“The guard is coming.”
Nick’s voice brought Flynn’s head up. He pushed himself to his feet and turned toward the door of the cell. It was still pitch black, but his eyes had adjusted to the point that he could make out rough shapes. He could see the pale blur of his hand if he held it in front of his face, a slightly paler blackness where he thought the staircase was that would lead them from the dungeon.
The scuff of a boot heel beside him made his muscles tighten. He was only a few feet away from Nick, the closest he’d gotten. Iron bars separated them, but Flynn didn’t make the mistake of thinking that meant he was safe. Nick was quick enough to reach him through the bars before Flynn could react. He was strong enough to pull him close no matter how hard Flynn struggled.
Nick had been a good cellmate as far as things went. He didn’t talk much, and was companionable when Flynn needed to hear the sound of another voice. Nick hadn’t tried to eat him yet, and he was willing to help Flynn with his plan. He didn’t even point out how little of a chance it had of succeeding.
Flynn could almost like the man. And wasn’t that disconcerting? He liked Jake, but Jake was a former Reaper. He wasn’t afraid to close his eyes in Jake’s presence for fear that Jake was going to eat him. He hadn’t slept a wink since he’d been tossed into the cell beside Nick. He still had serious reservations about letting Nick out of his cage.
The shuffling sound outside the cell grew louder, and the darkness lifted enough for Flynn to see the lines of the bars caging him. The rectangular outline of the door grew more distinct and then filled with a man’s shape.
The torchlight nearly blinded him. Lifting his hand to shield his eyes, he turned his head and got his first good look at his Reaper companion. Nick didn’t look so much like a monster as he did a rough and half-starved prisoner. His blond hair was tangled, and his beard was wildly overgrown. His dirty clothes hung loosely on his long-limbed frame.
Nick caught him staring and raised a brow in amusement. The guard set the torch in a sconce beside the door and approached the cell. He was a burly, broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and narrow-set eyes. He barely glanced at Nick before looking Flynn over with a critical eye.
“Good. You’re still alive.”
It was disturbing how surprised the guard sounded by that. “Has Stark arrived yet?”
The guard stepped closer to the cage, but not quite close enough. It wasn’t Flynn that made him keep his distance. Nick lingered in the shadows of the cell, forcing the guard to reposition himself to get a better look at him.
“Why would Stark want to speak with you? You abandoned your family and betrayed your father. And after all he’s done for you, taking you in after your father died, raising you up and making you his heir. Yet here he is giving you another chance. I don’t think you deserve it.”
“That makes two of us,” Flynn said. “I don’t think anyone deserves to be fed to a Reaper for profit.”
The guard’s smile was cheerful. “We’re taking bets on whether you survive the bite. Only four more hours and we’ll know for sure.”
Four more hours and they’d have Nick bite him to make sure the vaccine had taken. He’d been trying not to dwell on it. Flynn crossed his arms over his chest. “Why do I get the feeling you’re betting against me?”
“Founder Stark said you were a sharp one.” The guard took a step closer to the cage, and Flynn had to lock his legs to prevent himself from rushing the bars. He didn’t want to spook the guard prematurely.
“You’re healthy too,” the guard said. “You survived the vaccination, and that wasn’t certain. We’re three out of three so far, but that’s not exactly a guarantee, is it?”
Flynn felt the blood drain from his face. “You’ve only tested this on three other people?”
The guard looked insulted. “It’s not as easy as you might think to find volunteers, even among people who’ve already been condemned by the courts. You’d think they’d pick this over the mines.”
“I’ll take the mine.”
The guard laughed. “You don’t get a choice. I’ll let the scientists know you’re ready for the next step.”
“Maybe I don’t want to wait for the scientists,” Flynn said, walking toward the bars separating him from Nick. It was as close as he’d gotten to the Reaper. Closer than he’d ever wanted to get to a Reaper, even a sentient one.
Nick’s expression was calm, though there was a hint of humor in his pale eyes. Flynn hoped the guard didn’t catch that. He supposed it was good that at least someone was having fun.
Flynn was shaking in his boots, and the guard didn’t look remotely pleased by Flynn’s actions.
