Sunroper (Goddesses Rising)

by Natalie J. Damschroder

  Christopher smiled. “No body, no weapon, no blood. They’ll arrest you for making a false report.”

  Gage stared at him, unable to reconcile the kid who’d grown up alongside Aiden with the cold, unfeeling man standing there.

  Marley stirred and turned her head toward Chris. “Where is she taking him? What’s she going to do?”

  Chris held Gage’s gaze for several seconds before looking down at Marley, still smiling. “He’ll be taken care of.”

  …

  Marley twisted out of Gage’s arms. Fire blazed from her broken ribs, but that just balanced the pressure building behind her breastbone, the anguish burning up the back of her throat. When her bare feet hit the floor, the impact sent another wave of pain up her legs, chased by stings from glass cuts. She welcomed it, drew on it, and it gave her the strength to get in Chris’s face.

  “You’re used to taking care of bodies, huh? How many have you killed?”

  He looked startled and backed up half a step. “We haven’t killed anyone. His death was an accident.”

  “Yeah, because she showed so much restraint when she poured god-awful amounts of energy into his damaged body.”

  “We didn’t know—”

  She couldn’t handle his protestations of innocence. Even though she knew it was stupid, she plowed on. “How many of those other guys have died? Were they overdoses, too? Or more like withdrawal breakdowns?” She moved forward when Chris stepped back, hands raised, jaw slack with surprise, but she didn’t let him answer. “Do you take all their money, keep them happy with flux for a while, and when they can’t pay anymore, toss them on a stretch of industrial-grade carpeting to fade away?”

  Chris stopped moving. His shoulders squared and his arms dropped. “You know nothing. Get out.”

  A fiery blackness tunneled her vision, centering around Christopher. Her lungs tightened, every breath a red-hot battle. But she held firm when she warned, “We are not stopping. I won’t let her do this again. None of you will get what you want.”

  Christopher’s eyes narrowed. “Are you making a threat toward Cressida?”

  Marley felt Gage behind her, probably ready to catch her if she keeled over. Or maybe hold her back. “Forget threat. I’m flat-out informing you that I will stop her, and I don’t care how. My no-kill policy has been retracted.” She shoved Chris back with her left arm and followed him a few steps. “Maybe I’ll start with you.”

  Ha. Big words from the broken mess.

  Her face and hands stung from tiny cuts when she came through the glass, and some of her stitches had ripped open when she hit the table. In addition to the broken ribs, all the muscles of her back and neck had been wrenched when Cressida threw her.

  But she would not show weakness to any of Cressida Lahr’s minions. “You think I won’t do it? That I’m not capable?” She brushed a hand down the side of his face, his neck. Reminding him of what she’d done to his friends, even though he didn’t have anything for her to take. Her hand closed around his throat, rising and falling under his bobbing Adam’s apple. His pulse throbbed against her pressing thumb.

  “Marley.” Gage tugged her free arm, but she didn’t budge. She didn’t tighten her hold on Christopher, either, just let him feel the extent of her control, both physically and emotionally. Her body shook—she was sure he could see it—but the hand on his throat was absolutely steady. She wanted him to be afraid of what would happen when she released that control and convey that fear to the others. They deserved to be afraid.

  She leaned up and hissed, “See you in LA.” And then she let Gage usher her out the door.

  She barely held it together in the elevator up to the ninety-eighth floor. Her tunnel vision had increased, the pressure now both a vise on her head and a swelling bubble in her chest. Gage had to lead her down the hall and through the door into his family apartment. And then she lost it.

  The pressure burst out in a scream of rage and grief. She wasn’t aware of picking up a marble bust from a side table until it flew across the room and smashed into the brass grate covering the fireplace.

  “Marley, it’s okay.” Gage’s voice came from far away, an echo through the rushing in her ears.

  “It’s not okay! Anson is dead.” The room wavered, fuzzy. She shifted her feet to brace against the pitch and roll. She clenched a fist to her gut, where acid tried to burn through. “I never fully trusted him, and he knew it. I accused him of being eager to get in the room with Cressida. And he lied. He didn’t tell me he knew her.” Tears piled up on her eyelids. “I won’t ever know if he went in there because she could give him power or because he could take it from her.”

