Warhead (Blue-Eyed Bomb Book 4) Page 8

  “Yes. Your father.”

  “Right…but what about your former warden?”

  His expression darkened in a way I’d never seen before. The promise of death burned in the depths of his stare, and it was all I could do not to back away.

  “He is no longer. Neither are his other puppets. All but a few were killed by the PC with my aid. And the magic that crafted and wielded them was destroyed as well.”

  “Crafted them? I don’t understand…”

  “Made them,” he clarified, though it wasn’t especially helpful.

  “Wait. What are you saying? Are you...are you saying that you were made?” I asked. He nodded. “By what?”

  “Magic.” He tried to hide the bitterness in his tone and failed. “I was created to be used and discarded.”

  I couldn’t help but feel like that wasn’t too far off from what my father was doing.

  “So…” I said, not knowing how best to ask a question that seemed so personal. One that he hadn’t answered when asked indirectly. He stared at me, almost daring me to ask it—as if he knew that would force me to do it. Which it did, of course. “What exactly are you, TS?”

  He leaned in closer, his eyes trained on me, his lips parted to speak.

  Then Cy slammed through the roof door, startling us both. “We’ve got a fucking situation,” he said before running back down the stairs.

  TS and I weren’t far behind.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What’s going on?” I asked as we raced through the living room.

  “Your brother did something stupid,” Cy said, shooting a scathing look over his shoulder. “TS, we need to go.”

  “I’m coming too!” I yelled.

  Cy blocked the exit with his body, and I nearly slammed into him. “You can’t, Phira. You have to stay.”

  “But—”

  “Your presence will only make things worse.”

  I flinched at his words. TS’ hand was on my back in a flash.

  “I’ll make sure everything is fine,” he said in a soothing tone. Then he brushed past me to follow Cy.

  “TS—”

  “I promise.”

  Those final words were cut off by the slam of the metal door, as if that alone could keep me from following. But my fear of making things worse, as Cy had said, tethered me in place. I’d already fucked up too many times to count. Adding another would surely get me sent away, as TS had suggested. And I couldn’t have that, especially not if my family was in danger.

  But staying in the warehouse nearly drove me insane.

  Minutes passed like days as I paced the living room, waiting for news. I stared at my phone as though I could command it to show me what had happened—like it was the magic mirror in Snow White. All I got for my effort was a headache from concentrating so hard.

  I needed a distraction to help bide my time. I dialed the phone and waited for Jenkins to pick up.

  “Hey, what’s—”

  “Have you heard anything at the bar tonight?” I blurted out, cutting him off.

  “Like what?”

  “Like something bad—maybe a fight? An attack?”

  “No,” he replied, voice brimming with concern. “What’s going on, Phira?”

  “I don’t know!” I yelled, pinching the bridge of my nose, eyes closed. “I don’t know what’s going on. I’m relegated to the sidelines with all this ‘police most wanted list’ shit. All I know is that Nico did something and everyone tore out of here like the building was on fire.”

  Silence. “Leaving you there to burn…”

  “Something like that,” I said, letting out a breath. “I just—I just need to know that Nico is okay. Or Alek…I guess it could have been Alek. Cy didn’t say.”

  “Because it was Nico, no doubt,” Jenkins replied.

  “He is a bit of a hothead.”

  Jenkins bit back a laugh. “A bit? Hashtag understatement…”

  “Point made, Jenks.”

  “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I know you love him. I’ll see what I can find out and get back to you ASAP, okay?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  I hung up and went back to worrying. But I didn’t have to worry for long.

  A couple of minutes after our call ended, I heard the squeal of tires down the block. Seconds later, a series of cars screeched to a halt in the garage below. Heavy footsteps echoed up the stairwell until the owners filed in, one by one. Their angry expressions let me know just how bad things were.

  “Is he okay?” I asked. Then the brother in question walked in behind Muses, black eyes full of rage and body covered in blood. Not good. So not good. “Oh my God, Nico! What happened?”

