Chapter Two
This whole article is bullshit. I was still working on a brief in my office and I saw what actually happened in downtown Vancouver
that night. There were at least ten giant assholes in fatigues raging on the street, tearing up cars and threatening pedestrians.
Since when do the unhoused dress in tactical gear?
The worst of it was just outside Stone Solutions Canada’s building. Who knows what kind of secrets they have up there? Is
this just a cover-up for someone stealing anti-empathy tech?
I can’t believe this story isn’t bigger news. It’s almost like they don’t WANT us to know what’s really happening.
—Comment left on an Emerald City Tribune article, “Vancouver police respond to altercation related to drugs, homelessness”
Reece took the truck west over the East Channel Bridge. The sky and water were a shimmering black, like the truck itself,
like the corrupted lightning that had changed his empathy. It was sparking in him now, after their heist, reveling in the
aftermath of the chaos and violence they’d caused.
“There’s nothing of note in here.” Cora was in the front passenger seat, going through one of the accordion folders they had taken from the security office at the back of the building. “Coffee deliveries. Office supplies. New chairs.”
“Maybe Mr. Eton and Mr. Pelham here can point you to the right place.”
At Alex’s voice, Reece glanced into the review mirror, seeing a flash of glasses on the silhouette in the center of the back
seat. Eton and Pelham—Alex’s newly thralled Stone Solutions security guards—sat on either side of him like chessboard knights
flanking the king.
“What do you want to know?” one of the guards said eagerly, adoration in his voice.
In the mirror, Alex’s blond-brown hair caught the edge of a passing streetlight. Same as Evan’s, a little voice in Reece’s head noticed.
Reece rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself. So what if it was? Alex and Evan were brothers, and sometimes siblings had the
same hair color. He should think of Evan only as the Dead Man, their most dangerous enemy. Alex was the only Grayson Reece
could trust now.
Cora glanced over her shoulder. “We’re looking for deliveries of materials, especially anything related to textiles.”
“Oh,” said the other guard. “Those were all shredded.”
“Shredded?” Reece repeated sharply.
“Is that standard procedure?” Cora asked.
“No. Destruction happened early,” said the guard. “We got the order two days ago.”
“From who?” said Alex.
“Smith,” the other guard said. “Dunno who told him to do it.”
Reece only just managed to smother his groan. Of course it was Smith. Of course Reece had fucked up again.
If Cora and Alex had the same thought, or noticed his moment of self-loathing, they were apparently tactful enough not to comment on it. “Delivery records destroyed before we can get them,” was what Cora said, lowering the accordion folder to her lap. “Isn’t that interesting timing.”
The flat sarcasm was layered with unsurprising frustration and bitterness. Stone Solutions had changed Cora from a kindhearted
therapist to a ruthless killer in an attempt to secure themselves millions in funding from a senate bill rider. They’d tortured
her fiancé to death to make it happen, and now Cora had both corruption’s enhanced empathic abilities and a personal desire
to see Stone Solutions pay.
“A temporary setback,” Alex said. “We have the flash drive Reece stole from Stone Solutions Canada to go through still. And
our new friends here can write down what they remember, can’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” the guards chorused happily.
Reece took the exit onto Mercer Island, slowing to a stop as he approached a red traffic light. Behind him, he felt Alex lean
forward to rest his folded arms on the front seats. “You just committed your second felonious B & E at Stone Solutions,” he
said wryly. “You can run a red light.”
“Nope,” Reece said firmly. “I heard too many stories from Jamey about criminals caught because of a busted taillight or other
minor traffic violation. I will be driving safe and legal, thank you very much.”
“Suit yourself.” Alex’s amused drawl was less pronounced than Grayson’s, his voice more of a tenor to his brother’s bass,
but still familiar enough to make more memories threaten to rise.
Hey, Care Bear—
Reece shook himself. Hard. Get it together, he snapped internally. You don’t have enough control over your emotional projection to think about Evan.
