Heir of Wings and Shadows Page 3

  I set the taser down. With my luck, I’d probably taser myself before somebody else. She glanced back at me on her way out the door. “Coda will be here any minute, and Starr, Christian will be alright. He’s tough.”

  I nodded as I blinked back tears. I didn’t want him to be tough. I didn’t want anyone to be tough for me. I was tired of having to be tough.

  The moment she was gone I brushed my teeth. I even washed my face and brushed my hair. No need for the world to suffer from my poor hygiene. It would probably be a good idea to change too.

  On my way to my room, I noticed a manila folder on the kitchen island. Di must have left it for me. I picked it up from the wrong end and pictures fell out. I swooped down to pick them up.

  Christian with Sami. Christian with Jovie. Christian with Sami and Jovie. Him kissing Sami. Him kissing Jovie. Sami with only a bra on and Christian doing things with her.

  The pictures cascaded back to the floor along with the pieces of my heart.

  Chapter Four

  DI

  “The fucking bastard! I am going to kill him,” Frank said, tossing the pictures back on the floor.

  I picked them up to leaf through them. Sami in a black lace bra with matching thong straddling Christian’s lap. Jovie in a tight red corset sucking his neck. Them both smothering Christian with their bodies.

  I never thought he could do such a thing. He’d never cheat on Starr. Never. But I held the proof in my hands. Pictures don’t lie.

  I gripped them tight. “I guess the girls got out of jail. Friends in fucked up of places.” On the floor, next to where we found the pile of pictures, I found my taser. I slipped it back into my rear pocket for safe-keeping.

  Christian barreled into the room with Jude following close behind. “Whazzz going on?” He said as he tried to drape an arm across Frank’s shoulders. Frank stepped away, and Christian smashed headfirst into the corner of the sofa and dropped to the floor. He didn’t get back up.

  Frank lunged at him. His knuckled fists flew through the air clutching Christian’s shirt. “Where the hell have you been, you fucking bastard?”

  Christian didn’t move. He didn’t react to Frank. Choked snores filled the room.

  Ben knelt over his prone frame. “Is he passed out?”

  “Yep, looks that way.” Jude laughed.

  Fucking laughed.

  Coda glared at him. “What the hell did you do to him?”

  Jude pulled his hand to his chest as if aghast. “Me? I didn’t do anything. He’s the one who wanted to go out last night. He’s the one who said he was tired of being cooped up. I tried to talk him out of it.”

  A hiss filled the room. Not surprisingly, it was me.

  “No, no, seriously,” Jude said, backing away from me. “He convinced me to go to some club he had seen on the internet. He ordered shots of bourbon, one after the other. When he started to get really loose, three or four girls dragged him to the dance floor.”

  Coda cracked his knuckles. “Sami and Jovie?”

  Jude’s eyes widened. “No, not them. I wouldn’t let him anywhere near them. I wanted to leave but he refused. Said he was having too much fun. Said he was tired of being cooped up at the apartment with Starr. I tried to drag him away a few times but he fought me. He can be a real prick when he’s drunk,” he said, rubbing his jaw as he glared down at Christian’s passed-out frame. “I didn’t want to leave him, and I had no way of getting in touch with anyone. You didn’t want me to have a phone,” he stared ruefully at each of us as if we should feel guilty about not entrusting him with one. “We went to some after hours party. He disappeared once we got there. I finally found him passed out on a bed. I managed to drag him to the car and get him here, but he’s still loaded.”

  Not one iota of Jude’s story made any sense. Not one iota. I scowled at him. “Christian wanted to go to a club to drink?”

  “Yes,” he said, never breaking eye contact.

  “Christian doesn’t drink,” Ben said.

  “Well, he wanted to last night, and believe me, he drank.”

  Frank tightened his fists. “He’s going to wish he hadn’t.”

  Jude’s mouth turned down. “Ya got that right. You should have heard what he was saying about Starr. I would’ve broken his arm if he weren’t so drunk. Where is she anyway?”