  I practically dove across the room to get to him, only to be stopped by Muses’ arms around my waist. I struggled free in a flash to glare at him. His satisfied smile was all he gave in return.

  “I’m fine, Phira.”

  “You don’t look so fine,” I argued as I circumvented Muses to reach Nico. He’d been in a fight, that much was clear. But for him to have sustained damage at all told me he’d been greatly outnumbered. The circumstances of what had gone down were far from clear, but given how angry he’d been about the PC’s ineffectiveness, my money was on him starting shit with the wrong people.

  And without just cause.

  “I said I’m fine!” he roared. Everyone in the room went still except for Alek and TS. One was at my side in a flash; the other was between me and the threat he perceived.

  “You will calm yourself now,” TS said, voice low and threatening, “and then you will apologize to your sister. What happened tonight was your doing. You get to be mad at no one but yourself.”

  Alek, who stood shoulder to shoulder with me, gave me a sidelong glance filled with the promise of explanation. Nico, however, just glared with that bottomless black stare until I nearly shriveled under the weight of it—just like I did when my father looked at me that way.

  “I was worried,” I said softly.

  The black slowly faded to forest green, then the emerald shade he and my brother shared with our father. He took a step toward me, only to be met with TS’ hand on his chest.

  “You know what I will do,” TS said. The threat in his words was thinly veiled at best.

  Nico merely nodded, then pushed past him to stand before Alek and me. “I’m fine, Phira.” He opened his arms to hug me and waited for me to make the first move. Smart guy. After a beat, I fell into them, the tang of fresh blood filling my nose.

  “Tell me you didn’t start another war,” I whispered into his chest.

  “He would have,” Muses answered for him, “if I hadn’t intervened.”

  “You made us look weak,” Nico argued over my head.

  “He stopped you before you started something that couldn’t be undone,” Ferris said. His anger was palpable, and uncharacteristic at best.

  “What were you thinking?” Cy asked.

  “I thought you were on my side!” Nico yelled, pulling away from me to stare Cy down. I tried to hold him in place, but he was too much for me. I wondered if letting Nyx loose would help or only make things worse.

  “I’m for doing shit, but not starting it. You had nothing to go on when you went after those wolves. Your orders tonight were clear, and you decided to go rogue,” Cy shouted back, striding toward my brother. This time it was Alek that put himself between my brother and the threat. Nico’s second protecting his alpha. Cy, being older and wiser, backed down to ease the tensions in the room rather than fuel them further. “The PC is not weak, Nico. Maybe some perceive us as such, but they know that when shit needs to happen, we get it done. But what you did tonight sends a different message altogether—one we don’t need. You said we do what we want when we want to because we can, and that shit doesn’t work anymore. At one time, it might have, but things are different now. It’s not a fucking pissing contest between us and the others. We are other, in case you’ve forgotten. It serves us all to keep th
e peace, rather than be at odds with every supernatural faction in the city—or the world, for that matter. Your father knows this. Maybe he should have done a better job passing that message on.”

  With that, Cy headed upstairs, the other two Fates not far behind.

  “You are confined to the warehouse until I speak to your father,” Muses added. “I never imagined I’d say this, but for once, it seems your sister was more capable of following the rules than you. For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

  He pulled out his phone and slid the warehouse door open. It slammed closed behind him, leaving my brothers, TS, and me alone.

  “Does someone want to fill me in on the details?” I asked, searching their faces for answers.

  “I’m going to get cleaned up,” Nico said. He disappeared into the far stairwell without another word.

  “I’m going to listen in on Muses’ call,” Alek said. “It might be best to brace Nico for what’s to come, especially before Muses breaks the news.”

  “Good idea,” I said, exhaling hard.

  He slipped through the sliding door.

  And then there were two.

  “Do I even want the gory details?” I asked TS.

