Blood Revolution (God Wars, #3)

by Suttle, Connie

  "I'm uh, Colbi Wayde, reporter for News Seventeen," Colbi attempted to regain her equilibrium. "You're Breanne Hayworth? The Breanne Hayworth, from Torture in Texas?" Colbi was breathless as her mind gripped just who (and what) she had in front of her—the only live interview anyone had gained from the one remaining victim of Joyce Christian's unholy inclinations.

  "Yes," I grumped. "And no, I'm not giving an interview. That book has obviously ruined my life and any anonymity I might have, hasn't it?" My voice was cold and trembling. No, I couldn't keep the quaver out of my voice—it was a struggle to remain standing as it was. My skin shivered over every part of my body and my legs shook under me.

  "I hear you weren't aware of the book. Do you have ill feelings toward Rome Enterprises? How do you feel about having those nude photographs on display? How much did you suffer? Have you been in therapy all this time? What did your doctors say? What's the diagnosis?"

  "I said no interview, and how I feel about Rome Enterprises and my health is my business and not yours." My legs refused to hold me up any longer and I almost fell. Hank, who'd stared at me before blinking several times in confusion, caught me as I went down. His hand went to my forehead, too, just before I fainted.

  * * *

  "Everybody in the country saw Bree faint in your arms after that woman badgered her," Jayson huffed. "Every news outlet is out for blood and Colbi is hiding behind her producer at the studio. I hear the media wants to talk to Breanne—and to you or Colbi or anybody else involved. I told Stephanie to hold all my calls. How's Bree doing?"

  "Still asleep, but that won't last much longer. She was shaking so bad, I don't know how she managed to stand up as long as she did." Hank lifted the blinds on the window inside his bedroom to check the street below. He'd bought a new condo six months earlier, and he was glad about that—Breanne would wake up in comfortable (if unfamiliar) surroundings.

  He'd left the club in Trey's hands—he didn't want Bree to wake there or in his office, which lay over the club and inside her old apartment.

  "PTSD," Jayson murmured.

  "Yeah. Probably GAD too," Hank agreed. "I don't think she'd have shown up if I hadn't needed bailing out."

  "I heard the coroner is releasing John's body," Jayson said.

  "Yeah. His brother called just before I left for work. Funeral will be Friday at eleven."

  "You think Bree will consent to talk to me?" Jayson asked.

  "No idea. Let's take this slow, okay? I don't know what she'll say to me, even, when she wakes, or if she'll just disappear again." Hank's cell beeped. "Look, I have another call. I'll let you know how Bree is after she wakes."

  "All right." Jayson terminated the call from his end.

  "Hello?" Hank answered the other line.

  "Hank Bell? I just saw Breanne on television. Is she still with you?"

  "Director Jennings?" Hank said.

  "Yes, it's Bill Jennings. Is Breanne there with you? Is she all right?"

  "She's still out, but she's sleeping—her vitals finally came back to normal. That reporter bitch wouldn't have left her alone if she hadn't fainted."

  "Have you known where she was all this time?" Bill demanded.

  "No, Director. I'm just as shocked by this as you are. I believe Breanne knew I was in trouble, so she showed up to bail me out. I have no idea where she's been, and I don't want to grill her the minute she wakes up. She needs somebody to look after her."

  "I can help with that."

  "If you can, I'd appreciate it. She may not be happy to see me, and she sure as hell may not be happy to hear that I'm still friends with Jayson. He really didn't know about the book, and he's horrified by the information and the photographs. I realize his father had a vendetta against Joyce Christian, but Breanne has been victimized twice."

  "I understand that," Bill sighed. "I've been terrified for more than two years, Bell. Terrified that she was dead—possibly by her own hand. My heart aches every time I think about it."

  "Mine, too, brother. Mine, too."

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  "Baby, are you gonna wake up for me?" A gentle hand brushed my forehead. I moaned, still mostly asleep. I had no idea what black velvet I'd fallen into, but it had given me rest and a dreamless sleep.

  "Baby, wake up, now. I need to feed you and make sure you're okay." Fingers touched my wrist and I realized it was Hank, taking my pulse. It jumped and sped up.

