“Well, look who decided to get out of bed today?” Lexy herself sneers while tossing some popcorn my way. Michelle Miller sits next to her, and the giant TV taking up the living room wall blares away—something about a wedding dress.
But all I can do is offer a meager wave as I make my way out the door in haste.
Gage has his tongue buried so far down Skyla’s throat, she gags on it a moment. His hands warm her body, his fingers spread out thick, not missing a single inch. His thumbs slip into her jeans as I jump into my truck.
“Shit.” I bark so loud as I speed the hell out of the driveway. The road is slick, damp from the ever-present fog and the algae that clings to the asphalt because of it.
Skyla is stripped clean of her clothing. Her fingers do their best to return the favor, but Gage steps in and takes over. And they’re naked, tied at the tongues. His erection promises action sooner than later, and my stomach gives a violent turn.
“Candace!” I roll down my window and bark out her name at least a half dozen times as I race across Paragon’s highway. This is not how I envisioned my homecoming. Hell, this isn’t how I envision a single day of my life—dead or alive.
Gage lands Skyla on the bed, and I’d swear I could feel her velvet skin searing against mine. He pulls a condom from seemingly nowhere.
“No, no, no,” I groan as I make the turn toward the Landon house. A jag of lightning illuminates the night as I speed the hell up the driveway and stop abruptly, leaving my keys in the damn ignition.
His lips are back on hers, his body rising above her. Those beautiful legs of hers wrap around his back like a vine as I race up the stairs and barge through the door without bothering to knock—without bothering to notice if it was locked or not. I might have broken the lock. Hell, to clear my head of what comes next, I’d break every lock on the island.
He’s entering her now, slow, careful, and I take the stairs two by two as I make it to the second level. The door to her room is shut, and I burst in without knocking.
A groan comes from the Skyla in my mind, the one being lovingly penetrated by Gage Oliver, her husband. He’s in her now, deep, pushing in as if he’s determined to push right through, and her legs tighten their grip. Her fingernails carve over his back.
The boys are each in their cribs, one sleeping, one standing at the edge, holding out a hand as if asking for my help. Both miniature versions of the nephew I love and currently can’t stand the sight of.
Skyla pokes her head out of the closet, her hair a wild mane, the same way it looks in my mind’s eye, and a part of me is enraged and equally turned the hell on. “Logan?”
My arms wrap around her body as I press my lips hard against hers, and just like that, the plug is pulled on the pornographic preview. Relief floods over me, and finally I can take my next much-needed breath.
She pulls back a notch, panting, a partial smile on her face, her gaze pinned over mine with a wide-eyed stare. Her vanilla perfume lights up my senses, and I can’t stop taking in this beautiful girl in my very real arms.
“I would slap you, but I lack the proper enthusiasm. I want to know what the hell brought that on—but first, I want to know where the hell Cooper and Laken are. I’ve looked everywhere, and I want answers. If you’ve got them, so help me God, you’d better cough them up.”
I swallow hard, my new body drinking in the feel of her chest pressed to mine. “I don’t have the answers. But I have a feeling we both know who might.” Get a sitter for the boys. I think it’s time to pay a visit to that demented brother-in-law of yours.
“Wesley.” She gives a knowing nod. “We’re going to hell, aren’t we?”
“We always do.”
Wesley
“Twenty-fucking-one.” I flip the cards over and slide the entire deck toward Coop. “I’m out.”
Cooper Flanders has been holed up here, in the monstrosity of a home my father gifted me, down in the Transfer for the last solid week. It’s been a shit ride in and out of every minute because, no matter how hard we try, we cannot break into that damn fucking science project the government has cooking over on Raven’s Eye. They have that building nailed shut and sealed from potential interlopers. You need more than a code to get past the domino string of guards lining the periphery.
Fucking code. I don’t need a code. I can teleport—however, blinking into existence, on camera no less, makes me think twice. But I have an idea. I have plans. And none of the above include Coop.
I glance over at the enormous spinning ball of granite that sits in a well, spanning at least four feet in all directions. It was a housewarming gift from my fleabag of a father, Tears Over Creation, Tears Over Paragon, take your pick. Right about now, I wish I could drown him in it for all the help he’s been.
