Chapter 20
20
CADEN
S till damp from her lukewarm shower, Caden followed the vacuum cleaner tracks down the hall and into the living room. She was breathing heavily and leaning most of her weight on the portable IV pole Reid had insisted she take with her. The shower had all but depleted her. It felt good to be clean.
Caden halted in the living room, struck by the sight. A recliner that looked well-reclined sat beside the puffy sofa that sat in front of a big TV. Framed pictures and portraits and drawings hung on the walls. Bookcases lined the far wall. Flowers and pretty curtains made everything look... surreal.
Fuck, everything had been so surreal since the moment she’d come to.
Sure, she’d seen living rooms before, but she couldn’t shake the otherworldly feeling. It looked like every other living room she’d seen, but there was something about it that just screamed “We’re not in Kansas anymore”. She couldn’t pick out the difference that made this particular living room feel so much different from all the other ones.
It was like she was stepping into a place of fiction that had come to life. Nathan had talked about his family, but she never counted on meeting them and being forced to acknowledge their existence as real living beings. They were real, his mother was real, and just as he’d described her. The place and people she’d built in her mind were real, and that was disorienting as fuck.
The place she’d called home for her formative years had a small living room that was the polar opposite of the one in front of her. Terror and guilt and rage had seared that place into her memory. She hadn’t thought of it in a long, long time, but suddenly it was shining bright in her mind’s eye.
Brown rough carpet that felt more like sandpaper than anything cloth-related, one lonesome recliner that smelt of beer and stale smoke, white walls gone grungy and stained from catching bottles that had been aimed for her head, and a TV that, when it wasn’t sitting in the pawnshop, sat in the dust outlined square on the bedside table that acted as an entertainment center.
She’d been weak, pathetic Ava in that living room. She’d been dead for two minutes and thirty-seven seconds in that living room. Quinny had stayed dead in that living room.
Then there was the first foster home. Formal and foreign. The furniture was all angles and squares. The walls were white and bare. The second and last foster home had been less angular but more foreign. Ezra had liked it, but they’d left before the scuzz-bucket of a foster dad could do more than leer. The places they’d squatted and eventually rented weren’t big enough to have living rooms. After that, it was all barracks, dorm rooms, safe houses, and hospital rooms.
This was a living room that housed a happy family. It was like stepping into a slightly messy national monument. Caden blinked a couple of times, trying to shake the dreamlike feeling.
The front door was hanging open. A black cat was sat in the middle of the doorway, blocking a sad-faced dog’s entrance. A fly buzzed in and then back out again. Another cat, this one smaller and orange, pounced on the black cat’s flicking tail. A deep belly laugh drifted in through the door, followed by some garbled words that Caden could only assume were curses. The sight of the open door reassured her a wee bit. She could leave whenever she wanted.
What exactly was stopping her from waltzing out that door and hopping on the nearest plane and getting the hell out of Dodge?
Nathan Savage and his ridiculous smiles were what.
It wouldn’t hurt to stay just long enough to bed the man. (She had to think up a better moniker for the dirty deed.) Or maybe it would hurt. Maybe the family were all just lulling her into a false sense of security. Maybe they’d called the authorities already.
Probably not.
Maybe mostly not.
Regardless, the house and its people made her feel uneasy. Like if she didn’t run at the first chance... something would go down and she would not come out the victor.
“You leavin’?”
Caden jolted into the crouched and ready position, ignoring the sharp pains coming from just about everywhere on her, and located the threat. Her portable IV wobbled and squeaked at the sudden movement but stayed upright. Ellen stood in the kitchen, sawing away at a loaf of bread.
A flush of guilt colored her cheeks pink, but she forced herself to quell any outward reaction. If they started accusing her of stealing, she was out. She wasn’t stealing or doing anything to incur any kind of reprimand. Still though, it was very hard to stop looking guilty.
“What—no. Maybe.” Smooth. Caden was smooth as silk.
There was a grimace on the woman’s face as she dragged the knife through the bread. Crumbs and bigger crumbs fell onto the counter and made Caden cringe. Ellen was butchering the beautiful, delicious-smelling bread.
