“Your mom, before she died—she talked with Dad. They both thought we should get to know each other.” Scott shrugged, his attention sliding to the bandage holding his shoulder together. “I called your house once. Your wife didn’t know who I was.”
“Never mentioned you.” Not to anyone. Guilt and a strange sense of obligation harangued him as he studied the man before him. Scott had gotten older, taller. Still a wiry scrap of a guy, but the dark eyes and hair left no doubt who fathered him.
Scott snorted. “Not surprised. After our last encounter…”
The bitter pill of truth was hard to swallow. God gave him a second chance, so…“I was messed up. Angry.”
Dark eyes flashed. “You blamed me.”
“I blamed everyone. Hated everyone.”
“Definitely a family trait,” the pretty nurse said as she straightened a tray.
Scott guzzled the water, then tossed the empty bottle in a bin. “So what made you come?”
Heat and tension kneaded the dry air. Boots crunched, shifting on the dirt floor as he held the man’s gaze. What made him come? Abandon safeguards? Step into the thick of a deadly situation?
The truth. “You’ve never asked me for anything.” He adjusted the weapon strap, which suddenly felt like a hundred-pound weight around his neck. “Figured things must be bad.” He shrugged, then smirked. “Besides, my team is…indisposed.”
Scott blinked and looked at the group of men crowding the room. “Then, who are they?”
The other guy spoke. “My mates from Oz. Had some time to spare. Thought we’d neutralize a little rebellion before getting back to the real work.”
He smirked, hoping the lighthearted gesture by his buddy would ratchet down the friction. “Tell us what needs to be done.” Motioning to the men got things moving, the focus off the awkward situation.
“Someone’s been sniping us,” the petite brunette nurse with clear blue eyes said.
“We took him out.” It’d been luck—no, not luck, a miracle—they’d seen him on approach.
She paused, then nodded. “Okay, we need to get the villagers out of here before reinforcements come.”
Scott sat quietly nursing his wounds, his gaze bouncing back and forth. “Let’s get it done.”
Yeah, not exactly the family reunion anyone expected, but at least he was here. And so was his brother. He dispatched the men to cover the gates and get sitreps. “I’ll head down there with them, check it out.”
“Hey.” Scott offered his hand to him. “Thanks for coming, Max.”
Fingers wrapped around his brother’s, Max pulled him into a quick hug. “Sorry.” For everything. Years without talking. That we have the same father. That I never knew you. “Let’s get this place secured!”
Vaughn Residence, Virginia
Vultures. Blood-sucking, meat-eating vultures.
Warren Vaughn stalked down the hall, his Florsheims clicking on the marble floors as he stormed into his study.
“Sir, we need—”
He slammed the door, severing the questions and the assault—on his name, his character, his very identity. His people were haranguing him, insisting he talk to the media. No go. He was through with that for now. He whisked the bar door open and slapped a snifter down onto the mirrored surface. A few clinks and he poured the warm liquid over the ice. Warren tossed the contents into his mouth, held it on his tongue as he closed his eyes, and drew in a breath, then swallowed.
It burned. All the way down.
Just like Marshall’s betrayal.
Teeth grinding, he slammed the glass down and poured another drink. “My own son—” He bit back a curse.
The national anthem belted out from his phone, severing his blasphemy. He fumbled with the holster and withdrew his BlackBerry, then glanced at the ID.
SANDS, N.
Warren clenched his teeth as he pressed the phone to his ear. “Sands.”
“Senator, how are you?”
Warren growled at the all-too-calm voice. “Where are you? I’ve been calling all day. We have things to—“
“I’m working on our pet project.” Sands’s voice slicked through the line like olive oil. “I think you would agree things have gotten out of hand.”
“That’s putting it mildly.”
Shouts and mechanical shrieks bled through the line. “Sorry, Warren. It’s hard to hear at the moment, but I’ve faxed over some documents you need to sign.”
Warren’s gaze hopped to the three-in-one printer behind his desk, which whirred to life and began spitting out pages. “What documents?” He’d been in government all his life, and the plethora of signatures he’d penned boggled his mind. And why would Nathan need more signatures? He’d said everything was in working order.
“Just a few loose ends we’re tying up.”
“We?” Warren groused. “Who’s ‘we’?” Irritation skittered up his spine like a tarantula, tickling his conscience, ready to stab his mood. “I told you these things had to be kept between us, quiet, out of sight.”
“Of course. I’ve done everything you asked.”
Then why didn’t he feel better. “Where are you?”
More shouts prevailed—from Nathan, it sounded like—then…nothing. “Nate?” Warren set down the glass and removed his jacket. “Nate, you still there?”
With a curse, he tossed aside the phone, shed his suit jacket, grabbed his glass, and plucked the faxes from the machine. The Nkooye Green World Mine logo plastered the head of the page. Requests for more funding. Approval for…Warren frowned. “Since when?” Click.
At the sound of the safety release on a weapon being cleared, Warren froze. Raised his gaze to the framed George Washington print that served well as a reflective surface.
Behind him stood a woman. Long hair. Gun in hand. He came around slowly, stunned at the way she held the weapon. “Melanie?”
