Chapter Thirty-Two
. . . there are those who would disagree with me, of course, but frankly it’s simply preposterous to think the protective
instinct of an empath sibling is reciprocated. The empath is a parasite, nothing more.
—Comment in the manual Anatomy of a Dead Man
Liam had been able to drive them downtown, but there’d been roadblocks set up around the stadium, and Jamey was pretty sure
some of the hulking enforcers mixed in with the cops were undercover Stone Solutions response.
“They’ll let me pass. I’m still with the force,” Liam said, starting to roll down his window.
“Let Diesel and me out here,” Jamey said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek from the back seat. “You two stay in the car and
stay safe.”
Liam and Aisha exchanged a look that Jamey was pretty sure meant they had their own ideas, but Diesel was hopping out the
other back seat door, and they needed to go. Jamey leaped out of the car, and the two of them ducked past the barrier.
“Hey!” one of the undercover response team members called, but they were already running toward the stadium.
One block over they hit the crowd. Jamey had to fight like a salmon going upstream against the people running from the stadium.
“This is not how I like to watch football,” Jamey said as they dodged a group of fans with painted faces.
“Same.” Diesel ducked past a pair of men in head-to-toe fleece. “Give me my couch and—oh shit.”
But Jamey had seen them too, three women in Seahawks sweatshirts and beanies, struggling to hurry down the sidewalk as they
carried five crying kids between them.
“We have to help—” Diesel started.
“You help,” she said. “I’ll get into the stadium.”
She put on a burst of speed, registering Diesel calling his assent behind her as she ran up the sidewalk and found a side
door. It was locked, but the hinges were on the outside. She braced a foot on the wall and yanked with all her strength. The
door flew open, hanging crazily on its now-broken hinges.
She moved inside, finding her way through the mazelike corridors of the stadium’s first floor, following the screams until
she emerged at one end of the field and into fresh chaos. The bright green of the Astroturf was covered in melted slush, occasionally
streaked by red, and more than one body lay unmoving on the field. There were too many people on the field to count, but her
eyes fell on the familiar figure of Officer Stensby, his hands outstretched and heading for a man in a referee uniform.
“No!” She’d figure out how the fucking hell Stensby could possibly be here later. She sprinted forward, running into him with her shoulder at full speed. He went flying, smashing
into another man and sending them both to the ground.
“Run!” Jamey barked at the ref as she whirled around to find herself face-to-face with Officer Kosler. “You?” she said in shock. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital—fuck.”
She ducked as Kosler came at her, then spun and took him down with a hard kick to his knee. He hit the ground and hissed up
at her.
He looked terrible—even worse than the night before, with blood streaming down a face that was almost unrecognizable, twisted as it was with
rage and violence. Jamey took a step back from him. “What the fuck is going on?”
“It’s a new kind of party!”
A voice she didn’t recognize, high-pitched and almost chirpy, came from her side. Jamey spun to find two empaths standing
on the forty-yard line, a young woman with dark brown hair and man around the same age with an unsettling gleam in his blue
eyes that could only be corruption. Around the two empaths, a group was gathering, their faces lost to expressions of malicious
devotion.
Jamey was pretty sure she recognized them both from pictures and planning, and yeah. She’d found their apparently not-so-pacifist-anymore
empaths—and their thralls. “Mireya Gomez? Dawson Jones? What happened to you?”
The empaths ignored her question. “She recognizes us,” Mireya said to Dawson as the thralls bared their teeth at Jamey. “We
don’t want that, do we?”
“No, we don’t.” Dawson looked at the thralls, then pointed at Jamey. “Take care of her for us.”
Jamey stumbled backward. She could fight thralls, but there were eight of them closing in on her, all with murder in their
eyes. Behind her, Stensby and Kosler had both gotten to their feet, blocking her exit.
She raised her chin, fingers curling into fists—
“Get away from her.”
The familiar voice sliced across the football field, so much empathic power lacing it that Jamey felt it against her skin. The thralls hit the ground, curling into whimpering balls, some of them rocking back and forth, some of them covering their heads.
Jamey looked up in shock. But sure enough, there in the stands was Reece. He was glaring at Dawson and Mireya with an unfamiliar
rage. “Get your fucking thralls away from my sister before I make them tear themselves apart.”
“Reece?” Jamey said hoarsely.
