll never have, isn’t a lesson I need.”
Niko’s hair slipped forward when he lowered his head. “I’ll never know the joy and heartache of creating a life, but one thing I’ve learned is that sometimes we need others more than they need us. Even if you were to raise him, you’d only have him for a short while. No matter what that boy’s fate is, he will soon grow into a man who will make his own decisions. You needn’t worry about Patrick’s influence. I have no doubt he’ll brainwash him long enough to get what he needs, but one day, the boy will take a long look at his reflection in the mirror and question who he is and what he believes in. Every man faces the reflecting pool. Trust that no matter the outcome, he’ll have enough of your bravery and his mother’s goodness to choose the right path, even if you have no part in that choice. Have you told Viktor?”
Shepherd shook his head even though Niko couldn’t see. His silence was answer enough.
“Would you give up everything for the boy?”
Shepherd clenched his fists. “I’d die for him.”
That kid was the best thing that Shepherd had ever done—the result of two people loving each other so much that they created another life. Shepherd didn’t know the boy, but he felt a strong devotion to him unlike anything he’d ever known.
Niko sat back and lifted his gaze. “Enjoy the time you have together. Maybe this gift is an opportunity to show him what a real home is like—what having a father is like.”
Shepherd rose from his chair and abruptly left the table. As much as he wanted to bond with his son, it would only make the separation worse. Niko was right about one thing: even if he kidnapped the boy, he’d only have him for a short while. Children grow up fast, and living on the run was no life for a child, especially if Shepherd couldn’t get work and make enough money to pay for their next meal.
He entered the foyer, heading for the opposite side of the stairs.
Raven burst through the front door. “Hey, Shep.”
Shepherd ignored her. He needed to clean his weapons and wait for Viktor’s orders, because Keystone was a
ll he had.
Chapter 20
When I entered the mansion, I caught sight of Shepherd passing through. Just the man I needed to see.
“Hey, Shep.”
As the door closed behind me, he stormed off as if I didn’t exist. Shepherd didn’t walk like most men; he had a mean stride with a heavy gait. But something had lit a fire in his ass as he hustled behind the stairs and toward his room.
“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll just tell Claude that you refused to fix his car.” After I shucked my jacket and slung it across the winged statue, I headed for the dining room.
“What are you doing in here alone?” I asked Niko.
He turned his head, but his body remained facing the entryway to the gathering room. “Watching the little one.”
I peered through one of the open archways into the next room and saw Patrick’s little boy skipping around in front of the roaring fireplace. It looked as if someone had dressed him in the clothes I brought home, but man, did I do a piss-poor job at selecting them. The little tyke’s red sweatshirt and green pants made him look like Christmas.
“I couldn’t find any toys,” I said, still bitter about that. “Unless Patrick keeps them hidden in a basement, there were none in the rooms I searched.”
“A child’s imagination is the best toy there is.”
“Is Viktor around?”
“Downstairs office.” He studied me for a moment before approaching. “What troubles you?”
“When I went to Patrick’s house, I saw Cyrus. Is he really working for Patrick?”
Niko took a deep breath and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m afraid so. They were here when Patrick brought the boy.”
I jerked my head back. “I didn’t see them.”
“They parked in the garage and then roamed around the property. Viktor wouldn’t allow them inside.”
“Not much of a bodyguard.”
“It appears they have a special arrangement to work as a sentinel but not as a personal bodyguard. Their business relationship makes no sense to me. Cyrus would never work for someone else, especially a white man. Not unless he wanted something out of it.”