“Don’t look so shocked.” Ellen paused in her destruction of the bread to grin and quirk an eyebrow at her. “You were eyeing the door like you were two seconds from running.”
“I wasn’t gonna run .” Was she so transparent? That made for a grand total of two complete strangers who had the magical ability to read her like a book. She didn’t like it.
“Well, have some of this bread before you go. You have to be starving.” Finally, Ellen got a piece cut and waved it at her before refocusing on the loaf. “Bobby made it special for you and Nate.”
The fresh bread smell was mouth-watering and alluring. The seasoned mercenary decided to stay where she was. It was ridiculous, she knew, but it was innate. The ridiculous innate part of her did not approach armed unknowns. Caden had long since learned an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of not getting stuck with a bread knife and bleeding out all over the nice, clean floor.
“He made it for me?” Shit, was that her voice? That pathetic croak?
“He figured ya’ll would be hungry for some home cookin’ now that you’re home.” Ellen got another piece cut with minimal damage and then made quick work of the rest. “God damn, let’s pretend this doesn’t look like a tornado hit and enjoy it, anyway.” Ellen smiled, gold glinting and necklace tinkling, and tossed the bread knife in the sink behind her.
Unarmed, the woman posed less of a threat and there was all that bread made special for her. Ellen smiled at her again and held out a hunk of mutilated bread. Caden was in the kitchen somehow. Cold tile was under her feet and she couldn’t remember telling her feet to move.
“The man can cook, let me tell ya. He takes the house down with his snores, but the man can cook.”
Suspicion crawled up the Hitter’s spine. Caden was almost eighty percent certain that this woman was not some devil in disguise. Seventy-three-ish percent sure that the bread Ellen was offering was not poisoned. That this woman was as genuine as anyone could be. And about ninety-five percent positive that she was being a paranoid idiot, but still she couldn’t make herself take the proffered bread.
It wasn’t as if she’d never been the recipient of human kindness. She knew what good people were, but this whole experience was throwing all her carefully honed spidey senses off. Why would this woman give anything to her? Caden was a thief and a killer and a mercenary, and many other unsavory things that good people didn’t abide.
Sure, Ellen thought that Caden was solely responsible for the return of her son, but she’d already thanked her for that. Good people were confusing and annoying, and Caden wanted to be done with them.
Goddamn, did she want a piece of that bread, though.
There was a pause in movement where the woman stopped to study her. Amber eyes were warm and understanding. Guilt pounded down on her shoulders once more under the woman’s scrutiny. Caden attempted to use her IV pole to maneuver herself into a more upright position, but gave up. It was not worth the effort. Ellen was asking Caden to trust her on blind faith.
Fat fucking chance.
“Butter?” She was already smothering her slice, and Caden’s mouth flooded even as she controlled a flinch back at the sudden appearance of another knife in the woman’s hand.
“Yes.” Caden had to swallow twice before she could get a word out and then try to remember what manners were and if she’d ever learned any. “Please.”
Ellen handed over the knife without batting an eyelash and took a big bite out of her piece. Relief just about overwhelmed her, and it was all she could do to quell the trembling in her arms to work the damn knife.
“Hot damn, my man can bake!” Ellen took another bite of the bread and gave a satisfied grin.
“Ma.” Holden appeared in the room behind his mother and glared accusingly at her. Caden, suddenly feeling ten shades of guilty, dropped the knife and took a small step away from his mother before she caught herself enough to glare back.
“Holden can cook too, though he pretends like he can’t.” Ellen whirled on the much larger being and patted his scowling face. His features softened only when he glanced down at his mother.
“You know I prefer your cooking, Ma.” He smirked impishly as his mother scoffed and swatted at his chest.
“Oh, stop lyin’.” Ellen rolled her eyes and whirled back around to hand him a piece of bread. “Is Jackson still here?”
His attention refocused on her, and his eyes narrowed. Caden took a hungry bite out of her bread and glared right back. It slid down her throat like a slug and settled in her gut like a brick.
