The Complete Hush, Hush Saga

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  “Don’t bother screaming,” the bulkiest of them told me. “There isn’t another warm body around for miles.” He hid behind a cowboy hat and sunglasses, but his precaution was unnecessary; I was positive I’d never seen him before. My heightened sixth sense identified all three as Nephilim. But what they wanted from me . . . I didn’t have a clue.

  I jerked against the chains, but other than producing a weak grinding sound, they didn’t budge.

  “If you were a real Nephil, you’d be able to break out of the chains,” the Nephil in the cowboy hat snarled. He seemed to be the spokesman for the other two, who hung back, limiting their communication with me to glares of disgust.

  “What do you want?” I repeated icily.

  Cowboy Hat’s mouth curled into a sneer. “I want to know how a little princess like yourself thinks she can pull off a Nephilim revolution.”

  I held his hateful gaze, wishing I could fling the truth in his face. There wasn’t going to be a revolution. Once Cheshvan started in less than two days, he and his friends would be possessed by fallen angels. Hank Millar had had the easy part: filling their heads with notions of rebellion and freedom. And now I was left to work the actual miracle.

  And I wasn’t going to.

  “I looked into you,” Cowboy Hat said, pacing in front of me. “I asked around and found out you’re dating Patch Cipriano, a fallen angel. How’s that relationship working out for you?”

  I swallowed discreetly. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to.” I knew the danger I faced if my relationship with Patch were found out. I’d been careful, but it was starting to look like not careful enough. “But I ended things with Patch,” I lied. “Whatever we had is in the past. I know where my loyalties lie. As soon as I became a Nephil—”

  He thrust his face in mine. “You aren’t Nephilim!” His eyes raked over me with contempt. “Look at you. You’re pathetic. You don’t get the right to call yourself Nephilim. When I look at you, I see human. I see a weak, sniveling, entitled little girl.”

  “You’re angry because I’m not as physically strong as you,” I stated calmly.

  “Who said anything about strength! You don’t have pride. There’s no sense of loyalty inside you. I respected the Black Hand as a leader because he earned that respect. He had a vision. He took action. He named you his successor, but that means nothing to me. You want my respect? Make me give it to you.” He snapped his fingers savagely in my face. “Earn it, princess.”

  Earn his respect? So I could be like Hank? Hank was a cheat and a liar. He’d promised his people the impossible with smooth words and flattery. He’d used and deceived my mom and turned me into a pawn in his agenda. The more I thought about the position he’d put me in, leaving me to carry out his demented vision, the more maddened I grew.

  I met Cowboy Hat’s eyes coldly . . . then bucked my foot up with all the force I had and planted it squarely in his chest. He sailed backward into the wall and crumpled on the floor.

  The other two rushed forward, but my anger had started a fire inside me. A foreign and violent power swelled in me, and I strained against the chains, hearing the metal creak as the links snapped apart. The chains dropped to the floor, and I didn’t waste a minute before lashing out with my fists. I pummeled the nearest Nephil in the ribs and gave the female a roundhouse kick. My foot collided with her thigh, and I was amazed by the solid mass of muscle I found there. Never before in my life had I encountered a woman of such strength and durability.

  Dante was right; I didn’t know how to fight. A moment too late, I realized I should have followed through, mercilessly attacking while they were down. But I was too stunned by what I’d done to do more than hunch in a defensive position, waiting to see what their response would be.

  Cowboy Hat charged at me, thrusting me backward into the post. The impact knocked all air from my lungs and I doubled over, trying but failing to draw oxygen.

  “I’m not done with you, princess. This was your warning. If I find out you’re still running with fallen angels, it won’t be pretty.” He patted my cheek. “Use this time to reconsider your loyalties. Next time we meet, for your sake, I hope they’ve shifted.”

  He signaled the others with a jerk of his chin, and they all filed out the door.

