The Family Cross Page 27

  “Christ!” A pause. “Hudson!”

  Forty-Three

  Samson glanced over at me, gun aimed at the center of the doorframe. He wanted permission. He wanted my permission to shoot Richard.

  It hurt to know that you dated someone for months who had the end game of seeing you dead. I didn’t think I was all that bad, even on my worst days. Richard hadn’t even been terrible to me for most of it. The worst he’d ever shown of himself had been on Monday morning in the elevator, and even then, it had been disguised as a proclamation of love. Before all this, I’d never thought him capable of murder.

  Despite knowing that everything he’d ever said had been in an effort to send me six feet deep, ordering someone’s death wasn’t something I could do. I clenched my teeth and closed my eyes.

  “Hudson?” Richard’s voice wavered the closer he got to Edgar’s office. Afraid. “Hudson?”

  Where would he go next? Would he go to my father’s office to look for Hudson, or would he seek the comfort of the familiar offered here?

  I wanted to be surprised when he walked into his father’s office, but I wasn’t. Richard Jones, above all else, had proved himself to be a coward.

  “Hey, fish face.” Samson pushed one of the chairs sitting in front of Edgar’s desk back with his boot. He motioned to it with his gun. “Sit.”

  Richard narrowed his eyes and held his hands in the air. He had on a suit and tie still. “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll shoot you.”

  Richard took a step forward. His dark hair, unkempt from running his fingers through it, stood on end. “I-If I do what you say…will you let me go?”

  “No,” Samson said, unrepentant. “But if you do what I say, I’ll kill you quicker. It’ll hurt less.”

  Richard’s chin quivered, and tears began to well along his lashes. He hesitantly took two more steps, as if wondering whether he shouldn’t chance a run, but dropped into the chair instead.

  As his light eyes met mine, a wave of anger flowed from my scalp to my toes. Not an ounce of regret lingered there.

  Samson leaned forward and put a finger to Richard’s head. “Do you have a firearm?”

  Richard’s throat bobbed, and his gaze focused on Samson’s finger, crossing his eyes. “No.”

  “Hm.” Samson pulled his hand back. “That’s stupid.”

  “I didn’t think I’d need one,” Richard defended, although his eyes were on his knees.

  Samson slid off the desk and turned Richard’s chair to face the empty one beside him. “I’m going to ask you some questions. If you tell me what I want to know, I’ll kill you with one bullet. If you hold back on me, I’ve got some time to kill. Got it?”

  A tear broke from Richard’s lash line and rolled down his face. He wiped it away with the back of his hand. “Got it.”

  “Circle Seven. Tell me what you know.”

  Richard squirmed in his seat, readjusting his suit jacket and pants while he moved. “My father had been an investor for years. He explained the family finances a few years ago when I graduated.”

  Samson motioned for him to proceed with his gun. Richard’s gaze followed it the entire time.

  “He told me that Circle Seven is one of those organizations useful to keep in your back pocket.” Richard pulled at his shirt collar. “I didn’t know what it was, really. I didn’t know it was full of…monsters.”

  “Perspective.”

  Richard, being at the end of a gun, likely disagreed.

  “So…” Samson ran a hand down his face, smearing some of Rolf’s blood. “Why’d you buy Tilly’s hit?”

  Richard dared look at me. My hands shook. That absolute bastard.

  “Technically, I didn’t. That was Hudson,” Richard explained, like it somehow made it better. He wiped under both his eyes with a forefinger and thumb. “Blair had told him that Milton planned on leaving the company to Matilda. He was pissed. Went on about getting what he deserved.”

  “And you so graciously offered your services after the fact?”

  “Yes.”

  “In exchange for?”

  “My inheritance.” I jabbed a finger in his direction, my voice the equivalent of hellfire. “You wanted my inheritance.”

  “Of course I did. Who wouldn’t?” Richard muttered under his breath. “My father’s net worth pales by comparison of yours. He didn’t ask for enough stake in the company when he joined Milton all those years ago, in my opinion.”

