Driven by Fire (Fire 2)

“Blood is first and you murder your son,” Jenny said in a shaky voice. “You bastard! You’re even more of a monster than I thought you were.”

“Get her out of here, or I swear I’ll come after her,” Fabrizio said.

“You won’t touch her,” Ryder said in a quiet voice, scooping her up in his arms. “Because I can get to you, no matter how big an army you have, no matter how many people you pay off. You’ll leave her alone.”

“Fine. From this day forward I have no daughter.”

From somewhere deep inside Jenny found her voice. “You never did,” she said.

And Ryder carried her from the house, leaving the carnage behind.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jenny was scarcely aware of Ryder as he carried her out into the overcast day. He tucked her into the front seat of the car, fastening the seat belt for her, and within moments they were speeding down the driveway, out onto the road. She leaned back against the seat, closing her dry, scratchy eyes.

She couldn’t cry. She’d lost her baby brother, the last person she’d considered to be her family, lost him more thoroughly than she’d lost her other brothers. No one else in her family had considered her worth bothering about, but at least they hadn’t tried to kill her. She could see her father’s cold, angry face, the gun still in his hand. She really had been raised by wolves, and that madness, that bad blood, ran in her veins as well.

She was in shock. She knew it, welcomed it. She didn’t want to feel the dark cloud of pain that hovered, threatening to smother her. She didn’t want to think, to feel, to care.

The car pulled out onto the interstate, and she opened her eyes. Ryder was driving fast, way too fast, weaving in and out of traffic, and normally she’d be grabbing the door handle and screaming at him to slow down. It didn’t matter. If they ended up in a pile of twisted metal it would make no difference.

She turned to look at him. His face was set, his eyes cold and wintry. He glanced at her, taking his eyes from the road for a moment, and she considered shrieking in protest. She couldn’t say a word.

“I should tell you I’m sorry.” His voice was low, unexpected. “But I’m not. If your father hadn’t killed that son of a bitch then I would have. You know that, don’t you?”

She pictured her brother’s body lying on the marble floor, the blood pooling beneath him, and she felt nothing. “Yes,” she said dully, surprised that her voice worked.

“Whoever your baby brother was, he died a long time ago. That piece of shit would have killed you.” There was banked fury in his voice, enough to catch her attention.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, knowing she sounded as defeated as she felt. “He was the last member of my family I cared about, trusted. Now there’s no one.”

“There’s me.”

She barely heard the words. She jerked her head back to him, some of the fog beginning to lift. “What did you say?”

He didn’t answer her question. “Look at it this way—you had a rough start in life. You’re a changeling, born into the wrong family. That family is gone now, and you can shut the door on them.”

“You think it’s that easy? That I don’t need to mourn my brother?” she said, her raw voice stronger.

“Of course you do. You need to cry and scream and hit things. You can even hit me if it helps. But you can’t change the fact that he’s dead and the world is a better place for it.”

She wanted to hit him, hit him for the awful truth she couldn’t refute. Billy had been a monster in sheep’s clothing, and she’d been too blinded by her need for family to look past his smooth exterior.

“You’re driving too fast for me to hit you,” she said in a low voice.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He sped up, and it was beginning to scare her, just a little bit.

“Slow down!”

“Make me,” he shot back. He was going over ninety now, and the roads were crowded with commuters and tourists heading back into the city. He dodged into the right lane, passed someone and then crossed three lanes of speeding traffic into the fast lane, and Jenny wanted to scream.

“Slow down!” she yelled at him, no longer apathetic.

“Why?” he shouted back, the noise of the traffic all around them.

“Because I don’t want to die.”

He immediately slowed down, and she could sense some of the tension leaving him. Which was fine—she was already tense enough for the both of them. “Good,” he said. He moved the car over to one of the middle lanes, driving at a comparatively sedate pace. “So where do you want to go?”