At eleven fifty-eight p.m. Will and I stand outside the apartment building cloaked by my cover-up, wearing protect-its and telcoms; totally armed to the eyeballs. Lilly and Jax wait just around the corner, ready to run when I give the signal. And that’s it, our four-man operation. Beau trusted us—is trusting us—to bring my mother home safely. I’m not sure how to feel about that; honored or scared.
A different doorman stands guard than the one who was here the other day. He’s older—maybe in his sixties—and my stomach twists at what we’re about to do. But the bad feeling doesn’t last long because we invisibly walk right up to him and Will zaps the unsuspecting man with his mace. He slumps back into Will’s arms and then my friend lowers him to the ground while I whistle a long low tone followed by a short high one. Right on cue, Jax and Lilly dash around the corner and we make a beeline for the elevators where we split up again. It feels so darn right to have Jax back fighting with us even if things between him and me aren’t right. Will and I dart into the first one to appear while Jax and Lilly wait for the second. As soon as the door slides home, Will says, “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
I can’t meet his eyes because that’s a promise I can’t make. What he thinks is stupid doesn’t align with what I deem necessary and neither of us have any idea what we’ll face when we get there. Will slings his arm across my shoulders and pulls me toward him, then wraps his other arm around me in a bone-crushing hug.
“Whatever,” I mumble just as the illumination moves to eleven. I pull away and double-check the cover-up’s still activated. Sure enough, he winks, letting me know that with our broken contact he can’t see me. We had an argument over whether to bring it. Jax didn’t want to, said it wasn’t safe to risk having it so close to Manvyke, but it’s our only way into the penthouse. Even Beau agreed that we need it and with the lack of Collective fallout from last time we used it here, we figured Manvyke must be employing some kind of cloak. Jax wasn’t too happy, but he hasn’t been happy with anything since he got back.
The door slides open and the guard at the desk looks up, scowling when he notices the empty elevator. As we exit, Will’s hand flexes in mine, ready to strike. The man edges up from his desk, holding something . . . a can? He sticks it out in front of him; his second hand resting on the back of his thigh. Now I’ve got a good look at him, I’m almost surprised he isn’t wearing an agent uniform. I’d have thought Manvyke would surround himself with his own men, but this guy just looks like a hired clerk. We’re still a good three paces away when he presses down on the nozzle and a red mist sprays into the air. The fumes clog my throat and I cough, gasping for clean air.
Will drags me back and away.
“I knew it.” The man curses, lifting a gun. His aim is spot on even though he can’t see me. Will breaks free and blinks into existence as he rushes the man, but he’s not fast enough to stop the fire. In a rapid movement, the gun turns to Will and the man shoots. It makes no sound, but the moment it impacts with Will’s chest, he gasps and stumbles backward even though he’s wearing a protect-it. Holy crap.
The second elevator arrives with a ding and damn it we should have had this situation under control. The guard was supposed to be out cold, so we had a free pass to the upper floor. Jax roars out of the elevator and literally jumps on the dude, his feet connecting with the clerk’s stomach, hurling them both to the ground. Jax recovers from the jumble of arms and legs quickly and shouts my name while jerking his head toward the forbidden penthouse elevator.
Torn, I glance sideways at Will, who moves—albeit awkwardly—toward the guard. Phew, he’s all right. I dash toward our upward passage before the opportunity he brought us closes. Jax reaches the shiny metal lift before I do and slams his hand into the button. It dings open right away and he holds his arm over the door while I run inside. Then he comes in too and the door closes without us telling it to. My hackles rise at the coincidence.
“Cover-up,” Jax growls, “hide it.”
Good idea. I swipe my thumb over the two parts then take both pieces of jewelry off and tuck them into my sock while Jax works on the control panel of the elevator. It’s the first time we’ve been alone. As I stand up, the familiar drop of my stomach catches me by surprise, but no, it’s just because we’re rising. I catch his attention and he’s all serious, his blade clutched in his hand, which reminds me to arm myself too. Not a second after the daggers are in my hands the elevator door opens revealing a tiny room, which is not at all what I expected. Jax and I swap a puzzled look and step out of the elevator. There’s no penthouse.
This seems like some sort of an entry alcove. Obvious by the red door right in front of us, a hat stand gracing one corner and the shoe rack across the tiny room. Even though we’re the ones with the upper hand here, my heart tries to beat in my throat and my palms feel so slippery the daggers slide in my grasp. We need the element of surprise.
Jax fingers the strange series of locks on the door. Bolts and deadlocks all slid home from this side, which seems kind of weird. Who locks a door from the outside? Not much point in that. And how do they get in after that anyway? He pulls them across silently then as his fingers close around the last bolt at the very top of the door. He mouths, “Ready?”
I nod.
Jax tries the knob and it turns. It’s a close call as to which of us is more surprised. I expected this place to be as impenetrable as a fortress. He gives me an arched brow look and eases the door open. For a moment it’s like time stops. A red sectional lounge cordons off one section of the massive room. A line of cushions is scattered along the lounge’s length, and a flat screen television dominates the wall. A huge feat when the wall’s almost as big as a football field. Only it’s not a TV at all; the image is projected onto the wall like a huge in-house cinema. That thought doesn’t have time to take root as Jax bull-rushes the back of the sectional. He plants a hand on the back, launching himself over it and that’s when I see him.
