No, he told himself, battling the old edge of temptation. You have to keep others safe. Above all else, do that.
Because he did not want to live with the price of his self-indulgence, did not want to be a person who felt entitled to wreak havoc simply because he could. Great power, great responsibility, and all that crap. Nor did he want to waste a lifetime cultivating his control, only to give it up because … because …
You want to know what it’s like to be your father. Ruthless, without conscience. A perfect cunning ego. If he had your gifts …
God help them all. Disgusted, Blue pushed away that thought and focused on the Golden Nugget. He wondered if he should go in. Iris and Daniel had recently disappeared inside that place, and though he knew his brother was certainly capable of protecting her—and that she was more than able to take care of herself—not being able to see Iris was beginning to drive him a little bit crazy. It had been hard enough getting his cabdriver to follow them in the heavy traffic on the Strip—hard, too, for Blue to keep his distance when trailing them both on foot—but this, now, being so close …
He had set out to catch Santoso if he returned to the Miracle, and what he had caught instead was Daniel and Iris. Going out on that date she had told him about.
And so what if she is? You don’t have any say over her life.
Maybe not, but he had a say over his own—and at the moment, it was completely devoted to keeping her safe.
As for his brother …
The crowd surged; cameras flashed, and tourists craned their necks, chatting in different languages as they continued to stare at the darkened screen, waiting. Blue heard the faint ding of slot machines, the tinkle of some carousel melody, and above that, closer, he also heard someone playing the guitar: a rendition of an old Elvis song, the music delicately plucked and drifting lightly through the air. Sweet notes on a hard street.
He smelled perfume, too. A very familiar perfume.
A gun pressed hard and cold behind Blue’s head, while a long golden thigh pushed tight against his shoulder. Pressing his body into the wall. Hiding the weapon.
“You are such an odd man,” said a familiar voice. “So very odd.”
“No odder than you,” Blue replied, slowly tilting his head. The woman standing beside him had changed her appearance; she had long, dark hair now, scraggly, which fell over a loose wrinkled T-shirt covered in old stains. Her shorts were baggy, her tennis shoes well-used. She wore a black fanny pack. And, of course, sunglasses.
“Nice disguise,” Blue said.
“I’m a wanted woman,” she replied. “One of Santoso’s men recognized you today and placed a phone call from the jail. I barely escaped with my life.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
The gun pushed harder against his skull. “Maybe I wanted to punish you for coming between me and my job.”
“If your job is to be an assassin, you’re lousy at it.”
“And you are terrible at small talk.” The woman sighed. “And at running.”
“I don’t give up.”
“No,” she murmured. “None of you do.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means that you and your … agency … have a reputation, Mr. Perrineau. Not a bad reputation by any means, but one that demonstrates a certain degree of … naïveté.”
“Naïveté.” Blue shook his head, smiling grimly. “You seem to know quite a bit about everything, don’t you?”
“I make it my business.”
“And is it your business to spy on men like Santoso?”
The woman did not reply. Her body still shielded the gun pressed to his head; cops stood nearby, but Blue had no intention of asking for their help. He was too intrigued. He said, “If you know about the agency, if you know anything about me, then you must be aware of the fact that we don’t hurt people. You can trust us. You can trust me. We can work together.”
“You’re a fool,” said the woman, though not unkindly. “A fool to say such things and believe them. You know nothing about your agency.”
“Then enlighten me,” he said, anger creeping up his throat. “Throw me a line, a word, something that would be helpful. Give me your name, even, instead of acting so goddamn superior about everything you know that I don’t.”
“Temper,” she murmured, but her hand shifted and the gun disappeared. She leaned close, the tips of her dark synthetic hair brushing the top of his head. “You want Santoso, but he is nothing but a cog in a machine, and like a machine, he was made to order. Everything he is, all that he has become, was given to him. He has earned nothing.”
“You’re saying he’s just a figurehead?”
“A very dangerous figurehead. He has come to the United States with orders to expand his operation, to find new … investors.”