  "Bree, don't do that. Calm down and open your eyes for me, all right?" I moaned again before turning on my side and curling into a ball.

  "Baby, I won't let anybody hurt you. I promise," Hank murmured before brushing my cheek with his lips. "Come on, wake up, now." He pulled me against his chest. My hand was cradled in one of his as he kissed the inside of my wrist. My pulse jumped again and my eyes flew open.

  Grateful that the blinds were drawn and the bedside lamp muted, I blinked into Hank's dark, worried eyes. "There's my girl," he sighed before tucking my head beneath his chin. "Hank's here, baby," he crooned.

  "I'm okay," I whispered. "Mostly. Did the bitch go home?"

  "Yeah. With her tail between her legs. She's getting skewered by the other news outlets for bullying you."

  "She's having an affair with her married producer," I mumbled against Hank's chest. "I don't have a problem with multiple mates, but his wife doesn't know. That's what I have a problem with."

  "Yeah." Hank kissed the top of my head. "I missed you. So much."

  "How's Jayson? Did he know about the book? How's his mother? I hope his dad and Ross Gideon rot in hell."

  Hank chuckled into my hair. "Baby, Jayson really didn't know. He got blindsided by this, just like I did. Jayson's mother left his dad—they're separated but not divorced. Not yet, anyway. Kathleen won't speak to James Sr., I know that much. I want to talk to you someday about all this, too. Baby, if I'd known, I would have kept you as far away from the club as I could. Still, you need to deal with this—maybe a little immersion wouldn't be a bad thing."

  "Hank," I moaned, huddling against him.

  "No, shhhh, you'll be with me. You'll be safe with me. Nobody's gonna hurt my girl. Come on, now. Let's get you fed. I've listened to your stomach growl for the past hour."

  I recalled that my bowl of minestrone was still on the island at the house in San Rafael. I'd never gotten to take a first bite of it. "Hank," I pulled away from him—stared at his beautiful face for a moment before reaching up to tentatively ruffle his black hair. He smiled at me. I let my fingers slide down his face. I'd never gotten to touch him like that before. He took my fingers in his and kissed them.

  "Come on, shorty. We're going to the kitchen," he said and slid off the bed.

  * * *

  "How was I to know she'd show up?" Colbi wiped her eyes with a tissue. She'd spent the last two hours crying on Mitchell's shoulder.

  "If you'd been a bit more tactful, we might have had the interview of the decade," Mitchell muttered.

  "What?" Colbi turned hurt-filled blue eyes in Mitchell's direction.

  "I'm saying it's okay to ambush a grown man. When you jumped all over the most widely-recognized victim in the country, you lost any sympathy you might ever get," Mitchell pointed out. "I've taken three calls from my boss, and both our jobs may be on the line over this."

  "Why did she have to show up now?" Colbi wailed.

  * * *

  "Jayson, where is she? I want to send flowers—or something."

  "Mom, calm down. She's with Hank right now, and I imagine he has his hands full. We need to approach carefully, I think. I sure don't want her to disappear again."

  Kathleen Rome had dialed Jayson's private number the moment she saw Breanne on a national news program. "I want to talk to her, Jayson. Surely, she won't say no. I want her to know I've pulled all my support from Mercy Crossings after that stupid letter Barry Stokes wrote to her was published."

  "Mom, we can't deny that the company made money off those books. While we may h
ave donated to other charities since then, Dad hasn't let go of a single cent of that money."

  "He knows he did wrong. Look at all the letters published by other newspapers."

  "They're just angry because they didn't get there first. You won't fool Bree like that—she's too smart. It's been over two years since anybody's seen her, and the minute she shows up, she gets blindsided again."

  "That poor girl. Jayson, please tell me you've never hurt anybody like that."

  "There are big differences between what I am and what Joyce Christian obviously was. First, consent is the biggest factor, and I sure as hell know how far to take things. You don't do shit like that. That's not just abuse, that's torture. At least Dad got that part right. Don't ever put me in the same category as Joyce fucking Christian."

  "Jayson, watch your language," Kathleen Rome snapped.

