“You are spoken so highly of by everyone who has met you, Zyah,” Blythe answered. “Come get warm while the men talk or do whatever it is they do. I’ll take good care of her, Player.” She brushed his cheek with her soft lips.
He didn’t want to leave Zyah. Anxiety hit him hard. He stood there in the middle of the music room, signs of Czar’s family everywhere, still feeling an underlying threat to his woman.
She tilted her face up to his, her dark chocolate eyes unafraid. “Take your time, honey. I’ll be enjoying myself, getting to know Blythe.” She went up on her toes and skimmed his lips with her own.
His heart nearly stopped beating. She was reassuring him. It should have been the other way around. He managed to give her a faint grin. “You get the easy, fun half. I’m talking to Czar, and he’s usually a grumpy bear.”
“Only because you interrupted my night with my woman,” Czar said. “Move it, Player.” He indicated the door, giving Player no choice other than to leave Zyah.
Player led the way back to the great room with its vaulted ceiling and wide-open space, Czar keeping pace behind him like a silent wraith. It was significant that Czar closed and locked the door. In the Prakenskii household, few doors were closed and fewer were locked. They had an open-door policy, even to the club members. The children came and went, easily rushing in when the adults were visiting. They were always welcome, and Czar had taught them they were welcome.
“What’s wrong, Player?” Czar said, seating himself in his favorite chair and waving Player to the chair across from him.
Player shook his head and began pacing across the room, adrenaline making it impossible to sit. Without Zyah to ground him, he realized the enormity of what he was doing. He glanced at the president of his club. Czar wasn’t just the president of the club. He was the man who had saved them. He was the one they believed in. His word was law. For the first time Player was hesitant about laying everything on the line. He’d always trusted in Czar, but then he’d never had anything to lose before—not like Zyah. He’d come to Czar’s home to tell him everything, but now he wasn’t so certain it was a good idea.
“You going to tell me why you’re here or you just going to wear a hole in my wife’s favorite carpet?” Czar asked.
“I don’t know exactly how to start.” That was the fucking truth. How was he supposed to tell this man he didn’t belong? He might have betrayed them all. Czar had a family. Blythe. The children. Three daughters. Two sons. Steele had a son. It wasn’t just the Torpedo Ink charter members at risk. It was all of them. The families.
He found, pacing back and forth on the very familiar carpet, that he knew those kids and Blythe had found their way into the circle that was his family—Torpedo Ink. He’d learned to feel for them when he thought himself incapable of feeling real emotions for anyone but his brothers and sisters. They were his as well. Now there was Zyah. Her grandmother. He was being overrun with emotion.
“Player.” Czar’s voice slipped into his low demand. “Brother. Talk to me now. You have something big on your mind. Tell me.”
“I’m not like the rest of you,” Player blurted out. “I never have been. All of you had such gifts, and you all made them count for something. Mine has been a fucked-up mess since the beginning. It’s getting worse. Sometimes I think I’m going insane.” He rubbed his pounding temples. He should have insisted Zyah stay with him. At least he could think straight if she was standing beside him. “This is bad, Czar. I’ve put your family in jeopardy. The club. Zyah. Everyone I care about.”
“Take a damn breath, Player. You got shot in the head and shouldn’t be on your feet this long. Steele said the injury was bad and you should be dead. Worse, he said he probably would have lost you. He told me the injury is healed but the migraines are worse than ever. Somehow, this woman has helped you with them, but he isn’t certain what she’s doing. I’m guessing a good part of this is wrapped up in Zyah. You need to give it to me one step at a time. Just sit in a fucking chair before you fall down, and start at the beginning. Start with the fucked-up mess.”
Czar sounded the same. Calm. Reasonable. In command. Player took the required breath and dropped into the chair opposite his president, suddenly grateful to be off his feet. He hadn’t realized how weak he felt.