Coop stands and heads over to the fireplace, tossing in log after log, says he likes the light. And as much as I hate to admit it, having Coop around brightens this dismal place up, and it has nothing to do with the fire. I’ve always felt deep down that Cooper was an upstanding guy. I knew that was true back at school—during that questionable time we spent together at the Ephemeral Academy. Cooper was my right-hand man, disposing of those nasty Spectators that had a propensity to wander into town a time or two. But that was before my father took the blinders off my eyes, and now I see Coop for what he is—the enemy. He also happens to be the bastard that snaked the love of my life right from underneath me. And that right there is what has us working as a unified front at the moment. Laken Stewart—Flanders. His wife.
“We’ll try again in an hour,” Coop says as if reading my mind, but he’s not. Laken has been our singular concern during our weeklong confinement. “Was that Tad Landon we saw getting reamed by an officer for pissing in the woods?” He shakes his head. “He was in a uniform.”
Cooper and I have made forty-two attempts to permeate the grounds in an effort to make our way to Laken. Forty-two ill attempts, unfruitful efforts to rescue the woman we both profess to love. I always swore I’d move heaven and earth to make sure Laken was safe, and now all I can seem to do is teleport Coop and myself to the island they’re holding her captive on as if I were a fucking tourist. I may be able to teleport, but I am not invisible. I’ve thought of disguising myself, ski mask, gloves, the whole nine yards—which I have with me at the ready—but the feds would know Laken has someone working on her behalf. No. This needs immaculate execution. The only way to pull this off is to walk right through the front door with Kresley—and for Cooper Flanders to do the deed himself. Once they spot him on the grid, and they will, they’ll want him, too. I won’t put up a fight. He might, but it’ll be fruitless. But Coop isn’t up for my reindeer games. He’s smart as fuck, and that’s what landed Laken in his arms to begin with.
I slam my fist over the table, and the pieces to the chess game that kept Coop and me occupied during these sleepless nights dislodge and fall over.
“Dude”—he strides over and rights them—“I’m about to give you one serious ass kicking. I know you’re a sore loser, but try not to take it out on the game.”
Coop is right. I have always been a sore loser. Laken was taken captive the same night that my brother died. The irony hasn’t left me. Yes, in every way I regard Gage Oliver as my full-blooded brother, even though he’s technically less than that. Someone or something—most likely at the bidding of my father, sliced his head off for kicks during his birthday party—correction, the birthday party my father was throwing for my nephews. Gage’s birthday was simply a detail—the same way Gage and I have been simply details to my father for so long.
Damn Demetri. I’ve tried to call him. I begged him by text, by voicemail to help me get Laken the hell off Raven’s Eye but was met with dead silence. I’m guessing he has bigger fish to fry, namely getting my brother’s useless ghost back in a body and on that coveted throne of his. Right about now, I’d sell my soul, sell the Steel Barricade itself, which I love a little more than my soul, to anyone who could get Laken off that
demonic rock she’s imprisoned on.
“Tad Landon.” I perk up at the thought. “Isn’t that Skyla’s imbecile?”
“If by Skyla’s imbecile, you mean stepfather then, yes, you’d be right. It’s time you realize that we should have dragged Skyla into this seven damn days ago.”
“I didn’t drag Skyla into this because she was grieving!” I riot out the lie so loud even I believe it.
“So am I!” he thunders right back, and I stagger to my feet and pour us both a drink. Scotch for me. Coop prefers vodka straight apparently. “You know why I can’t bring Skyla into this. Skyla would be remiss to involve Kresley—and that’s exactly what needs to happen.” Kres is still happily chirping around as if she were the lady of the manor. Taking care of October as if she were her own. And, of course, my sweet Tobie has taken to her. Tobie craves a mother the way vampires crave blood—or Counts as it were—the way I once craved Celestra’s cherry red fluids. I haven’t had a drop in years. Haven’t needed it since my father did the big paternal reveal, but my powers are nothing when it comes to putting Laken back in my arms where she belongs. Hell, I’d put her back in Coop’s arms, his bed, if it meant she were out of harm’s way. But I’d never say it out loud. I’d never allow myself to have the thought twice.