  “She’s gone,” Frank snarled.

  He reached his hands up almost touching the ceiling as he yawned. “Gone?”

  His zero worries reaction was suspicious, to put it mildly. He rarely let Starr out of his sight, even when she was lip-locked with Christian. The bastard knew something, and I was going to figure out what.

  Frank shoved the pictures into Jude’s hands. “This morning Coda got here less than five minutes after Di left to pick me up and Starr was nowhere to be found. All we did find were these.”

  Jude didn’t even glance at them. “Did she go for a run? Or a walk, maybe?”

  “No, she was worried sick about Christian. She wouldn’t leave, and she knew that Coda would be here any minute,” I said.

  He tilted his head at the photos, but he barely even looked at them. He probably took them, the fucking double-crosser. “Even after she saw these? And if Starr heard what he said about her, I wouldn’t blame her for leaving.” He yawned a giant, exaggerated one. “Frank, would you mind if I take your bed for a bit?”

  Frank, completely distracted by glaring at Christian, flicked his hand in the air. “Go ahead.”

  “Where’s Starrrrrrrrr?” Christian mumbled into the carpet.

  Frank pulled back his leg as if to kick him but decided against it. Whether it was because he didn’t want to kick a person when they were down or because of his GSW, I don’t know, but at least he didn’t let his anger rule him. “She’s gone.”

  “That’s craaazzzziiiieeee,” he moaned.

  Ben tilted his head for us to follow him into Christian and Starr’s room. He quietly closed the door. “Christian doesn’t pull stuff like that. I know he changed a lot after his parents died, but he didn’t change that much.”

  “I agree,” Coda said. “No way.”

  Frank punched at the air. “Well, look at him now.”

  I squeezed his arm. “Keep your voice down. I agree with Coda and Ben. Christian and I were straight edge—no alcohol, no drugs. We used to make fun of people in his condition.”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “People change all the time.”

  “I’ll tell you what I would like to do. I’d like to get a urine sample,” Ben said.

  “You think he was drugged?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Ben said. “Let’s go.”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck about that asshole. What about Starr?” Frank said. “Are her sneakers still here?”

  I checked under the bed and the closet, anywhere and everywhere a pair of sneakers could be. “No, no sneakers. Maybe she did go for a run. Clear her head?”

  I clung to the hope that Starr would return, but my gut told me it was wishful thinking. There was also that broken pessimistic side to me too.

  “I would love to kick his ass right now,” he said with a longing in his voice. “But he won’t even know what was happening. I’ll wait ’til he’s stone cold sober and then let him have it.”

  I rested my hand on his arm. “Before you do anything, let’s wait for the lab results.”

  “You think he was given something too?” He shook his head, disgust rolling off him. “He’s still guilty regardless of what he might be on. He hurt Starr. He deserves to feel pain.” He cracked his knuckles, then stretched his arms behind his back—a warrior preparing for battle.

  “You better take a raincheck on any asskicking for a while. When that morphine wears off, you’re going to feel like you were at the bottom of the mosh pit.”

  “I’m not afraid of a little pain,” Frank said.

  “Wait a few hours, then we’ll talk. Let’s go see how the urine collection is going.”

  Christian could barely lift his head, let alone walk, as Coda and Ben dragged him to the bathroom. I didn’t even want to think about how they were planning to get him to stand on his own and pee in a cup. I was curious about a lot of things, but that was not something I ever wanted to witness or find out the logistics of.

  “Hold him!” Bang. “I said hold him.” Crash. “How do we …? Oh, never mind.”

  When the collection was complete, they dragged him back out. Christian lifted his head and grinned stupidly at us before they dragged him into his room.

  “That is not something I ever want to do again,” Coda said, shaking hee-bee-gee-bee style. “Ick.”

  Ben walked back into the bathroom and returned with a clear plastic cup filled with dark yellow liquid.

  “Ewww,” I said. “Don’t even think about bringing that over here.”

