Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

Michael’s gaze fell, and his voice was subdued. “Because he’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be.”

I nodded. Damon’s ego was a hundred times the size of a ship. He wouldn’t hide from us. Not unless he had a good reason not to be found.

“What if the passport we tracked to Russia last year was a cover?” I asked them, not expecting an answer. “What if he’s closer than we thought?” And then I approached Michael, dropping my voice to a whisper. “What if he never left?”

Michael’s hazel eyes narrowed again, and his jaw flexed as the wheels in his head started turning. After all this time and all the failed efforts to locate Damon, it finally hit me. He was deliberately staying under the radar. And it wasn’t out of guilt or shame for what he’d done. He was hiding, because he was right under our noses. I’d bet my life on it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Will chimed in, and I saw him rise out of the corner of my eye. “There’s no fucking way! He couldn’t have been here a whole year and we not know it. And if he is, what the hell’s he waiting for?”

I turned my head toward him. “Devil’s Night.” And then I looked back at Michael. “We need to go. Now.”

It took less than an hour to get to Thunder Bay, our coastal hometown where we’d all grown up. Rika was still in class, a junior at Trinity College in Meridian City, so Michael shot her a text, letting her know we’d be back in a few hours. I’m sure she would’ve liked making the short commute home to see her mother, but Michael didn’t even give her the option. Probably because he had no intention of ever bringing her anywhere near Damon’s home or his father.

And as much as I talked a good talk in the steam room earlier, I couldn’t say I blamed him. Gabriel Torrance was a piece of shit.

We sat in a parking space off to the side of his circular driveway, idling in Michael’s new SUV.

“Let me go,” I said, sitting up in the passenger seat, staring at the stone mansion. “I want to talk to him alone.”

“We’ll all go,” Will spoke up from the back seat.

“No.” I turned my head toward him, narrowing my eyes. “You stay here.”

I turned forward again, briefly meeting Michael’s eyes. Will had been misbehaving like it was his fucking job ever since Damon left, and I wasn’t sure it was the best idea to bring him here, let alone subject him to this house. For all I knew, Damon co

uld be hiding out somewhere inside.

Clearing my throat, I pushed the door open and hopped out of the car, looking back through the open windows as I shut the door. “Tell my mother I died well,” I said sarcastically to both of them and then shot a look to Will. “No, actually, you tell her. Michael’s not allowed around my mom anymore.”

I turned away, hearing Michael’s chuckle behind me. None of that shit better be true, either.

Heading up to the front door, I briefly glanced up to the tower built into the front house. The Torrance home was a chateau-style structure of light stone, but there were three watchtowers giving it a castle-like quality. One of the towers adjoined Damon’s bedroom where a spiral staircase across from his bed led up to a small alcove at the top with a single, small window. I’d only been up in his room once, and he didn’t let me stay long. That was one place where he coveted his privacy.

I reached out to press the doorbell, but the door suddenly opened, and I dropped my hand.

“Mr. Mori,” Hanson, a blond man in a plain, black suit greeted me. “Please, come in.”

I hesitated only a moment before stepping forward. Since we had to announce ourselves at the gate, they knew I was coming, but I felt a knot tighten in my stomach anyway at the quick response. A few more moments of delay at having to deal with Gabriel would’ve been appreciated.

He closed the door, and without a word, I followed him through the house. Damon’s father could almost always be found at home. It’s where he was safest.

Although he put up the front of dealing in media, investing in networks, news, and entertainment, I knew that was merely a drop in the ocean of how he made his money. Men of honest means didn’t change their Russian surnames to English ones to hide their past. And only men of dirty deeds employed a team of muscle to protect them around the clock.

The servant led me through the vast house and out to the terrace where the entire area was paved in a mosaic of gray stone with sporadic rows of Italian Cypresses. Several people loitered around, many young women dressed chicly and holding glasses of champagne. It didn’t seem to matter that it was barely noon.

A buffet of food sat to my right, while a table full of well-dressed men talked and laughed nearby. Gabriel, dressed in black slacks and a black shirt, stood over a rottweiler, grasping its collar.

I stopped, watching him. He rotated his fist into the back of the dog’s head, the lion-headed, gold ring on his middle finger digging into its skull. The dog whined, inching down but still tried to keep its legs under it. The fight was still there.

I locked my jaw and raised a hard look to Gabriel. Son of a bitch. A sickening smile curled his thin lips as he pushed farther down and twisted the chain around the dog’s neck, choking it.

I took a step but stopped, seeing the two huskies, the beagle with bloody gashes in its side, and the pit bull whose ribs I could see through its skin.

Given all my resentment of Damon Torrance—how he’d tried to kill me last year, how he betrayed Will and Michael, and how he’d tried to hurt Rika—I’d never failed to remember what a true monster looked like.

The dog finally broke and fell to its stomach, shaking as it laid down.

Gabriel grabbed a small chunk of meat from the plate on the garden table and tossed it down to the dog. He then stood up straight and grabbed some more meat, tossing the larger chunks to the trained shepherd and huskie standing behind him as the other dogs looked on hungrily.