He pressed a hand to his pounding head. “When we were kids, I recognized that all of you had psychic gifts. You had everyone practicing so they could contribute to our survival. I didn’t think I had one. It felt like I was the lone screwup, the person that everyone else had to carry.” He made the confession in a low voice.
Czar didn’t say anything. He never did. He wasn’t the type of man to interrupt unless it was for a good reason. He waited, giving Player the time to tell things his own way.
“Eventually, I realized I could create illusions. Small ones. It felt like a useless little parlor trick to me, and it was, in comparison to what everyone else could do. I’ve always hated casting illusions. What real good is it?”
Czar’s eyebrow shot up. “Are you asking that question for real? You remember things a little differently than I do, Player,” Czar said at his nod. “I remember you were nine years old and everything had gone to hell. Sorbacov was about to catch us red-handed. You threw a false image of a wall and door up, a perfect replica of the room, making it empty so we all could escape out the real door. You had to do that often. More than once. He never saw us. Never suspected. You were only nine and you held that illusion long enough for all of us to make it out. It wasn’t easy. I remember waiting to be last. Sweat was beaded on your forehead, running down your face. I signaled to you to get through the door and let the illusion collapse.”
Player nodded, his breath coming too fast. His chest hurt. He rubbed over his pounding heart. “But you didn’t see the aftermath.” His voice was very low. Ashamed. Guilt-ridden. I never told you what happens after.”
Czar’s gaze instantly locked onto his face. “What happens after, Player?”
Player swallowed down bile. He wanted to look away from those piercing eyes. Czar could always see people for who they were. He could see into souls. Why hadn’t he seen all the blood on Player’s soul?
“If I hold the illusion too long, past the point where my brain can manage, reality begins to intrude. An alternate reality. In that case, I saw Sorbacov turn his head and look at us just before we went through the door. My head was pounding. We made it down to the dungeon. All of you were celebrating, but I was still locked into that place and I couldn’t get out of it. It had happened to me before, more than once, and I knew it could be dangerous. I didn’t want to bring him down there, to see everyone, even if it would be under slightly different circumstances.”
Czar hitched forward, steepling his fingers, clearly trying to understand. “Keep going.”
Player searched for the right words, trying to make Czar see the very real dangers. “Whatever is happening in the illusion is just an illusion, like the wall. But in the reality, that shit is the real deal. If Sorbacov is present, if someone has a gun, those things are real. That night, Sorbacov was angry that he didn’t catch us in the act, and he was certain we were the ones who had killed that bloated pig of an instructor.”
“He came down to the dungeon to check on us,” Czar said. “We knew he would. We had everything in place. Code had the cameras working, appearing as if nothing had interrupted them. I remember looking at you, and you were definitely stressed. Covered in sweat. Very unusual for you.”
“Because the reality was something I could barely control.”
Czar shook his head. “We knew he would come down to check on us.”
“Think back, Czar. That’s not true. Sorbacov wasn’t supposed to be there that night. That’s the reason you put the green light on killing Matrix.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Matrix had a huge fight with the math teacher that morning. Every one of the other teachers knew about it. No one was going to blame a bunch of kids who were so torn up we could barely move
. That’s what you’d said to us.”
It was Czar’s turn to get up and pace across the room. “You’re right. Sorbacov had a big meeting to go to that night. We targeted Matrix because he had already hurt so many of the girls in the school and he was looking at Alena and Lana. We knew it was only a matter of time before he went after them.” Czar turned to look at him. “Why is it I didn’t remember that, Player, when I never forget details?”
“It was very real, Czar. Sorbacov really did come down to confront us. Code really did fix the cameras to cover us. I made certain of it. I orchestrated it in my reality.”
“That’s why you kept Sorbacov’s attention on you.”
Player nodded slowly. “It was my fuckup and my mistake to fix. I could have gotten all of you killed.”
“Instead, he took you to his rooms and returned you in the worst shape I’d ever seen you in,” Czar said and slumped down in the chair, scrubbing both hands over his face.
