by Khloe Wren
Unlike me, Dad kept his art as a hobby. He was happy to go into the hotel each night to work, and just muck around with his tanning stuff in his down time. But maybe he was branching out and trying something else. I’d totally back that up, because even though I was grateful he always had leather ready for me when I needed it for a project I was making to sell, I’d happily never smell the stench of tanning chemicals again.
As much as I dabbled in several different arts, tanning had never been something that had interested me. I had no desire to ever skin an animal. A shudder ran down my spine at the thought of it. I did not do well around blood. In fact, I puked at the sight of it. Every time. I guessed that was why Dad had never bothered to explain the process to me, and why he’d told me to never go into his workshop. What he did in there was one of the only two subjects he refused to discuss with me.
The other was my mother.
I’d given up asking about her a long time ago. As a young child, I’d been desperate to know who she’d been and what had happened to her. If she was still out there somewhere. But since he’d refused to answer any of my questions about her, and there was no one in our lives from before we moved here, I’d had no way of finding anything out. Over the years, I’d learned to push the questions to the back of my mind. It was just easier, because there was no point in getting worked up over it when there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
Glancing at the clock, I tapped my foot as I contemplated what to do. I could go try to wake up my dad, which never ended well. That man slept like the dead and did not wake up a happy man. I could go looking in his workshop myself. Or I could sharpen up my bigger chisels and use them. I eyed the work I needed to do and quickly decided against that last option. I really needed my smaller chisels. With a sigh, I pulled my safety glasses off and tossed them on the bench before I headed back outside. It looked like I was going to have to brave his workshop.
I took a few deep breaths and wondered how long I could hold my breath, before I made my way across the yard. His workshop had been the original cottage, so it had been built with thick, stone walls that helped contain the smell, but by the time I reached the door it was strong enough I’d lifted my shirt up to cover my nose and mouth. It didn’t make much of a difference, but I felt better for at least trying to minimize the stink.
Taking a deep breath and holding it, I shoved the door open. Once I’d stepped into the dark interior, I ran my hand up the door frame, feeling for the light switch. Dad had bricked in the windows long ago and installed an exhaust fan for ventilation. I never had been able to understand why he’d not wanted any natural daylight in here.
Well, I’d not understood until the light flickered on and I found myself surrounded by a scene from a horror movie.
“Oh, fuck.”
Bile rose up my throat instantly as I stumbled backward out of the building. A few meters from the door, I fell to my knees and started throwing up. There had been so much blood. Fresh waves of nausea hit me as the images of what I’d just seen flickered through my mind.
That poor girl.
With a groan, I dry retched. My stomach was empty, but the images were still cycling through my mind, tormenting me and making my stomach roil. The image of the girl in there was permanently embedded in my mind. And I knew I had to go back in. With all the cuts and blood that covered her, I doubted she was alive, but I had to make sure.
Turning off my audio book, I pulled my headphones down and left them hanging around my neck. I did not need Jim telling me all about the Russian biker assassins that were most definitely not going to be magically coming to my rescue. I shored up my courage, and forced my feet to take me where I didn’t want to go. Back inside my father’s workshop of terror.
The closer I got to the girl, the more I was sure she was dead. Trapped in thick iron shackles, her wrists held her entire weight as she hung limply against the wall. Her body was naked and covered in wounds, small and large. Streaks of blood covered her flesh. When I could reach, I stretched my arm out to carefully touch her neck where her pulse point should be. As soon as I touched her cold skin I knew she was gone. And it was a good thing. She’d been horribly tortured. Even if her physical injuries could have been healed, I doubted her mental ones ever would.
“Fly high and free, sweetie.”
Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them clear. I couldn’t do anything to save this girl, but I could maybe find out who she was. Give her family some closure at least. Part of me wanted to just call in the police and let them deal with it all, but I needed to look around myself first. I wasn’t sure why exactly, but I had to know just how evil my father was, how much he’d kept hidden from me over the years.
Ignoring all the benches with his tanning equipment set out, I focused on the table set up on the other side of the room. I grabbed a disposable glove from the box and put it on before I lifted a lid off a file box.
“Oh, fuck.”
It was over half full of underwear. Bras and knickers of all colors, styles and sizes. Were these trophies? How many women was my father responsible for killing? Putting that lid back down, I opened the shoe box next to it and found it full of cards. Licenses, IDs, credit cards. Pushing down the fresh wave of nausea, I moved them around until I saw an image that resembled the woman behind me.
Shanea Reeves. She’d been young and pretty. Just turned twenty-one, she was a year younger than me. I wiped my eyes on my shoulder, I couldn’t stop the tears. So many lives lost, and judging by their photos they were all like Shanea, young and just starting out. I moved the licenses around again as I started to put things together.
The news had been reporting how several backpackers had gone missing in New South Wales and Queensland. I couldn’t remember the timeframe, but it was over a period of years. I recognized some of these faces from that article.