Nick pushed his hands through the bars, reaching for Flynn. It was part of their plan, but it was difficult not to flinch. Flynn didn’t think Nick would actually hurt him, but he wasn’t entirely sure. The Reaper looked hungry, like a stray dog in a poor town. His bones were too sharp under his skin. There was always the chance that once Nick got a hold of him he wouldn’t let go.
“Stop,” the guard yelled. He moved forward, but checked himself before he got too close to the cage. “Get away from him.”
“Why? This is what you want, isn’t it?” Flynn shook his arm. “One way or another, I get bit. Screw Stark. I’m not a show horse he can trot out for his friends. He doesn’t own me. I’ll do this on my own terms. I’m tired of waiting.”
“It’s too soon,” the guard said, nervous now, his eyes wide. “It takes twenty-four hours for the vaccine to kick in. It’s only been twenty. If the Reaper bites you now, there’s no telling what’ll happen.”
“What happens is I don’t have to sit around staring at a hungry Reaper and wondering if I’m going to live or die once you let him loose.”
Holding his breath like he was jumping in a lake, Flynn took another step toward Nick. They were close enough to touch now. Nick’s fingers closed around his wrist. His hand was big. His skin warm and dry. He gave a slight tug, and Flynn stumbled forward.
Fuck, he was strong.
The guard raised his hand, and Nick released Flynn’s wrist. Overbalanced, Flynn dropped to his knees while Nick lunged toward the cell door, moving with unnatural speed.
His arm shot through the bars and fisted in the guard’s coat before the guard could pull back. The man squealed like a stuck pig. Nick jerked him forward. The guard’s skull clanged against iron and he stopped screaming.
“Get the keys,” Nick growled.
Flynn hesitated. Nick didn’t look quite right. Every muscle in his body was tense with restraint. His eyes were wild, and his teeth were pulled back in a feral snarl. Flynn didn’t really want to get any closer to him than he was now.
He didn’t have much of a choice. If Nick was going to lose it, hopefully he’d eat the guard first.
Muttering a curse, Flynn knelt to slide his hand through the bars. After a moment of searching, he found the key hanging from the guard’s belt and twisted it free. They hadn’t been certain the guard would have the key on his person.
It fit neatly in the lock and the door to Flynn’s cell swung open with a low squeal. Flynn stepped outside. He disarmed the terrified guard and used the man’s belt to bind his hands.
He glanced at the stairs, tempted to leave Nick behind. He straightened and turned to face the Reaper who’d helped him escape.
Nick regarded him coldly through the bars. “You need my help to get to the landing pad. This place is crawling with guards.”
“You look ready to snap.”
“You’ll know it when I snap.”
Flynn raised his brows. “That’s not particularly reassuring.”
“Do you want reassurances? A hug, maybe?”
Flynn grinned and shook his head. He’d lost his mind. That was the only explanation for the recklessness that made him step forward to let the Reaper out of his cage. Molly said he liked trouble just as much as she did. He’d never really believed it until now.
Nick stepped from the cell and hefted the unconscious guard into his arms. Flynn uneasily pondered the ethical question of whether he should put a bullet in Nick’s head if he decided to eat the guard, or run like hell. It didn’t come to that. Nick laid the guard on the floor of the cell far more gently than Flynn would have done in his place. After he locked the cell door behind him, Flynn gestured toward the stairs. “You first.”
There was no way he was walking into a dark stairwell with a half-starved Reaper breathing down his neck.
Nick led the way, moving with the predatory grace of a cat. After a few steps the light from the torch faded, and Flynn had to put a hand to the wall to feel his way forward. There was a curve to the stairwell, and the steps were uneven. Stark truly had tossed him in a dungeon, one that had been carved right out of the rock in the mountainside. Flynn hadn’t known he’d had such a place. The wonder of it was that he hadn’t ended up here sooner.
Nick outpaced him. That was fine. Maybe catching an escaped Reaper would keep the guards busy so he could get the hell out of here. Get back to Molly and make sure she was okay.
He’d promised her an easy job. He’d wanted to spoil her on this trip, introduce her to people as his wife and maybe ease her into the idea. He’d wanted to bind her so tightly to him that she’d never want to walk away again. Instead, all he’d done was get her tangled up in Scraper politics and put a target on her back.