  She shoved both hands through her hair and stared wildly around. The gray marble mantelpiece spun away, replaced by the dark couch, the center cushion still askew where Anson had been sitting. The huge, square, ebony coffee table almost tripped her. Another whirl. She dodged the oncoming spear of an African native that was actually a statue and stared at the crazed lunatic on the other side of the room before realizing it was a mirror.

  Panic rose and rose. Marley clutched her hair and squeezed her eyes shut, folding in on herself with a moan. Silent shrieks filled her skull, carried on wispy green wings that battered at the insides of her eyes, her ears, and down into her throat, choking her. The mist swirled into shapes, gremlins digging their long, pointed fingers into her side. Ephemeral emerald scarabs chomped at her hands, her face, her feet, hungry for the blood that oozed from cuts and scratches. Her skin itched and burned where their tiny feet clung.

  Stop it. This isn’t real. She did something to you. The hint of rationality grew, pushing against the panic. When she’d battled Cressida, struggling to tighten her hands around her neck—cutting off her air was the only way she could think of to stop her—the goddess had pummeled her with wave after wave of energy. Marley had been confused. It hadn’t hit her like a blow and hadn’t hurt in any way. Just like in the woods outside the barn, the yellowed energy had soaked into Marley, now inert. Or so she’d thought.

  Inert was the opposite of whatever this was.

  Don’t give in to it. You’re strong. In control. You will not be a victim to anyone, especially yourself.

  Slowly, calm settled into her, followed by exhaustion so intense she almost couldn’t uncurl her body. Then she realized part of the reason was that Gage had his arms around her again. His murmurs resolved into actual sound, and the rushing in her ears receded. The muffling diminished. The little monsters faded into their real-life counterparts—a headache, broken ribs, pieces of glass embedded in her skin.

  “I’m okay,” she tried to say. She didn’t think it came out clearly, but he backed off a little anyway, and she was able to raise her head and lower her arms. He helped her rise from her crouch in the middle of the living room.

  “You’re not okay. You’re shaking.” He tried to move her toward the sofa, but she shook her head.

  “I’m bleeding again,” she mumbled and managed to flap a hand toward her feet. But Gage focused on her side instead and cursed.

  “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No!” But she had to press her lips together to hold in a sob. She couldn’t go the hospital—they’d ask a ton of questions that she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer. “Let me take a shower.”

  Like a shower would help her broken ribs—at least two of them, one definitely displaced. Her lungs were okay, but now that she wasn’t in the middle of a batshit crazy episode, the fire in her side was approaching agony. Every muscle was on the verge of cramping. She was pretty sure all her stitches had popped, and the new cuts on her face, hands, and feet would make life unpleasant for a few days.

  “What the hell do you want me to do, then?” Gage held her upright with one arm and shoved the other hand through his hair in classic frustration. It dropped back into its perfect waves, making Marley smile despite everything.

  There was only one thing she could do now. Her amusement drained away on a smal
l—very small—sigh.

  “Call my sister.”

  …

  “Marley never told me she was working with you.”

  Her name triggered a split-second transition from sleep to alertness. Or rather, from drifting unconsciousness to vague awareness. She was lying on a comfortable surface but was anything but, all of her injuries raising their hands as if responding to roll call. After a few heartbeats, Marley knew she was on the bed in the master bedroom and Quinn was the one who’d spoken.

  “It’s only been about a day.” Gage’s voice dragged with weariness. He sounded closer than Quinn had. Right next to the bed.

  Marley didn’t want to open her eyes. The very idea seemed to increase her pain level. But at least it was all normal, explainable pain. No gremlins made out of green mist. But her brain finished processing the words, and she forced her eyelids open a crack. Both people in the room were operating from protective instinct that would create animosity, and Marley would be in the middle.

