I should be more shocked than I am, but at this point shock has lost it’s full effect. “I definitely need to talk to her.” I start for the door, but Layton calls out to me.
“Lola, wait,” he says and when I turn around, he tosses me my 9mm. “Just to make sure your protected. I feel better when you are.”
I nod then take a deep breath, stepping up the stairway to go talk to the sister I’ve never known.
Chapter 13
Layton
I can’t believe she agreed to go with me after I told her about my family wanting to kill her, that they might have had something to do with her mother’s death, and of course about the shameful business connected to the Everett’s name. But I’m not going to question it. I have bigger things to worry about, like getting Lola to somewhere safe until we can figure out why the three families want her dead. Plus, I have to keep myself dead while I do it.
As soon as she goes up to talk to Solana, I start throwing supplies in a bag. We’re going to have to live on the road for a while but are going to have to ditch the car eventually, since the Catherlson I’m sure have the plate number by now. We can drive to the next state and then maybe leave the country, if Lola has her passport.
I’m zipping up the bag when Lola comes back down the stairs, looking baffled. “She’s gone.”
I tuck my gun in the back of my jeans. “Solana?”
She nods, her 9mm still in her hand, her dark hair a scattered mess, and there’s dirt on the bottom of her pants and on her boots. “I searched around, check the car and then walked around the woods a little bit, calling out to her, but she didn’t answer.”
I pick up a hoodie from a small stack on the shelf and put it on. “I’d say I’m surprised, but honestly I’m not. It seems like something she’d do.” I could tell when I was talking to her while Lola was still out that she was going to bail soon. She’s been getting text from someone—I’m sure whoever hired her—and was getting antsy.
“But where would she go?” she asks, coming over to the shelf and grabbing a hoodie as well. “We’re out in the middle of the friggin’ woods for crying out loud.”
“She’s more than capable of taking care of herself.” I zip of the hoodie and pick up the bag. “She’s been trained to be the best at survival.”
Lola frowns at the reminder of where her sister was raised. “Well, then what are we going to do?"
“We are going to hit the road.” I extend my hand to her. “You have your passport on you?”
She nods, eyeing my hand with reluctance before taking it. “I do. It’s in the bag in the trunk.”
“Good.” I lace my fingers through hers and pull her toward the stairway.
She follows after me. “Where are we going exactly?”
“Well, we’re going to stay on the road until we get within a safe distance from Glensdale,” I tell her as we make our way up the stairs. “But then I was thinking Mexico.”
She stops at the top of the stares. “Wait. We’re leaving the country?”
“Yeah, I think it’s safest for now.” I start to walk again, but she doesn’t budge. “What’s wrong?”
She shrugs. “It just seems like a lot, you know.”
I nod, trying not to over-analyze the hesitancy in her eyes. “But you trust me, right?”
I wait for what feels like an eternity and then instead of answering me, she leans forward and kisses me, letting me know that she does.
Chapter 14
Solana
I stand in the darkness, waiting for the house to clear out before I go in. It took me over a day to walk back to Glensdale, hitching hiking when I could. By the time I arrive at The Dusky Inn, it’s nearing the next night.
I don’t feel bad for taking off without saying. Good-bye’s were never my thing and if I stuck around for much longer I would have had to either answer the person who sent me after Lola in the first place or explain to Lola that her own father sent me to kill her. And the withering heart inside me couldn’t bring myself to do it—guess it wasn’t completely dead like I’ve thought for years. Besides, if I told her, then she’d want to know why and I don’t know that, other than there are four mafia families all connect to that damn warehouse where I was raised, who want Lolita dead, just like they wanted her mother dead. Larenze never explained that to—and he wouldn’t—just like I never explained to him that I will never, ever kill for him. He thinks that some training and brainwash will make it easy for me to forget that he was the one who sent me to live at that place...
I shudder on the inside, go cold, as I see images… of what was done to me… things I’ll never forget, but can’t allow myself to remember.
So I leave and focus on my plan, which has just had a slight change to it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Nyjah since Lola told me about the lovely little tattoo we share. Although, it’s more like a brand than anything. A brand of what we are.
After the last woman walks out of the place, I decide it’s time to enter. There’s only one light on in the entire place, coming from the lower office where I know Nyjah is drinking a glass of scotch, something I learned while scoping out Lola. He does it every night, then smokes a cigarette, staring off into empty space. I’d wonder what he was thinking about and now I think I know.
“We’re closed,” he says when my boots make the floor creak. He glances over at me, squinting to see me in the shadows. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt, torn jeans, boots. His hair is short, eyes crystal blue, and I can see on his neck the tattoo we share. “Whoever the fuck you are, leave. I’m done dealing with people for the day.”
