“Martin…!”
That was all Tessa had time to breathlessly gulp before Martin’s hand clamped against her throat, snapping her windpipe shut. Practically hoisting her off her feet, he forced her backward in skittering, clumsy tow, opening the door to the women’s restroom again and pushing her inside. He shoved her against the far wall hard enough to rattle her brain momentarily. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and fell to the floor, spilling coins, loose peppermints, her cell phone and lipstick across the battered linoleum.
“You bitch,” Martin seethed, his face flushed with rage, his brows knitted deeply. “You goddamn stupid, sneaky bitch!”
“Please…!” she croaked, pawing desperately at his hand, struggling for air. “Martin…please…!”
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you? You stupid fucking bitch, did you really think you could get away from me?”
He raised his hand to slap her and she mewled weakly, holding out her own to try and stay him. “Wait…!” she gasped. “Martin, please…! The baby…!”
He hesitated, and the palm against her throat pulled away, leaving her knees to buckle. She collapsed to the bathroom floor, clutching her neck, gagging for breath. “Please…please don’t hurt my baby…” she wheezed.
Pain ripped through her scalp as Martin closed his fist in her hair, wrenching her head back and forcing her to look up at him. “It’s not your goddamn baby—it’s mine,” he snapped, and now he did slap her, striking her hard enough to whip her head sideways, bouncing against the dingy cinderblock wall. “It’s my baby, you stupid fucking bitch, and you’d better fucking believe me—once it’s born, you’ll never see it again. You’ll never see the goddamn light of day again for this, you lousy fucking whore.”
He jerked her by the hair again and she cried out. “I know you took my money,” he seethed, leaning over to speak against her ear, his breath hot, his spittle spraying her face. “I want it back. My ledger, too. Where is it?”
She’d taken both from his secret cache in the library when she’d fled Kentucky. A ledger had been tucked inside the manila envelope along with the thick bundle of cash, and it wasn’t until some time later that she’d curiously peeked inside, discovering what appeared to be thick stacks of invoices and bank records for a company called Broughman and Associates, of which she’d never heard. As she thumbed through them, puzzled, she realized the Brethren’s distillery, Bloodhorse, had paid in excess of three million dollars to the company over the last ten years.
How did Martin get all of this? she’d wondered. Martin worked in the accounts payable department for Bloodhorse Distillery, but beyond that scope, his interaction with humans was strictly prohibited. So why would he have all of these financial records for this company?
“I said where is my goddamn ledger?” Martin demanded, smacking her in the face again, this time hard enough to bloody her nose.
“My purse,” she cried, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I…I put it in my purse…please don’t…!”
“Shut up.” He shoved her away from him, knocking her head into the wall again, leaving her crumpled on the floor. He turned and stooped again, snatching her fallen purse in hand, then turned it upside down, spilling the rest of its contents. When the manila envelope plopped to the floor, he grabbed it, tossing the purse aside. She watched him through a bleary haze of frightened tears as he opened the envelope and pulled out the ledger, the money that remained.
“You spent some of it.” He glared at her, his eyes so filled with murderous rage, she cowered. “It’s coming out of your hide, Tessa. So help me Christ, it is.”
“Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded, trembling. “Please, Martin…the baby…!”
“The baby?” He snorted, closing the distance between them in one broad stride. Again, his fingers closed in her hair and again, she cried out as he jerked her, stumbling, to her feet. “The only reason you’re still drawing breath at the moment is because of that baby. Do you understand? The only goddamn reason.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together to stifle a terrified whimper. She could have called mentally to Rene for help, but kept her mind shut tightly. Obviously Martin had followed her, but she didn’t know if he knew about Rene—and even if he did, she was willing to bet that he didn’t realize Rene was like them, of Brethren descent. She hadn’t, either, the first time she’d met him; she’d been able to sense him, as she’d sensed Martin outside, but she’d dismissed it as having only been aware of Brandon. Martin probably thinks he’s just sensing me. He doesn’t know yet who Rene is—what he is. If he did, he’d kill him.
Please stay where you are, Rene, just stay outside, she thought. Please, God, don’t go trying to prove you’re not really an asshole and come knocking on this door to apologize.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered to Martin as he let go of her hair.