  “Hey,” she croaked. Gage leaned over her, and she had to smile. His expensive shirt wasn’t wrinkled or even rumpled, but one button was half out of its hole and there were a few spots near the collar that were probably her blood. His hair was now actually disheveled instead of carefully styled to look that way. The bags under his eyes were the worst, though. Like dark, baggy bruises.

  “Go get some sleep.” She raised a hand and laid it on his arm. “You need it as much as I do.”

  “Hardly.” He tucked his hand around hers and stared into her eyes. His were murky, their silver tint dull. “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

  “I’ll be okay.” Her throat rasped when she swallowed. “Quinn’s gonna fix me up. We can’t go after—” Her lungs spasmed, and she coughed, crying out when it relit the fires in her side. “Oh, God.”

  “I’ll take care of her.” Quinn’s hand waved over the bed, shooing Gage out of the room. “Go tell Nick what the hell went on tonight. He won’t let you go to bed until you do.”

  He straightened but didn’t let go of Marley’s hand.

  “In a few minutes I’ll be better off than you,” she assured him. “Let me talk to my sister.”

  “All right.” He bent and pressed his lips to her forehead, a tender, unexpected gesture that had Quinn looking so shocked Marley almost laughed. He closed the door silently behind him.

  “Holy hell, Marley. First Anson Tournado and now Gage Samargo? What are you up to?”

  “I’ll explain everything if you do this first.” Marley eased her shirt up her right side.

  Quinn circled the bed. She’d barely cleared the corner when she gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Oh my God.”

  Marley craned her neck to see. Oh yeah, that looked like it felt. The long gash from the switchblade oozed blood around ripped stitches. The broken sutures poked out of violently pale skin. A couple of inches above that, deep crimson edged mottled plum and indigo, some spots almost black.

  “Your ribs must be broken.” Quinn pulled a chair over and sat next to the bed. “What did this?”

  “Probably the table.” She closed her eyes and immediately began to drift away. “I could’ve hit the edge of the window, though.”

  Quinn didn’t say anything, and Marley forced her eyes open again to see why. Her sister stared at her, remorse tightening the lines around her mouth, her eyes awash in sadness, but displaying a hint of awe in the arch of one eyebrow. “I want to hear this story.”

  “You will.”

  “I’d better.” She closed her eyes and rested the fingers of one hand on Marley’s arm, the other on her thigh. As she assessed Marley’s injuries, she cataloged them out loud.

  “Superficial cuts on your face, neck, hands, feet. Those will be easy. Deep laceration on your side that’s older than today, but worsened from whatever broke your ribs. Three of them, by the way. One fully broken, two cracked. Organs…large intestine, gall bladder, those are okay.” Her brow furrowed. “Bruised liver, and a rib-bone fragment nicked it. You’ve got slow internal bleeding that could kill you.” Her eyes opened, unfocused, pensive. Worried.

  “Is that all?” Marley murmured. What was she seeing?

  “No, but…” She shook her head. “Sorry. Hang on.” She put her hands back on Marley, and this time her face and hands and shoulders all tightened as she concentrated.

  For Marley, the relief was immediate. Not from the pain, which didn’t respond at first, but from the cool, clear rush into her body. It was like sliding into a swimming hole in the woods or entering an air-conditioned building on a hot day. She let out a long, relieved breath.

  A pulsing pain deep in her abdomen faded first—the liver healing. Then a searing burn ratcheted the pain scale back up to twelve, but a few moments later that, too, began to subside. Marley’s rib cage felt sturdier, her torso more supported. With a tiny little snap, that pain disappeared. Then Quinn must have focused on the switchblade laceration. Marley writhed a little as the sensation of a zipper closing made her itch and ache. She clenched her hands around the comforter to avoid scratching and getting in her sister’s way. Tiny little phups were the stitches being pushed out of their holes. Then a few seconds later, the little cuts all over tingled briefly. And then it was done.

  Marley blew out a long, grateful breath. “That’s so much better. Thank you for coming when Gage called you. Did we interrupt a big meeting?”

  “A meeting. Not all that big. Samargo is stalling over something. You wouldn’t know what, would you?”