  I gulped air, taking a few minutes to recover, then staggered to the door. They were already gone. Road dust sifted through the air, and dusk crept across the skyline, a smattering of stars glittering like tiny shards of broken glass.

  CHAPTER

  4

  I STEPPED OUT ON THE CABIN’S SMALL STOOP, wondering how I’d navigate my way home, when the sound of an engine roared up the long gravel driveway ahead. I braced myself for the return of Cowboy Hat and friends, but it was a Harley Sportster motorcycle that tore into view, carrying a single rider.

  Patch.

  He swung off and crossed to me in three quick strides. “Are you hurt?” he asked, taking my face between his hands and looking me over for any sign of injury. A mix of relief, worry, and rage blazed in his eyes. “Where are they?” he asked, his tone as hardened as I’d ever heard it.

  “There were three of them, all Nephilim,” I said, my voice still shaky from fright and the whiplash of having my breath knocked out of me. “They left about five minutes ago. How did you find me?”

  “I activated your tracking device.”

  “You put a tracking device on me?”

  “Sewn into the pocket of your jean jacket. Cheshvan starts with Tuesday’s new moon, and you’re an unsworn Nephil. You’re also the Black Hand’s daughter. You’ve got a premium on your head, and that makes you pretty damn appealing to just about every fallen angel out there. You’re not swearing fealty, Angel, end of story. If that means I have to cut into your privacy, deal with it.”

  “Deal with it? Excuse me?” I wasn’t sure if I should hug him or shove him.

  Patch ignored my indignation. “Tell me everything you can about them. Physical descriptions, make and model of the car, anything that will help me track them down.” His eyes sizzled with vengeance. “And make them pay.”

  “Did you also bug my phone?” I wanted to know, still not over the idea that Patch had invaded my privacy without telling me.

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

  “In other words, I have no secrets.”

  His expression softened and he looked as though, had the mood not been so tense, he might have considered smiling. “There are still a few things you’ve managed to keep secret from me, Angel.”

  Okay, I walked right into that.

  I said, “The ringleader hid behind sunglasses and a cowboy hat, but I’m positive I’ve never seen him before. The other two—a male and a female—wore nondescript clothing.”

  “Car?”

  “I had a bag over my head, but I’m positive it was a van. Two of them sat in the back with me, and the door sounded like it slid open sideways when they forced me out.”

  “Anything else stand out?”

  I told Patch the ringleader had threatened to uncover our secret relationship.

  Patch said, “If word of us gets out, things could get ugly fast.” His brows pulled together, and his eyes darkened with uncertainty. “Are you sure you want to continue trying to keep our relationship off the radar? I don’t want to lose you, but I’d rather do it on our terms than theirs.”

  I slipped my hand in his, noting how cold his skin felt. He’d grown still, too, as if bracing for the worst. “I’m either in this with you, or I’m out,” I told him, and I meant every word. I’d lost Patch once before, and not to be melodramatic, but death was preferable. Patch was in my life for a reason. I needed him. We were two halves of the same whole.

  Patch gathered me against him, holding me with a certain possessive ferocity. “I know you’re not going to like this, but we might want to think about staging a public fight to send a clear message that our relationship is over. If these guys are serious about digging up secrets, we can’t control
what they find. This is starting to feel like a witch hunt, and we might be better off making the first move.”

  “Stage a fight?” I echoed, dread trickling through me like a winter chill.

  “We’d know the truth,” Patch murmured in my ear, running his hands briskly over my arms to warm them. “I’m not going to lose you.”

  “Who else would know the truth? Vee? My mom?”

  “The less they know, the safer they are.”

  I let go of a conflicted sigh. “Lying to Vee is getting really old. I don’t think I can do it anymore. I feel guilty every time I’m around her. I want to come clean. Especially about something as important as you and me.”

  “It’s your call,” Patch said gently. “But they won’t hurt her if they think she has nothing to tell.”

  I knew he was right. Which didn’t leave me a choice in the matter, did it? Who was I to put my best friend in harm’s way for the sake of appeasing my conscience?

