Chapter Twenty-Five
Feralyn
Helios carried me to the truck and buckled me in with the shoulder strap under my arm instead of across my chest, then he got behind the wheel.
Minutes later, I realized we weren’t in Miami.
I didn’t know where we were, and I didn’t ask.
He pulled onto a highway, and I leaned my head against the window.
Sometime later—hours later if the declining sun on the horizon was any indication—I blinked my eyes open when the truck slowed.
Helios turned into an abandoned gas station.
Without a word, he grabbed a license plate from under his seat—one I recognized as being the plate that had been on the truck for years—and he got out. A minute later, he was back behind the wheel, shoving a different plate under his seat before pulling onto a deserted two-lane road.
For a long moment, I watched the sun start to dip behind tall scrub pines. Then I asked. “You had different plates on the truck?”
“Yeah. How’re you feeling?”
Sore, tired, and like I was crawling out of my skin, but also like I could breathe for the first time since waking up in that windowless hellhole. “Where are we going?”
“The new house.”
“Where is it?” I couldn’t remember the address Ghost had said in the hospital, and I was actively trying to block the memory of him being there at all.
“We got another hour and a half.” Helios glanced at his watch. “It’s been four hours. You need more pain meds.”
“No, thank you.” I told myself need was different than want.
Helios threw me a look. Then he swore under his breath, pulled a bottle from his pocket, and handed it to me. “Take two. Waters are on the bench seat.”
Holding the pain medication, I watched the wild vegetation of old Florida, of undeveloped land, as we sped past.
“Take the pills,” he ordered.
“I will.” In a minute.
“Trust me, next couple of days, you’re gonna want to stay ahead of the pain.”
I thought of all the scars covering his body, and these stupid tears I couldn’t stop welled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“About being injured.” Shot, stabbed, embedded with hot shrapnel. I couldn’t think about it and not fall apart.
“You tell me about every paper cut you get?”
Horror-struck, I looked at him. “Those scars are not from paper cuts.”
“In my line of work, that’s exactly what they are.”
Work he had quit. Or left. But being a Delta operator wasn’t a nine-to-five. “What you did wasn’t merely work.” It was who he was.
“Collecting a paycheck from Uncle Sam doesn’t make it any less of a job. Take the fucking pills, Haven.”
I took the pills, but only because I was hurting, I could feel the pain ramping up, and the old truck’s suspension was practically nonexistent.
Helios glanced at me. “Good. Now pound the rest of that water and lean your head back. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
Suddenly tired, I didn’t argue. I drank the water, then did as he said.
But before I fell asleep, I had to bring up his status one more time.
“You never should’ve been saddled with the responsibility of a child when our parents married.
You always wanted to be an Army Ranger, to be in the military.
You were meant to be a Tier One. You shouldn’t be saddled with me now either.
You’re a warfighter. You’re not supposed to have to do…
this.” The guilt of being his burden twice in one lifetime was too much.
For a long moment, Helios just drove. Then his jaw flexed, and his answer was hard-edged. “You’re right. I am a goddamn warfighter. And this is exactly where I’m supposed to fucking be.”
I didn’t nod, and I didn’t verbally agree, but I also didn’t argue with an angry warfighter.
I closed my eyes.
What felt like a minute later, his hand was on my shoulder. “We’re here.”
I blinked through grogginess, then looked at the expensive gate in front of us.
“This is the house?” No longer staring at scrub pines and northern Florida vegetation, I recognized the tropical greenery of South Florida and could practically feel the humidity seeping into the truck’s cab.
I could also see a glimpse of ocean beyond the massive gated residential property.
Helios sighed like he was pissed off, but also like he was exhausted. “Yeah.”
“It’s on the beach.” And there was an eight-foot-high concrete perimeter wall, a hulking metal barricade blocking the entrance to the driveway, and this wasn’t simply a house.
Despite the subtle architectural lighting illuminating royal and fan palms, the cleverly placed tall hedges, the concealing privacy wall, there was no mistaking the sheer expanse of the tile roof pitches from where they peeked out above the trees. This place was a mansion. A modern one.
“Motherfucking Ghost,” Helios muttered, angling closer to the gate and rolling down his window. “He said you’d know the code.”
I thought for a moment. Then I gave him the year I’d met my half brother. “Try that.”
Helios punched in the four numbers, the gate opened, and he drove through. Pulling down the driveway, or rather up because it ascended in elevation, he bypassed a three-car garage and stopped by the front door of what had to be a multimillion-dollar estate. “Wait here a minute.”
The fear that had been at bay rushed back and flooded my veins with adrenaline, and suddenly I was drowning. “D-don’t go.”
A hand landed on my nape and squeezed. “Hey.”
“Please don’t leave me.” I couldn’t sit here in this truck alone.
Helios leaned into my personal space. “You’re not gonna panic.”
Too late. “D-don’t leave me out here.” It was dark, and I couldn’t see if the gate had closed behind us because there was a bend in the driveway, and the last time I’d been alone at night—
“Haven.” Helios shook me slightly. “Look at me.”
I blinked. Then I focused on his colorless eyes that were only lit up from the spotlights on the corner of the house’s roof.
“You remember how to shoot?”
He’d taught me when I was younger. Helios had taught both me and Ares.
I’d never questioned where he’d gotten the gun or if we should’ve been shooting at cans in a state preserve on the edge of the Everglades.
I hadn’t questioned any of the things Helios had done on the rare occasions he’d spent time with me and Ares.
“Yes.” Maybe. I hadn’t held a gun since that day.
“Good.” He took the Glock from the holster at the small of his back and laid it on my lap.
“Shoot anyone that isn’t me. I’m going to clear the house.
I’ll be back in a minute. Three, tops.” He took out a cell and dumped it on the seat next to me, then fished a black business card out of his pocket.
“If I’m not back in ten, call that number and identify yourself. Tell them you have a Code Red.”
I glanced at the card. It only had two words on the front. “What’s Paragon Operations?” Whatever it was, I tried not to think about needing to call in a Code Red.
“A paycheck. Lock the doors. Be right back.” He got out before I could beg him again not to leave me or ask what he meant by paycheck.
I locked the doors. Then I picked up the gun and watched him walk to the front door.
Except Helios no longer walked.
He moved.
Like a predator, like a six-and-a-half-foot lethal assaulter. Like a Delta operator. Helios pulled a gun from a thigh holster I only just now noticed and held the 9mm in his left hand as he right-handed the keys and unlocked the front door of the house.
Then, with tactical precision, gripping his Glock, he shoved the door open with his foot and entered the house.