“No, him and Dax are going back to HQ.” He paused to annihilate his piece in two bites. “They’ll be back for supper tomorrow.”
“Will you go find your father for me? And tell Kade that if that dog keeps chasing my ducks, I’m taking it to Penelope’s.”
“Penelope can’t take another animal. You should see the barn. It’s ridiculous how many animals she’s got in there.”
“I’m not keeping a duck killer. Tell Kade that. And let your dad know that the bread is done.”
Holden frowned at his mother and then sent a pointed glare towards Caden. It took him a long minute to obey, but he eventually gave a curt nod and disappeared down the hallway. Caden went back to eating her bread and ignored the queasy feeling building in her gut. Ellen turned to the fridge that was suffocated in magnets and pictures and fished a pitcher of tea out.
“He doesn’t want me alone with you.” Lacking any kind of subtlety, Caden just laid it all out there. The woman had to be aware of the suspicion practically rolling in waves off her son. Caden watched for a reaction, but all the thief got in response was a flippant nod that did not look at all as alarmed as it should have been.
“Holden’s always been... overprotective of the people he allows himself to love. Don’t worry, Caden, he’ll warm up to you eventually.” Ellen reached over and patted her hand like it was the most natural thing in the world to reach out and touch someone.
“No, that’s not—he doesn’t want me around you because I’m a mercenary.” Why did the people in this family treat her like she was part of the family?
“Oh, I know. Nate’s told me all about you.”
Shame and guilt knifed at her gut again. It was becoming more difficult to stay upright. Caden adjusted her sweaty hold on the IV pole and watched the woman’s face for the disapproval and disgust she knew was there. Had to be there. Ellen was a good, respectable woman.
“A thief.” Maybe she had to spell it out. “I shot Nathan twice back when he was... chasing me.”
“I remember.” Ellen glanced up from the pitcher and grinned like she’d heard a good joke. “His brothers still give him hell about getting shot in the ass.”
“I stole stuff— steal stuff. Art mostly.” But that wasn’t the worst of her sins. Stealing stuff from dead guys wasn’t a sin. Not the way Caden saw it. If museums had no qualms about pilfering ancient items, then it just stood to reason that she wasn’t committing any huge no-no’s either. “I’ve killed people.”
Ellen’s head jerked up, but instead of the fear and disgust, Caden expected to see in the older woman’s eyes all she saw was warm concern. Which only served to agitate and confuse her further.
After a moment of pensive silence, Ellen reached for her hand again, careful not to jostle all the little tubes sticking out of it. Her hands were damp from the condensation on the pitcher and calloused.
“Caden, you’re talking like you owe me an explanation—like you’re guilty of something. You did what you had to do. You don’t owe me or anyone else an explanation.”
No. No, that was wrong. This whole conversation was wrong. Never had she been met with such utter acceptance and empathy. Caden didn’t know what to do with it. How to respond. She deserved absolutely zero empathy or acceptance. She’d killed people, for Christ’s sake.
Okay.
She wasn’t brain dead. She could formulate a response.
So. Retreat? It only took a moment to come to terms with her own cowardice.
Retreat.
“I’ve got—Reid... he’s waiting. For me. To stitch. Gotta set my breaks.” Words had never really been her forte. “Yeah, for— because... and thanks for the bread.”
She clutched what was left of her piece and hightailed it as fast as her battered body could move back to the relative safety of the other room. Ellen didn’t say anything. Only nodded and watched her retreat.
So, she was a coward. That wasn’t the worst thing in the world, right? Caden carefully pushed the odd conversation to the back of her mind and focused on dragging her body back to Nathan.
“What took you so long?” Reid met her in the hallway with an impatient frown. “Did you faint? How are you feeling?”
“I didn’t faint. I’m fine.” She was all but gasping for breath by the time she got back into the room and seated on the bed. Nate was nowhere in sight, and Reid was already rummaging around on his table.
“Where’d Nathan go?”
“To use the other shower.” He turned back around with a tray that held an assortment of hypodermic needles and wipes.
