The Family Cross Page 14

  Samson frowned, bloodied eyeballs flickering between the road and me. Did they hurt or affect his vision? In the summer sun, they looked downright painful.

  “She’s dangerous because she can manipulate your emotions.” Samson turned the Mercedes toward a public parking garage. Thankfully, it was a few blocks away from work. If anyone I knew saw me out with Samson looking like this, I’d have some serious explaining to do. “Vee, among other things, is an empath. A deadly one. We were raised together, and of anyone I’ve ever met, she’s the last person I’d ever want to land myself in a fight with.”

  This woman sounded absolutely terrifying. Samson had killed three people, or two people and a fae, since I’d met him. And he was scared of her?

  “I watched Vee make someone feel so alone they killed themselves in less than fifteen seconds of being in the same room with her.”

  Excuse me?

  He gave me a look. “When I say she’s dangerous…I mean it. There were a few of us that were called into interrogations and stuff all the time. Vee and I were sent all over the world more times than I care to count for ’em. Battle-hardened soldiers and bloodthirsty terrorists both would sing their secrets from the rooftops if left with her long enough. Anything to make her go away.”

  Soldiers. Terrorists. While he’d mentioned the government and Circle Seven in the same breath before, it was unsettling to hear mention of it all over again. Samson drove up to the fourth level of the garage while I overanalyzed. For someone who didn’t want me to know about his life, I got a lot of information.

  “If this is supposed to make me feel better about this meeting, it doesn’t.”

  Samson pulled the Mercedes into a spot by the elevator. Perfect. “While she is deadly, she doesn’t kill people for no reason.”

  The humidity in the air sucked away all the relief I’d hoped to feel when I pushed the door open. Given the darkness sitting in the clouds, I had a suspicion another storm was on the way. “I have a substantial price on my head. She could kill me and collect the money from the contract.”

  “Nah. She won’t.”

  “How do you know that?” The elevator opened almost immediately, and we stepped inside. “You said she won’t be enticed by a million dollars, but when I’m standing there in front of her…it’ll be tempting.”

  “Vee doesn’t like killing people. She feels it all. That’s why—” Samson stopped and took a breath. “Well, that’s why she’s got her current gig.”

  The elevator hit the ground floor and Samson led me toward the street—the Ashby Building at our backs.

  “Gig?”

  “She’s the one who doles out contracts for Frank now.” Samson stuck a cigarette between his lips and lit it. “Vee still has to get Frank’s approval and follow his commands, but she’s the intermediary. Frank never gets his own hands dirty.”

  I pulled my hair over my shoulder and twisted it as we moved. It felt like every eye in Manhattan was on me, analyzing my repeat outfit and unfixed mop.

  “And you’ll be with me, Fancy Pants. Vee won’t get involved.”

  “Since you no longer work for Circle Seven, you’ll have to excuse my doubt.”

  Samson led us two blocks away from the garage before stopping in front of a cafe. While it wasn’t Elle’s Coffee Club, it was almost surreal standing beside him as coffee wafted into my nose. Who would’ve thought our unconventional meeting would’ve led to all this?

  “Why are we stopping?” I asked, as a barista passed a coffee over the counter. What I wouldn’t do for a drink.

  “See that building there? With the glass?” Samson jerked his head toward the structure in question—one even taller than the Ashby Building. “She’s there.”

  “There?” I asked, almost disappointed. Given the status of The Den, I’d assumed we’d be venturing into another rat-infested hole in the wall. My outfit was better equipped to handle a place like that.

  “Yeah. Don’t worry—it’s nothing like your office. She owns a rooftop club as a front for her other stuff.” Samson dropped his cigarette and smashed it beneath his boot. “Let’s go.”

  As we walked through the crosswalk, doubt sank in. My hair was stringy and had only been brushed with my fingers. Hardly the look I wanted when meeting a powerful woman slinking about a Manhattan high-rise. This wounded puppy thing I’d unintentionally invoked wouldn’t garner any sympathy from anyone in Samson’s circle, I was sure of it.