  "Yeah. But it just gets me mad, whenever somebody thinks I might stoop to that," Jayson muttered angrily. "I give what's asked for."

  "Honey, please calm down, I didn't mean it like that," Kathleen sighed. "It's just that I can't get those photographs out of my mind. They're horrible."

  "Mom, I feel exactly the same, and it pisses me off that I feel so helpless about it. Why didn't somebody get her out of there? That idiot sheriff could have cut her loose and taken her to a hospital, yet all he did was stand there and take incriminating photographs. That stupid, evil bastard."

  "I'll agree with your language there, hon. He was a stupid, evil bastard. But as bad as he was, Joyce was worse."

  "I'll give you that. Bree said to me once that she'd met the devil. Now I know what she meant."

  "Jayson," Kathleen sighed, "You didn't try to convince her to—you know. Did you?"

  "No, Mom. I didn't. She made her feelings known after she found out about Hank."

  "I don't know how she managed to stay friends with either of you."

  "It wasn't easy. I just thought she was being unreasonable. Hank thought something else was there, but he couldn't figure it out. Everybody knows, now, don't they? Thanks to Dad and Ross. Why couldn't they hand what they had to the FBI or something, and let them handle it? Bree's name could have been kept out of it."

  "Honey, you know your father. He wanted Joyce when she was alive, and he settled for her reputation after she was dead. She was always touting her religious beliefs, and belittling anybody who didn't think the way she did. The book may have opened a lot of eyes, but there are still some who refuse to believe any of this."

  "I've read the stuff from the conspiracy theorists. Two websites are devoted to it. I have no idea what Breanne's appearance will mean to some of those people—they've been saying all along that Breanne doesn't exist and this is a government conspiracy to destroy religion and Joyce's image as a decent human being."

  "Idiots," Kathleen huffed.

  "Crazy idiots," Jayson agreed. "I think Bree might be in danger, if any of these crackpots learn where she is."

  "Oh, honey, that's too horrible to consider."

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  "I'll feed you better next time, but this is the best vegetarian I can do on short notice," Hank said.

  "It's good." I bit into the grilled cheese sandwich and chewed. At least he'd bought vegetarian cheese slices. Yeah, some cheeses are vegetarian, some aren't. I'd always made sure to go to restaurants with vegetarian-friendly cheese on the menu. I was grateful in the beginning that Bogey's was one of those places.

  "You're not going to hover, now, are you?" I blinked at Hank. "I have stuff to do."

  "What stuff?" Hank asked. Briefly, I considered telling him about the three men who'd intended to kill the subs they'd picked up at his club. Telling Hank that I'd offed them might be a mistake, so I kept that to myself.

  "I want to investigate John's murder. And the murders of those other people."

  "Bree, that could be dangerous."

  "Look, I was safer helping Director Bill than with the Rome family," I pointed out before taking another bite of my sandwich.

  "Director Bill called me earlier, after he saw you on the news."

  "Fuck," I tossed the sandwich onto the plate and rubbed my forehead. I hoped Bill had gotten my note before he saw the garbage on TV.

  "Eat," Hank lifted the sandwich and placed it in my hand. "Drink your milk, too. Director Bill was worried about you, that's all. I told him you were okay."

  "Thanks," I sighed and took another bite of my sandwich.

  "Will you be all right alone if I call to check on the club from my study?" Hank asked after settling me onto a leather sofa in his living room. He'd moved up in the world—his new condo had two bedrooms, a nice kitchen, a study and a spacious living area, complete with a big screen television. "You won't go anywhere, will you?"

  "I don't have any plans right now, but I ought to go home," I muttered.

  "Bree, how long have you been back? Here, I mean?" Hank's dark eyes grazed my face, searching for a suitable answer.

  "I've been home nearly two months," I dropped my eyes and stared at my hands.

  "And no word," he growled.

  "Look, I had no idea who knew about that fucking book beforehand. And that stupid release form Jayson badgered me to sign? I wasn't given the truth, the whole time. How do you think that makes me feel? That every person on the entire planet may have seen those photographs? My childhood was fucked up. Now, my adult life is just as fucked. Tell me that isn't so, Hank. Tell me I can go downstairs and walk on the sidewalk without somebody recognizing me. Tell me the news outlets aren't looking for my phone number right now. Tell me I won't get hounded until the end of time. I came home, hoping people would have forgotten about me. For a while, that worked. Sort of. Now you want to quibble about two months."