“You’re going to take a trip, Daddy.”
CHAPTER 30
Golding Residence, Cyprus
Three flat-screen monitors now devoured the wall where a print of Crete once hung. Children slept in the bedrooms, and the women of Nightshade sat talking quietly in the kitchen with the Old Man’s wife. Though he expected Kazi to vanish into a room or into thin air, she stood beside him, staring at the images.
“Chile, Africa, Libya—“
“Too radical.” The Kid nursed a bottle of water. “My dad likes to keep things low-key.”
“Low-key?” Kazi lifted a remote and flicked to a different channel. “Have you seen the news, Marshall?”
Plastered on the news was Marshall’s Army picture, complete with flag. The report detailed Marshall’s escapade, stealing documents from his father’s safe, stealing half a million dollars, and jetting off to some Caribbean island.
“No worries,” the Kid said. “Let them think those things—their focus is on the wrong place, and it buys time. In his business dealings, my father kept things clean. He’s on the boards of several committees, and he’s chaired dozens if not hundreds of charities.”
“And you call that low-key?” Griffin chuckled. “I’d hate to see high profile.”
The Kid shook his head. “Every senator or congressman has to have organizations and charities behind him or her. My father is no different.”
Griffin scowled. “Except that he tried to kill us.”
“Gah!” The Kid shook his hands at Griffin. “Would you get off that? We’re trying to figure out why.”
“Why? Because we stepped on his toes—or his pocketbook.”
“Yes,” the Kid said. “But how? Through what endeavor?”
A soft touch and call of his name drew him to Kazi.
Hand on his arm, she stared at the screen.
A bucket of ice-cold water down his back wouldn’t have shocked Griffin as much as seeing his own image on the television. The Kid grabbed a remote and cranked the volume.
“…terview with the family of former Marine Gunnery Sergeant Griffin Ridde
ll, who is a fugitive, an escaped, convicted felon.”
The shot switched to a living room. No…not just a living room. Madyar’s. The blood drained to Griffin’s toes.
A young face flashed onto the screen. Beside it, another.
He fisted his hands.
“…your name is—“
“Phoenix Johnson.”
“And you’re Mr. Riddell’s sister?”
Phee nodded, her wide eyes betraying her comfort level of zero.
The reporter leaned in. “There are a lot of terrible things being said about your brother right now. Of course, the family of Congressman Jones is demanding justice, calling your brother a murderer. If you could send a message to your brother, if he were watching right now, what would you want to say?”
Phee worried a tissue in her hands, then looked directly at the camera, directly at him. “Come home, G. It’s not worth it. We all know you’re innocent, but this—this makes you look guilty.” She looked to the side.
The young man at her side now appeared more eighteen than fifteen.
“And your name is Dante, right?”
Tough, macho attitude oozed through the screen as Dante flashed an ambivalent nod.
“Would you like to say something to your uncle?”
His lips tightened. Smirked up one side. “Nah. He left us, you know? Told me to do the right thing, told me to make my grandparents proud—but then he go off and do this?” He clicked his tongue. “What kind of hero does that?”
“You feel let down.”
Dante shrugged.
“You were close to your uncle, weren’t you? Your mother said you played sports with him all the time, that he was the one who taught you to play football—and you were scouted, isn’t that right?” When Dante didn’t play into her hands, she went on. “You used to meet him at the airport when he returned from tours of duty. Is it hard, knowing what people are saying?”
Dante swiped a hand under his nose. Avoided the camera, then stood and walked out.
“I’m sorry,” Phoenix said to the interviewer. “It’s been real hard on him. He won’t talk to us much anymore.”
“You’re worried about the impact Griffin’s actions are having on him?”
Phee’s eyes watered. She dropped her gaze, nodding frantically as her lips pulled taut as she struggled to hold back her tears. “We just want Griffin to come back home.”
A massive sinkhole sucked in everything he had left. His name. His honor.
Breathing shallowed out. Fists clenched tight.
“Griffin?” Kazi’s voice, though soft and pliable, was a torment.
He turned, banged into a chair. Stumbling over it, his fury ignited. He grabbed the chair. Flung it. Demons of hell come to stay. “Guardian of the divine” no more. He was a beast. They believed he’d killed that congressman. They believed he was running like a common criminal. Had to get out of here. Away from people. Before he became like his father.
“Legend.” Colton stepped into his path.
Whooshing pounded in his ears. “Step off, man. I don’t want to hurt you.” Screaming tore at his soul, the sound of his dreams shattering. His hopes exploding.
Though Colton was the same size and could go head to head with him, the man must’ve seen the volcano building in Griffin, because he lowered his head and eased aside.
Griffin flung back the glass door and winced at the resounding crack that snapped through the late night. He paced. Gulped air. “God…” Fists raised to the sky, he growled. Howled. Spun and rammed a fist into the wall. Plaster dribbled to the ground. Warmth slipped over his knuckles and fingers.
He punched the wall again.
Again. Right. Left. Right.
Pain spiked up his arms and through his shoulders. Didn’t care. Moved beyond the tiled terrace. Sand pushed against him, slowing his movements. Straining against him. He started walking…jogging…running. Sprinting. Back. Forth. Willing the cauldron in his gut to simmer.
