by Lora Leigh
Angel simply stared back at her, hating herself, hating whatever she’d done to make her mother hate her, hating that she’d allowed herself to care and the realization that she had no idea what she’d done wrong.
“What kind of woman do you think I am?” Angel asked her again.
“Chaya.” It was Rowdy who stepped forward to keep Chaya from revealing whatever she saw in Angel. “We’re all upset. . . .”
Rage flashed in her mother’s face, fear glinting in her gaze.
“Someone just attempted to abduct my daughter—” Her voice broke, her pain ripping inside Angel, tightening her throat with unshed tears. “And I want to know why a grown woman is trying to ingratiate herself into four teenagers’ lives.” The look that flashed across her mother’s face was the only warning Angel had. “A mercenary. She sells herself to the highest bidder with those two.” Chaya’s hand flipped to Tracker and Chance as silent, ragged wails nearly choked Angel and became trapped in her throat.
Silent. Always silent . . . Oh God, it hurt. It hurt so bad.
“A killer,” her mother continued. “What makes you think my daughter is any of your concern?” The sneer wasn’t hidden, not on her face nor in her voice.
“Fuck,” Chance cursed, shocked, behind her. “Let’s go. Now.”
She couldn’t go. She couldn’t move.
Agony was rupturing inside her, tearing her apart, shredding dreams, needs, and a lifetime of so much hope. She was being laid bare, sliced open. She’d tried, she’d tried so hard to be polite, to be good. . . .
“As I said”—she forced herself to speak—“I obviously stepped out of line in my concern.” She felt dazed with the pain, so off-balance she couldn’t quite make sense of it. “I didn’t consider my words.”
“And what is your concern?” The fury . . . Her mother was so angry and the pain tearing through Angel was brutal.
“Easy, Chay.” Her husband’s arms wrapped protectively around Chaya, his green eyes watching Angel. Suspicion filling them. She focused on the way he held her mother and she suddenly wished Duke were there. That his warmth surrounded her and he could see what she’d tried to tell him. This woman would be horrified to learn Angel was the daughter she believed to be dead. The daughter she hadn’t wanted.
“Don’t any of you pretend you haven’t asked yourself why she’s so interested in our children.” Chaya’s gaze went around the room, demanding they see the killer she saw in Angel.
That was what she saw, Angel knew, just trying to breathe. Her mother saw a ruthless killer, not the little girl she’d thrown away so long ago.
“Rowdy. Natches.” Tracker stepped in front of her, Chance moving protectively behind her. “We’ll be going now. If you need our assistance, please don’t hesitate to call the service. They’ll get a message to us.”
Angel wanted to howl in denial. No, she couldn’t leave yet. Her mother was so angry with her. . . .
“This is the wrong time to leave, Tracker,” Dawg told him as Angel stared at her foster brother’s back. “The question’s easy enough.”
“The question shouldn’t have been asked,” Chance snapped, his ruined voice furious. “We were here when your family needed us, without charge or question. We could have refused the contract on your sister Lyrica instead of trying to find out what the hell was going on and we could have gone on with our lives. No one the wiser.”
“And I want to know why you didn’t.” Pain filled Chaya’s voice, and torment. “Three mercenaries? By the very definition of the word you don’t work for free. What do you intend to demand later? What does she want?” That finger pointed back at Angel accusingly.
Someone had tried to take the daughter she’d raised, the sweet, polite little lady Angel wasn’t. “Tell me, Grog.” Chaya used his codename, the pseudonym Chance was known by. “Tracker?”
All her mother wanted was answers? The truth? What would she do with the truth? Angel wondered. It wasn’t as though her rejection of her could be worse. And maybe, maybe her mother would at least let her be a part of her sister’s life if Angel told her. She could live with Chaya not liking her, as long as Bliss was safe.
She could live with that, couldn’t she? God knew she wouldn’t be able to live, though, if anything happened to either of them and she could have stopped it.
The tension in the room thickened to the point that it was nearly visible in the air itself. Smothering, it had adrenaline leaking into her system, preparing her, pumping her instincts to fight or flight, and she couldn’t seem to make herself do either.
“Rowdy, we’re walking out of here. We came to help and it was obviously a mistake.” Tracker tried again to find a graceful way out of the confrontation Angel could feel brewing in the air.
“Chaya has a point, Tracker,” Rowdy argued. “We’ve all been asking ourselves ‘why’ since you showed up. If you walk out of here without answering that question, it’s just going to make all of us nosy. You know what happens when Mackays get nosy.”
“Don’t turn this into a war,” Tracker warned him, and Angel knew well the lengths both Tracker and Chance would go to protect her. “Wrong move.”
“If it becomes a war, then you’ll start it. I’d hate it, we all would. But if Mackays were suddenly in your business without so much as an introduction, then you’d be asking the same questions.” Rowdy’s tone, despite its softness, resonated with danger.
Angel couldn’t allow this and she knew it. Tracker had warned her so many times and she’d refused to listen. This was her fault and she would not allow her foster brothers to pay for her mistake.
