Chapter Thirty-Eight
Max
Imeet with Greyson outside of Cain’s office.
The relief I feel at seeing him unharmed is profuse.
Greyson and I have had our ups and downs, granted, but he’s my closest friend here.
We’ve saved each other's asses more times than I can count—I’ve helped him recover from multiple injuries, and he’s had my back almost constantly.
If something happened to him, I’d be devastated.
But if it’s not him or me, and Cain’s the one that sent the message…
“Scarlett?”
“Ember?”
We speak the names at the same time. I ask after his woman, he asks after mine.
“She’s fine,” I assure him. “She had a rough morning, but she’s okay. Scar?”
There was a time when Greyson would’ve broken my jaw for inquiring after Scarlett’s wellbeing.
There was a time when I wanted to break his kneecaps over how he was handling their relationship and treating her.
That time is now in the rearview mirror—perhaps not as far as either of us would like it to be, but behind us nonetheless.
I think Ember’s arrival in the compound has given Greyson a lot more confidence in our friendship, because he’s now completely safe in the knowledge that I have no designs on Scarlett.
He knew this before, but he truly knows it now.
“She’s good. I sent her up to keep Ember company—she got nervous when I left in a hurry. Hope that’s okay.”
“Of course.” Ember might not love Scarlett, but she likes her, and I think she could use a friend right now. She also got a bit nervous when I left in a hurry after my phone alarm went off, though she refused to show it.
“If it’s not us, then…” Greyson trails off as a roar comes from inside the apartment.
“GET YOUR FUCKING ASSES IN HERE!”
I have never heard Cain raise his voice—not once. He’s growled, snapped, and when he’s in a particularly foul or deadly mood, he gets very, very quiet. But what I hear from behind the door isn’t him getting quiet—it’s something far different and far more terrifying.
My blood nearly freezes beneath my veins. Greyson also looks appropriately alarmed. Cain raising his voice is unheard of, and he just shouted at the top of his lungs.
For the first time in years, I’m afraid to move. The king of the Nighthawks isn’t a man who gets upset. And right now, he sounds furious.
“Fuck,” Greyson breathes out. He punches the code into the front door, and after a quick glance at the ceiling—as if he’s sending out a prayer—opens it.
What greets us is pure destruction in the living room. Overturned furniture. Broken lamps. Several holes in the wall.
Cain stands in the center of it all. His button-up is rumpled, and splattered with what I suspect is his own blood. His knuckles are swollen and busted. His expression isn’t the blank, calculating mask I’ve grown so accustomed to seeing; instead, it’s one of fury mixed with fear.
I didn’t know Cain had the capacity to feel fear. He’s a true sociopath, maybe even psychopath, down to his core.
“You called a Code Black,” Grey says, glancing around the room. “Was there… a break in?”
Cain gives his head a jerky, sharp shake. “He took her.”
I meet Greyson’s eyes. We’re both equally puzzled. “Who took who?” I ask.
“Dagon.” Cain’s voice holds oceans worth of fury, rage, and most surprisingly of all, helpless terror. I can see it in his eyes, too. He’s mad, yes, but I think much of his anger is fueled by fear. “He took my Chosen.”
My jaw and spine lock at the same time. Greyson reaches up to rub his temples.
We both know what this means; we’re about to go to war. And if Cain loses whoever the girl he’s spent years obsessing over, we’re all, utterly fucked.
“Where?” Grey questions.
“If I knew where, do you think I’d call you two morons up here?” Cain roars. “I don’t—fucking—know!”
“Alright, take a breath. We’ll get this figured out.” In the absence of what little sanity Cain possessed in the first place, Grey steps up, taking the wheel. And, honestly, I’m grateful for it. “First, I need you to calm the fuck down, and—”
It happens so fast, I’m shocked. I’ve only seen Cain in combat a few times, and each time, he blew my mind, but the way he grabs Greyson and slams him against a wall is so impossibly quick, I’m shocked.
The strength with which he does it knocks the wind out of Greyson and forces him to let out a painful-sounding wheeze.
“Do not tell me to calm down!” Cain shouts.
He pulls back his fist, gearing to pummel Greyson’s face, but I get there faster.
I haul him off Grey and wrestle his arms behind his back.
Whatever’s happening to the dark void that is his mind right now isn’t good.
It could mean terrible things for all the Nighthawks.
One of the main reasons Cain is lauded as an excellent leader despite his many faults is that he’s never lost his composure.
Rarely shows hints of emotion. Everything is a game of chess to him, and he’s a chess grandmaster.
