Grim Vengeance Page 4

  “Charlie, that’s enough. We spoke with Larissa before she died. She told us you had malicious intent, something planned that we want nothing to do with.”

  Feigning surprise, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Uh huh. Let’s just leave it at this: stay away from us, or we’ll be forced to defend ourselves. And you know what we can do.”

  “Tell me where you are, old man,” Charlie snarled, purposely switching from kind to hostile.

  “You need help, son. I suggest you find it. But it won’t be from me.”

  “I’ll find you. I will. I’ll make sure I kill each of those pathetic so-called heroes you’re hiding one by one and make you watch until—”

  The line went dead.

  Smiling, Charlie slipped his phone into his pocket.

  —-

  How could he not tell me? He never told me. How could he?

  Emma paced back and forth outside. The bottoms of her jeans were soaked with rain leftover in the grass from last night’s storm, her feet and fingers cold. Her teeth ground together, and her fists relaxed open before snapping closed again.

  “Please,” Isaac said in a soft voice. “Please, I’m so sorry.”

  Emma couldn’t talk. A slight wind played at her hair, tossing it around her face as she stared at him. His eyes begged her to understand, but all she could feel was consternation.

  He’s related to the man who killed my mother. I’m sleeping with, in love with, a family member of the one person that ruined my life.

  Emma tried to yell at him, but couldn’t form words. Instead, she whirled and slammed through the back door, ignoring his protests. She stalked through the kitchen, shooting a warning glance at Aaron. He looked away. Nearing the hallway that led to everyone’s bedrooms, Emma nearly snarled as Duncan stepped into view, shutting his door with a loud bang.

  “Emma,” he said. Something in the tone of his voice made her hesitate. She stopped a few feet before him. “Emma, Aaron, Isaac.” She turned to see the two men close behind her. “We should get moving. Today.”

  Frowning, she stared at Duncan. “I thought you wanted to wait.”

  The older man nodded and scratched his beard. “I do. I did. I just...think we’ve waited enough. The more time that goes by...” He shrugged, trailing off.

  “The more time that goes by, the more likely it is that Jaxon could find us.” Aaron crossed his arms. “That’s what he’s thinking.” He squinted at Duncan. “But he’s hiding something.”

  “Do that again, dammit, and I swear, I’m going to find a way to turn your power off for good,” Duncan growled.

  “Are you threatening me?” Aaron looked shocked.

  Emma stared at Duncan, concern for his new behavior replacing her anger. “What happened?”

  Aaron glowered at his mentor. He shrugged. “He won’t think about anything else. I can’t hear things unless someone is actively thinking about it, so whatever has him spooked, he’s hiding it.”

  Emma watched him carefully, staring into his eyes. I could make him tell me. Swallowing, she pushed the thought away. That’s terrible. He’ll tell us if something is truly wrong. If we’re in danger. Only use your power for things that are absolutely necessary. She stepped out of the way as Duncan pushed past her.

  “I’m getting nervous, yes,” he said. “I want to get to Vance. If he’s still there and he agrees to help us, we might stand a better chance against Jaxon should he find us.”

  “But you said no one knows where we are.” Isaac shifted from foot to foot, looking between Emma and their mentor nervously.

  “I did. And that’s true. But we’ve wasted enough time. We’re leaving, right now.”

  —-

  Jaxon leaned against the wall of Kiki’s. Elegant music drifted over to him as the door to the supper club was held open by a man in a pristine grey suit. He smiled at the couple exiting, arms entwined, expensive jewelry glittering in the moonlight. The woman’s laughter tinkled almost in time with the shifting starlight reflecting off of the lake nearby. Jaxon pulled his hood up over his head and shifted a step backward, attempting to blend in even further, hoping no one would glance in his direction.

  The couple disappeared into a waiting limousine, its engine purring in a soft rhythm. Red brake lights shone, and the soft blue glow of Kiki’s sign slid across the vehicle’s sleek exterior. It slipped away with barely a sound.

  Settling against the wall once more, Jaxon peeked around the corner to ensure he hadn’t been spotted, but the doorman was already back inside. He waited.