“And has he?”
“Yes,” said the woman quietly. “Oh, yes.”
Blue studied her mouth, the curve of her jaw. Everything else was hidden by hair and sunglasses. “You were sent to find out who he works for, weren’t you?”
“It took me years to earn his trust,” she said softly. “Many sacrifices. And because of you …”
She stopped. Blue said, “You could have let me die.”
“Yes,” she replied, and looked away toward the Golden Nugget. Her shoulders stiffened. “Stand up. Now, Mr. Perrineau.”
Blue did as she asked, following the line of her sight. He bit back a shout when he saw Daniel standing in front of the casino, shoulders hunched, face red, looking as lost as a little boy.
Iris was not with him.
“Fuck,” he muttered, and began to move. The woman grabbed his arm. Her fingers felt like steel; her grip hurt.
“Why is he there?” she whispered harshly. “Did he go alone?
“No,” Blue said grimly, still watching his brother. “No, he brought a friend.”
The woman made a low sound, almost a groan, and it was so unlike her polished, deadly poise, Blue turned his head to stare. She was looking away from him, at Daniel, and something came over him—screaming instinct. He reached out and ripped off her sunglasses.
The woman flinched, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were the color of gold. Not even human, but cut with split irises. Cat eyes.
“Oh,” Blue breathed, and then he saw more than her eyes: the curve of her face, the height of her cheekbones, and he remembered, too, the way she had stared at Iris as she danced on that stage.
Her mouth pressed into a hard white line—a stubborn expression, identical to one Blue had already seen on a much younger woman. She held out her hand. Blue dropped the sunglasses into her palm and she slid them slowly over her eyes.
Cold, quiet, she said, “Santoso is in the Golden Nugget. I followed him here. And you say Daniel brought a friend?”
Again Blue tried to move. The woman’s grip did not weaken, but she leaned close and in a voice so deadly it made the hairs on his neck curl, she said, “Take care of your brother. Iris is mine.”
And then she was gone, running light as air through the crowds, straight toward the entrance of the Golden Nugget. Blue followed her, watching as she reached Daniel and grabbed the front of his shirt. The young man had no time to react—she was too fast, swinging him around like a broom twirling on its bristles, throwing him hard and fast into Blue’s arms.
The two men went down, crashing into tourists, spilling themselves and everyone around them onto the hard ground. Blue’s body screamed—fireworks exploded in his vision—but he tried to stand and found his brother still sprawled on top of him.
“You son of a bitch,” Blue growled, kicking Daniel away. “You left her.”
But that was all he had time for. Men in suits appeared outside the Golden Nugget; one look was enough to tell Blue that they weren’t just local security. They had the same cold eyes as the men who had ambushed Daniel and tried to take Iris—the same uniform, the same bodies. Thugs, picked with image and temperament in mind, like warhorses or
hunting dogs. They smiled when they saw Blue and Daniel, like they were sniffing a prize.
Blue clambered to his feet. He saw police pushing through the crowd; Santoso’s men saw them, too. They edged sideways, fingers flexing. Around them music boomed; the Viva! Vision screen flickered to life over their heads, colors dancing. Daniel also stood, staring at the men.
“Hey,” said one of the thugs, ambling close, unmindful of the approaching police, the people around them. “Hey, rich boy. You going to come easy?”
“Um, no.” Daniel’s cheeks were wet: tears, maybe. He glanced at Blue. “This isn’t your doing, is it?”
“We’re on the same side, you asshole.”
“Right. Like you can blame me for asking.”
“Hey,” said the thug.
“Of course I can blame you,” Blue snapped. “Have I done anything to hurt you? Anything at all?”
“Not yet,” Daniel muttered.
The thug rolled his eyes. “Fine, bullets.”
“Whatever,” Blue said. The men in suits began closing in, hands reaching under their jackets for guns. The police were not far behind them, but apparently, no one cared. This was going to get very ugly.