  He gave me a tight smile in response. “It was not as bad as Cy’s reaction would lead you to believe, but Nico definitely overstepped tonight. There will be ramifications for his actions, I’m certain.”

  “Did he—did he kill them?”

  “No,“ TS said with a shake of his head. “Thankfully, he was stopped before that.”

  “Didn’t look like it,” I muttered to myself as I made my way to the liquor cabinet. I pulled out a bottle of whatever I could reach and unfastened the cap. As I brought it to my lips, TS caught my arm and lowered it.

  “Perhaps you can find comfort somewhere other than the bottom of a bottle tonight.”

  The weight of his stare made my cheeks flush. His hand fell away seconds later.

  “What do you suggest?” My voice was lower and huskier than normal, and I cleared my throat to try and play off my obviously flustered state.

  “You haven’t played for a while,” he said, his gaze drifting to the door. “Perhaps it’s time to defer to your other outlet of choice.”

  “Sex?” I asked.

  He choked on a cough, his eyes wide. “The piano,” he said, working to calm himself. “I was talking about the piano.”

  My cheeks went scorching red at the misunderstanding. “OH! That…”

  “Yes,” he said, trying to reinforce the clarification. “That.”

  Embarrassed, I shook my head and let go of the bottle. “I’m tired. I’m just going to go to bed—by myself, just to be clear. Wouldn’t want you to read into that.”

  What I’d meant to be a playful reply came out way too acerbic to not betray my true feelings.

  “Phira—”

  “It’s cool, TS. I’m just not thinking very clearly tonight—obviously.”

  “Would you rather finish our conversation that was so rudely interrupted?”

  I hesitated by the door to the stairwell, not willing to look back. “Another time, maybe.”

  Before he could reply, I swung it open and hurried up the stairs.

  I heard the familiar sound of a whiskey bottle opening before the door slammed shut.

  I lay in my bed that night thinking about how helpless I’d felt; how awful it was to be left behind to await news, good, bad, or otherwise. I never wanted to feel that way again, but I knew I would if my house arrest stood for much longer. Nico had thrown the first punch, and I doubted it would go unanswered, especially given the tenuous situation in Chicago to start with. No, I had to clear my name so I could hit the streets again and help my family solve these murders. Once the killer was dealt with, tensions would calm, if only a little, and I could focus on the silent threat lurking in the city—Gabe—and destroy him. I’d long ago given up hope that he could be saved. Putting him down was my only option at this point, but first, I had to clear my name.

  And I knew just where to start.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I stepped into Bowers’ office, shrouded in my hood-and-sunglasses disguise. But the second he glanced up from his desk, he knew who I was. He pulled his sidearm so quickly the movement was almost inhuman.

  Almost.

  “You’ve got a set of brass balls on you, girl,” he said, flipping the safety off.

  “I’m pretty sure that, by very definition, I can’t have balls because I’m a girl, but given today’s gender climate, we can argue that distinction later. For now, we have more pressing issues to discuss,” I said, stepping further into the room. “Mind if I sit?” He looked at me like I’d lost my damn mind. In fairness, I might have. “Let’s cut the shit and get right to it, Bowers. I know it was you that sent the photo of me to the cops—”

  “Photos. Plural,” he said, sitting back down behind his desk, firearm still trained on me.

  “Right. Another important distinction,” I replied dryly. “But those won’t matter soon. They’ll disappear or be buried where no one can find them.”

  His brow furrowed at that comment. “Bullshit.”

  “No bullshit,” I said. “I never bullshit about bad pictures of me going missing. Honestly…you could have at least given them one that captured my good side.” I angled my face to the light and smiled. The blast of rage that shot across his desk at me in return was impressive. Maybe angering the guy with the gun wasn’t the best approach, but he was always such a cool customer—I needed to set him off kilter so I could get answers. Shake his confidence to gain the advantage. “Anyway, I came here today to give you the chance to explain your morbid fascination with me, and more precisely, the reason you set me up with the cops. Frankly, it seems beneath you. You’re too smart to think I actually killed that girl.”