There was a small silence. “I build bombs in my head when things get too crazy for me. It’s a harmless pastime, like counting for other people,” Player said. “At least, it started out that way. I’ve always done it. When Sorbacov would give me to his friends, I’d lose myself in my head by building the bombs. I’d just go there, and sometimes by the time I’d built several, it would be over. I wouldn’t even remember how many he’d given me to or how many times someone beat me with a whip. I just built the bombs.”
Czar waited, his piercing gaze once more jumping to Player’s face.
“When this happened to me”—Player indicated the bandana covering the wound on his head—“my brain was really fractured. I started having nightmares. Then I have an illusion. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. You know how much I despise that illusion and why. That’s when the alternate reality creeps in. I am always sitting on that little bench Sorbacov would make me sit on when he’d lay the materials out on the table and press his pocket watch. At first it would be the White Rabbit there. Then Sorbacov. I’d be putting together the bomb. Only it wasn’t a bomb I’d ever put together before. I didn’t recognize the materials or the way it was supposed to be put together.”
“Steele healed your injury.”
“But the migraines have persisted. They’ve gotten worse, and so have the nightmares. With the nightmares come the illusions.” He rubbed his forehead and met Czar’s eyes, showing him it wasn’t a joke. This was very real and dangerous. “The thing is, I see in patterns, Czar. I can look at things, at the materials, and I just know how they work. I began to build a bomb even though I’d never seen that type before. Sorbacov was always shadowy. At first, I was slow and didn’t finish. Zyah would come in and stop the entire process. She has a tremendous talent, and she puts my mind back together, so to speak. She stays with me the rest of the night and the nightmare doesn’t come back.”
Czar frowned. “This happens every night?”
Player nodded. “Every damn night. In the beginning, it would happen sometimes during the day, but not anymore. But I’m faster at putting the bomb together. And it’s too real. Others in the house can hear it ticking. I know it’s real. Sometimes, lately, I can feel someone watching me. Zyah can feel them as well.”
Czar sat back in the chair and regarded him over his steepled fingers. “How close are you to finishing the bomb?”
“Too damn close. I worry for everyone. And that’s not all.” He had to finish it. He glanced toward the door, hating the feeling he was betraying Zyah. “I would be dead if it wasn’t for Zyah. She’s been with me every night. She knows the threat, and she refused to let me leave. She says she has this gut feeling—and has had it all along—that she needs to be with me. Steele has the same feeling. But we’re connected in this very strong way.”
“Anyone can see that, Player.” There was a trace of amusement in Czar’s voice.
Player shook his head. “I wish it was just that. It’s much more. Much more intimate. She’s in my head. She has to be in order to chase out the bomb making.”
Immediately, Czar’s all-too-intelligent eyes narrowed, and Player’s heart sank. He knew Czar would comprehend what he was saying. He went doggedly on.
“She sees my memories. My childhood. She knows the things I’ve done. I was straight with her, Czar, about what that could buy her, but even knowing, she came here with me.”
There was silence. Outside, the wind blew, a soft moaning sound that echoed through his heart. A branch slid across the side of the house.
“How much does she know?”
Just the quiet in Czar’s voice told Player everything he needed to know.
“Our childhood. Our training. That we were used as assets for our country. No details on anyone but me. Obviously only my memories. But she knows we aren’t saints even now.” He wasn’t going to lie. “She’s mine, Czar, and I’ll stand for her.”
“Does she know that she’s yours? Does she know what you standing for her means?”
Player shook his head. “I was up front with you about what an ass I was. I haven’t exactly made the best impression on her since, but I’m not going to let her get away. She’s the one. My only. I’m absolutely certain. If you want, I can take her away from here. She won’t like it, but she’d go to protect Anat if she thought it necessary.”