Nik vaults onto his feet and spins around just as Jax lands on the shiny black square of the coffee table. It smashes against the white square. There’re actually four separate tables, butted up against one another. Nik looks startled, his incredulous stare flicking between Jax and me, while he stutters a grunt. Not missing a beat, Jax whips his foot up and lands a square kick in Nik’s stomach. Take that, you ass. Nik’s legs hit the lounge and buckle. He screams. It’s not the ear-piercing scream of pain or the guttural scream of anger, but more of a warning sound.
Which is the only confirmation that he’s here and so is she. But what state will she be in? My stomach clenches. She could be broken and tortured like Al was, or have completely lost her mind like Dad, or she could be here . . . DAMN. Jax has this under control and we’re not here for Nik, so I take off toward what looks like a long hall. A bright red wall, same color as the lounge, runs between the open space of this room and a large kitchen. She has to be here somewhere and my gut instinct pulls me in that direction.
There are no doors, so my search ends almost before it starts. The hall leads to a step down and into another room, this one almost as big as the area where I left Jax and Nik. Only it’s round instead of square and with a concave wall made purely of glass, letting the twinkling lights of the city inside.
“Well, well, look at this. Exactly twelve hours early. I can’t say I’m surprised.”
I spin around at the deep scratching of Manvyke’s voice and my sights lock, not on him, but on the cage occupying a wedge-shaped corner of the room.
My heart stops for a beat.
Thick plumes of glass reach from the floor all the way to the ceiling, coming together in a band that stands around seven feet tall and creating what can only be described as a human-sized birdcage. The smoothly sculpted thick glass is banded around the center to give it a fat hourglass shape and sitting inside it on a stool, with her chin defiantly jutted out is my mother.
What the actual hell? The man’s insane. She’s not a freaking canary and no matter what he thinks, I’m taking her home. I move toward the strange structure that doesn’t seem to have an opening. Getting her out of there might prove difficult, but I’ll smash the thing open if I have to.
Sitting with her back straight and shoulders square, presumably trapped inside, she tilts her head and a strand of short, golden-brown hair flops over her eye. “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t have come.”
Like hell I shouldn’t have. Unless she actually wants to be in there . . .
We’re not alone. I spin around looking for Manvyke and sure enough he’s only a few steps away, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, a smug smile plastering his too-handsome face. My fingers clench around the hilt of my dagger. Yeah, I’m armed and you’re not, creep.
“What can I do for you, little one?” His voice makes all the hairs on my arms rise.
“I want my mother.”
“Anamae, forget me. You need to get away from here.”
Ignoring her plea, I continue talking to Manvyke. “Right now, tonight.”
“Well, you know the asking price.”
My hand clenches again, the cool metal forced against my palm. The cover-up burns against the skin of my ankle as if to say, hand me over. It would be so easy just to pass it off, but Manvyke is totally untrustworthy. He’d probably take it, then shove me in the cage with her. Forever.
He tips his chin up. “Nikias didn’t think you’d make it here, but he doesn’t realize just how much like your mother you are—how determined. You know, she was my partner once and we were the best team in the country.”
I will not freaking stand around listening to his stories. I back up so I can see both the cage and him. There has to be a way out, a door that’s locked from the outside or something ’cause he had to get her in there somehow, unless it was lowered over her. Dragging my attention away from the man I hate, I give the prison a once-over. The glass wires look smooth all the way around without even so much as a seam. Sweat trickles down my back and I try to stop my hands shaking.
“Anamae,” my mother says and I look to her imploring gray eyes. “Leave, please.”
“I’m not leaving without you.”
Maybe it’s too small to see. I reach out to squeeze my arm through the bars since the gap’s pretty decent and it should fit without a worry. Annie jumps to her feet, yelling, “No!” But she’s too late, just as I hit the space between them green light zaps from the cage to my hand, covering the entire length of my arm and flinging me back. Pain spears right through my shoulder, slamming into me as I hit the floor. It echoes through my head like a crash.
Manvyke chuckles, the sound muffled like he’s in another room or covering his face with a pillow. Now that’s something I’d love to do: smother him. I open my eyes and push up off my hands, but the room swims.
“All you have to do is give me the Tarlequin, princess.”
Manvyke using Nik’s disgusting pet name sends a surge of anger through me, which clears my head. I push onto my feet and meet him glare for glare. “Release my mother first.”
He flat out laughs.
I swing my dagger around and take a step closer to him.
As if he thinks I’m some kid playing at being tough, he scoffs, “Oh, little girl, are you threatening me?”
My blood boils. His hand closes around my blade. “I tried to make this easy for you . . . a public place, a busy time . . .” He gives his head a tiny shake. “It would have been a simple exchange with no loss of life. Such a shame.”
Then he plucks the weapon right out of my hand like he’s stealing candy from a child. How the heck did that happen? Bastard needs to go down. I slam a solid boot into his shins and Manvyke stumbles back. Before he has time to recover, I plough my fist into his throat. His gasp for air and shock allow the moment I need to snatch my dagger back and that’s just what I do. But he doesn’t let go of the hilt.
My hand slides along the blade and I scream with the pain of my flesh being laid open.
His gloating look is easy to read; he has me right where he wants me.