  My teeth ached I gritted them so hard.

  “If I married you, and you died, I’d get your inheritance,” Richard said nonchalantly. “What Hudson didn’t realize at the time was the combination of your inheritance and mine—”

  “Would make you majority shareholder. I got it,” I bit out.

  “If this is all true…” Samson leaned forward, inching the gun closer. Richard’s shoulders stiffened. “Then why’d the attacks happen before you sealed the deal?”

  Richard swallowed, gaze never leaving the gun the closer it got to him. “Hudson figured me out. Actually, I’m pretty sure Blair did. Anyway, since Hudson technically bought the contract, he was in charge of the terms. Tried to cut me out by killing Matilda before we could get married. So I had to move up my proposal timeline…which didn’t end so well for me.”

  Hearing everything laid out so plainly sent me into Edgar’s office chair, shaking legs unable to keep me upright a moment more. How many hours had they spent in deep discussion over this? How many times had they used my name in the same breath as kill?

  Samson turned his gaze from Richard to me, eyes holding something I couldn’t put a finger on.

  “Aside from you”—Samson’s voice had hardened considerably—“do I need to kill anyone else?”

  He stuck a finger to Richard’s forehead again.

  “No.” Richard’s hands shook along the armrests.

  “What about your father?” I asked.

  “He’s already dead. Rolf took care of him for us.” Richard’s gaze moved between Samson’s hands, like he tried to figure out which one presented the bigger threat. “He found out what we’d done and knowing how he feels about the company…well, none of us wanted to end up dead or in prison.”

  “That worked out well for ya.” Samson pulled his hand away from Richard’s head. He must’ve been telling the truth.

  My gaze found the picture of Edgar again. While I wanted to feel guilty, it didn’t come as quickly as I imagined it would’ve a few days ago. Edgar had been funding Circle Seven, and by default that meant he supported their mission. He just never imagined it would be used against him.

  Samson stood. “Tilly. I need your chair.”

  I stood, albeit warily. “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  My mind darted in several directions of what such a thing could imply, but I did as he asked. I wheeled Edgar’s chair out from behind the desk and swapped it out with Samson’s, all while the telepath held Richard at gunpoint.

  Richard started sweating.

  “This is going to be really easy. I’m going to do all the work.” Samson pedaled against the ground, getting his chair close enough to Richard that their knees touched.

  My heart dropped as realization dawned. Not this again!

  But when he spared a glance for me, the dread receded. Samson was a cambion, and his powers were a part of him. Despite all the time we’d spent together, he’d only used his ability to

  control people with one goal… to save my life. He never raised a hand to me or abused my relative innocence though he could’ve done that easily.

  My own family had done more damage to me with words alone.

  So, I gave him a small smile, and I hoped he understood how thankful I was for him.

  “Now you’re going to know what it’s like to feel helpless and afraid.” Samson laid a hand on top of Richard’s left as he continued to squeeze the armrest. “Take the gun.”

  Richard watched with wide eyes as his right hand edged forw
ard. His gaze darted from Samson to me to the gun, his body moving without his consent.

  Blood had begun to leak out of Samson’s nose.

  “Stick it in your mouth.” Samson took a deep breath as a whine squeezed out of Richard’s throat. “You’re about to finish off a murder-suicide. The one you intended to carry out the second you sent Hudson Ashby those text messages. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

  Tears ripped out of Richard’s eyes as he shoved the muzzle into his mouth.

  “Out of everyone and everything I’ve ever killed, you are the one I’ve enjoyed the most.” Samson leaned forward some more, already swaying. He’d collapse soon. “Pull the trigger.”

  I crushed my eyelids together as a gunshot filled the room.

  Forty-Four

  It had taken less effort than I liked to admit to keep from seeing the aftermath of Richard’s bullet to the brain. But given my desire to get out of the building and get Samson home as soon as possible, there were more important things to worry about than staring at the corpse of a man who wanted me to die anyway.

  There were four things I had to do.