I smile to myself. Whenever he talked to Lola, he was nice, caring. This is the side he covers up, the side connected to his past, which I’m really fucking curious to find out how he escaped. “Nyjah Peirton. Although, I’m guessing that’s not your real name. In fact, if I had to guess, I’m betting that you don’t even know your real last name, nor is Reagan your real father.”
His expression suddenly shifts from worry to coldness as he rises from his chair. He opens his desk drawer and takes out his pistol. “I won’t go down without a fight. You should know that.”
Smiling to myself, I unzip my leather jacket, revealing my neck, then step from the shadows, keeping my weapons in place. “And you should know that if I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.” I dismiss his gun as I wander around his office, studying it, but there’s not much to it, just a bar, some filing cabinets, and a door that goes to a dressing room. I turn to him. “Relax. I’m not here to kill you.”
His gaze darts to the tattoo on my neck immediately then he starts to wind around his desk toward me, the pistol still in his hand, but not aimed at me yet. “Who sent you?”
“No one.”
“Then how did you find me?”
I plop down in one of chairs and cross my legs. “A simple accident, but you should consider yourself lucky I did.”
He presses his lips together, undecided whether he should just kill me or not. After a moment, I guess he decides to at least wait because he sets the gun on the desk then sits on the edge of it himself. “And why would it be lucky that another one of the Sangue Assassins has graced their presents in the life I created to escape that life.”
“Because you know as well as I do that you never really escaped,” I say, thrumming my fingers on top of my knee. “That you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. In fact, I’m betting that the only way you haven’t been discovered yet is because that Reagan guy who you pretend is your father has you doing his dirty work for his business.”
He frowns, his muscles stiffening. “It’s better than the alternative. At least this way, I don’t have to kill all the time.”
“True. But I’m giving you another alternative. One where you will never have to kill again after we’re done. That is if you don’t want to.” I lean back in the chair. “I never know which, Sangue’s need to kill and which one’s just do it because they have to.” I scan him o
ver. “Although, you look like the kind who just do it because you have to.”
He eyes darken. “And which one are you?”
I smile to hide what I really am inside. “Now why would I tell you that? We barely know each other.”
He continues to gaze at me, attempting to see through my shield. But it’s made of metal and locked with a thousand invisible locks. No one has been able to get through that shield and that’s the way I built it. Tough as nails. Empty inside. Blank. Detached. Untouchable. It’s how I survived all those years of torture and training and I will never ever let anyone get through that shield. Can’t.
Nyjah takes a sip of his scotch and then sets it down o the desk. “What are you proposing?”
I lean forward in the chair, resting my arms on my knees. “I’m proposing we take the warehouse down.”
His eyes widen as he lets out a sharp laugh. “Are you fucking crazy? That’s impossible.” He shakes his head repeatedly then gets to his feet. “Do you know what kind of power that would take?” He looks around the room. “And I’m guessing by your solo visit, you have no one.”
“I have some,” I say, but it’s a lie. The only other person who knows what I want to do is Benton, Layton’s brother, but that’s because I let it slip. A first for me, but Benton has this way of making me talk about things when I don’t want to. Honestly, Nyjah is the first Sangue that I’ve crossed path’s with that hasn’t been on some sort of assassin mission. Most of them are cold, unable to live in the real world, unable to communicate on a normal level.
Nyjah takes another sip of his drink, this time finishing it off. “You’re crazy.”
“I never claimed to be sane,” I say, getting to my feet. It’s time to go. Staying in the same place for too long is never good and I’m getting the vibe that Nyjah isn’t going to be on board. “But it’s clear that you are.” I start for the door. “I have a nice life, Nyjah.”
I make it to the doorway before he calls out, “Wait.”
I pause then turn around. He stands up from the desk and walks over to me. “If I agree to help you, I’m going to need to hear a plan. None of this going in blind shit that the Sangue’s are known for.”
“Oh, I have a plan,” I tell him. “But it’s going to take some time.”
“And what’s that?”
“Eliminating the people who control it.”
He considers what I said. “This is crazy,” he says to himself. “I came here to get out of this shit… to let everything go.”
“But have you?”
He shakes his head, his expression flashing with anger for the briefest second, probably as he remembers things he’s been fighting to forget. “No and I never will.”
“But you can help others never have to go through it,” I say, burying my own memories, the cries, the screams, the pain. “Are you with me or not?”
He wavers then nods. “Okay, I’m in. But just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for someone else.” The pain in his eyes lets me know it was someone close to him, someone who probably died during the training or took their own life, something that happened often.
“And that’s alright with me.” Because in the end all that really matters is that that damn warehouse burns to the ground and no one else has to suffer.