Gradually, the darkness lightened until he could see his hand on the wall, the dull gleam of the pistol. Even so, he nearly stumbled into Nick when he stopped walking near the top of the stairs.
Flynn would have fallen back down the stairs if Nick hadn’t caught him. It was too dark to see the Reaper’s face, but Flynn could hear the rasp of his breath. Reapers stayed in the best of health forever. The parasite inside them made sure of that. It wasn’t the climb that’d caused Nick to lose his breath.
Flynn’s grip tightened on the pistol. “You okay?”
Nick nodded, a blur of movement in the dark. “Someone’s up there,” he said quietly. “One. No. There are two of them. At the top of the stairs. Wait here for a few minutes. I’ll handle it.”
Flynn did as asked. If Nick wanted to take on Stark’s men singlehandedly, Flynn wasn’t fool enough to object. Nick had a better chance of taking out the guards without getting hurt. Reapers were practically bulletproof.
Flynn crept slowly up the remaining stairs. This would be a crappy place for a gunfight. It would be far too easy to get blocked in, and gunfire would only bring more guards running.
The sounds of a fight—grunts and the heavy thuds of fists meeting flesh—echoed down the stairwell. A man cried out sharply before falling abruptly silent.
By the time he stepped into the small square room at the top of the stairs, the guards stationed there were already on the ground—one doing his best to claw his way along the floor away from Nick, and the other unnaturally still.
Flynn was familiar enough with death to recognize it when he saw it, but he’d never become comfortable with it. One of the many reasons he’d decided to turn over a new leaf and leave smuggling behind him.
“I didn’t bite him, if you were wondering,” Nick said.
Flynn snapped his gaze up. Nick regarded him calmly. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
“He’s dead.”
Nick shrugged. “It was a clean death.”
His eyes were wrong. They were a very pale blue to begin with. When the Reaper rose, his pupils got so small his eyes nearly appeared white. Flynn adjusted his grip on the gun, uncertain whether to take aim at Nick or at the struggling guard.
Keeping one eye on the Reaper, he knelt beside the still-conscious guard and shoved the barrel of his gun under the guard’s chin to lift his face. The guard’s eyes were glazed with a mixture of pain and terror.
“Which way to the landing pad?”
“Fuck you,” the guard spat.
“And I asked so nicely.”
“Let me try,” Nick said.
He had only to take one step toward the guard before the man started talking. Handy having a Reaper on your side. Too bad they were as likely to eat their friends as their enemies.
“Keep going straight,” the guard said. “Up one more flight of stairs to the main level and then take a right. That’ll get you to the door.”
The front door where there were surely more guards waiting. They’d find a way to cross that bridge when they came to it.
Nick took off in the direction the guard indicated, and Flynn ran to catch up. Stealth was less of a concern than speed. It would only be a matter of time before someone discovered the fallen guards. He probably should have clocked that last one in the temple, but he hadn’t the heart for it. Molly would have done it. She was more cold-hearted than he was. It was one of the differences that had made them such good partners. Molly with her firm grasp of the practicalities. Him with his dreams for bigger and better.
God, he missed her. And he was happy as fuck that she wasn’t here.
The next tunnel was wide and well lit, with sconces set on the walls at four-foot intervals. There were stairs ahead, formed of rough stone rather than the polished work Stark would have in the main living quarters.
As Flynn rushed forward, Nick disappeared from view. Flynn’s legs felt like rubber and his vision kept swimming in and out. He was lightheaded, from the drugs Freddie had injected into his body, lack of food and lack of sleep.
He tripped at the end of the hall and caught himself on the stairs with his elbow so as not to lose a gun. The shock ripped up his arm to his shoulder, and he cursed as he righted himself. He forced himself to move, running after Nick, who, though he’d been imprisoned without food for longer than Flynn, showed no sign of slowing.
At the top of the stairs, Flynn paused to get his bearings. The wide corridor was empty. The dark-paneled wood on the walls marked this as part of the house inhabited by the family. The guard had directed them to turn right, and Nick had already disappeared in that direction. Flynn wasn’t confident in the guard’s directions.
Following at a more cautious pace, he started down the hall, testing the doors as he went. The first two were locked, but the third opened onto a small sitting room. The walls were papered a bright, cheery yellow, and other than a small escritoire and dainty chair, the furniture was covered. Sunlight poured through the cracks in the closed drapes. Flynn crossed the room to peer outside.