But each time, Dante’s face burned into his mind, so he ran more.
Only as dawn’s fingers traced the horizon did he slump against the wall, his ego and heart fractured. Why, God? Why? After one mistake, he’d righted his course. Walked the straight and narrow tight enough to hold a quarter between his cheeks.
And now…It don’t matter.
Tracing the sky, searching for answers, he felt more than saw the presence behind him.
“They ran that interview to draw you out. You know that, right?”
“Don’t matter.” He let out a long sigh. “It’s too late. Damage is done.”
“What’s this?” Light crunching came to his ears just seconds before he looked to the side and cringed. She stood on the wall. “The mighty Griffin gives up? Unaffected, undaunted Griffin?”
“The things they told him, the things…they said about me—“
“Aren’t true.”
“But he don’t know that!”
Kazi peered down at him. “They said you were close. Are you?”
He eyed her, agitated with himself for letting his vault of secrecy open. She had no cause to get up in his business, but what angered him the most was that he had let her.
“Are you?”
“Yes—we were. I didn’t want him to see me at the trial. Told Phee to keep him at home. She said he got angry, wanted to stand by me through it all, but…no way. Won’t have him see me like that. Hear those lies. But he talked her into bringing him to the prison. Supermax is not the place for a kid. I made them leave. Killed me to do it, but I didn’t want him seeing me like that.”
He rubbed his head, feeling a buzz at the back of his brain thinking about Dante, thinking about what must be going through his teenage mind. “He’s being raised by good people. My sister and her husband teaching him the right way to live. I worked hard to make sure my grandparents and sister had a good, safe place to be. So they didn’t have to deal with the gangs and drugs I grew up around. Dante has good family, but this…”
“What about your parents? You didn’t mention them.”
“They died.” Griffin ground his teeth to keep the morbid truth from slipping between his lips. It didn’t do no good for this to come drifting up from the grave.
“Died?” Kazi huffed. “Fine, you don’t want to tell me—“
“It don’t need to be told, K. The past is behind us. I’m looking forward.”
“You might be, but you’re also looking over your shoulder every two seconds, afraid the past is going to catch up with you. It haunts you, haunts your decisions. Right now, it’s infested your mind.” Sincerity wove through her words. “Look, God knows I have a history I’d love to remain buried, but it’s out there. You helped me face that. You showed me I can be whoever I want to be despite it.”
He clicked his tongue and wagged his head, groaning.
“What? Doesn’t that apply to you?”
“No, it don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
Her eyes flamed. “What a lame—“
“My father murdered my mother—beat the tar out of her, then shot himself. Not because he was sorry for what he’d done to her, but because he didn’t want to get caught or go to jail.”
“And my brother sold me into prostitution to pay off the family debt. What they did doesn’t define us, Griffin. I get it—you’re afraid your nephew will think you’re like your father.”
He spun, towering over her. “I am that man. I killed a man when he attacked my wife.”
Her green eyes widened. “Wife?”
Another brick on the wall he’d built around his past crumbled. Griffin pinched his lips together. Why? Why did she have to dredge all this up? He didn’t want to go there. Didn’t want to let these memories see the light of day. He’d buried them. Moved on.
“You have a wife?”
“No!” His voice cracked. How could she think he would go after her when he was still married? “She left because she wanted the benefits of bei
ng a Marine wife but not the responsibility. I had no business marrying her. I knew she was into me, not like that. I had my club, that’s where I spent my nights and weekends. Alone with good music. She went out—with anyone and everyone.”
He touched his fingertips to his temples. “After the man died, the attorney got me cleared. There were witnesses. The man was my commanding officer, and there were enough witnesses to prove he was out for my head. That he went after my wife. My record was expunged, but I have never forgotten that I took someone’s life.”
“It’s why you won’t let yourself feel.”
Griffin felt as if his heart stalled out. How did she figure that out? “Treece said she couldn’t take it anymore. Neither could I.”
“Take what?”
“Me. Who I am. My—” He grunted and huffed. “I don’t talk about things, a’right? It don’t make sense to. Never did anyone any good to do ‘talk’ about them.”
“Let’s talk about this.”
“No Reggie. No, please…”
“I deal with it in my own way. Bury it. Move on.” He patted his chest. “That’s my MO.”
“But are you dealing with the things in your past, or are you ignoring them?”
“What?”
“You don’t show your feelings, Griffin. Burying them is just as dangerous as exploding with them.” She pointed to the house. “Neeley tried to reason with you, but even he saw the fury in your face and backed off. Is that what you want? People afraid of you, afraid of crossing you?”
“I want respect.”
“Then earn it!”
Shoulders hunched, he pushed his neck forward. “Excuse me?” He raised his arms and snapped his hands straight. “I do what I need to so me and mine can survive. Always have. That don’t change.” He had to do that to survive, to protect Phoenix. Himself. He hadn’t been able to save his mom…“Look, don’t get up in my business, K. You don’t know me like that.”
Kazi hauled back, her expression stricken. Like he’d hit her. The thought swirled through his gut, slinging him back to the past when his dad had first punched his mom.
Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) Page 30