  I went back to Edgar’s desk and popped open the first drawer. As much as I didn’t want to use a letter opener ever again, I didn’t want to go to prison a lot more. I yanked several tissues from a box at the corner and wrapped up the opener.

  Since my father was the CEO and I was an employee, it would be expected that my fingerprints would be all over the place. However, recent bloody ones along my father’s Dartmouth gift would get some attention. Even though the idea made me squirm, replacing it with a less-implicating letter opener would better suit my interests.

  After I stabbed Hudson for the second time that evening, I dug my ID card from Samson’s pants pocket and stuck it inside Richard’s jacket pocket instead. I’d let detectives come up with their own theories as to why he used it to get into the building.

  Then I grabbed all the contracts I’d touched with bloody fingertips and Samson’s fae-killing knives, threw them in a trash can, and stuck the trash can in Samson’s lap. We’d get rid of those later.

  As I wheeled Samson to the elevator, I took one last look at the executive’s suite. A pile of paper and boxes. Rolf’s blood. Three bodies.

  It was over. Finally.

  After I wheeled Samson out and wrestled his limp body from the chair and into the back seat, it became obvious that I’d have no hope of getting him into my condo by myself. Calling Cliff was out of the question. He had likely gotten in plenty of trouble for helping me already.

  I dug my phone out of the console and, after a quick look at Samson’s bloody face, called the person I’d wanted to tell about this whole thing for some time.

  “Matilda! Why aren’t you at the hospital? I’ve been waiting for you.” Eliza didn’t sound happy with me. “Are you all right? I can’t believe Hudson did this. I’m going to kill him!”

  This was going to be awkward.

  “I know this is asking a lot, but I need your help.” I took a deep breath. “Can you help me move a body?”

  For the first time in almost a month, I lay down on my bed. I’d forgotten how comfortable it was.

  “Best mattress money could buy,” I said to Cat. She stood up and pressed against my hand as I scratched behind her ear. I’d been absolutely horrified at the time, but in retrospect, I was glad Samson stole her. Not only was Blair a bitch, but I also liked having a pet. It was nice to feel missed.

  Cat meowed and arched her back, white fur standing on end.

  My hair, wet and cold, clung to my face when I fell against my pillow, lazily scratching Cat’s head as she curled into the comforter. Numb. Everything about me was numb. I’d killed my brother and watched two others die.

  I rolled over on my side. Samson lay as he had in the motel. Unconscious with bloodied eyeballs, but still breathing.

  My kill contract had been terminated.

  Samson’s job was over.

  The weight of the inevitable bore down on me with astounding vigor, eclipsing my relief. According to Eliza, Gerard’s surgery had been a success and he was sleeping it off with a heavy dose of painkillers, but it remained to be seen what the true extent of the damage was. I’d have to be there for him because no one else would be, unless my father’s heart grew in the past couple of hours.

  Getting Samson into my condominium hadn’t been as hard as I expected thanks to Eliza. The only soul between the parking garage and my home had been the garage attendant, and a quick call asking her to come to the front of the building to assist a tenant drew her away. The worst of it was getting Samson out of the back seat and into a wheelchair Eliza borrowed from the attendant’s desk. Without her, it never would’ve happened.

  “Did this happen because of Hudson?” Eliza had asked when we made it up to my condo and hauled Samson on the bed.

  “Yes.” I had no intention of telling her about the supernatural stuff. “He saved my life.”

  The urge to puke had been overwhelming in the silence that followed.

  “All right.” Eliza shrugged, curls bouncing as she moved. “Then the rest, whatever that is, doesn’t matter.”

  After Eliza left, I’d cleaned him up and bandaged the nasty cuts on his torso. She’d ask more questions eventually, especially after the news got hold of the status of the executive suite, but in the meantime, I would think of what to tell her.

  Now I just had to wait for Samson to wake up again. At least I knew he would this time.

  It was hard to stomach that the true events of the night would be unknown to the world. No one would know of Richard’s plot. Of Hudson’s deceit. Of Blair’s duplicity. No one would ever know what had happened to me, and no one would know about Samson saving me from all of it. But the constant worry of what if would hang on my shoulders forever, even after the investigations were said and done.

