33. Haze
33
HAZE
I’ve never seen such a rapid variety of emotions play across Imry’s face. I became especially concerned when he said he couldn’t leave Oakley alone, per Loren. But one thing was very clear—Imry was distressed because Voss was in trouble.
The words Imry confided in me weeks ago when he learned that Avory, Ellory, and Loren were going into something really dangerous run through my head on repeat. The contracts are dangerous.
We’d been talking about the three brothers heading off to somewhere so remote that there wasn’t a form of communication, though they are somehow getting updates. My mind has gone crazy trying to figure it out. The Amazon rainforest? Antarctica? …Under the sea in some top-secret fortress?
But during the time Voss has been gone, Imry hasn’t worried about him quite as much. I imagine having the ability to talk to Voss has helped ease some of his unsettled nerves. Yes, it was apparently dangerous and a huge job since Voss has been gone since the beginning of December. But I thought it was taking so long because Voss was being extra cautious.
Something has happened, though. Something big.
We stop at the big house long enough to get into proper clothes. When I go to pack a bag, Imry stops me and pulls me from the room. “No time,” he says.
I can still hear the stress in his voice, and it makes me anxious. I’m not sure what I can do. “I can stay here,” I offer. “I’ll keep Oakley safe. Levis has his wakizashi and knows how to use it.”
His hand tightens around mine. “I can’t,” he says. “Loren’s trust is far more fragile than most people’s, and I need to keep him safe. That means he has to be with me.”
“Okay, but if it’s easier, I can stay here.”
Imry stops abruptly and turns to look at me. For a second, he examines my face. I wonder what he’s seeing. “What do you want? Do you want to stay here or come with me?”
I swallow. We’re walking into dangerous territory. That’s all I truly know about this. “I want to go with you.”
He sighs, shoulders relaxing. “Good. I want you to, which is probably very irresponsible and arguably the wrong decision, but there isn’t time to think about it, so… let’s go.”
We turn as Oakley steps out of his borrowed bedroom.
“Ready?” Imry asks.
Oakley shrugs, nodding. “Sure. I didn’t know what I should wear. Is this okay?”
He’s in jeans and a hoodie. Sneakers.
Imry waves him off. “Doesn’t matter. Come on.”
He lets go of my hand and hurries down the stairs. Oakley and I exchange looks as we follow down the four flights and outside into his car. We don’t leave the property but head toward my cottage instead. As we drive, he dials. The dash on the car reads ‘ Hangar .’
“Good afternoon, Mr. Van Doren.”
“I need my plane ready in forty-five minutes. We’re heading to NYC, ASAP.”
“It’ll be ready, Mr. Van Doren. How many passengers?”
“Three. Gear as well.”
“We’ll be waiting for you.”
“Thanks.”
The call ends.
“You have a personal plane?” Oakley asks, leaning forward as we bypass the turnoff that would take us to the cottages. Instead, we’re heading into the orchards behind them.
“No, not personally. Van Doren Technologies owns half a dozen of various sizes,” Imry answers.
I shake my head.
“How do you not own an airline yet?” Oakley says, laughing.
Imry glances at him in the rearview mirror with an amused smirk. I bet if we checked public records, we’d see that the Van Dorens do own an airline. It just doesn’t hold the Van Doren name.
The fruit trees turn into forest, and I’m reminded of the drive to the barns. It’s even more reminiscent of that trip when I can see what can only be described as a garage through the trees.
“There’s a garage door opener in the glove box,” Imry says.
I shift my legs so I can open it. There isn’t just one, but half a dozen clipped to a pad of paper. I pull it out and look at him with an eyebrow raised. He smirks, shrugs.
“The orange label.”
Oakley leans between the seats to see what I’m looking at. All six are labeled with a different color sticker. The orange one reads ‘ Garage 8 .’
I click the button just as we break into the clearing in front of a large garage with three massive doors. Imry drives right into the one that’s opening. He reaches over and taps the door opener again. The door stops and reverses, closing us into the dark space that’s only illuminated by headlights.
He parks the car and gets out. I glance back at Oakley, meeting his eyes for a moment, and then we follow. Like most doors on the Estate, the one Imry opens is accessed by his ID card. Only, it’s not a door that opens. Lights flicker on overhead. The clang of what I imagine are massive deadbolts slide into place.