  "Bree, my heart is squeezing in my chest. All I'm thinking about is lost time. I've lost more than two years with you. Baby, you scare the shit out of me when you disappear. We never really talked about that misting trick you do. Remember—you told me about that before you found out about the book. How am I supposed to react to this—that you can do that and I can't hold onto you? All I want to do is keep you safe."

  I stared at him—his face had gone paler than I'd ever seen it, and he looked sad. Troubled. "Honey," I rubbed my forehead, "I can't tell you about this. Not only will you not believe me, you'll try to have me committed. Frankly, if somebody came up to me and said these things, I wouldn't believe it, either."

  "Start with the least fantastic thing, then. Tell me something you can prove easily, so I can start to believe."

  "Hank, I'll scare holy hell out of you if I do that."

  "Baby, I've been in wars. I've seen scary shit. Try me."

  "Hank, I'm warning you—you don't need to see any of this." I watched as he walked toward me. Blinked as he knelt beside the sofa and reached out to touch my face.

  "Baby, just give me something, so I can try to believe."

  My breath was uneven—almost a shudder as I gazed at Hank's beautiful face. "Hank, after you see this, be honest. If I scare you, tell me. I'll leave. You won't see me again if that's what you want."

  "Bree, there's nothing you can show me that'll do that."

  "You haven't seen it yet," I muttered before letting my vampire claws slide out. My eyes were red, too—they always were when my fangs dropped. I showed him that. All of it. Frankly, it was the least scary thing about me.

  Hank stared in shock. Well, most people would, if they didn't faint in the floor. "I don't drink blood, it makes me ill to even think about it," I let my claws slide back in and retracted my fangs. "I can toss your safe into the bay from here, most likely. I was called to help with those investigations, because vampires were behind those murders," I informed Hank, who still stared at me, his dark eyes unblinking.

  "I killed the vamps here and in D.C. Another vamp killed the one in Austin, but he and I were both chasing him when he died. Director Bill thinks I'm talented, but he doesn't know that I'm a vamp since I
can walk in daylight and eat normally. You're one of three people on Earth who knows this, now."

  "Bree, that's amazing," Hank whispered. "I was so worried about you."

  "See, I really can take care of myself. Mostly. Vampirism is why I don't have those scars anymore," I added. "I was covered with them, and half my bones had healed crookedly before I was turned. I could barely walk, and I was in constant pain."

  "Baby, come here." Hank pulled me into his arms. "I still want to protect you. I don't care that you can toss my safe into the water from here. You're my baby girl." He rubbed my back gently as he held me tightly against him. "Bree?" Hank eventually pulled away to look into my eyes.

  "Huh?" I blinked at him. In the dim light of his condo, his eyes looked black.

  "This," he said, and put his mouth on mine. I fainted from the intensity of the kiss.

  Chapter 4

  "You can have this suite," Jayson pointed Hank through a door. Hank carried Breanne's unconscious body in his arms. He'd driven her to Jayson's home in San Rafael not long after she'd fainted. "Is she all right?" Jayson followed Hank into the bedroom and touched Breanne's cheek gently. "If Mom finds out she's here, she'll fly down immediately."

  "Give it some time, Rome. Bree's fragile."

  "Yeah. I get that," Jayson raked a hand through thick, blond hair. "Will she fight me? I think I want to hold her."

  "I hope not. I told her you didn't know about the book, but she's still upset that she was misled on the Mercy Crossings story."

  "I didn't mislead her. The only reason I didn't run that story was because of Barry fucking Stokes. He called and had a fit. I didn't want to upset Breanne any more than she might be already, so I canceled the article."

  "Barry Stokes can fuck himself," Hank muttered before placing Breanne on the California king-sized bed.

  "Agreed. Are you staying here, too?"

  "Planning on it, unless you don't think it's a good idea. I want to share Bree's suite, but we'll see how she feels about that when she wakes."