  We strolled past double glass doors and walked right into a marbled atrium. A pair of glass elevators moved up and down the open levels, transporting men and women wearing suits and jackets throughout the building. It was a regular office building. Nothing special.

  Samson called the elevator, and we waited beside a pair of women in pantsuits. The redhead raised an eyebrow at me and snorted. Rude.

  When the glass elevator arrived, the four of us tumbled inside. Samson pressed the button for the top floor, the only one without a number beside it. Instead, it had a word:

  Vespertine.

  Twenty-One

  The idea that this Vee woman owned a rooftop club in the middle of Manhattan only made me more nervous. While Cliff and his merry band of delinquents over at The Den were criminals of varying degrees, the fact that Vee possessed enough money to own an expensive piece of property in one of the most expensive cities in the world conveyed a mob boss vibe.

  As the elevator climbed, my mind delved into the specifics of meeting with another murderer. While Vee was capable of killing people, she was also allegedly a businesswoman. Perhaps if I thought of this as a business meeting, I’d get out in one piece. Regardless of what Samson said, people didn’t fall over themselves to make me happy. I was good at my job—so maybe if I framed this meeting that way, I wouldn’t look like a complete idiot.

  My stomach flipped as the elevator passed floor twenty-five. Samson stood quietly with his hands in his coat pockets.

  “Any last-minute advice?” I asked as the elevator crept to a stop.

  Samson spared me a glance. “Yeah. Don’t touch her.”

  Don’t touch her. Maybe her empath abilities worked like Samson’s telepathic ones did.

  As the elevator doors slid open, another thought took root. Were Samson and Vee the same…thing? Were they born under similar circumstances? He’d said they were raised together. Was it due to their ability to manipulate people through touch?

  A pair of dark mahogany doors sat about ten feet away from the elevator. A sheet of white, shimmering marble splashed with silver and gold striations curling from the floor to the ceiling covered the wall. The aesthetic aside, the wall was striking—it cost a good deal of money to have marble installed in a slab like that. Samson pulled on one of the door handles: locked.

  Not one to appreciate things like wood or stone, Samson pounded on the door with a fist. I winced with each crack of his hand against the mahogany. Hopefully he would practice some restraint and not ruin any of Vee’s things—

  I pinched myself. Vee was in charge of my contract! She could chop off my head and mail it to my father. Lock me in a box and bury me alive. Perspective, Tilly!

  “This is so annoying.” Samson groaned and continued to beat away on the door. “Open up!”

  “Do you think that’s the best way to announce our arrival?” I asked after a sigh. Samson ignored me. Annoying Vee to death was not a great way to keep me alive.

  The door finally opened midknock, revealing an agitated guy with a dress shirt and a bow tie. Through the slim opening, I could see a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. So it was that kind of club.

  “We’re closed,” the man said, dark eyes flashing in annoyance. “The doors are shut for a reason—”

  “I’m not here for the club,” Samson said. “I’m here for your boss.”

  The man in the bow tie blinked a couple of times before finally answering. “My boss?”

  “Yeah. Vee,” Samson continued, all the while edging his body forward to get through the
door.

  “Sir, we are closed—”

  A slender hand appeared on the shoulder of the club worker through the crack in the door. The struggling between the two men stopped almost immediately.

  “Stop harassing him, Sammy.” A feminine voice echoed throughout the foyer.

  Sammy? Did she say Sammy?

  “I’ll take it from here, Juan. Thank you.”

  Juan gave a small smile to the woman standing somewhere on the other side of the door. He didn’t give me a second glance before walking away, but he sneered at Samson for a few seconds. The mahogany door finally opened all the way, revealing the woman behind the voice—a woman that could only be Vee.

  “You could’ve cost me a reliable employee, Sammy.” Vee pinned my companion with an irritated set of dark eyes.

  “Shut up and let me in.”

  I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole. Did Samson talk like this just to make me feel like strangling him? We were supposed to finding information about my contract, not insulting a potential ally!

