In His Keeping (Slow Burn #2) (35 page)

Heavily muscled, tall. Towering over the much smaller-framed man. Both were expressionless but their eyes spoke of ruthlessness. They were hard and cold as they stared dispassionately at her. Her eyes narrowed in recognition of one of them. The asshole who’d been employed by her father. The man who’d attacked her. Tried to drug her. Unsuccessfully.

But they didn’t scare her. Once they would have. She would have scurried under the nearest table like a frightened mouse and covered her head and ears, shutting out everything around her. Now that she knew exactly what she was capable of and armed with the knowledge that there was likely a whole lot more she didn’t know she could do but possessed the necessary powers for, these assholes could easily be dealt with.

Did they think simply restraining her would prevent her from unleashing hell on them all?

Some of what she was thinking must have been reflected in her ever-expressive eyes and face because without speaking a single word, one of the goons simply turned, pointing a remote at a monitor mounted on the wall.

It flickered once and then came immediately into focus. Ari’s breath caught in her throat and stuck there. Her chest constricted and burned, robbed of air as she simply stopped breathing.

Her parents were in what looked to be a jail cell. Like common criminals, or worse, hostages subjected to deplorable conditions. Her father was seated on a flimsy-looking cot with her mother curled into his arms as he tried to comfort her. Judging by the look of distress—and defeat—on her mother’s face, even her father couldn’t manage something he’d never failed to do before. Reassure his wife that everything would be all right.

Bile rose in her throat and hatred burned a hole in her stomach. She, who had never truly hated anyone. She, who balked at the mere idea of inflicting violence on or hurting anyone. In this moment, she knew she was absolutely capable of, not only hurting, but killing these bastards for what they’d put her parents through. And she’d suffer no remorse whatsoever.

She embraced her powers, finally realizing she
did
serve a higher purpose, but it sure as hell wasn’t what these bastards imagined. If they knew that she was imagining in exacting detail their deaths, they’d likely flee like the complete cowards they were.

Around her objects began trembling, shaking, as if in the throes of an earthquake. Frames fell from the walls. Glass vials flew from their resting spots to shatter against the far wall. And she stared at the worm in the lab coat who’d calmly announced he wanted to run tests on her. Like she was some kind of an animal. Her parents were already—had been for days—being treated with less regard than animals. Caged in filthy quarters. Only each other to lean on while worry for their daughter tortured them every bit as much as their disappearance and not knowing their fate tortured Ari every single hour since their abduction.

Goon B’s lips curled into a sneer, and he spoke for the first time, seemingly undaunted by her show of strength. Not that it had been an impressive feat by any stretch. She was still weak from the powerful sedative they’d administered. She didn’t even know how much time had elapsed since she’d been taken from the safe room, where she prayed to God Ramie was still safe and sound.

“Cease your tantrum,” he bit out.

“Or else?” she taunted, her eyes narrowing on the focus of her ire.

Immediately his face turned red, and he grasped his neck with both hands as if fighting off an unseen attacker. He pried uselessly at the invisible hand wrapped around his neck, slowing squeezing the life right out of him. Ari
wanted
to kill him. She was pissed enough to take every single one of these assholes out and damn the consequences.

“Enough!” Goon A barked, yanking her attention momentarily from Goon B.

Goon B coughed and sputtered, holding his neck as he gasped for breath.

“You’re going to pay for that, you little bitch,” he snapped, his face red either from the pressure she’d exerted or sheer fury. She didn’t care one way or another. Never had she felt such a pervading desire for vengeance. Violence. She wanted to hurt these people, whereas a month ago, the mere thought of her unleashing violence on another human being was abhorrent, against her very nature. Now? She was anticipating with every breath just how she would exact her revenge on these people for upending her life, for threatening her parents—adopted or not—and for bringing their fight to Beau and his family’s doorstep.

God help them all if Beau was dead. God may have mercy, but Ari would have none.