Another quiet beep of his ID and the fucking wall opens to reveal a room behind it.
“What the fuck is that?” Oakley asks, eyes wide. “A bunker of weapons? Seriously?”
Imry gives him a wary look. “Come here and stop asking questions.”
Oakley doesn’t move for a second. I’m not even sure he hears Imry as he looks around in shock.
I’m not as shocked as I think I should be. Not with the conversation about how dangerous the contracts are that he and his brothers take on.
“Oakley,” Imry says.
Oakley blinks, turning his attention to Imry.
“We have a lot to discuss, but right now, I need to get us in the air as soon as possible. Get your ass over here and try this on.” He tosses a black jumpsuit like someone would wear to work on cars. Oakley barely catches it.
Imry meets my eyes and offers one to me. I can see the question in his eyes without him asking. Do you trust me?
Taking a breath, I reach for it and watch as Imry hauls a large hardback suitcase from the shelf and flings it open while I slip into the jumpsuit. It’s not a regular suitcase. There’s padding all over it with cut outs to hold specific items.
He put two axes into the cut out for them. Then he’s adding guns with ammo cartridges. Once again, Oakley and I exchange a look.
When Imry’s finished with weapons, he shuts the suitcase and stands it on its wheels. Next is a large softshell bag where he’s shoving helmets and vests and shit I can’t identify as he sticks it in. He stands over the bag for a minute and stares at the contents before turning back to the wall and considering what’s there.
He turns back to us, and Oakley jumps a little. Imry frowns. “They fit comfortably? Can you move around easily enough?”
Oakley and I nod.
“Good. Take them off and put them in the bag.”
We do as we’re told. You don’t argue or ask questions of a man who’s handling guns like they’re pencils. Soft bag full, Imry zips it. He adds a couple of smaller cases that clip together and then nods for us to head back to the car.
He loads the shit into the trunk and shuts up the hidden room. I’m in a James Bond movie, aren’t I? Is that what’s going on right now?
It’s silent as we drive away. Silent as we head down Route 40 and turn north onto Route 64. Silent as a man loads the cases Imry packed into the car onto the plane. It’s small as planes go, but I’d be willing to bet, if it were equipped like a commercial plane, it would fit eighty or so passengers.
It’s not a commercial plane, though. It’s a luxurious personal plane that has couches, a large television, and shit. I’m ridiculously impressed.
“You’re leaving your car right there?” Oakley asks.
Imry glances out the window, nodding. “Yes. They’ll take care of it.”
Oakley shakes his head as he takes a seat. He settles in and stares at Imry. I can’t help it; I do the same thing.
Imry leaves the main cabin and disappears behind a door. He’s gone for maybe ten minutes. Enough time for the plane to take off. When he returns, he’s sticking his phone into his pocket, and his eyes meet mine.
He’s… anxious.
He takes a seat between us, twisting his fingers with mine. “I think both of you already have an inkling about what I’m about to tell you, and while I think this goes without saying, this conversation is strictly confidential. You can’t repeat a word of it.” He looks at me. “Not even to Levis, Brek, or Honey Bee.”
“What about Briar?” Oakley asks.
I know before Imry says so as one corner of his mouth ticks up into a half smile. “Briar already knows.”
“Wow,” Oakley says, and I can tell he’s trying not to be offended.
Imry sighs. I can tell he wants to keep facing me, but he shifts to look at Oakley instead. “Listen to me. You know Loren’s killed two people to keep you safe. Right?”
My eyes widen. Oakley’s do, too, though I can tell it’s for a different reason than the shock I’m feeling. He looks at me in alarm, his eyes darting back to Imry. Obviously, that’s a secret that wasn’t supposed to be repeated.
Imry nods as if addressing a question we didn’t ask. He lets go of my hand and gets up. Once again, he disappears behind a door, but he’s only gone for a second when he returns with a chair. He places it in front of us so he can look at us both.
“That’s better. Anyway, my point is, there are secrets we don’t repeat. Just as you had one of Loren that you kept to yourself to keep your husband safe, Briar has the same kind of secrets,” Imry says.
“The story you told us about how Briar and Uncle Noaz accidentally intercepted a trafficking ring and got Emerson back… that wasn’t true, was it?” Oakley asks.