Pulling my phone out, I brought up Google and attempted to find the article to remind myself of the details. Quickly finding the information, I scanned the list of sites where the women had all vanished from. None had disappeared from Drake, but several towns where I’d had orders from were listed. I closed my eyes as dread flowed over me. He’d picked up victims when he’d been on delivery trips for me. Because I hadn’t wanted to go deal with people, I’d accepted my father’s offer to make the deliveries.
I was partly to blame for these murders. It was my fault he was put in their paths. He’d made me an accomplice to murder, torture… The more I thought about it, the angrier it made me. My father was a monster. Rage pushed aside every other emotion and I dropped Shanea’s license back in with the others. Clenching my fists at my sides, I shook with fury. I wasn’t just angry at my father, but at myself. I should have questioned him more. Why hadn’t I ever been able to question my father on any topic? It didn’t make sense! And now if I called the police in on this mess, I’d be taken in along with him because they wouldn’t believe I hadn’t known all this was going on right under my nose.
My gaze scanned the room, taking in the cages that were big enough for humans, and empty shackles on the wall beside the dead girl. The bloodstains that streaked the floor and walls. My father was a very, very sick man and he’d pulled me into his crimes. There would be no going to the police to deal with this. A calm came over me as some inner part of me I hadn’t realized was there came to life.
An inner warrior that wanted vengeance for all the victims my father had tortured and killed. With slow, measured movements, I turned and headed toward the house as I mentally planned out my moves. I’d grab a knife from the kitchen and slit his throat in his sleep, then set fire to everything. The evil here needed to be cleansed.
I’d only taken three steps out of the building when a bolt of lightning split the air, splitting so forks of lightning hit the ground around me, caging me within it. Before I could process what was happening, my world turned white and my mind shut down.
Martin
Over the years I’d grown used to the dreams that gave
me glimpses of my future. I’d sold my soul to the devil a long time ago and one of the rewards I received was that I’d be able to see what was coming so I could avoid it if necessary.
I had no fucking clue who or what the spirit was that had come to me that first time, promising me so much. All I had to do was keep Brianna protected and safe from the world. Make sure she never remembered her early years. I was pretty sure that’s why I was gifted with the ability to influence others. My second reward for selling my soul.
The spirit had told me the ability was so I could convince everyone around us that Brianna was my child, and to force Brianna to do what she needed to in order to grow up strong. It’d been the only way I’d been able to obtain full custody and get her out of Newcastle all those years ago. It was a bonus that it allowed me to easily capture the young backpackers I saw on my travels, so I could bring them home and play with them like I did.
But this dream was different than how they normally worked. This wasn’t me getting caught digging a grave or pulling a woman into the rear of my van. I liked those types of visions, since they meant I could make changes to my life so I wouldn’t get caught. But that was not how this dream was playing out. This time, I wasn’t even present. Only Brianna was, and she was about to open the door to my workshop, something I’d embedded deep in her psyche to never do.
My heart rate tripled as I tried to reach out to pull her back, to stop her, but since it was only a vision, I couldn’t do a damn thing to change it. I didn’t want her to see what I did in there. Didn’t want her to know. As much as she wasn’t biologically my daughter, I’d grown attached to her over the years. She’d been naturally shy and introverted, so I’d simply nurtured those traits. Encouraging her to stay on the property, I’d deliver her furniture and collect supplies for her. I also did as much of the lifting of the heavy timber as I could in the hope she wouldn’t become too strong. I’d had faith if she stayed physically weak and sheltered from the ways of the world, the evil spirit wouldn’t be able to use her as he’d planned when he came back for her.
I liked how she thought I hung the moon. How she thought I’d moved us out here for her safety and comfort alone. That I’d sacrificed for her. Once she saw what was in that building, she’d know that her safety had come secondary to my urges. I’d needed the space and seclusion this place offered to allow me to play as I desired.
Before heading into work last night, my latest toy had died on me and she was still hung up, all her pretty wounds on display. Brianna would get ill if I couldn’t stop her from seeing all that blood. Desperate to find a way to prevent that scene from taking place, I looked to the sky, and seeing the sun was still rising, figured it was morning. Was it happening now, or would it happen tomorrow? How much time did I have to prevent her discovery?
Closing my eyes, I willed myself to wake up, but when I reopened my eyes, it wasn’t to see my bedroom as I’d hoped, but the angry face of the spirit that had visited me all those years ago.
“You cannot prevent this. You are seeing what is happening right this moment.”
I looked past him to see Brianna stumble out of my workshop, fall to her knees and start retching. I wanted to go to her but was held motionless, forced to watch her suffering.
“You do not deserve her. You abused the powers you were gifted with to hurt innocents. The girl is now old enough to manage her destiny, so you are no longer required. Despite your failure at preparing her, she will have to play her part. Her first mission will be to serve justice upon you.”
As he faded away to nothing, I watched Brianna rise up and return to the workshop. Checking the girl for a pulse before going through my desk, finding the IDs from all my playthings. Clearly, she was putting it all together, how long I’d been doing this right under her nose without having a clue. When she turned and faced me, her normally steel-blue irises flashed with flames as she set her sights on the house.