“Maybe you should have a look at dear mommy and daddy again,” Goon A said in a mocking tone that grated on her nerves enough to make her want to squeeze a different part of the anatomy than she’d attacked on Goon B. Walking around ball-less and singing soprano would certainly take his ego down a notch or three.

But when she tracked back to the monitor, unable to resist the urge to see her parents after hearing the underlying threat in Goon A’s voice, she froze.

Four men burst into the cell and erupted into a flurry of action. One of them snatched her mother and wrapped a beefy arm over her breasts, curling around to the back, where he fisted a handful of her hair to yank her head upward to bare her vulnerable neck.

It took the combined efforts of all three of the other men—huge men—to subdue her father when the fourth put his hands on Ari’s mother. His rage was a terrible and awing thing to behold, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride that it took three impossibly large men, with the aid of weapons, to subdue her father, and even then it took every bit of their combined efforts to keep him pinned to the floor, although they made certain his face was pointed in his wife’s direction so he could see exactly what was being done to her.

His face was harsh with rage and agony. And suddenly sound burst through the room where Ari was helpless to do anything but watch. Her father’s voice was hoarse, desperate,
pleading
.

“Leave her alone, damn it. Take me. Do whatever you want with me but leave her alone. She’s done nothing wrong. Take
me
, goddamn it!”

Tears burned Ari’s eyelids but she furiously blinked them away, determined for these assholes watching her closely not to see how affected she was by the sight of her parents. How relieved she was they were alive even as terror snaked through her body when the man holding her mother’s head at an uncomfortable angle slowly drew a knife and placed it against the front of her neck.

Ari could see the stark fear in her eyes even as she visibly tried to prevent her husband from seeing just how terrified she was. Again, Ari felt a burst of pride, this time for her mother, because she didn’t want her husband to know just how scared she was. Her expression was defiant, a definite
fuck you
look stamped on her delicate features. Even her eyes, after that first flash of fear, eyes that had never held anything but warmth, love and tenderness, were cold with hatred and defiance. She stared the men down holding her husband as if to tell them
you can’t win. He’ll kill you. He’ll find a way and he’ll kill you.

Not if Ari had anything to do with it. She was going to take these bastards out herself or die trying.

Some causes were noble and just, even when steeped in violence, blood and . . . murder. Some fights, regardless of impossible odds, were still meant to be fought because unless you fought back there really
was
no hope. And Ari had to believe that somehow, someway, she would prevail and save her parents. Even if she herself was forfeit in the process.

Some things were simply worth fighting for. Worth it to the bitter end, with the very last breath. And Ari could think of no better reason than . . .
love
. Love for her parents. Love for Beau.

Defeat was merely the absence of hope. And until she’d exhausted every last avenue of hope then she would not—would
never
—concede. It was a vow echoing through her mind, shutting all else out.

Until her mother’s pained scream broke through the dark shadow of Ari’s thoughts. Through plans for death and retribution. She froze when a thin trickle of blood slithered down her mother’s neck as the asshole holding her sliced a shallow cut through her delicate skin.

Her father went crazy, his bellows of rage, his promises of retribution echoing her own thoughts. He managed to break free from his captors, and he flung himself across the cell, prepared to take apart with his bare hands the man hurting his wife.

And then her father’s body arced, bowing backward, his face contorted with pain as his extremities shook and twitched violently.

The cowardly bastards had tased him from behind. For one brief moment Ari thought her father would actually fight through the devastating effects of the stun gun, his determination to safeguard his wife overriding all else. But then another shot from one of the other guards dropped him like a stone and Ginger cried out, her movements causing more blood to flow from the cut that was now deeper because she’d instinctively lunged forward in a desperate attempt to shield her husband.

“Stop!” Ari cried. “Don’t kill her! For God’s sake, you’ve done enough! You’ve incapacitated my father, and if the bastard holding a knife to her throat makes one wrong move, he’ll kill her!”

“Then perhaps you should reconsider your rejection of our plans,” Goon A said coolly. “Because I have no compunction whatsoever about slicing her throat and letting you watch her bleed out, seeing her take her last breath and then letting her husband wake up in a pool of her blood next to her lifeless body.”