  Charlie’s last text nearly twenty-four hours ago played through his mind yet again, as it often had since it had lit up his phone.

  I have a new weapon that can help us kill the Synths.

  Jaxon had replied immediately but, to his ever-growing frustration, his associate refused to explain himself. Irritation threatened to explode into rage, a common feeling for him as of late. That, and suddenly seeing his father’s face everywhere he looked.

  The door was opened again, and this time, a large well-dressed man walked out alone. Jaxon’s heart leapt. That’s him. Orson Harper. He slid his right hand into the pocket of his dark jeans, squeezing his fist around the worn paper folded inside. There was no need to pull it out, to double-check it; he’d memorized Henry’s list of Vance employees right down to the spelling of full names and exact last-known addresses. Orson had been one of those with “Chicago” scribbled next to his name, and although some had fled since the events on the rooftop in Redborough, many were still in the city. Those were the ones Jaxon had been picking off before his attack in Boston and would keep him busy until Charlie called him to Salt Lake City.

  Jaxon watched the man climb into the back of a sleek black SUV. He waited until it was pulling out of the parking lot and onto the street before he lifted himself into the air, using his telekinesis to float effortlessly. The higher he rose, the cooler the air grew. He zipped his hoodie up all the way as he kept his eyes locked on Orson’s vehicle. It sped north, and with a tight grin, Jaxon followed.

  His grin widened as he stalked the Vance employee. He eyed people on the sidewalks, still worried that he’d be seen, but no one ever looked up into the night sky. And if they did, I’d just snap their necks or toss ‘em into traffic. Something like that. A weak pang of doubt hit him at the thought, doubt that had been strong when he’d first started practicing his powers. But as the days drew on, while the people who had hurt him and his loved ones continued to roam free, he’d found the feeling coming less and less.

  Bruce’s face flashed before his eyes and Jaxon grimaced. “It’s done.” His voice was loud, even as he picked up speed to continue following the SUV, wind whistling past his ears. “He was a traitor, a liar, complete filth. He pretended to love us while working for the man who got my Julie killed, and for that...” He clenched his teeth, trailing off. The vehicle he was following turned onto a winding driveway that led to a gate and lavish house. Startled, Jaxon realized nearly half an hour had passed since leaving Kiki’s. He pushed thoughts of his father out of his mind and gently landed behind the house, out of sight of Orson and his driver, who drove away moments later.

  The back of the house was dark, and Jaxon could barely see. He picked his way around a bush, stepping on small round rocks that shifted underneath his feet. Reaching out, he touched the siding. A large square window was to his right. Peering inside, Jaxon watched Orson walk through a giant kitchen. His big hands fumbled at the cufflinks he wore. Brow furrowed, thick lips turned downward, he seemed to be focused on the tall liquor cabinet with frosted glass near a long mahogany dining table.

  Jaxon grinned wide and tapped on the window softly. Orson’s head twitched, and he looked around the spacious house. Tapping again, Jaxon reached out with his mind, using his gift to work on the window’s lock. Part of him worried that the driver had come inside to double as a bodyguard. Why would he? Vance operated out of Oregon, and even if they’ve b
een tracking the murders, they’ll assume I’m still in Boston, not back in Chicago.

  Orson’s gaze finally fell on the window and widened as it slid up without a sound.

  “Hi there.” Jaxon waved.

  “Oh, God...” The man reached into his suit jacket, but froze as an invisible hold tightened on his throat. Orson’s eyes bulged, small red veins rimming the white until blood vessels began to pop one by one. His face turned from a shade of pink to a dull purple, and his tongue fell out, dangling to the side.

  “Interesting.” Jaxon leaned forward on the window sill, resting his chin in his palm as he watched Orson choke to death. “You kind of remind me of how that piece of shit Alex looked before I dropped him off a building. Only with more skin.” He reached out with his mind and attempted to peel a strip away from the man’s face.

  Orson’s cheek caved in. A strangled gurgle was the only sound he could make. He clawed at his neck, drawing ragged chunks of flesh away with his fingernails.

  Frustrated, Jaxon tried again, this time pulling at the skin on the back of Orson’s wrist.