“Skyla has a conscience, unlike you,” Coop is quick to inform me of yet another personality malfeasance. Who knew having Coop around for a solid fucking week would be an unwanted way to humble my weary soul? “And yes, she would very much be opposed to tossing Kresley into the fire as if she were kindling.” He steps over, dirty blond hair, those serious grieving eyes red with rage, and knocks back the shot I set out for him in one big gulp. He takes a breath from between his teeth and hisses as it goes down with a burn.
“Did I hear someone call my name?”
We turn to find Skyla and Logan staining the entry. Logan looks freakishly like Coop. I’ve always thought so, and Skyla looks like her usual unpersonable self. At least around me she is. Damn unpersonable. Skyla and I met years ago in the Tenebrous Woods. It was her celestially endowed blood that boosted my powers—bolstered them to boundaries unknown. For that alone, I’ll forever be grateful. But, as it stands, she is the enemy. She alone holds the spiritual hedge that binds the Fems beneath the Sectors. And she alone needs to be removed for the Fems—my people, my brother’s people to prosper. I frown as I look to her. As stunning as she is, she also happens to be Laken’s best friend.
“Where the hell is she?” Skyla grips my shoulders and shakes me as if I were holding Laken hostage myself.
“Raven’s Eye,” Coop offers. “We’re trying our best to break in. It’s fucking Fort Knox.”
Logan pinches his eyes shut. “Dude, we’ve got the code. We’ve stormed it before.”
“They changed it,” I say, shaking my head at the lack of brain cells that just invaded. The collective IQ of the room went down as soon as he and Skyla barged in here.
Okay, so it may not be true, but I’m too pissed to be nice. Having Laken locked up somewhere to be used like a toy makes me a very nasty person to be around. Nastier than usual.
Skyla nods. “They’ve tightened the hell out of security.”
I head to the fireplace and pick up a four-foot plank Coop retrieved from out back. “They hired your stepfather. They didn’t tighten shit. If anything, they’ve downgraded.” Without offering so much as a grimace, I whack the board across Cooper’s temple, sending him to the floor in a heap.
“Shit!” Logan thunders as both he and Skyla drop to their knees to tend to him. “What the hell was that for?”
“Because Coop doesn’t really want to save Laken, and I do.” I point to Logan. “You’re watching Tobie for me.” I snatch Skyla by the arm and teleport us to the nursery where a startled Kresley looks to the two of us.
“Geez! Can you never do that again?” Kres clutches at her chest, her face and hair so closely resemble Laken, the untrained eye would think they were one and the same. But I know the difference. It’s night and day, and as far as I see it, it’s time to trade night for that beautiful day I miss so damn much. “What’s she doing here?” she sneers at Skyla.
“No time for that. We’re going on a little road trip,” I say, heading to my precious daughter. Tobie—October Edinger is the product of my tumultuous marriage to that witch, Chloe Bishop. That marriage has ended for all practical purposes and so has Chloe’s desire to be a mother. Not that she ever had it. Chloe is too vain to care about anyone outside of herself—with the exception of my brother. Chloe’s obsession with Gage is rivaled by my own obsession with Laken.
“Daddy!” My baby girl bounces in her crib, an ear-to-ear grin taking over her pretty little face, and my heart melts.
“Give me a kiss.” I press one against her cheek, and she blesses me with a wet one. “Uncle Logan will be here shortly. Take a nap.” I press another kiss to her dark hair. “I love you, princess.”
“I love you, too.” Skyla dives in to pick her up, and I block her. It’s true. Skyla does care immensely for Tobie, and it warms the hell out of my brittle heart to know this. I just don’t think it’s the best idea for Tobie to get too attached to her.
“We don’t have time for that.” I keep my arm wrapped tight around Skyla’s waist and snatch Kresley in the same manner as the room begins to dissipate. I’m bringing Laken home tonight, and I sure as hell don’t need Cooper Flanders to do it.