It was galling but true. Before corruption, Reece’s empathy had already felt like a bear on a fraying leash. Now trying to
control his empathy was like trying to tame a whole damn sleuth of bears hell-bent on a rampage. Reece was blaming it on the
newness of corruption, but Alex and Cora were starting to give each other knowing looks anytime Reece’s emotions rose. The
absolute last thing Reece should do in an enclosed truck with the two of them was let his thoughts stray to a few stolen moments
hidden in the trees off a Vancouver highway.
You want Alex to catch on? he berated himself. To realize that his accent is enough to remind you of his brother—the one you jerked off in the back seat of this very truck?
How well is that going to go over?
That sobering thought was finally enough to clear Reece’s head. He let Alex and Cora’s conversation become background noise
as he followed residential streets south, eventually pulling into the drive of the mansion formerly belonging to Dr. Jason
Owens, the now-dead director of R & D at Stone Solutions who had been partially responsible for the murder of Cora’s fiancé.
It was an oversized house on an oversized lot at the end of its street, facing the water, with only the four-car garage and
driveway visible from the road. It had privacy, plenty of space, and most of all, the three empaths had concluded it was the
last place anyone would look for them.
As Reece idled for a moment, waiting on the slow rise of one of the garage doors, Alex said, “So what happened back there
with Mr. Smith? I thought you were gonna add him to our collection with Misters Eton and Pelham. You said he’d be useful.”
His tone was curious, innocent even, and not at all accusing. Reece felt his defenses go up anyway.
“I was. But I choked.” There was no point in pretending. Alex and Cora could hear lies as well as he could.
“He might’ve recognized you,” Alex said, still mild. “Might tell folks he thinks you were there.”
“I know,” Reece said, through gritted teeth. “But I can’t get the damn projections under control.”
Cora made a sympathetic noise, one that almost could have belonged back in her therapist’s office. “Your empathy is just strong,”
she said. “You’re working on it.”
“But when will I get there?” Reece muttered as he inched the truck into the garage.
He put the truck in Park, and the others jumped out. Reece stared for a moment at the back of the garage, his mind returning
to Stone Solutions and his encounter with Smith.
They’d been in the hall on the first floor. Reece had lit the place up with rage—so easy when the corruption meant anger always
simmering on the surface—then recognized Smith lurking in the security room. We should take this one, Reece had said to Alex
and Cora. He’s head of security. He could be really useful.
But as Reece had started to step into the security room, his gaze had darted down the hall, back to the storage closet Smith
had once stuffed him in. And suddenly he was remembering the fear the guards had had of him, the shame that he’d made them
afraid, the guilt that he’d gotten Jamey sacked from her job.
And remembering Evan: how he’d come to Reece’s rescue, pulled him out of the clutches of Stone Solutions, bundled him into
the safety of the truck, given him the hoodie.
Reece had stood there, lost in memories—
And run out of time.
Now he tightened his jaw. He would have thralled Smith if they hadn’t had to flee. He’d just been distracted by memories. Wouldn’t happen again.
He was certain of that. The altered empathy vibrating in his blood wanted more violence, more chaos, to see blood on Reece’s own hands. Corruption wasn’t satisfied being a bystander to Alex and Cora committing murders and enslaving thralls any more than famine could be satiated by a simple snack.
Next time, Reece would be ready.
As he jumped down from the truck, there was a chime from his phone—or, more accurately, the phone he had stolen from Evan
Grayson. He pulled it out.
Grayson: Y’all might’ve gotten away tonight, but you can’t hide from me forever.
Grayson: And if you’re using my truck as a getaway vehicle, you better be planning to buff every scratch out of my hood.
Reece stared at the screen, his irritation with himself happily seizing on a new target. Who the fuck did Grayson think he
was?
Reece was texting back before he’d even thought it through.
Reece: What kind of amateur do you take me for? You think I’d scratch MY truck?
He started to shove the phone back into his pocket, but it chimed again.
Grayson: That truck title is still in MY name.
Grayson: And why would I trust you with MY truck when you were happy enough to leave Mr. Smith wrecked?