He arched his brow. “Do? I’m going to drag your sorry ass back to Kentucky, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to tie you to the goddamn bedposts until that baby’s born and after that, I’m going to wear out your sorry goddamn hide.”
Oh, God! Tessa’s mind raced as she struggled to think of some way out of this, some desperate hope of escape. She couldn’t let Martin return her to Kentucky; she couldn’t leave Brandon alone to face the Elders. And I can’t leave Rene.
“Wait,” she said. “Martin, please…listen to me.”
His hand clapped roughly against her throat once again, and he pushed her back against the wall. “And why would I want to do that, Tessa? You stole my car, my money, my baby, for Christ’s sake. What makes you think I want to listen to anything that might come out of your lying, thieving goddamn mouth?”
“I did it for you!” she gasped. “Please, Martin…I was trying to find Brandon for you!”
“Oh, give me a fucking break,” Martin said with a laugh. “You were trying to find your pansy-ass, deaf-and-dumb brother so you could protect him somehow. You wanted to escape right along with him!”
“No!” She shook her head, clutching at his hand, trying to pry his fingers away from her windpipe. In that moment, with tiny pinpoints of light dancing in her line of sight as she strained for air, she decided to take a desperate chance. “I…I followed Caine and Emily to find him. Caine wanted to bring him back, impress the Grandfather, but I was going to bring him back for you! Caine told me he and Emily were going to leave the farm, so I followed them. I was going to bring Brandon back, let you deliver him to the Elders.”
Martin didn’t say anything, but he removed his hand, leaving her to choke and wheeze again.
“I just…I wanted to please you,” she said. “I wanted you to think of me…like you think of Monica. I wanted you to be pleased with me like that.” She looked up at him, shuddering. “I know where he is—where Brandon is going. Please, I was following him and I can take you there. He won’t run from me. He trusts me. Think of how pleased the Elders would be—the whole Brethren council. I can show you where he is. I can take you there, Martin.”
“And what precisely is supposed to prevent Caine and Emily from finding him first?” Martin asked.
“Because they’re dead,” she said, and watched Martin visibly react. He stepped back slightly, his eyes widening in undisguised surprise. “They’re dead, Martin, both of them.”
Just as her father and grandfather would understand the implications of Caine’s death, so, too, would Martin. Especially since his family, the Davenants, stood to gain the most from the loss.
“Caine is dead?” he asked softly, his voice filled with something nearly like wonder; a child on Christmas morning who’s come downstairs to discover Santa’s boot prints in the cinders by the hearth.
Tessa nodded, gulping for breath. “He was shot in the head. He died. Emily, too.” Here it was, her final card, what she hoped would be her ace in the hole. “But not before she called the Grandfather and told him about Caine.”
Martin’s face darkened, his brows narrowing again, and she knew her hasty plan had worked. He knew—as she did—that Augustus Noble wouldn’t hold to his word to kill Brandon now. In light of Caine’s death, the Nobles were equal to the Davenants now in male heirs; by Brethren law, the two clans would have to share supremacy until Brandon or Daniel underwent the bloodletting. Then the Nobles would rule again. And considering Daniel was only four years old—more than a decade away from his first kill—that left Brandon as the most reasonable ace in the hole. But only if he lived.
“So you were going to lead me to your brother—your twin,” Martin said slowly, locking eyes with her. “You’d let me kill Brandon. You’d screw your family—your own brother—to help mine.”
“I’m a Davenant, Martin. My loyalty lies with you—my husband.” He rolled his eyes, opened his mouth to shoot back some derisive remark and she reached for him. “My grandfather said so—right to my face. Your father was there, too. Ask him about it. He told Allistair I’m his granddaughter now.”
“So if something was to happen to your youngest brother…?” Martin asked, his gaze unflinching. “If Daniel was to die…some tragic accident like your poor bitch of a grandmother…and the Davenant dominance secured…Your loyalty would still lie with me?”
Oh, God, she thought, suppressing an inward shudder. What is he saying? Not only a thinly veiled threat against Daniel, but Martin’s words seemed to imply some sort of culpability in Eleanor’s death, as well, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe, much less speak. She stared up into Martin’s dark eyes, smeared with reflected glow from the fluorescent tubes overhead, and trembled. You son of a bitch, what did you do to my grandmother?