  At that, he smiled. Then he reached into his desk and pulled out a file full of photos. I hunkered down for round two of show-and-tell with the surly PI.

  “I might be tempted to believe that if it weren’t for these.” He slapped the file down on the wooden desk and pushed it over to me. I flipped it open to reveal photos of Muses and me entering Alejandro’s building the night he died; the night we killed him. Things were not looking good. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you since we first met because something about you just didn’t feel right. Imagine my surprise when I found you entering a soon-to-be-dead man’s high-rise less than an hour before he was killed and leaving right around the determined time of death.” I looked up and held his gaze as his eyes narrowed, that wave of anger filling the room again. “That, added to your connection to the missing person case I was hired for, seemed to be more than coincidence, so I stayed on you, waiting for you to make a mistake—which you did.” He reached over and pulled a picture from the bottom of the stack, then threw it down in front of me. It was a shot of me bent over the dead girl’s body in the alley, looking over my shoulder to where Jenkins stood, presumably, hidden in the doorway of the club. “I don’t know why you killed her, but I knew this city couldn’t wait for the cops to find something on you, since you seem to be a ghost from what I can tell. So I gave copies of those to an old friend at the precinct. I told him about your friend at the bar—about all the previously circumstantial evidence I’d amassed on you. He was very interested, to say the least.”

  “You must have been a shitty cop,” I said, pushing the file away, “because this is shaky at best. At worst, it’s a witch hunt. You’ve had it in for me since day one—”

  “Because you lied—”

  “Because I don’t owe you shit, Bowers.”

  “I went into the penthouse that night after you left. I bribed the front desk guard to check the cameras and tell me where you’d gone. The door was slightly ajar when I arrived. I have to say, you did a clean job. Broken necks are quick and easy…” I didn’t flinch at his words. “I called in the crime. The cops have the footage of you coming and going. Pretty careless for a pro
like you, don’t you think?”

  We hadn’t had time to clean that mess up when it all went down, and that was biting me (and the PC) in the ass. Hard.

  “Pro?” I scoffed. “What do you think I am, a fucking hitwoman?” His lack of response was answer enough. “Did you get fired from the CPD because you were suffering from delusions? Oh, no, wait—you went off the deep end after some case you fucked up, isn’t that right? Maybe it was all this creative investigating of yours that got you kicked off the force. Last time I checked, you need concrete evidence to try someone for murder.”

  “They have that.”

  “Wrong. They have a photo of me finding the dead girl, which I don’t think I’m obligated to report—not that I even had time to—and a video of me leaving my friend’s apartment. For all they know, he fell and broke his neck after we left. I’m pretty sure there’s no physical evidence that could link me to either crime.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Wrong,” I countered. “Not ever, because I didn’t kill them—Ward, either. ‘Why,’ you ask? Because I’m not a killer.”

  “Says every killer I’ve ever arrested.”

  “But I’m not under arrest, am I, Bowers?”

  The muscles of his jaw flexed as he bit down on his reply. “Not yet.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘not yets’, don’t you think?” He said nothing in response, and I let out a put-upon sigh. “Shall I prepare myself to find you hiding around every corner from here on out?”

  “I would if I were you.”

  “Even though this mission of yours is a worthless one?” He nodded again. “Okay,” I said, trying to figure out a way to call him off—for his sake. Because if I couldn’t succeed in that endeavor, I’d have to fill TS in about him and let him solve the problem on my behalf. I wasn’t sure what that would entail, but I did know one thing: TS would do whatever was necessary to keep me safe, including silencing the PI—for good. “Tell me this, Bowers: if I could convince you that things are not as they seem, would you drop this whole thing?”

  He leaned back in his seat, resting the gun in his lap. “Maybe.”