  Marley rolled up to sit on the side of the bed. “I don’t know. Maybe. I hope not. I’ll tell you everything in a few minutes,” she insisted. “It’s the least I can do. And—” She realized how much had happened today and that she couldn’t keep any of it from Quinn anymore. People were dead and more probably dying. Cressida’s threat to the greater Goddess/Numina society had become a lot more than theory. And Marley had to admit, finally, that she probably wasn’t going to be able to finish this on her own.

  “Let me take a shower, and then I’ll be out.” She stood and swallowed a curse when she swayed on her feet. Quinn grabbed her by the elbow, but Marley shook her head. “I’m fine. Just exhausted.”

  “Trauma will do that. I can fix the boo-boos but not the toll they took. And not—” She broke off but stared at Marley’s torso.

  Marley waited, but she didn’t continue. “What?” She spread her hands. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Quinn shook her head. “You need food. We’ll talk when you’re out of the shower.”

  “All right.” Marley wanted to be clean more than she wanted to know what Quinn couldn’t fix.

  The shower revived her a little, but her stomach growled through the whole five minutes. She found herself squinting into the steam, trying to decide if it was green or white, and then, when she couldn’t tell, blocked it out.

  Her body ached as if she’d been loading feed trucks, but it was a thousand percent better than it had been a couple of hours ago, when she first told Gage to call her sister. Muscles twinged and her side ached while she toweled off, but those would work out over the next day or so.

  She squeezed the towel around her hair. In a minute she had to face Quinn and Nick and tell them everything that was happening. She’d have to see their disappointment that she’d kept so much from them, and probably disapproval, too, for the way she’d been handling things. For the way they were now.

  As fiercely as she’d blocked her anxiety over the green mist, she blocked the familiar encroachment of despair and self-pity. It didn’t matter what Quinn and Nick thought. She’d made the choices she thought best at the time. Now she was making different ones. They could disapprove all they wanted, but they were going to have to keep it to themselves.

  She found them gathered in the kitchen. Quinn sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. Nick stood on one side of the island, feet spread, arms folded, head tucked so he could glower at Gage from under ridiculously long eyelashes
. Gage stood on the other side of the island, his mouth curved with amusement, his stance open and nonaggressive, his weight casually on one leg, hands in his pockets. He’d changed into jeans and a fresh, crisp button-down and his hair was damp.

  Quinn smiled at Marley. “You look better. We ordered Indian. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course.” Marley joined her sister at the bar, sliding onto the adjoining stool. “What’s going on here?”

  Quinn shrugged a shoulder. “The usual. Nick’s suspicious and protective. Gage has Sam’s talent for silent taunting, though.”

  Marley grinned. “Sam usually doesn’t keep it silent.”

  “True.” She looked around the room. “Okay, who’s starting where?”

  Gage moved to stand next to Marley and put his hand on her shoulder. The lines around his eyes and mouth deepened, the amusement he’d projected dropping away. “Anson’s dead.”

  Quinn stiffened in shock. Nick cursed, then showed a bitter grin. His hand came up to rub Quinn’s back as he said, “Good. Just sorry I wasn’t the one to do it.”

  “Nick.” Marley couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t defend Anson to anyone, even now, because she didn’t know if he was trying to redeem himself or playing an end game just as self-serving and destructive as his earlier plans. But none of that uncertainty made his death hurt any less.

  “What? You think he was truly on your side? Did he die heroically, saving your life?”

  “I don’t know. And no, it was definitely not a heroic death, even if his intentions were honorable.”

  Nick’s mouth snapped closed. He leaned his forearms on the marble countertop and threaded his fingers together. “Tell us what happened.”

  So she did. She started at the beginning, but when she described the events in the barn and apartment, Gage took over, though Marley doubted anyone missed that he glossed over his motivation for getting involved and never mentioned his father.

  Partway through their story, the food arrived. It was perfect timing, the protein and carbs giving Marley the strength to tell the rest of what happened, the parts where it was so obvious how she’d messed up.