He was waiting for an answer, and it took every ounce of deception that Tessa had practiced and honed over her four years of marriage to deliver one to him. “Yes, Martin,” she said.
Martin dragged her out to the Jaguar, holding her tightly by the crook of her arm and leaving her purse behind, all of its contents scattered across the bathroom floor. He thumbed off the alarm, opened the car door and shoved her unceremoniously inside. As he walked briskly around to the driver’s side, Tessa scanned the lot. She saw the low-slung Audi still parked at the gas pump; Rene was just finishing filling the gas tank. She watched as he returned the nozzle to the pump, her lips pressed together in a thin, anxious line, her breath bated, her heart pounding. Don’t turn around, Rene, she thought. Don’t look this way. Please don’t see us.
Martin got in the car; the report of the car door slamming startled a quiet yelp from her. “I don’t believe you, Tessa,” he said, as Rene punched a button on the gas pump’s automatic credit card payment pad and stepped back, waiting for a receipt to print. “Not for one goddamn minute, not about wanting to help me or my family.”
He started the Jaguar, pumping the gas pedal so the engine gunned. As he put it in gear, he shot her a dark glance from beneath furrowed brows. “But I do believe you know where your brother is. And you are going to take me there. You do that, and you and I can negotiate the matter of your punishment for leaving.”
She nodded as they drove past the Audi toward the parking-lot entrance. “I’m not lying to you, Martin,” she said in a hush. Rene glanced over his shoulder as the car passed, his brow raised slightly, his expression puzzled, as if someone had just tapped him on the shoulder unexpectedly.
“Really?” Martin pulled out of the parking lot, heading toward the interstate entrance ramp. “Then who the fuck was that guy?”
Oh, shit. From the feel of things, her heart had collapsed into the middle of her gut. Had she really been so stupid as to think Martin would have missed the fact she wasn’t traveling alone? “Wh-what guy?”
His hand shot out, his fingers closing painfully against the shelf of her chin. “What do you think—I’m fucking blind? The guy with the goddamn Audi—the guy you pulled into the station with.”
He’d seen enough, tailed her long enough to know about Rene, then, but he still clearly had no idea what Rene really was. Like Tessa had at first, Martin simply thought he was human. “Nobody!” she whimpered and when his hand crushed all the more against her jaw, she cried out hoarsely. “He…he’s nobody, Martin, really! A private investigator I hired, that’s all.”
“A private investigator?” He gave her head a rough shake.
“Yes!” she cried. “Like on TV, Martin, to help me find Brandon!”
“Did you fuck him?” Another painful shake. “Because if so help me Christ, if you’ve disgraced me and my family by fucking some goddamn human carcass, I’ll—”
“No! No, I swear, Martin! He’s just been helping me track Brandon!”
All the while, she thought, Oh, God, please don’t let him know we spent the night together at the motel last night.
He glared at her. “If you fucked him, Tessa, I’ll kill you both. I’ll turn this goddamn car around and bleed that son of a bitch dry right in front of you. Then I’ll turn your sorry ass over to the Elders and let them deal with it from there.”
“I didn’t!” she pleaded, mewling around his clamped fingers. “Please, I swear! I just hired him to help me find Brandon!”
Martin let go of her face, pushing her away. “And used my money for it.”
“How else do you think I could find him?” She cowered in her seat, struggling not to weep. “Why do you have all of that money, anyway?”
“That’s none of your goddamn business,” he warned, shoving his forefinger in her face. “And so help me Christ, if you ever mention it to anyone, you’ll never walk without a limp again.”
Tessa nodded, mute and frightened, as they pulled onto the interstate heading west at her direction. She turned her gaze out the passenger-side window as the landscape suddenly grew blurred, whizzing by in her view. A small bird kept pace with the Jaguar for a brief moment, flying along the shoulder of the road with its little wings beating furiously as if it meant to race, and then Martin floored the accelerator, leaving it behind.
Help me, she thought, closing her eyes as her tears spilled. Oh, God, Rene, please help me.