Czar shook his head. “You wrap it up fast, Player. I mean it. Get her to commit and make it solid. In the meantime, we have to figure this bomb thing out fast. I want you to keep her in bed with you. Write everything down, every detail, and compare notes. The two of you go over the notes and then bring them to me. If you think it’s too dangerous for you to be in Anat’s house, then we’ll set you up in your home.”
“I want to move out, but I don’t know if I can persuade Zyah yet. She thinks her grandmother is still in danger from the gang of thieves. Code said, word is the cops don’t think they’ve moved on, that they’re just lying low. They haven’t hit anyone since Jonas stopped by last week, but Code thinks the cops have it right.”
Czar nodded. “That’s what he said. No dead body left behind. Get Zyah’s grandmother on your side when it comes to you and Zyah. She’ll be your greatest asset,” Czar added. “And Player, get it done fast. Zyah can’t be left running around loose knowing about our club members.”
Player didn’t protest. Czar was giving him a reprieve.
“You should have told me about the byproduct with your gift.”
“I felt like such a loser already.”
“Because of the bombs.”
“So many of them. Sorbacov took us to so many parties. After the first one, I knew what we were doing. I made them. Carried them in. You placed them. You covered for me when I couldn’t put on a party face so many times.” Player tried not to think about that five-year-old boy looking at the rubble and the bright party dress with blood splashed across it caught under the bricks and dirt.
“I shouldn’t have let them read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I should have known what it was doing to you. You were always so willing to create the characters for them.”
“It was the only thing I could contribute,” Player said.
“That’s such bullshit,” Czar said. “You saved our butts so many times.”
TWELVE
Player should have headed straight back to the house, but he needed the wind in his face, Zyah’s arms around him and the Harley between his legs. He’d asked her first if she minded a ride down the highway. She’d said she definitely wanted to ride, although she’d indicated that she wanted to talk to him where they couldn’t be overheard. He needed the time to clear his head.
Czar had made it clear he expected Player to handle Zyah. To bring her into the fold. Zyah wasn’t the kind of woman one just handled. He was going to have to prove himself to her. He had so many mountains to climb as far as she was concerned, it was laughable. He wasn’t about to tell them all to Czar. He rubbed his palm over the back of her gloved hand. It was such an experience to ride the highway with her. A
good one. He felt as if the wind washed him clean.
It wasn’t as if Czar had excused him—there was no excuse. It didn’t matter to him that he’d been five, a child, when he’d built those bombs, thinking of them as toys, as a way to climb into his mind and escape from what was happening to his body; once he found out, he could have stopped. He hadn’t. He’d kept building them. He’d kept carrying them into the places Sorbacov insisted he carry them. He’d done so when he was six. When he was seven.
Player. In his mind, Zyah’s voice sounded tender. Gentle. Just a brush, like fingertips skimming down his spine in the most intimate way. You were a child. Stop condemning yourself.
Her gloved hand opened against his jacket so that her palm cupped his abdomen, and she rubbed soothingly, giving him a feeling of being cherished. Player had never experienced that particular emotion and at first didn’t identify it with an actual word, but when cherished crept into his mind, his entire body reacted. He didn’t deserve her. He would never deserve her. No matter what Anat or anyone else said, no man deserved her.
Sometimes you break my heart, Player. There was a time your mother must have cherished you. You don’t want to remember because it hurts too much.
His entire body flinched. Shuddered at the idea of even allowing that thought into his head. How did she get to be so damned smart? She was right. He refused to think about his mother. Not when he first was taken to what all members of the Torpedo Ink club referred to as the dungeon and not now. He rubbed his hand over hers and kicked their speed up a notch.
Her arms tightened around him. He felt the possession in her. The slow, smoldering burn. The ache was there for both of them. He knew, for him, it would never go away. Just looking at Zyah would put it there for him. Thinking of her could do it, but having her riding down the highway with him was going to ignite a blaze that rivaled anything he’d known.
She nuzzled her chin against his back. Show me your house. Where you live. You made me a promise if I came with you tonight.
Reckless Road Page 25