  Vee snorted and raised her sculpted eyebrows, but otherwise didn’t respond. Her golden skin glowed in the light of the ornate chandelier dangling above the entrance, but not in anger. The corner of her lips turned up.

  “Still so polite.” Vee straightened her blazer. She might be a murderer, but she’d fit right in with the dress code at the Ashby Building. Black pantsuit, heels, and a tight bun at her neck. She opened the door wider and allowed us to walk inside, although she had yet to even acknowledge I stood there. “Perfect timing, actually. I could use your help. Someone has some time sensitive information I want.”

  Samson grumbled something under his breath, but I couldn’t hear what.

  Vespertine was one of those clubs that rich college kids went to when they should’ve been knee-deep in Calculus. There were high-top tables, mirrored liquor displays illuminated with multicolored lights, and a dance floor denoted with shimmering black tile. Men and women in dress shirts and bow ties sat at different tables cleaning glasses and rolling silverware. Juan, notably, scowled at us when we walked by.

  “What brings you in?” Vee looked over her shoulder at Samson. “The last I heard, you told Frank you were going to chop off his head and gift it to the president.”

  “The FBI, actually.”

  “That makes more sense.” Vee led us to a hallway in the back of the club.

  “Well, since I’m freelancing at the moment, I need your help.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Vee stopped at the door at the end of the hall.

  A loud moan echoed into the hallway from the other side.

  “I need to know where his last shipment went.” Vee nodded toward the door, ignoring Samson’s request. “I can feel him lying to me, and it’s annoying. I could interrogate him some more, but I’m running out of time.”

  “Shipment of?” Samson asked.

  “Women and girls.” Vee’s dark eyes speared the door with contempt. The pained moaning of the man beyond it continued. “I caught wind of about one hundred of them being shipped to South America somewhere, and I’d like to be at the dock when they arrive. I don’t want them to make it to their buyers and vanish.”

  “I’m surprised Frank’s still allowing you to pursue your passion projects.”

  “As long as I’m around when he needs me, Frank doesn’t give a damn. He didn’t give a damn about you either until you screwed everything up.” Vee jabbed a finger into Samson’s chest. “Getting yourself killed won’t bring Adam back. You’ve got to stop. Call Frank and smooth it over. I don’t want to bury you too.”

  I turned my gaze to the floor for a moment. The death of this Adam person had clearly been the cause of Samson’s falling out with Frank. While I had questions, so many questions, none of this was my business.

  “Now.” Vee’s tone, sharp and accusatory, changed in an instant. “Care to explain what you’re doing with her?”

  My blood ran cold when her gaze latched onto my face. Samson shifted his weight onto his other foot but said nothing. The hall fell silent aside from the disembodied moaning.

  “Now I know why everyone I send after her dies. It’s your fault.” Vee pinched the bridge of her nose and took a measured breath. “All right. Help me with this asshole, and then we’ll talk.”

  Without another word, Vee opened the door. We walked right into a walnut desk sitting in front of a large window. The sun poured through the pane, illuminating the white marble tile on the ground and glinting off the stained silver of the light fixtures. All in all, it was a smart-looking office.

  With the notable exception of the bleeding man bound to a chair to the left of the desk.

  Vee had already taken the man to task as he sported two swollen eyes, an obviously broken nose, and if I wasn’t mistaken, the two bloody things on the floor beside him were fingers.

  I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from screaming. In moments, this would be me. There was no way Vee would let me out of here alive.

  “Where’s the shipment?” Samson asked, and he walked over to him. He dropped a hand on top of his bald scalp. The only visible swath of skin without blood all over it.

  “I don’t—” the man sputtered, blood trickling down his chin, “I don’t know—”

  “You can’t lie to me, you sick piece of shit.” Samson stood still for a moment before looking over his shoulder to Vee. “They’re sailing into Colombia.”

  “I figured as much.” Vee walked behind the man and wrapped her hands around his face and chin. A sickening crack echoed in the room. She let go of the man’s head, and it flopped onto his chest, eyes wide and dead. So much for Vee’s so-called aversion to killing people!