So they had found Smith. Probably questioned him, maybe even learned a few things thanks to Reece leaving him un-thralled. That knowledge only stoked the anger in Reece’s chest as his fingers flew over the tiny phone keyboard.
Reece: Is that supposed to make me FEEL something? Guilt? Regret? Make me run crying back to you for help?
Reece: Don’t get me confused with the empath you thought you knew. Everything’s changed for me.
Reece: But YOU are exactly the same. You think you’re so untouchable, so unknowable, and your arrogance is your biggest weakness.
I will run circles around you while you keep believing you’re too special to fail.
Reece’s phone went off again immediately.
Grayson: None of this is about me. I made you a promise: that there was nothing you could do that I couldn’t stop. And one thing hasn’t
changed: I’m gonna keep that promise.
Reece’s eyes narrowed. Grayson and his promise could go straight to—
“Reece?” Alex had poked his head into the garage. “You still in here?”
Oh great. Reece could feel the telltale prickles of projection along his skin. Alex and Cora had probably felt his irritation
with Grayson all the way in the house.
“Cora is having Eton and Pelham guard Traynor,” Alex said. “I mean, he’s not gonna wake up on that dose he’s on. But she’s
nothing if not tactical,” he added admiringly.
Holt Traynor, the director of the Empath Initiative, was their “guest” at Owens’s house, sedated from medication they’d stolen when Alex had broken Cora out of the Polaris empath prison.
Traynor had signed off on who knew how many empath experiments—maybe even the ones that had been run on Alex and Evan Grayson—and had once plotted with a still-missing scientist, Victor Nichols, to murder Evan.
At that thought, another flare of rage went through Reece. He forced it down. He should have let Traynor kill Grayson. Then
he wouldn’t have to deal with the Dead Man now.
Like hell you should have, a voice in his head immediately said. No one touches Evan. THAT hasn’t fucking changed.
Reece closed his eyes, forcing himself to get control of his emotions. “I don’t know how you can stand letting Traynor live,”
he confessed. “After what he did to you and your brother.”
Alex leaned on the door frame. “I don’t intend to let him live,” he said, no sound of a lie in his words. “But I think he’s
still going to be useful. After all, Traynor can’t be the only one who signed off on what happened in that bunker. And he
sure as hell didn’t predict how it went down.”
That was true. No one could have predicted that Alex would transform his brother into the perfect emotionless weapon against
empaths.
“You’ve never explained how you made Evan the Dead Man.”
Reece hadn’t realized he was going to ask the question until it had left his lips.
The garage seemed to have gone extra quiet. Then Alex tilted his head. “No, I haven’t,” he acknowledged. “But surely it occurred
to you that I haven’t told y’all for a reason?”
Reece frowned, trying to connect the dots. “Victor Nichols was trying to duplicate him,” he said slowly, in realization. “It’s
all in that manual on that flash drive we stole, everything except what you actually did, because no one knows.”
“And it needs to stay secret,” Alex said. “The last thing we want is more Dead Men.”
Reece nodded slowly. “But can you undo it?” he asked, again before he’d meant to.
“No,” Alex said simply, without any hint of a lie’s discordance. “I can’t undo it, and neither could you. For all intents
and purposes, Evan’s transformation is permanent.”
It was the truth.
“Speaking of that flash drive,” Alex said, “I think it’s got that whole list of other empaths on it. We should take a look.”
Reece cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he made himself say. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
Alex nodded and disappeared back into the house. Reece’s fingers had gone very tight on the phone.
He forced himself to take a calming breath. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that Grayson was permanently the Dead Man,
that he would never have another emotion again. It was good, even. He and Grayson were enemies now, and they would stay that
way.
He smashed out words on his keyboard, one last pair of texts.
Reece: You made that promise to the weak little empath who couldn’t bear to say murder. It doesn’t mean shit anymore. Not to me.
Reece: Stop jerking off to your own hair and pay attention: I am not your Care Bear anymore. Don’t you get it, Evan? I’m the bad
guy now.
He stabbed the Send icon, then shoved the phone into his pocket, following Alex into Jason Owens’s house.