Ari shivered at the emotionless threat. But no, it wasn’t a threat. She could see his absolute resolve. Knew he’d carry out his
promise
if she offered any further resistance. Could she hold it together? Endure whatever they meted out so as not to be completely crippled afterward, so she would be able to destroy this awful place and every single person inside it except her parents.

Without knowing whether Beau was alive, she had to operate under the assumption he was so she made the right choices. This was no time to allow emotion to interfere with cold logic and what she knew to be absolutely true.

This man would order her mother’s death and suffer not one iota of remorse. And God only knew what they’d then do to her father when they no longer had her mother to force her compliance with.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” she said with calm she had no idea could be summoned in a situation that would normally have her paralyzed with fear, helpless to do anything but be some damn shrinking violet.

Fuck violets. She’d never liked them anyway. And the use of the F-word just strengthened her resolve to be the warrior Beau was. The warrior her parents needed. The warrior she must
become
.

Hardening herself for the ordeal ahead so she wouldn’t be incapacitated afterward would be the toughest test of her endurance yet. Beau wasn’t here to pick up the pieces, to coddle and comfort her.

But for her parents. For herself. For Beau. She could and would endure. And God help them all when she finally unleashed the full fury of her powers. Her gift. One, that for the first time in her life, she was grateful for and that she wholly embraced.

THIRTY-ONE

GAVIN
Rochester flinched when he heard the telltale sound of the door leading into the hallway where the cells were aligned open. Then the thump of booted feet. More than one set.

His entire body was still on fire, but this time . . . he’d kill the bastards with his bare hands. Rip out their spinal cords and force them down their throats.

They’d put their filthy hands on his
wife
. They’d made her bleed. Worse, they’d terrified her, and he’d been rendered incapable of stopping any of it. He’d been stripped of power. Any decisions or choices. Not since he was a child eking out a living in squalor had he had his choices taken away and no say-so in his future.

Since the day he’d killed the monster—his sperm donor, because he would not give such a man the honor or respect of ever naming him father, biological or not—he’d taken control of his own destiny. His mother, too far gone into the murky world of drugs and addiction, had been grateful to Gavin for ridding them of the man who abused them both. Grateful, for fuck’s sake. A polite thank-you rendered unemotionally as though she were thanking a stranger for a small act of kindness.

When he’d begged her to leave with him. To seek out better. A better life. A better
existence
, panic had swirled in her eyes, and he knew the source of her panic was being cut off from her drug supply, something more precious than even her own child.

After that, Gavin had left his old life behind. Every single aspect of it. Not even Ginger knew the whole of it. Only that his parents had been the worst sort of people. People who should have never been allowed to procreate. But he’d never confessed to her that he’d killed his own father in cold blood.

She knew much about his past. Knew he was steeped in gray and that he’d crossed a lot of lines, or blurred them at the very least. But she didn’t know he was a murderer, and until now, until that little selfish, spoiled rich brat bastard had gone after his daughter, until a man had drawn his wife’s blood, he’d never considered descending into the world of cold-blooded killing again.

But now he craved it with every part of his heart and soul. He burned with rage and the need to shed the blood of the men who’d made his wife and daughter—the two people he loved most in the world, the
only
people he loved—hurt and afraid.

He knew the point had come when he had to act. Had to take a calculated risk and escape as quickly as possible. Because God, somewhere out there, scared and alone, was his precious daughter. Who likely thought her mother and father had simply abandoned her. At a time when she needed them the most.

He couldn’t even think about what circumstances Ari might presently be in without going insane. He had to focus on only what he could control. His and his beloved wife’s escape so they could see to their daughter. And when this was over, he was moving his family as far away as possible. Never to return here. Complete identity changes. Completely new lives. In a place where he could be certain they’d never be touched by violence again. He should have never returned to the States. But it was useless to indulge in regret for actions already taken. But he
could
ensure he never made the same mistake again.