The view was of an enclosed garden that looked as if it had seen better days. His mother had designed the gardens for Stark’s properties personally. It had been a passion of hers. The groundskeepers had done their best to stay true to her designs even after she passed away, but the gardens always seemed to get away from them eventually. He recognized the house—Bear Ridge. He’d only been here once as a child, probably because Stark hadn’t wanted him to find his little dungeon. He would have if given enough time to explore.
He remembered that trip. There’d been a hunting accident, and one of Stark’s nicer footmen hadn’t returned home with them. He remembered the hushed voices and dark looks, his parents arguing. His nanny had quit after they returned to Eyrion. She’d been sleeping with Stark, but engaged to the footman. Stark had been jealous of the relationship.
Strange to think how normal that had seemed to him at ten. Like it was right for the whole world to revolve around Stark and his moods.
They hadn’t stayed here for more than a week, but Flynn did remember where the landing pad was. He slipped from the room and continued down the hall.
The sound of gunfire brought him up short. There was a heavy thump, followed by a horrendous snarling noise that sounded very much like an enraged Reaper.
Flynn winced, and tried the next door. It opened easily under his hand, revealing a music room. The rooms on this side of the corridor opened onto the eastern side of the house, overlooking the cliff face. There was a stretch of rocky ground between the house and the edge of the drop. If he climbed out of a window, he’d be able to skirt the edge of the house and have a shot at making it to the landing pad on the north side unseen.
He shouldn’t abandon Nick, but he couldn’t very well rescue him singlehandedly either.
He hadn’t been the one to rush full steam ahead into a pack of Stark’s guards. It was surely not the honorable thing to do to climb out a window and run for the ship, but sometimes survival trumped honor. Flynn had always been good at reading cards, and this was a losing hand.
The music room looked like it hadn’t been used in years. Weak sunlight filtered through the drapes, providing just enough light for Flynn to navigate a path through lumps of sheet-covered furniture. Dust rained down on him as he parted the curtains. At the sound of footsteps outside the door, he paused. When the guards ran past, he carefully raised the sash.
The wind was sharp for so late in the summer. It tugged at his jacket, trying to pull him from the house. The sun was beginning to set, painting sharp lines of shadow on the valley below.
Nick…
Hell, he’d never worked well with others. Except for when he was with Molly. She’d made a good partner out of him somehow. For Molly he could be selfless and brave and honorable. Somehow it didn’t stick when she wasn’t around.
The sound of a gunshot jolted through his body.
Pushing away from the window, he drew his guns and walked for the door. He listened for several seconds, but there didn’t seem to be anyone in the corridor. All of the commotion was down at the other end where the guards were busy fighting Nick. Nick, who was a fucking Reaper and more than capable of bouncing back from a few gunshot wounds.
Flynn opened the door and peered out. Seeing no one, he carefully slipped into the corridor and crept down its carpeted length. Something shattered against the wall, followed by a tremendous thud. He felt the vibration through his boots.
The door at the end opened… No. It didn’t open. It exploded toward him, coming off its hinges and rotating in a drunken fall into the wall. A guard fell with it, rolled onto his feet and started running straight at Flynn.
Before Flynn could decide whether to shoot, the fleeing guard was upon him. Eyes wild, arms outstretched, the guard barely seemed to register the fact that Flynn was standing in front of him. Flynn threw his back to the wall to allow the terrified guard to run past. He grinned, pleased with his luck, until he caught sight of Nick. Then he seriously considered following the guard.
Nick’s eyes were white. There was blood on his hands. Two bullet holes gaped in his shirt and there was a third just above his knee. Blood dripped from a healing gash in his head.
His eyes narrowed at Flynn. “What are you doing here?”
“Saving you?”
Another gunshot sounded from beyond the broken door, and Nick moved toward Flynn too fast for Flynn to even try to dodge him. Steel arms wrapped around his torso and drove him back several feet. Then he was falling, Nick’s solid weight carrying him to the ground.
Flynn’s breath exploded from his lungs with the impact. The sound of gunfire ricocheted off the walls, and Nick’s body jerked. Something tugged at Flynn’s leg and a bright, sharp pain erupted in the spot a second later. He tried shoving Nick off him, but Nick held him pinned down.