  “I need to get a lid. It’s just urine,” Ben said. “It’s no big deal. I need to get this to the lab though.” He stopped and looked at the clock. “If I leave now, I might be able to get results by this afternoon. I have a few strings I can pull.”

  “Get out of here then man,” I whispered.

  He glanced at us. “Are you guys going to be alright while I’m gone? If Starr isn’t out for a run, there is a very good chance headquarters is compromised.”

  Coda put his hands on his hips Superman style. “I’ll stay with them.”

  Idiot me never considered headquarters might not be safe. Some covert operative I was. No signs of struggle present. Nothing out of place. Nothing missing, well except for Starr.

  “What are we going to do about Starr?” Frank said. “We need to find her.”

  I wasn’t willing to believe that anything bad happened to Starr or that the Organization was ready to bash in our
door. “It’s only been a couple of hours. Maybe she did go for a run since I couldn’t find her sneakers...” Asking a pessimist to be an optimist was like trying to make water run uphill.

  Frank’s brow knotted.

  I raised my hand as if I was answering his question. “Let me go double-check.”

  Since the first time I saw Christian at Beans, I’ve considered him drool-worthy—that was until I actually saw his drool all over his pillow. His gagged snores didn’t win sexy sleeper of the year either. I tiptoed around the room, peeking under the bed, in the closet, and every corner. I wasn’t willing to admit, to accept, to even fathom that Starr was gone. She couldn’t be. She was our rock. Our Starr.

  “Anything?” Frank said from the hallway.

  “No, nothing.” I didn’t know what I was hoping to find. The riddle to her disappearance rocked me to the very roots of my core.

  “He hurt Starr. He deserves to be hurt as much as she was.” He slammed his fist into his palm. “More.”

  Chapter Five

  STARR

  Music blasted through the speaker. I jumped away, half expecting someone to grab me. Christian was on the other side of the club, standing with Jude. I shouted to get his attention, but the music was too loud and I was too far away. Sami pushed him into a chair. She straddled his legs, then turned to me and smiled—a cruel, knowing grin before she started moving her hips against him. His head fell back—unconscious, in ecstasy, I couldn’t tell.

  Sami ran her hands through his hair. Her chest hovering inches from his mouth. Jude pointed over at me. Christian, Sami, and Jovie laughed as they followed his gaze.

  My body jerked with a start. My eyelids felt heavy as if someone hung fifteen-pound weights from them. I fought to open them, but it was like I was looking through cotton balls. Balling my hands into fists, I rubbed my eyes, my face, trying to wake up.

  When I finally came to, I wished I hadn’t. I remembered the pictures. I remembered what Christian did. I burrowed my bound hands under the blankets, and let grief consume me. It was a greedy beast.

  “Starr, you disappoint me.”

  I froze. I knew that voice. My mind shifted rapidly to the events following my discovery of the pictures. A noise. A struggle. A rag over my nose and mouth. A black pillowcase over my head. Then nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  “Get her up,” Treadwell ordered.

  The blankets disappeared. Anger replaced sadness. I thrust my bound wrists at him. “You happy now?”

  General Treadwell stood at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed and his cruel, knowing smile. Next to him was a young carbon copy of himself. “Winning is very satisfying.”

  “You haven’t won anything,” I growled.

  He leaned over the bed and yanked on my zip-tied ankles. “I disagree with that statement.” The thin plastic cut into my skin. I clenched my jaw. “In time,” he said releasing me, “you’ll thank me.”

  “How could I thank someone who uses the cliché of chloroform on a rag?”

  He squared his shoulders. “If my men used chloroform or ether, you’d be puking, suffering a severe migraine, or dead. We only use clichés, as you call it when we want a specific result, but you won’t be learning the subtle differences between Desflurane versus Isoflurane or the toxicity of various poisons. No, we used something much less lethal for you. As for the bindings on your wrists and ankles?”

  “Are you referring to the plastic zip ties available at any hardware store?”