  “We probably won’t be able to fool Dante—you work too closely with him,” Patch said. “And it might even work out better if he knows. He can back up your story when he talks with influential Nephilim.” Patch shrugged out of his leather jacket and slipped it over my shoulders. “Let’s get you home.”

  “Can we make a quick stop by Pete’s Locker Room first? I need to pick up my cell phone, and the untraceable one you gave me. I dropped one during the attack, and the other got left behind in my handbag. If we’re lucky, my new shoes are still on the sidewalk too.”

  Patch kissed the top of my head. “Both phones need to be put out of service. They left your possession, and if we assume the worst, your Nephilim abductors put their own tracking or listening devices on them. Best to get new phones.”

  One thing was sure. If I’d been unmotivated to train with Dante before, all that had changed. I needed to learn to fight, and fast. Between dodging Pepper Friberg and advising me on my new role as Nephilim leader, Patch had enough to worry about without needing to rush in from the sidelines every time I got in over my head. I was immensely grateful for his protection, but it was time I learned to take care of myself.

  • • •

  It was full dark by the time I got home. I walked through the door, and my mom hurried out of the kitchen, looking both worried and aggravated.

  “Nora! Where have you been? I called but kept getting your voice mail.”

  I could have slapped my forehead. Dinner. At six. I’d completely missed it.

  “I am so sorry,” I said. “I misplaced my phone in one of the stores. By the time I realized I’d lost it, it was almost dinnertime, and I had to backtrack all over town. I never found it, so now I’m not only out a phone, but I blew you off. I am so sorry. I didn’t have a way to call.” I hated that I was forced to lie to her again. I’d done it so many times it seemed like once more shouldn’t hurt, but it did. It made me feel less and less like her daughter, and more and more like Hank’s. My biological father had been an expert and unrivaled liar. And I was hardly in a position to be critical.

  “You couldn’t stop and find some way to call me?” she said, not sounding for one minute like she believed my story.

  “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “I don’t suppose you were with Patch?” I didn’t miss the cynical emphasis on his name. My mother regarded Patch with as much affection as the raccoons that often wreaked havoc on our property. I didn’t doubt she fantasized about standing on the porch with a rifle perched on her shoulder, watching for him to show his face.

  I inhaled, swearing this would be the last lie. If Patch and I were really going through with the staged fight, it was best to start planting seeds now. I told myself that once I took care of Mom and Vee, everything else would be downhill. “I wasn’t with Patch, Mom. We broke up.”

  She raised her eyebrows, still not looking convinced.

  “It just happened, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.” I started for the stairs.

  “Nora—”

  I turned back, and there were tears in my eyes. They were unexpected and not part of the act. I merely remembered the last time Patch and I had broken up for real, and a viselike sensation squeezed me, stealing my breath. The memory would forever haunt me. Patch had taken the best parts of me with him, leaving a lost and hollow girl behind. I didn’t want to be that girl again. Ever.

  Mom’s expression eased up. She met me on the stairs, rubbed my back soothingly, and whispered in my ear, “I love you. If you change your mind and want to talk . . .”

  I nodded, then went to my bedroom.

  There, I told myself, trying hard to sound optimistic. One down, one to go. I wasn’t exactly lying to my mom and Vee about the breakup; I was merely doing what had to be done to keep them safe. Honesty was the best policy, most of the time. But sometimes safety trumped all, right? It seemed like a valid argument, but the thought soured in my stomach.

  There was another worrisome thought scratching at the back of my mind. How long could Patch and I live a lie . . . and not let it become the truth?

  • • •

  Five o’clock Monday morning arrived all too soon. I smacked my alarm, cutting it off mid-beep. Then I rolled over and told myself, Two more minutes. I closed my eyes, let my mind float, saw a new dream start to take shape—and the next thing I knew, I caught a handful of clothes in the face.

  “Rise and shine,” Dante said, standing over my bed in the dark.