She was coming for me. And I was helpless to fight against her as I was forced to remain asleep. I tried to break the hold of the vision, desperate to get free but it wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t end the dream as I normally was able to. Lightning streaked down, splitting just above her head into several smaller bolts that came down in a circle around her, briefly forming a cage before it vanished into thin air, taking Brianna with it.
The loudest crack of thunder I’d ever heard woke me and with a gasp, I sat up in my bed as the house shook from the sound.
“Fuck!”
Hoping the spirit had lied, that I still had time, I rushed to get a pair of pants on before racing from my room. I was sprinting by the time I cleared the back door, still hoping I was in time to change this.
“Brianna!”
Silence greeted me and I skidded to a halt at the sight before me. A circle of blackened ground edged with small flames was between me and my workshop, which had its door wide open.
“Brianna! Answer me!”
I tried to put compulsion into my voice but couldn’t. The spirit had taken the ability from me. When she didn’t answer me again, I hoped that maybe she simply had her headphones on and couldn’t hear me. I sprinted over to her workshop first, but it was empty. I came back to my own workspace only to find that it too, was empty.
“Fuck!”
The spirit hadn’t lied.
Okay. I needed to calm down and think. That spirit had taken Brianna, but had done something to her first. I’d seen the rage and resolve in her eyes as she’d come toward the house. If she came back and found me here, I’d be in trouble. While Brianna was the gentlest soul I knew—and I’d encouraged that part of her—if that spirit took her over, there was no telling what she could do. With all her furniture building, she had great physical strength.
As I’d been thinking, the small flames from the lightning had slowly burned their way across the yard, getting closer to both the house and my workshop. I could turn the hose on it and put the flames out, but maybe it would be better to leave them be. I could throw a few things in the car and run. Let mother nature destroy this place and all the evidence it held against me.
Chapter One
Tampa, Florida, USA
Spark
There was rarely a dull moment in an MC and the Tampa chapter of the Royal Bastards was no exception. That was actually part of the reason why I’d joined the club in the first place. Well, that and I thought it was fucking hilarious, considering I was actually a royal bastard.
I was one of six immortal sons King Tutankhamun had conceived with female slaves. After his wife birthed their second daughter stillborn, my father had become desperate. He called on the gods for their help and somehow the crazy bastard managed to pull off impregnating six women with sons who were each infused with different powers from various gods.
Not a bad effort considering the fact that when he died at nineteen, all six of us had already been born. The man didn’t screw around when he’d wanted something, that was for sure. Well, I guess in this case he did screw around. A whole lot.
“Thanks, brother.”
Nycto, the president of the Tampa chapter, slapped my back as he moved off toward his room, likely to go check his woman was still where he’d left her. I shook my head and headed to the bar. The four-hour ride back from Miami had put a few kinks in my body that a couple drinks would soon fix.
As much as I liked Nycto, the man was a little nuts. I’d never been a fan of how he had the club earning money by couriering “packages,” aka trafficked women for that asshole Andrés. Considering my mother had no doubt gone through something similar, being snatched from her home and shipped to a new country for the purpose of sexually pleasing a man with more money and power than any man should have, it didn’t sit well that I was now facilitating that same fate to happen to other women. So, when Nycto finally met a woman he couldn’t hand over, I was more than happy to back him up with keeping her.
I prayed this whole mess would mean he’d find a new revenue stream for the club once the situa
tion with his woman was sorted.
My phone dinging before I could grab a drink had me wincing, but I knew better than to ignore it. When I wasn’t doing shit for the club, I worked in the military. I was part of a special forces unit that mainly dealt with rogue super-naturals. Most times my phone went off it was work calling me in to handle some sort of beastie that had gone on a rampage and needed to be taken out.
The other job I had—the one I could actually tell people about—was fighting fires. The god I’d been mixed with was the Egyptian god Ra. Part of Ra’s skill set was the ability to control light and heat. I was blessed with those same skills, which enabled me to control fires to some degree. Since I’d always felt drawn to flames, it made sense that I’d put those skills to use. It was also an excellent excuse for why I traveled around like I did.
My phone began ringing, indicating I’d taken too long to respond to whatever the earlier message had been. Pulling it out of my pocket, I paused when I saw who was calling. Instantly on alert, I left the bar and headed to my room for privacy as I answered the call. Aaron “Atum” Adel never called unless something major was happening.
“Brother, what’s going on down under?”
All my brothers would do anything for Aaron. He’d been the one who’d gathered our spirits from our father’s tomb when it had been opened back in 1922, releasing us.
We’d all been thrown in there soon after King Tut’s death. His widow, Ankhesenamun, had been forced to marry his successor, Ay, and convinced him that us boys were a threat to his throne and needed to be dealt with before we grew too strong. We’d all only been babies or toddlers at the time, but thanks to being infused with the spirits of the gods, we were unable to be killed outright.
Their solution was to trap us in our father’s vault.
As was typical at the time, thieves had raided our father’s tomb soon after his burial. When they were caught, the new pharaoh decided to take advantage of the situation and added us to the rest of King Tut’s possessions when they were returned to the crypt.