Besides, a war with these men would only draw Duke into it and she didn’t think she could bear the choice he’d make when faced with the need to do so.
“I don’t need your protection, Tracker.” Stepping from behind him, she faced the Mackay family again, steeling herself to hold the pain inside no matter how bad it became, no matter how cruel her mother’s words became.
“I wasn’t trying to protect you,” he assured her, though she knew he was lying. “I merely wanted to get back on the road.”
She was aware of Rowdy watching her closely. Too closely.
He didn’t trust her either; none of them did. They didn’t like her and they never would. Not that she had expected them to.
How much worse could they strike at her?
Turning, she faced Chaya Mackay once again, knowing she’d run out of time.
“Why do you think I give a damn about your kid?” she asked, resigned to the fact that the sliver of hope that had lived inside her for so long was dying. “You’re not a stupid woman,” she continued, staring her mother directly in the eye now, refusing to hide anything any longer. “Why do you think I care?”
The anger that vibrated in the air around her mother only rose, her tension level increasing.
Behind Natches, Dawg Mackay stepped closer.
“Come on, kids, let’s play nice on the playground,” he chided them, and Angel and Chaya faced off.
A mother’s fury and a daughter’s determination.
“You’re not answering me, Mrs. Mackay,” she pointed out, that bleak, hollow pain that raged inside her making her voice huskier.
Chaya’s lip lifted in another sneer. “Girl, you’re testing my patience.” Disdain filled her voice and her expression. “And you don’t want to do that.”
No, she didn’t want to do that, but there was no doubt she would.
Poor Momma, she thought painfully. She shouldn’t have to suffer a child she didn’t like.
“Bliss is my sister.” She made herself say the words, emotion nearly overwhelming her as hope rushed through her in waves, when she’d believed she had no hope left inside her.
“Whoa, fuck me . . .” Dawg jumped back from her even as her mother turned quickly to stare at Natches in shock.
Angel would have laughed if everything inside her didn’t seem to freeze at the knowledge.
Natches did laugh, though, his amusement genuine.
“Good try, sweetheart,” he drawled. “I was a bastard, but I was a careful one.”
Chaya turned back slowly, moving farther away from Angel, her eyes narrowing on her.
“You’re not my father,” she agreed. Now wouldn’t that suck? “Too bad, though. I think you’re a hell of a one.”
Behind her, Tracker shifted closer as Chaya’s expression immediately turned icy cold. Dangerous.
“Then how is Bliss your sister?” Natches demanded, the compliment not even registering. “Kid, you need to take this act somewhere else. Fast.”
Angel didn’t answer. She stared back at her mother silently, willing her to say something, to welcome her, acknowledge her. Anything.
See me, she wanted to scream. Please, Momma. Please.
“That’s not possible.” Natches’s voice lowered, became harsher, colder as he seemed to realize who Angel claimed as a parent. “Chaya has no other children.”
And Chaya wasn’t speaking. Her gaze kept moving over her face, but she didn’t speak.
“Is Bliss your only child, Mrs. Mackay?” Angel could feel the fear beginning to build.
Once she’d followed Tracker and Chance into a category five hurricane and that hadn’t been as frightening as the fear congealing in her belly at the knowledge that her mother was silently yet very firmly rejecting her.
Angel swallowed against the lump in her throat. She’d thought nothing could hurt so bad as having her mother call her a killer, as knowing she didn’t want the child that had so loved her. Seeing the proof of it hurt worse, though.
“Stop this!” Natches ordered her with grating fury as his expression hardened into lines of savage mercilessness. “Get her the fuck out of here, Tracker, before I kill her myself!”
Before he killed her . . . Yeah, he could be protective like that, she’d heard.
She felt Tracker’s hand on her arm, his fingers firm.
“Angel, let’s go,” he whispered gently as she fought to accept this reality.
But she’d known. She had known this woman wouldn’t care.
“Bliss—” she whispered.
“Is none of your concern.” Natches’s voice was hard and cold. “Don’t keep pushing this. Don’t keep pushing me.”
“Angel.” Tracker said her name again as Natches shifted subtly behind his wife, the mask of a killer hardening in his face as a small almost-cry whispered from Chaya’s lips.
He was becoming more dangerous by the second. She could sense it, feel it.
Her breathing hitched just enough to warn her she might be losing control of the emotions she kept so tightly reined.
She’d tried, hadn’t she?
And she’d failed.
“I’m so sorry I’ve upset you and your family,” she forced herself to whisper even as she shattered on the inside, and shattered, and shattered. “I promise I won’t bother you anymore.” Turning her head, she looked up at Tracker, saw the pain he felt for her and the anger he felt because of her. “I’m ready. I guess we’re heading out after all.”
“Thank God. Fuckers,” Chance snarled beneath his breath as Tracker wrapped his arm around her and swept her from the marina. “Assholes. I guess I’ll just have to pray for the lot of ya.” The sarcastic statement was more of an insult than they could imagine.
“Can you ride?” Tracker’s voice wasn’t pleasant. It was guttural, grating.
“I’m fine, Tracker,” she promised as they stopped next to her cycle. “I’m tough, remember?”