“Daniel.” Blue steadied himself “Do you feel like saving yourself?”
“I love these trick questions. What do you need me to do?”
“Push.” Blue said, and dropped his shields.
The lights went out.
If Iris had not been standing in the middle of a gaming pit filled to the brim with an unending array of security cameras and regular people just out for a night of fun, she might have thrown caution to the wind, given the leopard screaming inside her chest a chance at blood, and taken the drastic measure of ripping out the heart of the man in front of her and shoving it down his throat.
Unfortunately, the timing was off. Her entire life was swirling down the drain.
“We really need to stop meeting like this,” she said. “I’m going to start thinking that you’re stalking me.”
The man’s grip tightened. “Stalking is an ugly word. I prefer to call this … an acquisition.”
“That’s not much better,” Iris said. “Really.”
The man smiled. “The disquieting future. It is the same for us all, I assure you. The unknown can be such a … startling thing.”
The crowd momentarily thinned. The casino floor stretched in every direction, glittering with golden chandeliers and neon. In front of the slot machines, women lounged on their animal-print stools, hair limp and eyes bleary. Behind them, ranged in a loose circle, stood men in suits. They smelled like cigarettes and dirty underwear, and their eyes were dark and cold.
“Making a scene would be a poor idea,” said the man. “You would like to scream, I know that. Scream and cry foul and bring security upon all our heads.”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
“Of course.” He snapped his fingers, and one of his thugs stepped forward with a very large briefcase in his hands; black, leather, and boxy. Iris was surprised that no one had stopped them to make certain there wasn’t a bomb inside. The case smelled odd, too. Like blood.
The crowd was still thin; no one was near them. The rest of the suited men stepped close, forming a lose circle as the lid popped open with a click. The scent that rushed over Iris made her gag; she turned her head, but the case followed her, begging for a look.
She saw a head. Human, blond, familiar … and very detached.
“Kevin Cray.” The man drew out the name, tasting it. “My sources discovered that he was going to sue you for assault. I thought I would … head him off … before he caused you any trouble.”
The briefcase lid slammed shut. Iris snarled, wrenching her arm away. The man let go, but only just; she felt movement all around her, a wall closing in, a living cage. The scents of filth and smoke overwhelmed, along with something colder, like bleach, and the leopard uncurled inside her chest, whispering fight.
“Tell me your name,” she said to the man, feeling her body shift inside her: a shift of spirit but not flesh, quiet and invisible.
“Only for you, Layak,” he said softly. “My name is Santoso.”
“Santoso,” she murmured. “You are a very bad man.”
“I know,” he said, swaying close. “Oh, I know.”
It was the Golden Nugget casino; a public place, filled with people, security, cameras. Iris opened her mouth to scream—
—and saw a woman pass beneath the arch from the lobby. A woman with long dark hair, sunglasses, a baggy shirt, a sharp jaw, long, tanned legs—and Iris felt inside her body a pulse like the boom of thunder, a boom without sound that rippled through her bones like water. Everything around her stopped. Santoso stopped. The men behind him stopped. The casino froze in midglitter, cutting dry and silent inside her head. The world, gone gray to ash, and the only thing that existed was that woman, who slowly, slowly removed her glasses.
Mom, Iris thought, heart pounding. Mommy.
Time kicked in—color, movement—and Iris, stunned and breathless, watched as Serena McGillis ran straight toward her, full-tilt, high-speed, a leopard racing, into thin air.
Santoso turned, began to say a word—
—and the lights went out. Screams filled the air, cries of confusion, but Iris’s night vision kicked in, and she slammed a fist into Santoso’s face, knocking him flat on his ass. He cried out, rolling, but when Iris tried to jump over his body he shocked her by grabbing her ankle and holding on tight.
She tried to shake him loose, was ready to take off his hand if she had to—but Iris suddenly smelled perfume, familiar, and a warm body pressed close. Tears burned her eyes.