It was Skyla I needed all along.
The woods adjacent to the compound form around us, tall and skeletal as they stretch like charred shadows long into the night. The mist floats around us like an army of ghosts, and the scent of fresh pine and wet earth permeates the air.
“Where are we?” Kresley shouts as she struggles to break free, and I quickly let go of Skyla so I can properly muzzle and bind her. My hand quickly claps over her mouth, silencing her abruptly. Kresley looks up at me, her eyes bugged out, the look of curiosity quickly morphing to something darker as if she just realized she had been dancing in an incinerator while I entertained her in my bed. It was never for love that I did it. It was for trust. Sometimes you need to sacrifice a little bit of who you really are for the greater good of others, and in this case it was for Laken. I never demanded that Kresley have her features altered. I threw it out there like a joke, and then Kresley herself suggested it one day out of the blue as if it were her own idea. Of course, I ran like hell with it, flying that idea high like a kite on the beach. It was brilliant. And yes, I may have manipulated Kres into it, but I never held a gun to her head. Kres meant for it to quell my broken heart—a beautiful gesture no doubt. But I meant it for something far more practical, putting her in Laken’s place should the need ever arise and, sure as shit, it arrived like a thief in the night.
“Skyla.” I nod toward the entry with its impeccable security system. “I’m headed in with her. You stay out here.”
“Why am I here?” She gives my arm a hard yank, fury emanating from her like a heat wave.
I give a quick glance around the area, nothing but evergreens or so it would seem. “Because if I’m trapped in that hellhole, your mother will be forced to get you off this island, and I’m hoping you’ll at least take Laken with you.”
The whites of her eyes shine in the night, and she gives a slight nod as if acknowledging all I said was true. “They’ll see you, Wes. You need to cut the circuits somehow. Kill the lights and the security cameras. I’m sure they have a generator. You’ll need to kill that, too.” She shakes her head. “God, I think Brody cut the wires last time. Or Ellis. Who the hell can remember?”
“Shit,” I pant into the forest, creating a plume of smoke from my nostrils that might as well be a bull’s-eye. “Where’s the circuit board? Do you know?”
She shakes her head. “Most likely on the inside of those barbed wire lined fences. I’m sorry. You just can’t materialize in those halls. It’s suicide to try.”
“Fuck it.” I pluck the ski mask from my jean
s—one I’ve kept close for the last solid week and whip it on, one handed. “I’m going in. Stay in this exact position or you’ll lose your ride home.”
“Wait!” Skyla grips onto Kresley’s hand. “Do you know what you’re getting into?”
Kresley shakes her head frenetically, the look of panic rife on her face.
“Shit, Wes.” Skyla’s voice drips with both disappointment and judgment, but right about now, I couldn’t care less if she were the judge and jury herself.
Kresley struggles, and I wrap my arm around her so tight I might as well have sliced her in half. But I need my other hand free for far more important things. I reach back into my jeans and pull out my trusty Ruger. If need be, I’ll blast my way out of here in a hail of gunfire. I close my eyes and do my best to envision that dungeon they’ve got Laken locked up in, and the world around us begins to melt away.
“Kresley!” Skyla’s voice dissipates, along with the landscape. “I’ll come back for you! I won’t leave you here to rot. You have my word!”
For the life of me, I can’t imagine where to land, so I do my best to envision a desolate hallway, some place dark—a broom closet would be perfect. I try my hardest to think only of Laken—praying to God that will land me in the vicinity. The nature of teleportation by and large is shooting in the dark, but most of the time you have a vague idea of where the hell you’re going. This compound is mammoth in size. Just because I’ve penetrated its well-guarded walls doesn’t mean I’ll find Laken anytime soon.
Darkness overrides my senses, and I feel the floor beneath me, assuring me that indeed we’ve landed. Kresley struggles before slumping against me as if she realizes the effort is fruitless. I reach around until my hand hits a door, and I carefully open it, exposing a well-lit hallway, bright white, not a soul in sight. The ceiling is lined with cameras in every direction. Odds are, I have less than a few seconds before I have a chance to pump someone’s forehead with a bullet.