When he finally managed to draw breath, he said, “What the hell are you doing?”
“The hell if I know.” Nick gave a harsh laugh, though how he managed to laugh with a dozen bullets in his body Flynn did not know. “I thought I was distracting the guards so you could get out.”
“It didn’t seem right leaving you behind.”
Nick glanced over his shoulder. There was a guard standing only a few feet away. His rifle was trained on Nick’s head. Without thinking, Flynn raised his pistol and fired. The guard stumbled back, and Nick climbed to his feet, dragging Flynn with him. He pushed him into the music room. Nick fell through the door behind him, and Flynn slammed the door closed.
Flynn pointed. “The window.”
Wincing at the bite of the gunshot wound, he crossed the room. He’d thought it was just a graze, but blood had already soaked his pant leg and was beginning to pool in his boot.
At the window, he threw a leg over the sill and dropped to the ground, taking most of his weight on his good leg. Nick dove out after him. The Reaper rolled, his thin shirt tearing on the rocky ground. He came to his feet in a crouch. Flynn nodded and made for the north side of the house.
Before he’d taken more than a few limping steps, a hand fell on his shoulder and jerked him off balance. His back was slammed to the wall, and he found himself staring into white eyes.
“That way is blocked,” Nick said. “I can hear them up there. Too many for me to take.”
“The ships are in that direction. If we can’t get across the yard, we’ll have to head out on foot through the woods on the other side of the house.”
“I won’t make it on foot,” Nick said flatly.
Flynn eyed him skeptically. “You can take three bullets and fight off a dozen men all while half starved, but a hike down the mountain is going to kill you?”
“It might. Cold slows down the parasite. It’s cold enough out here now for me to feel its panic. Another hour and it’ll go dormant.”
“That’s good.” Then maybe he wouldn’t have to worry so much about Nick trying to eat him.
Nick’s mouth curled in a bitter smile. “It’s not good. If the parasite goes dormant, I’m as weak as you are. Maybe weaker. Are you going to carry me down this mountain? You’re leaking blood like a spit pig.”
“I can help you.”
Even as he said the words, Flynn knew it wouldn’t work. He might manage to drag Nick for a mile or two before he passed out. And Nick didn’t have to point out that him being unconscious around a half-starved, desperate Reaper wasn’t really in his best interests.
Nick released his shoulder. “You need to decide how far you want to take this. I’m not willing to die in this attempt.”
Flynn didn’t want to die either. But he also didn’t want Stark to win.
Nick didn’t wait for an answer. He continued toward the front of the house to look around the corner. He grimaced as Flynn joined him. “There are a dozen men between us and the landing pad. One ship is lifting off now.”
Stark’s gunship. Flynn recognized the sound of the engine.
“There are two other ships, but…” Nick cursed. “No. There are men on them now as well. I don’t know what they’re—”
“They’re disabling the ships,” Flynn said.
Of course Stark would disable the ships. He might be a cold-hearted, sadistic bastard, but he wasn’t stupid.
The gunship crested the wall while they hesitated. Flynn eyed the ship with clinical detachment. It was dragging low for how hard the engine was working. Heavy. Either it was carrying a shipment Stark hadn’t had time to unload, or he’d added more armaments to the unwieldy beast. Flynn had never understood why so many Scrapers felt the need to outfit their ships with big mounted guns. It was like they were preparing for war.
It was clearly overkill in this situation.
The ship glided away from them, heading toward the hunting trail that cut into the forest. From there, a person could reach the river and follow it downhill. Eventually you’d reach Oro…but not if you were dragging a sick Reaper along with you and being chased by a gunship.
Flynn stared straight ahead, trying to decide what to do. Clouds enfolded the mountain at this elevation, and there was a light mist creeping over the ground. Another half-hour or so and they might have enough cover to sneak out. They wouldn’t make it to the ships, though, or to the hunting trail. That left only one other way down the mountain. It would be a difficult climb over slick, unstable rock, but not impossible.
“No,” Nick said firmly.
Flynn turned to look at him. “It’s the only way down.”
Nick made a disgusted noise. “I’m nearly indestructible, and I say it’s crazy.”