  The air conditioner kicked on, sending a chill down my arms. I tucked myself within the comforter, burying everything except for my head, and closed my eyes.

  Samson would wake up eventually. Until then, I’d sleep in peace knowing we both survived.

  Forty-Five

  A steady buzz on my nightstand stirred me awake. My vision, blurry and unfocused, didn’t improve despite the blinks, but the more immediate problem was the notable lack of warmth beside me. Had Samson recovered already?

  The buzzing picked back up, and I leaned toward my phone, face inches away from the screen. My father was calling. Again.

  “Nope.” I tapped DECLINE. No thanks. Not today. Maybe not ever.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and rubbed my biceps as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My knit pajamas had nothing on the morning chill, especially when that morning chill accompanied a missing telepath. The only thing that made me feel better was Cat’s absence as well, which settled me enough to brush my teeth. Samson likely lurked somewhere in the condo, and Cat had followed him.

  “Sam?” I called out. No answer. I placed my toothbrush in the drawer and left the bathroom. My bedroom door had been left cracked open. “Sam? Are you okay?”

  I wasn’t sure what I expected to see when I walked into the living room. Something along the lines of him sitting at the table with a bowl of cereal, or maybe standing over the stove with a skillet of bacon. I didn’t expect to see him sitting on the couch with his backpack at his feet. His coat on. Petting Cat with long, slow strokes.

  He was leaving.

  It shouldn’t have twisted through my being like a knife to the sternum, but the distress was immediate. Leaving? Already? We’d finished the job hours ago! It hadn’t even been a full day. Was he that desperate to be away from me he couldn’t wait for breakfast?

  “You can’t leave yet.” My eyes started to water. I knew it was coming, and it still hurt like I hadn’t. “You have several wounds, and I need to go get your money. And I know you have a headache, so just—”

  “Tilly. It’s okay.” Samson picked up his backpack and slung it
on his shoulder. “I don’t need your money.”

  “But we made a deal!” I protested, voice breaking at the end. “The bank will be open on Monday. Just wait—”

  “Tilly.” He interrupted with a bitter smile. “Don’t worry about it. Okay? Don’t…make this difficult. I just wanted to let you know I’m going so you wouldn’t go out looking for me.”

  All I could do was stand there, mouth hanging open in shock, as he made for the front door. This was all happening so fast! He wasn’t giving me a chance to give him a proper good-bye.

  “Why don’t you wait?” I chased after him, bare feet padding along the floor. “Take your time. Rest. Eat something.”

  Samson grabbed the doorknob. “You’re freaking out. Please stop.”

  “I’m not freaking out.”

  “You are.” He turned and pinned me with his bloodied eyes. “You’re taking this personally. Don’t.”

  My body cooled, and he faced the door again. Don’t take this personally? How the hell was I not supposed to take this personally?

  “This isn’t fair.” I grabbed his backpack and pulled on it. He whipped around, wearing a grimace. “You don’t get to just leave like this. Not without warning. I thought—”

  “I’m not free until Frank is dead.” He focused intently on the floor. “I’m not going to put you in danger by staying too long. The job is done. He knows that by now. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  We stood like that for several long moments. His breaths and hesitance were almost more telling than his words. Samson didn’t want to leave. He was still trying to keep me safe, and I was making it harder for him.

  I smiled a little, sad but earnest, and pressed my face into his chest, tucking my arms underneath his coat and around his weapons, and squeezed him tight. His breathing stopped, his drag of air stuck somewhere in his throat. “Thank you.”

  His shirt, worn and soft beneath my hands, smelled vaguely of cigarettes and him.

  “Make sure you eat some vegetables every once in a while,” I said with my cheek still pressed against him. His heart rate picked up underneath my ear, and he moved his hands between my shoulder blades and lower back. “If Frank doesn’t kill you, your cholesterol will if you keep it up.”