“Baby,” murmured her mother. Iris heard a ripping sound and Santoso cried out, letting go of her ankle. Her mother grabbed her hand, pulled …
The air cracked with gunfire. Serena fell. Iris screamed—a silent, hissing scream, because her throat locked up—like a child too terrified to cry out, to squeak—and something sharp pierced her neck. Heat rolled down her spine. She turned and lost her balance, staggering to one knee. Iris smelled blood, perfume, saw her mother lying very still on the casino carpet.
Iris crumpled, fell, and she could smell her mother beneath the perfume, warm and real and soft as sun and honey.
A boot slammed into Iris’s shoulder. Hot breath whistled against her ear.
“You are mine,” Santoso whispered.
Iris felt another prick, this time in her arm, and the world disappeared.
Downtown Las Vegas was a beautiful place when all the lights were off. The world fell silent inside Blue’s head—a sweet silence, punctuated by very human screams and gasps—and though his eyes were blind, inside his mind he felt a soaring rush that brought him higher and higher, light enough to fly.
“Daniel,” Blue said, and a moment later he heard a series of hard grunts and thuds. His vision began to adjust; he felt his brother beside him.
“Done,” Daniel said breathlessly. “Those men are down.”
“Good,” Blue replied, listening to the police shout orders to stay calm. Flashlights blinked to life, but he let them stay on. He wanted the cover of darkness, but it was unnecessary to be completely medieval.
He ran toward the hotel, sending his mind ahead of him, flicking on a light here, there, enough to travel by. He heard his name, and a moment later Daniel appeared at his side.
“What the hell is going on?” Daniel asked as they careened through the Golden Nugget’s darkened marble lobby, sidestepping disoriented and frightened men and women.
“Iris,” Blue said. “You left her alone inside a nest of vipers.”
“She was in a public place.”
“Public doesn’t mean shit to the man stalking her. I told you to take care of her.” Blue swung around, grabbing the front of Daniel’s shirt. The moment he touched his brother the air around him thickened; his grip weakened and his fingers were forced away.
“Don’t touch me,” Dani
el whispered. “Don’t you ever raise a hand to me. I was patient the first time, but I swear to God I’ll break your bones if you do it again. Even if we are family.”
“You know who I am.” Blue gritted his teeth. “You knew the first time you saw me. And you didn’t say a word.”
“Neither did you.”
“I had my reasons.”
“So did I. Because I knew you were here to hurt me, to take me home. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? He’s dead. He’s dead and I didn’t know. I just found out—”
“No,” Blue interrupted, because the truth was out—and he was not going to betray his brother. He was not going to lie. “No, Daniel. He’s not dead. Not even close.”
Daniel stared, confusion quickly transforming into a narrow, biting rage that turned the blue of his eyes unfathomably cold. “Son of a bitch. That bastard set me up.”
“He set us both up,” Blue said. He heard sirens outside the lobby, flinched, remembering Iris, and found himself able to move again.
He and Daniel ran into the casino. Nothing but chaos remained, shouts and cries and whimpers. Most of the people inside the Golden Nugget had been at the slot machines or tables when the lights went off; those trying to get out had succeeded only in trampling one another.
Guilt was a bitch. Blue turned on some more lights.
But when he did, the first thing his saw made his balls shrivel and his vision blur: a woman on the floor, a woman with long dark hair and red staining the front of her shirt. Her sunglasses were gone.
Blue raced to her side, falling hard on one knee. Pain radiated up his leg, but he swallowed it down and felt for a pulse. He found one, strong and steady, and the woman’s eyes fluttered open, catlike and golden.
“Iris,” she said.
“Daniel,” Blue snapped. “Help me get her out of here.”
“Iris,” she said again, trying to sit up. “Santoso took her.”
“Don’t move,” he growled, trying to hold her down. “Daniel!”
“Go to hell,” she muttered, and slammed the heel of her palm into his face. Blue tumbled backward and she sprang away from him, staggering into a run. Daniel chased her—and Blue, feeling as if he were going to vomit, did the same.
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