  “What are you doing in here?” I shrieked groggily, snatching my blanket and tugging it higher.

  “Doing what any decent personal trainer would. Get your butt out of bed and get dressed. If you’re not in the driveway in three minutes, I’ll come back with a bucket of cold water.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “You left your window unlocked. Might want to break that habit. Hard to control what comes in when you give the world a free pass.”

  He strolled toward my bedroom door just as I stumbled out of bed.

  “Are you crazy? Don’t use the hall! My mom might hear you. A guy doing what appears to be the walk of shame out my bedroom door? I’ll be grounded for life!”

  He looked amused. “For the record, I wouldn’t be ashamed.”

  I stood in place a whole ten seconds after he left, wondering if I was supposed to read deeper into his words. Of course not. His line might have felt flirtatious, but it wasn’t. End of story.

  I tugged on black track pants and a stretchy microfiber shirt, and slicked my hair into a ponytail. If nothing else, I’d look good while Dante ran me into the ground.

  Exactly three minutes later, I met him in the driveway. I looked around, sensing the absence of something important. “Where’s your car?”

  Dante punched me lightly in the shoulder. “Feeling lazy? Tsk, tsk. I thought we’d warm up with a brisk ten-mile run.” He pointed toward the densely wooded area across the street. As kids Vee and I had explored the woods, and even built a fort one summer, but I’d never taken the time to wonder how far they stretched. Apparently, at least ten miles. “After you.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t feel great about running off into the wilderness with Dante. He’d been one of Hank’s top men—reason enough not to like or trust him. In hindsight, I never should have agreed to train alone with him, especially if our training arena was remote.

  “After training, we should probably review the feedback I’m getting from various Nephilim groups about morale, expectations, and you,” Dante added.

  After training. Meaning he didn’t intend to discard me at the bottom of an abandoned well in the next hour. Besides, Dante answered to me now. He’d sworn loyalty. No longer Hank’s lieutenant, he was now mine. He wouldn’t dare harm me.

  Allowing myself the luxury of one final thought of blissful sleep, I shrugged off the fantasy and darted into the tree line. The branches stretched like a canopy overhead, shutting out what little trace of light the early sky might have had to offer. Relying on my heightened Nephilim visi
on, I ran hard, vaulting over fallen trees, dodging low-hanging branches, and keeping my eyes sharp for sunken rocks and other camouflaged debris. The ground was treacherously uneven, and at the speed I was traveling, one missed step could be disastrous.

  “Faster!” Dante barked behind me. “Run lighter on your feet. You sound like a stampeding rhinoceros. I could find and catch you with my eyes closed!”

  I took his words to heart, lifting my feet the moment they hit ground, repeating this process with every step, concentrating on making myself as noiseless and undetectable as possible. Dante raced ahead, blowing past me with ease.

  “Catch me,” he ordered.

  Chasing after him, I marveled at the strength and agility of my new Nephilim body. I was amazed by how clunky, slow, and uncoordinated my human body had been in comparison. My athleticism wasn’t merely improved, it was superior.

  I dipped under branches, jumped over potholes, and darted around boulders as though I were on an obstacle course I’d long ago memorized. And while I felt like I was running fast enough to lift off and soar into the sky at any moment, my pace lagged behind Dante’s. He moved like an animal, gaining the momentum of a predator chasing down its next meal. Soon I’d lost track of him altogether.

  I slowed, straining my ears. Nothing. A moment later he bounded out of the darkness ahead.

  “That was pathetic,” he criticized. “Again.”

  I spent the next two hours sprinting after him and hearing that same directive repeated over and over: Again. And again. Still not right—do it again.

  I was about to call it quits—my leg muscles trembled with exhaustion and my lungs felt scraped raw—when Dante circled back. He gave me a congratulatory pat on the back. “Good work. Tomorrow we’ll move to strength training.”

  “Oh? By lifting boulders?” I managed cynically, still huffing and puffing.