  I gagged. Trash can—I needed a trash can.

  Samson, likely prepared for my reaction given my lurching, picked a trash can off the floor by the desk and thrust it into my stomach. It was a nice trash can too. I had the same one in my office. My office free of murders.

  The thought sent vomit right out of my mouth.

  “Having a rough time, rich girl?”

  “She prefers Fancy Pants,” Samson unhelpfully corrected.

  “I”—my stomach heaved, but I stifled the urge—“do not.”

  Vee walked over to her desk as I spat into the trash can. She picked up the black phone sitting on the corner. “Juan. I have a mess.”

  She hung up.

  “So.” Vee dropped into her chair and propped her feet up on the desk. “You’re Matilda Ashby. The one who has survived not one, not two, but three of our employees.”

  I kept the trash can in front of my chest and my mouth shut.

  “Sammy, why do you do this to me?” Vee asked as the door to her office opened. She turned to look at Juan. “You can call Quinn. I owe him a body.”

  Juan nodded once and left again. I did not want to know who Quinn might be or why he needed a corpse.

  “I need money if I’m going to take down Frank.” Samson shrugged. “Fancy Pants has money.”

  “That she does.” Vee scrunched up her nose. “Well, I’m sorry to say I don’t know who bought her contract. I’m just given names to call.”

  Samson took a few steps closer to the desk, hands tucked in his pockets of his coat. “Unseelie fae. Frank doesn’t bother with them unless he’s desperate.”

  Vee’s dark gaze moved to me. This woman was intimidating, and hiding behind a trash can wouldn’t help me here. “Maybe he’s desperate then. Although, he’s going to be a lot more desperate now when he hears this is all your fault.”

  “Frank didn’t know I was with her?”

  “No. At least, not to my knowledge.”

  I set the trash can on the floor and tried to compose myself. They were discussing my contract. My life. If I kept my back to the dead guy, I could get through this. I could.

  I had to.

  “Do you have any idea why I’m being targeted?”

  They both turned to look at me in surprise, like I was a chi
ld listening in on an adult conversation and they never thought I’d contribute.

  I knew how I looked to them. A rich girl with dirty heels, stringy hair, and day-old makeup, who barfed out of fear. A pathetic, simpering baby. But neither of them cared about my life as much as I did. Being an observer to my own destiny—it had to stop.

  “Until yesterday, I’ve never had as much as a parking ticket to my name. I went to work. Went home. Went to sleep. I donate to charity every pay period, and yes, Samson, I buy strangers coffee even when they’re rude.” My eyes started to burn. Great. Not now! “I have lived my entire life trying to make everyone else happy, and despite it, I got myself a kill contract. I want to know why.”

  Vee pulled her feet from the desk and stood, head cocked to the side. “Are you sure you want to know why?”

  “Quite frankly, I am the only person who really cares if I survive this contract, and I’m not just going to sit here and convince myself that either of you would give a damn if I died.” It had never hurt so much to say something out loud. I managed to hold back the tears, although grief hung heavy in my voice regardless. “So yes. Why?”

  Vee flinched. She probably hadn’t expected anything other than whining. “One of our investors sought us out because your presence is…inconvenient to their plans.”

  Inconvenient. More people than I’d like to admit would use that word to describe me.

  “Does this investor have a name?”

  “I’m sure they do, but I don’t know it.” Vee pursed her lips and turned her attention to Samson. Then for some reason unbeknownst to me, she leaned over her desk and stuck a hand to his neck. Her powers worked through touch—was she trying to get a read on him?

  “What are you doing?” Samson recoiled and smacked Vee’s hand away.

  “Making a decision. One I’m probably going to regret later.” Vee smirked. I didn’t know what she was getting at, and if Samson did, he didn’t say.

  “When that fae didn’t report back, I was told to go ahead and assume he’d been killed. So I called the next on Frank’s list.” Vee crossed her arms and huffed. “His name is Rolf. An Unseelie fae that can shape-shift into anyone he wants.”