Imry shakes his head. “No. Uncle Noaz went hunting for their son. Briar refused to stay behind because Emerson is both of their son, leaving Uncle Noaz with a difficult decision. It made more sense to trust Briar with the truth, given the circumstances they were walking into, than it did to try to keep the secret. Just as it made more sense for Loren to tell you he killed the serial killer who was intent on killing you.”
Chills break out over my body as Imry looks at me.
“I told you the contracts are very dangerous. That’s why I’ve been so anxious and afraid since my brothers left.”
“Wait. Where is Loren now?” Oakley asks, alarmed.
Imry raises a hand. “They’re taking down the megachurch cult on a remote island.”
Color drains from Oakley’s face. “Ohmygod,” he mutters, covering his mouth.
I reach for Oakley and slide him across the seat to tuck him into my side. “Where are we going right now?” I ask, meeting Imry’s eyes.
“Voss is in the middle of a NYC cleanup to take out the three mafia families.” My breath catches. “It’s been going very smoothly. Until… I’m guessing today. Lorissa was kidnapped.”
“Who?” Oakley and I ask together.
Imry sighs. “I’m going to back up a little, so this makes more sense. My uncles—Arath, Oxley, Kairo, and Noaz—all monitor specific cities: Philly, Anaheim, Chicago, and NYC. They each built crews to help them do so. Their job is to make the cities safer. Clean up the crime by getting rid of the criminals.”
“Killing them,” Oakley says.
Imry shrugs. “When necessary, yes. Sometimes, they turn them into the cops with all the evidence needed to incriminate them. When Uncle Noaz left NYC, their crew was taking care of a racial hate gang. They’d been turning members into the police department, but the PD had started letting them go. We suspected the police weren’t as upstanding as they should be. Uncle Noaz left his very capable crew to clean up the gang while Voss and his team started researching them. We’d already been uncovering that the PD was being bought by the three mafia families who rule the criminal underground of NYC.”
“Now I feel like I’m in a gangster movie,” I note.
He smiles, but it’s not a happy smile. “Lorissa was Uncle Noaz’s right-hand person. She’s epically amazing. When she called at the beginning of December telling us the families were on to what they were doing and had begun killing members of the crew, we decided it was time to do something about it.” Imry looks at Oakley. “Loren refused to go. He wouldn’t leave you. So, Voss volunteered since he’d already been working on something to take care of this. With Lorissa and Uncle Noaz’s crew’s help, he’d been nearing the end of his mission. He called this morning needing backup because Lorissa has been kidnapped by one of the families.”
Oakley’s eyes turn into saucers.
“And she’s pregnant.”
“Oh,” Oakley says. I’m reminded of a child making the ‘ O ’ expression with their lips as they learn to make sounds.
“With Voss’…?” I ask.
“Voss didn’t say so, but reading into his distress, I’m going to say yes.”
“Oh no,” Oakley says.
Imry nods. “Needless to say, I’m kind of the last resort right now?—”
“Because of me,” Oakley says, upset.
“No. Because Loren is a little obsessive. Everyone Voss feels comfortable asking for backup is either further away or unavailable for other reasons. That leaves me. I’m dragging you along because I can’t leave you behind.” He looks into my eyes, and I can see the silent pleading. “Please know we don’t kill random people because they smell bad or we don’t like their fashion style.”
I snort.
“We kill bad people. Abusers, rapists, murderers.” He waves his hand. “Something I think you both already knew, even if the words weren’t said out loud until now.”
Oakley nods.
My heart is hammering with a loud thud, thud, thud. In reality, the night he came home upset and told me about his brothers going on a dangerous contract, there was no other explanation that could make sense.
“Contracts… they’re murder contracts,” I say. “You’re all hitmen for hire.”
“Yes and no. Loren and Myro are the contract killers. Avory, Ellory, and I choose the contracts very carefully. Voss researches the fuck out of our targets, the person taking out the hit, and the circumstances surrounding the reason for the contract. However, when push comes to shove, we are all highly trained to defend ourselves and take out a target if a situation turns south.”
I take a breath, unsure how I feel about this. I knew and yet… hearing the words out loud.
The entire Van Doren family are fucking murderers!