Dawson and Mireya were backing up rapidly, hands raised in apology. The thralls were crawling after them, dragging themselves
along the sideline, still shaking from the cocktail of emotions pouring off Reece, so strong that the hairs on Jamey’s arms
and neck were raised. Reece himself was almost unrecognizable, his eyes narrowed, his fists clenched, a darkness in his expression
that she had never seen on him before. He looked an inch away from making good on his threat.
Then, as Reece’s gaze darted back to Jamey and their eyes gazes locked, all that fell away, and all she could see was her
brother.
Jamey started forward. “Reece.”
But he was turning, sprinting back up the aisle.
Jamey broke into a run. “Wait—”
Reece had reached the top of the aisle, and by the time she’d levered herself over the rail and into the stands, he’d disappeared
into the stadium again.
Grayson figured Reece had sent the ferry into a panic hoping to slow him down, but he’d been able to jump from the railing
to the pier and from there race onto Alaskan Way. He could make out the top of Lumen Field up ahead, making a beeline for
it as he sprinted down the waterfront. A response member recognized him at the barrier and hastily cleared the path.
As Grayson came up on the stadium, he heard his name and turned to see Diesel hurrying his way. “St. James call you?”
Grayson shook his head. “I lost my phone. Reece’s phone. It’s a long story.”
“Where’ve you been?” Diesel said as they fell into step together.
“Also a long story. You spot any empaths yet?”
Diesel shook his head. “If they’re here, they’re in the stadium. Come on.”
Diesel filled him in on the past twenty-four hours as they darted past the flow of people pouring out from the main doors
and headed for a side door that was hanging off its hinges.
“So if you arrived with St. James, Mr. Lee and Dr. Easterby,” Grayson said as they reached the door, “then where are . . . ?”
“Evan! Diesel!” Liam was jogging toward them, phone in hand. “I called first responders I know personally,” he said, breathing
hard. “People are hurt and need medical care, and I don’t trust Stone Solutions not to intercept police calls. Have you seen
Aisha? She left the car with me. Then I lost her.”
“You’re not going to keep a doctor away from the injured,” Diesel said. “I’ll find her.”
“Right behind you.” Grayson nodded at Liam as Diesel disappeared into the stadium. “You talk to St. James since you got here?”
Liam shook his head. He was paler than usual. “I’m coming with you to find her.”
They ducked through the doorway and into the halls in the depths of the stadium, emerging at one end of the football field.
Liam froze. “Is that—Stensby? And Kosler? How the hell are they here?”
Grayson had seen them too, the bodies unmoving on the end zone. He hurried over and knelt next to Stensby.
“Last I saw him, he was in Stone Solutions’ private hospital in Kirkland.” Stensby’s face was streaked with red. Grayson pressed a hand to his neck, over his jugular, but there was no pulse to feel. “What the hell happened? The corrupted empaths get their hands back on him?”
“Wouldn’t have to be the empaths.” Liam had pushed up Stensby’s sleeve. He pointed to the puncture mark at the wrist. “He’d
been on an IV drip. They could have given him the same thing they gave Dr. Whitman when she killed the Macys.”
“Another frame job,” Grayson mused.
“I wouldn’t put that past Stone Solutions,” Liam said grimly.
Does Stone Solutions know you’ve got me here and what you’re planning? Grayson had asked Nichols, in that lab.
You mean Vivian? Nichols had scoffed. As if she’d ever have the stomach for it. But rest assured, I am backed by those with the real power.
Grayson raised his gaze to the stands, tracking up the rows of seats until he found the glass windows of Stone Solutions’
luxury box. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t either—”
“Ooh, look how big this guy is!” a chirpy voice said, suddenly close.
Grayson looked up to see two empaths heading straight for them, both around his own age, a woman with dark brown hair and
a man with big blue eyes.
The second empath rubbed his bare hands together. “He could do some damage.” Then he suddenly frowned. “Why am I not getting
any emotions from him?”
At his side, Liam stiffened, but Grayson just met their eyes. “There’s a reason for that,” he said dryly, and watched both
empaths hit the end zone, gagging.
“I think all y’all have done enough damage today,” he said, getting to his feet. “And it ends now.”
Alex cut through a stadium food court, past the trampled remains of beer stands and cotton candy racks, following a new source of emotion so strong it could only be Reece. Cora was at his side, expression grim.
“What pissed Reece off?” she said as they hurried past staircase after staircase leading down to the lower-level seats.
Alex shrugged helplessly. “Take your pick,” he said, gesturing around them.
They were getting closer to Reece, who seemed to be seeking them in return. Just before they hit a set of suites, Reece crested
a set of concrete stairs from the stands and joined them.