  It snapped in half with a sickening crack. Orson’s eyes rolled up, tears leaking from the corners.

  Dammit. My wraiths can do it. Why can’t I? Jaxon sighed and called forth a single wraith. Letting go of his victim, he grinned as the demon-like monster materialized before Orson, who fell to his knees, still clutching at his neck. Jaxon started to chuckle. He pulled himself up with ease and climbed through the window. Shutting it behind him, he turned to face the man on the floor before him.

  A shot rang out, loud and intrusive in the large house. Jaxon slapped his palms over his ears, wincing. Fucker’s fast for someone being strangled. Orson’s .44 trembled but stayed aimed at his attacker. “I...I shot...you...” He struggled to get his words out, voice raspy and hitching.

  Jaxon nodded. “You did. Doesn’t matter, though.” The bullet fired at him hovered two inches away from his stomach. Using his mind, he turned it around mid-air. “Should I send it back at you? See how deep I can bury it in your eye, if I can get through it to your brain?”

  Orson squeezed the trigger again but cried out as his finger snapped in three places.

  “Yeah. Let’s try it.” Jaxon sent the bullet in a lazy, wandering arc. Orson watched it with wide eyes for a moment. He started to scoot away, feet scrambling faster than his hands. Falling on his back, he pushed himself up.

  “You piece of shit,” he snarled.

  “Your voice is coming back.” Jaxon smiled. Reaching out with his mind again, he summoned two more wraiths. “Gonna have to do something about that.” He sent his minions forward. Each grabbed an arm of his victim, pulling him in two different directions. Orson let out a rasp that turned into a harsh cough.

  Jaxon stood next to the hovering bullet. He tapped it with one finger. “Which eye, guys? Left or right?”

  His wraiths didn’t move. He sighed.

  “It’s no fun when I have to tell you to do every single thing, dammit.” Jaxon leaned close, putting his face inches from his victim’s. He studied the man’s ruined face, enjoying the tremors and twitches that constantly churned at the sides of Orson’s eyes and mouth. “Left or right? Hmm?”

  “Fuck you.” Orson snapped his head forward, colliding with Jaxon’s.

  A burst of bright pain flared right above Jaxon’s nose. He stumbled backward and toppled to one side, jaw slack. “You goddamn asshole!” he yelled. Using the back of his hand, he swiped underneath his nostrils, smearing a bright streak of maroon along his skin. Standing, Jaxon attempted to slow his breathing. The bullet faltered in the air and began to inch forward at his command. “I was going to go quick, see how fast I could get through, but no. Not now. Now I watch you break from the pain before I kill you, you fuck.”

  Pulling tissues from a box on the kitchen island, Jaxon plugged his trickling nose, pinching it shut. He leaned against the counter and ordered his wraiths to pull at their captive even harder. Orson’s white suit shirt strained at the shoulder seams. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut but made no sound.

  This isn’t right. This isn’t the way. The voice in Jaxon’s head spoke up, eerily sounding like his late father.

  Jaxon snarled and sent the bullet forward, burying its tip in Orson’s closed left eyelid. He pushed harder and harder until he felt it give way with a soft pop.

  Orson screamed.

  Chapter Four

  Charlie sat up from the small motel bed, its springs squeaking, mattress shaking side to side. He tossed the thin blanket from his nude form and stood.

  “I missed you so much.” Chelsea’s light brown skin was still dotted with sweat, and her black hair hung in thin tendrils. Her voice was light, but it still sent a wave of irritation through him. Walking into the bathroom, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto his face. He straightened and looked at himself in the mirror. His dark green eyes flecked with brown stared back. Turning, he twisted the handle in the shower, listening as it sprang to life.

  A sigh escaped his throat. Sticking his hand into the water’s harsh stream, he let it warm up a moment longer. The skin of his hand tingled, the large hard droplets that shot out of the shower head slamming into his palm relentlessly.

  “Charlie?”

  Shit, she is so clingy. Will she just leave me alone for five minutes?