“Whoa, what the hell’s that?” She already knew what it was. There was no way in hell that she was going to voluntarily be put out again. “No, no sleeping. I do not want to be out again.
Reid’s eyes narrowed and his lip twitched like he was holding back a snarl. He set the tray down and grabbed at his nose in a sign of agitation.
“Caden.” It was a burdened sigh. He shook his head and then glanced up like he was praying for patience and then glared back down at her. “You have a fever. You have been stabbed. You have twenty-one cuts that require stitching on your legs alone. I have not counted the ones on your arms or the gashes on your back, where I am assuming they used a weed whacker or some other twisted shit.”
He paused for breath and what Caden was assuming (judging by his adopted brother’s penchant for the theatrics) dramatic effect. He took another noticeable, deep breath and continued his tirade.
“You have two broken and four fractured ribs. You have internal goddamn bleeding. You have three broken fingers, two broken toes, and one dislocated elbow and shoulder. For the love of all that is holy, just please trust me to know how to fix you.”
“Reid,” Why was it that this man treated her like he’d always known her? Like they were old friends, and she was being her usual frustrating self and he was just trying to be the good doctor? “I understand. I can feel most of it. Trust me, I know what’s going on.”
“Yeah, I’m aware that you can feel the pain of your injuries. Well aware.” Another issue that was making his jaw clench. She almost felt bad. He had a set of ice-blue eyes that somehow pierced and did the puppy dog thing at the same time. It was hard to ignore.
“I can deal with the pain. I really can. I do not want to be drugged or unconscious.” She ignored his angry huff and continued. “You can stitch me up and set my breaks. I won’t fight you. I promise.”
“This is not something I want to debate with you on. It would be inhumane of me to operate on a patient who is not drugged or unconscious.”
“You wouldn’t be operating. It’s not like you’re gonna cut me open.”
He huffed again, and this time paced away, a dark scowl growing on his handsome face. He whirled again and stood in front of her, triumph alight in his eyes.
“What if we have Nathan in here the whole time?”
Instantly, Caden’s hackles rose. It wasn’t like he was trying to insult her. He was trying to do the opposite. But the fact that he thought she needed someone to hold her hand was insulting as all hell. Nathan’s presence would make her feel better, but she wasn’t going to admit that. Out loud. With note-taking witnesses. Weakness was not something she liked to have broadcast.
“He just got in the shower. Why do you need him?” Holden sidled into the room, eyes sharpening at the mention of Nathan.
“Nothing. I don’t need him.” Caden tried to sound less defensive. Where had all her finely honed nonchalance gone? “Fine, all right, you can put me out. But only for like... an hour.”
Reid was already up and injecting something into her IV line. Unease gripped her gut and clawed at her perfectly calm exterior. She did not know these assholes. Why the hell was she letting herself be goaded into doing what they said?
“Look,” Holden stepped closer, all scowls and awkwardness, “I never thanked you for what you did for Nathan.” He rubbed the back of his neck and Caden was sharing in the awkward that was coming off him in waves. “You saved his life. You could have just left him behind, but you didn’t... so thanks for keeping my brother alive.” Holden was starting to go fuzzy. She was starting to feel lighter.
Slightly fuzzy herself. Warm too. The cool sheet under her hands felt nice. Better than cement. The absence of rat sounds was almost comforting.
“Nobody could let Nathan die.” Was that slurry voice hers? “He’s rainbows... and sunshine... I’m not Voldemort—I don’t kill unicorns.”
“No, you’re not Voldemort.” Holden’s fuzzy face was beside hers and helping her lie back.
She was in a bed. A bed with springs and pillowcases and shit. Nathan was alive. She had bread, actual homemade bread, in her stomach and Harry Potter was such a good series.
Unidentified drunken emotions swelled in her chest. She could feel them turn liquid and fill her eyes as the world became even warmer and fuzzier. How was she supposed to explain her stupid random crying? Goddamn drugs, making her crazy.
“Neville was such a badass.” Her explanation wasn’t coming out right, and she knew she sounded like an idiot. But then it didn’t matter because everything blurred completely and went black.