Flynn shrugged, tucking both pistols into his waistband. He moved toward the edge of the cliff. Crouching at the edge of the granite outcrop, he studied the rockface, searching for a way down. There wasn’t even enough soil for grass to grow here. It was all black rock and grit. Stupid to attempt the climb, especially when he was wounded, but part of him still wanted to try. The other choice was giving up.
He didn’t want Stark to win. Flynn had built his entire life around not letting Stark win.
“Don’t be a fool,” Nick said.
The tip of the gunship peeked over the roofline, and its shadow slid down the wall. The ship had changed course. Stark’s ships were all outfitted with state-of-the-art crystal-powered signaling devices. Someone in the house must have reported that he and Nick had fled through a window in the east wing. Someone was probably watching them now, just waiting for the order to shoot.
It was now or never.
Gripping the edge, Flynn swung his legs over the side. His feet dangled a hundred feet above the pine trees on the slope below. His toes found purchase and took some of the weight from his fingertips.
Almost, in the back of his mind, he could hear Molly howling at him. She would be so pissed if he died like this. Or maybe not. She’d never been one to give up. If anyone would understand chewing off a leg to escape a trap, it would be Molly.
A gun fired from the ship. It hit a rocky outcrop only a few inches above his head. Chips spat from the impact to pepper his arms and shoulders. He kept going, inch by desperate inch. His good leg cramped. His bad leg was beginning to go numb. The fiery slashing pain of the bullet wound had faded to a warm ache.
Another shot rang out, but he couldn’t spare the energy to see where it hit. Somewhere below him, he thought. The ship moved out over the valley. The sound of the engine was behind him now, still a good distance away. Gears shifted and a gust of warm air touched his cheek.
Despite his current situation, Flynn couldn’t repress a surge of professional appreciation for how well Stark’s ship maneuvered in the tight space. A ship of that size shouldn’t have been able to make that turn. This one was already coming alongside the cliff so that Stark’s sharpshooters could pick him off more easily.
The next bullet would likely bury itself in his brain.
A hard hand clamped around his wrist.
Flynn’s head snapped up to glare into Nick’s face. “Don’t.”
Nick growled and pulled hard. He was immensely strong. One tug ripped Flynn right off the cliff and jerked him back up onto level ground. Flynn’s shoulder wrenched with the movement, and he dragged in several panting breaths before ramming his arm into the ground to force his shoulder back in place.
Holding his arm to his chest, he pushed himself up and turned on Nick. “You’re working for him.”
Nick shot him an amused glance. “Because I saved your life? You’ll kill yourself to spite him, and he won’t even care.”
Stark would care. He’d likely dance on Flynn’s grave. It was a sick sort of caring, but it was what bound them together.
Nick ran a hand through his hair and turned to squint at the ship. He raised a hand and waved his surrender. The ship moved closer to the cliff. The men on deck leveled their guns at Nick and Flynn, but they’d stopped firing.
“I die here either way,” Flynn said. “Once Stark secures the money from his investors, I’m a dead man. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I’d rather go out on my own terms. At least this way I had a chance.”
Nick shook his head. “I’ve lived long enough to recognize a losing battle when I see one. This isn’t the end. Death is the end. I’m not giving up. I plan to get off this rock, and I’ll need a pilot to do that. If you still want to die after you get me down the mountain, I’ll kill you myself then.”
The sound of the engine changed. Guards ran from either side of the house to close in on them. There was nowhere left to run.
“Drop your weapons,” the captain shouted.
Flynn complied, tossing both pistols aside with disgust. Nick focused on a spot behind Flynn. His expression changed, growing harder, his eyes flickering white again. With a sigh, Flynn climbed slowly to his feet and turned to face his stepfather.
Stark hadn’t changed. He was slender and tall, with a deceptively handsome face. The lines in his cheeks and at the corners of his eyes were a little deeper than the last time Flynn had seen him, and his hair had more gray in it. But by all appearances Stark was the image of a refined, respectable Scraper gentleman. He’d never looked like a monster on the outside.
“Father,” Flynn said, just to rub salt in the wound.
Stark stepped closer, smiling coldly. “It hasn’t escaped my notice that you only call me father when one of my men has a gun to your head.”
Flynn raised his brows. “It hasn’t escaped my notice how often you order your men to point guns at my head.”