  “Not now,” he growled and stepped into the water. Steam rose to the ceiling, the paint already beaded with condensation from the heat. It’s only for a few days. Only until we take out the Synths. Then we go our separate ways. Me back on the road, her six feet under. Smiling, he grabbed the small bar of soap the motel provided and peeled off the paper wrapping.

  Charlie began to scrub his skin, focusing on his hands, face, and groin. He swiped the soap up and down, back and forth, suddenly desperate to get the feel of sex off of him. Cleaning his face, he grimaced at the taste. The water scalded him, turning his skin first pink and then a deep blotchy red. And still he scrubbed.

  When he was finally satisfied, he washed his hair and stood staring at the little tiles on the wall while the shampoo trickled down his back and temples. Jaxon. Jaxon wants Vance, but he also wants Emma. How can I trust that he’ll let me have her unhurt? We were friends in the lab, but the memory wipes no doubt fucked with that. Especially the one he told me about, the one his dad did before he sprung them from the massacre he caused.

  Charlie swiped a hand over his face and turned off the water, the handle squeaking loudly. Dripping wet, he stepped out onto the vinyl floor, yanking a too-small towel off the shelf nearby. The fabric was stiff and scratched at his skin as he dried off.

  I could turn his power against him before we attack the Synths. Give him Vance and then kill him. But then there’s still the issue of the time stopper, who needs to be dealt with if I’m going to kill Shawn and the others. And then I have to ensure Duncan is kept alive, too, so I can lock him up, force him to better my power. Make it so I can drain someone’s power instead of just mimic it.

  Sighing, Charlie wrapped the towel around his waist, tied it, and left the bathroom. I need to keep Jaxon alive for now.

  “About time.” Chelsea was sprawled on her back, still naked, staring at the small television at the foot of the bed, remote in one hand. “I’ve had to pee for, like, ever.” She cackled.

  Charlie ignored her unlady-like behavior. Reaching into his duffel bag, he removed a carefully folded shirt and pair of chinos. He slipped both on and was sliding his feet into his shoes when Chelsea emerged from the bathroom.

  She frowned. “We’re leaving already?”

  Pulling on the laces, he nodded. “We have a lot of ground to cover in a short period of time. We stop to rest and nothing else, like I said before.”

  “I know but...I just got you back. I thought we’d have a little more time.”

  Keeping his scowl hidden from her, Charlie laced up his other shoe. “We’ll have plenty of time together later. For now, I ne
ed to get to your ex-boss as quickly as possible.”

  “So you only need me to get to Vance? Is that it?”

  Charlie stood with a sigh. “Nope. I can do that on my own. Since you were in Texas and I in Massachusetts, meeting up in the middle on the way to California saved time, but we’re still in a crunch.” He stepped over to his black briefcase and opened it, smiling down at the little vials of blood stored inside. It won’t be long until it is all rendered useless...you have a day, maybe less, until Bill’s wears off...no doubt the rest are already stale. And there’s only one dose of sedative left. His smile faltered. He cleared his throat and plucked Bill’s vial from the case.

  Opening it, he smeared a small amount on the front of his hip, just below the waistline of his pants. He returned the bottle to its place and slid the map of the United States out from a pocket in the briefcase. The power from Bill’s blood surged through him at his command, and although it still worked, it didn’t seem as strong as before. Not much time left at all.

  Ivan Vance’s light blue dot hadn’t moved. “Excellent. Let’s go.”

  The pair packed what little they had and exited the motel. The warmth of the sun was pleasant on Charlie’s skin as they walked to his car.

  “What about my Volvo?” Chelsea jerked a thumb at a tan hatchback.

  “We’ll leave it for now, but only for a few days until we get Vance. Then I’ll drop you back off here.”

  “Oh.” She pulled open the passenger-side door. “Drop me off?”

  Charlie gritted his teeth. “To move the car, yes. After that we’ll figure out what to do to get to the Synths.”

  “Got it.” Her smile put his nerves on edge.

  “How many other Evos do I need to be worried about?”

  “Vance surrounded himself with them but only had four that were loyal. He had a fifth that he was grooming, but she didn’t know anything about his little ring of guards.”

  “Emma.” Charlie buckled his seatbelt and started the car.