  He flashed his cruel, “time to torture” smile. “Oh, they aren’t from just any hardware store. They’re specially made with strands of iron. You do know that iron dampens even the most powerful of Fae’s magic, don’t you?”

  Before I could reply, he turned to leave the room, but he wasn’t going to have the last word if I had anything to do about it. “You’d like to think so wouldn’t you, but I won’t be here long enough to see your plan through.”

  He laughed, “I highly doubt that. We will discuss the finer nuances of my plan for you later. Thomas, you know what to do if she gets out of line.”

  He stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Curse him.

  I collapsed against the bed, my mind going a thousand miles a minute. I needed to free my wrists and ankles and then get out of here, but where would I go? I couldn’t go back to headquarters—not with Christian there, not after what he did to me. No, I needed to get far away from here, far away where no one will find me—not the Organization, not my grandparents, not the team, and not Christian. Definitely not Christian.

  Sitting up, I glanced around the room inventorying my surroundings. The beige walls reminded me of the color Mom used to paint the walls of our rental house when we first moved to Webster. For her, the colors symbolized a fresh, new start but not ready to commit to a more permanent living arrangement. For me, it meant a loss of freedom and a broken heart. Ten years had passed, but nothing had changed. At least for me.

  The furniture reminded me of the antiques Mom and John used to hunt for every weekend. A way to make the fresh, new start more permanent. When I was young, I used to go with them. We’d stop at a coffee shop just outside Webster for cinnamon buns and chai tea. Then they’d meander down backcountry roads in search of the perfect piece to fill their new house. We’d get lost half the time but that was okay because we were together—the makings of a new family. At fourteen, I stopped going. My school commitments and afterschool activities began to seep into the weekends, plus I wanted to hang out with my friends—first Di and Frank, later Sami and Jovie. I never realized that the time I spent with Sami and Jovie, time I thought I was spending with my best friends, time I would never get back, meant nothing to them. I traded homemade baked goods and time with my mom for two girls who hated me. Now, I might never get to see my mom again. I never realized what a poor judge of character I was. Christian was also proof of that.

  The floor creaked. Thomas picked up the quilt he ripped off me and tossed it across the foot of the bed, never taking his eyes off me. He sat down in the wingback chair in front of my bed and crossed his arms.

  “Where are we?”

  No answer.

  “Any idea where we are?”

  Still nothing.

  “I appreciate your help,” I added.

  My interrogation techniques were limited. What with the zip-ties around my ankles and wrists, I had only my words, and I wasn’t sure Treadwell’s clone could even hear me. Sometimes actions spoke louder—like a kick to the groin, for instance. I wondered where Sami and Jovie learned their techniques. Actually, that wasn’t true. I knew exactly where they learned them or at least Sami. She was born with the innate ability to destroy.

  Since Thomas refused to provide one hint to my location, my only clues were ones I could observe. The room color and the antique furniture suggested it wasn’t hospital sterile—so it wasn’t like one of those psycho wards from Conspiracy Theory. It was definitely not a bunkhouse. It was unique enough with the hand-stitched quilt and furnishings not to be copied on a mass scale. I guessed a hotel or bed and breakfast but far less tacky than the ones I stayed in with Christian. I winced at the memory of those nights. Nights I thought were the beginning of something. Something that would last forever. Something that had nothing to do with time, or distance, or other living human beings. Frank was right—I was just convenient.

  I yanked my hands apart and let the zip-ties bite my wrists. The pain erased the pity. The pain I could latch onto and use to escape.

  I stared at the double-hung windows with removable screens. The windows were closed and locked, but they wouldn’t be tonight when I escaped out of them. That I promise you.

  In the distance, the Smoky Mountains called to me, begging me to climb their peaks and discover their mysteries. I wanted desperately to answer, but Treadwell had other plans for me, denying me the freedom to roam, to discover, to just be. Then it hit me. I was being held at the very ranch I rescued Christian from.