Taking her helmet she pulled it on, secured the strap, and mounted her cycle as Tracker and Chance followed suit. Within seconds they were riding away and far too quickly they were on the road, the marina not even in her rearview mirror any longer.
Dry-eyed, her throat tight and raw, she felt as though she were on autopilot, outside herself and unable to find her way back.
She hadn’t expected rejection.
She hadn’t expected that complete icy, silent denial of her identity.
Chaya hadn’t even asked for DNA. Angel had expected that much at least. She was even prepared for it.
“Angel, we can wait a day or so to leave,” Tracker said through the communicator’s link, his voice gentle.
“No. I’m fine,” she lied. “And the plane’s waiting. It’s time for you and Chance to leave.”
“Dammit, Angel!” he began to protest.
“The job in Rio won’t wait,” she reminded him. “It’s not like I can do much there anyway. I’m just going to hang around, watch, and make certain she’s safe. That’s all.”
Silence met her promise, but she knew he and Chance couldn’t afford to cancel the Rio job this late. The fee was extraordinarily high and they were known for not canceling out, for always getting the job done. And she really did know how to hide. He’d taught her how.
“You’ll call if you need us?” he finally questioned her, his voice harsh. “Promise me, Angel.”
“The very second, if you’re needed,” she promised. “Come on, Tracker, I won’t risk her safety by not calling. You know that.”
She’d do whatever she had to when it came to protecting her baby sister, to ensuring Bliss never knew the nightmares Angel lived with. It was all she had to give the girl who would never know how much her sister loved her.
“I’ll have our contact rent you a room, and I’ll send your gear back from the plane,” he finally promised. “Don’t try to take that family on alone.”
“I’m not going to try to take them on, period,” she assured him, blinking past her tears and concentrating on keeping the cycle at a reasonable speed. “I told you. I’m going to hide and watch. That’s it.”
“Hide and watch,” he repeated, though she wasn’t entirely certain he believed her.
She wasn’t entirely certain she believed it herself.
“I’ve got this, Tracker, I promise.” She kept her voice easy, confident. “Get the Rio job done and come back and pick me up. You know the Mackays. They’ll have Bliss’s would-be kidnappers buried within a week. But I know me. I’ll worry. . . .”
She’d drive herself insane. The nightmares would kill her.
“Stay safe, Angel,” Chance ordered, the dark raspiness of his voice assuring her of his concern, his affection. “Don’t make us have to bury you. I promise, I’d consider every Mackay I come across an enemy if that happened.”
“Really, Chance?” She would have laughed at that comment if she could have found any laughter inside her.
“Really, little sister,” he promised. “All shit aside. Really.”
• • •
Through the window, Bliss saw Angel’s face as she left and felt fear explode in her chest at the complete devastation she glimpsed in her sister’s expression.
Breaking away from her cousins, she headed back to the office as her mother suddenly shot out the door and all but ran to the store entrance just in time to watch Angel, Tracker, and Grog ride away.
What happened? What had her mom done to make Angel leave? Angel would have never, ever left, knowing Bliss was in trouble. She knew Angel wouldn’t do that. Angel loved her. And Angel was tough, she knew how to fight, how to shoot, and how to use that very distinctive knife she carried at her hip.
“Mom?” She stared at her mother’s face as she turned to her. It was almost white, her brown eyes filled with . . . something. Something that assured Bliss her mother had done something she never should have done.
She’d made Angel leave.
“What did you do? Why did she leave?” Confusion overwhelmed her.
Her mother shook her head.
Bliss clenched her fists furiously. “Why did you make her leave, Mom? She’s my friend.”
“Pick better friends,” her mother cried, tears glittering in her eyes as she swung away, leaving Bliss to stare at her back.
Pick better friends?
She backed away from her mother, feeling her cousins come around her, drawing her away to the other side of the store. But all she could hear was that anger in her mother’s voice.
Pick better friends?
Angel wasn’t just her friend. . . .
THREE
Natches Mackay waited, not quite patiently, in his home office that night. Through the window he stood next to, he could see his cousins, as close to him as brothers, in the room behind him.
Dawg was pacing, his impatience more volatile than his or their other cousin’s.
Rowdy was the one who kept drawing his gaze, though, as he stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling shelves, directly in front of the picture of Chaya and the child she’d lost all those years ago.
Everyone claimed Bliss was a female replica of Natches. Black hair, green eyes, the Mackay features softened and finely sculpted into what was rapidly becoming an exquisite beauty. If that were true, then Beth Dane had been her mother’s mini-me, just as Chaya had called her.
Even at three her resemblance to her mother was incredible and promised to become even more so. Features Natches could close his eyes and see a hint of in Angel Calloway’s face.
A child that DNA tests had proven dead, yet she lived. And she’d lived for twenty years without the mother who had grieved for her every second of that time.
He knew the two men he was watching. A lifetime spent with them had ensured it. And because of them and Rowdy’s father, Ray, he’d survived a childhood that should have seen him dead. And because he knew them so well he knew they were restraining themselves, restraining whatever was on their minds.
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