“Never without cause.”
Flynn snorted. “Trying to escape from your dungeon is not justification for murder.”
“If I’d wanted to murder you, I’d have done it a long time ago. I only imprisoned you because I care. You so seldom return to the city. Is it so wrong that a father should wish to speak to his only son and heir?”
Flynn jerked his chin at the guards. “Is this for their benefit? You don’t need to bother. They already belong to you, and I know what you want from me.”
“Reconciliation.”
“If that’s what you want to call it. You had Freddie kidnap me and inject me with your serum. I know about your plans to have the Reaper bite me to prove it works. I won’t cooperate.”
Stark’s smile was a little too smug for Flynn’s comfort. The small hairs on the back of his neck rose.
“Is that so?” Stark asked mildly. “I understand felicitations are in order. Matrimony has been known to tame the wildest of men. I look forward to meeting your bride… well, meeting her again. We were introduced to one another under such poor circumstances last time. I hope to start anew.”
Flynn had heard people talk about their hearts stopping, but he’d never actually felt it happen to him. The blood in his veins turned thick and sluggish. His skin stiffened, every muscle in his body locked down tight. For several moments, he could only stare at Stark.
When he finally found his voice, it sounded harsh and scraped raw. “What have you done with Molly?”
“Nothing, yet,” Stark said. “I planned to have Freddie escort her here with you. He had men waiting outside the Pryors’ home. Unfortunately, she was waylaid by one of Tirado’s people.”
“Where is she?”
“On her way here now. She’s made her own travel arrangements.” Stark’s eyes glittered with amusement. “I believe she’s planning a rescue. I expect her to arrive just in time for the party tomorrow night.”
“If you harm a hair on her head—”
“What happens to the whore you invited into our family depends entirely you.” Stark’s expression was bland but his eyes were lit with an unholy light. “I’m prepared to welcome her as a daughter after we announce to our investors that you’re finally ready to assume your father’s place on the board.”
Flynn felt like he might vomit. This was it. Stark had finally figured out a way to win, and Flynn had stupidly played right into his hands.
“It’s a con,” he said. “We were running a confidence game all along. Molly is not really my wife.”
Stark arched an eyebrow. “She’s your partner and your lover. I know that. She’s risked her life several times to save your life. If you’re not legally married, you should rectify that as soon as possible. She should be pleased to marry so well. I can understand her reluctance to wed a smuggler, but a Founder and heir to the combined Flynn and Stark fortunes? I daresay it’s higher than she ever thought to reach.”
Not Molly. If she’d been a woman who’d be impressed by a title and a pile of money, he might have been tempted to return to Eyrion years ago. But she wasn’t like that. Molly would spit in Stark’s face if she were here.
She would be here soon. Why hadn’t she run?
“That’s the price of my cooperation? I take my seat on the board, you get your money and Molly stays safe.”
“Perfectly safe. If, after taking your place on the board, you decide that life on Eyrion doesn’t suit you, I will have you escorted back to the border with my blessing. We need never see one another again.”
It was bullshit. Stark wasn’t one to let bygones be bygones. As soon as Stark had his money there would no longer be anything left to keep him from killing Flynn. But it would take time for the courts to process the paperwork to clear the estate. Time enough for him to get Molly to safety and come up with a new plan.
“I’ll do it.”
“Good,” Stark said, a flash of triumph lighting his face. “There’s one more thing I require of you.”
Flynn narrowed his eyes. “The bite? You won’t get your money if I die.”
“You will publicly announce your intentions beforehand and sign all the necessary documents. I had my lawyers draw up the paperwork. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. I had a windfall recently that will keep everything running until we’re able to distribute the vaccine.”
The empty bank vault in Salem. Flynn gritted his teeth. He wanted to spit in Stark’s face. Leap off the side of the mountain just to thwart him. He didn’t know if he would be physically able to stand at Stark’s side and pretend they’d reconciled. He was a good liar, but even he couldn’t think of a way to make that look convincing.
But there was Molly. Brave Molly, who’d somehow tracked him down and was even now flying to his rescue. There was nothing to keep Stark from hurting her. He was already fucked. The least he could do was try and get her out alive.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”
A slow, triumphant smile spread across Stark’s face. “Just what I hoped to hear.”