Greyson cracks his neck from side to side, a vein in his temple bulging. He flexes and unflexes his fists and inhales a deep breath, probably reminding himself that attacking Cain—no matter how satisfying—won’t do him any favors.
“It sounds like we’re in a time-crunch situation.” Greyson swallows harshly, trying to compose himself. “You could pummel me, or you could decide to screw your head on straight and realize that you called us up here because you need help, and we’re the best help you’re going to get.”
“If you don’t remove your hands from me immediately, I’m going to cut them off,” Cain seethes.
“Are you going to attack Grey if I do?”
“No,” Cain hisses.
I release him, glad to get my hands off him. His skin is cool, like a reptile's. Sometimes, I’m not entirely sure he’s actually human.
“We need information,” Greyson says. “Who is she, where is she based out of, when was the last time you saw her or had eyes on her, when—”
“I’m not telling you shit,” Cain seethes. “I won’t give you ammunition to fuck me over—”
“I have no interest in fucking you over. I like my head where it is, and I prefer it when you stay out of my fucking relationship with Scarlett. Now, I don’t give a fuck about you or whoever your Chosen is—we aren’t friends—but you are my commander.
If you want my help, I’ll give it, but don’t mistake it as me doing you a favor. It’s me following fucking orders.”
Cain pants angrily for several moments. Finally, he says, “Azalea Sullivan. Goes by Lea. Twenty-three years old. Postdoc in chemical engineering. Tenure at university.”
“Twenty-three-year-old postdoc?” I repeat.
Cain gives me a baleful look. “She graduated college when she was 17. She’s a prodigy.”
Of course she is. Whoever she is, she wouldn’t have caught Cain’s eye unless she were exceptional and prodigal. It sounds like she’s both.
“Why would Dagon take her?” I ask.
“Because I took something of his, so he’s taking something of mine.
” He works his jaw, pacing around the room.
Notices a crystal tumbler on the coffee table.
Picks it up and hurls it at the wall. I watch as the venerated leader of the Nighthawks begin to lose his mind, and I understand with stark clarity that this girl who he’s been stalking, possibly tormenting, is his undoing.
The same way Scarlett is Greyson’s, and Ember’s mine. All of us have a single, glaring vulnerability, and only two of us have them locked up in a fortress more impenetrable than Fort Knox.
“Nobody was supposed to know about her until I brought her here.” He rakes his hand through his hair once, and then again. Tugs at it from the roots.
His eyes are wide and manic. His composure’s long-since crumbled. He’s a shell of the man I know him as, and I’m not sure whether it’s a relief to know he has humanity, or frightening to see him slowly losing his mind.
In either case, it’s imperative that he gets his hands on his Chosen immediately. I saw what Dagon did to Ember, and he cared for her. I cannot imagine what horrors he’ll inflict on a woman who means nothing to him, who is only a mode of revenge.
“We need Tobias up here—”
“No,” Cain snarls, cutting me off. “No outsiders.”
“He’s not an outsider. He’s the best hacker in the world. If you haven’t been able to find Azalea, then we won’t—but he can.” I glance at Greyson. “He found Scarlett, and she had her big brother hiding her tracks.”
Greyson nods. “I’ll call him up.”
“I said no—”
“Did it sound like I was fucking asking?” Grey snaps, phone already in hand. “I wasn’t. You wanted help, you’re getting help. At least have the decency to acknowledge that you’re not fucking thinking straight, and let us fix the problem that your arrogance caused.”
“My arrogance?” Cain roars.
“Yes, you fucking cunt. Your arrogance. Your belief that you can see into the future and predetermine every move someone will make before they’ve even thought of it. I hope this serves as a cold fucking reminder; you’re not omniscient.”
Hours pass. Tobias works away on the half-destroyed couch, clicking on his laptop, squinting hard at the screen.
I can’t pretend that his presence won’t cause further complications. Him helping Cain will incline Cain to allow Toby to claim Alina, which will spell disaster for Ember, and therefore, me. Possibly the entire goddamn fortress.
But, right now, his services are needed to make sure there is a fortress once all is said and done. If Cain loses his obsession—his vulnerability—there might not be.
“Where are we?” Cain barks for the fifth time in as many minutes, pacing in front of Toby.
Toby wipes some sweat from his brow. He’s terrified, as the rest of us are. All of our lives hang in the balance right now.
“Close,” he says. “I got footage of the abduction, and a blurry shot of the license plate of the car she was stuffed into. I need to clear up the resolution so I can follow it through traffic cams. Let me breathe.”