It’s all over in a few minutes, and I leave him there as a grisly warning to anyone who thinks to come after me.
Yes. I used to be a good man.
I’m not anymore.
Chapter 14
Dutch
Kian’senthusiasmiscatching.It’s the only reason I can come up with when I find myself growing excited as we take the elevator down to the garage. Jase, dressed casually for once and not in his usual suit and tie, looks handsome as hell leaning up against his car. And not just any car. Oh, no. A silver and black McLaren 570S.
I let out a whistle, carefully running a finger along the hood. “This is a beauty, Jase.”
A grin grows across his face at my compliment. “You like?”
“Pretty sure I just came.”
Kian and Jase burst into laughter. “Unfortunately, we can’t all fit, so we’ll take this one instead.” He points to the silver Porsche 911 parked next to it and helps me climb in the back. I’d prefer to ride shotgun, but I’m not cruel enough to force Kian to fold himself in half to fit back here.
We head south, and my curiosity over our destination grows. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?”
“Nope,” Kian says, turning to throw me a grin. “You’ll just have to wait. It’s a surprise.”
I tsk and roll my eyes. “Fine. Tell me about yourself then. Where did you grow up? How did you start working for the Charon Group?”
Jase takes his eyes off the road for a moment and puts his hand over Kian’s. He’s facing ahead, so I can’t see his face, but by the uncomfortable silence in the car, I realize I might have just made a mistake.
“Kian, I’m sorry, forget I asked.”
“No, it’s okay. We’re all living and working together now so you should know our stories. But if we tell you ours, you have to tell us yours.”
“Fair enough.”
“Maybe then you’ll trust me.”
“Perhaps.”
Kian snorts, then goes silent for a moment before he begins telling me his story. “I was six when my parents died. I didn’t know it at the time, but the fire was deliberately set. I don’t remember them anymore, just vague feelings and impressions. When I try to remember my mother, I think of cinnamon and vanilla, and I wonder if she liked to bake. My father is a dark shadow in my mind, his face long lost to memory, but there’s a fondness in my chest for him. I think we were happy.
“There was a puppy, I think, something small and yappy. I used to play in the backyard with it. I do remember the fire, though, some of it anyway. The heat of the flames, the thick black smoke, running, screaming for my parents.” He goes on to explain how neighbors found him outside, his pajamas smoking, his voice hoarse from smoke and screaming.
That same neighbor took him in for a couple of days while the police and social services tried to locate any extended family. It was never explained to him whether they found family and they refused to take him, or if he had no other relatives at all.
“Have you ever thought of doing one of those DNA tests?” I ask. Kian puts the visor down so he can see me in the mirror.
“I’ve thought about it once or twice. It’s not the best idea in the line of work we’re in to have DNA registered like that. Plus, a part of me doesn’t want to know. If I do have relatives who refused to take in an orphaned child, they aren’t anyone I want in my life.”
“I understand,” I reply softly.
“I remember the neighbors being nice. I wish they could have kept me. But a few days later, social services came for me, and I never saw them again.” He explains how they had put him in a group home at first with too many children and not enough adults. Then came one foster family, then another.
He’s too damaged,one foster family said as they handed his meager bag of clothing to the social worker.He keeps us up all night with his nightmares.
He scares the other children, one foster mother said tearfully.He’s so much bigger than the others, and his constant screaming at night keeps everyone awake.
“And so I passed from one home to another, rarely staying long enough to get attached before I was shuttled off again. Until I landed at the Johnson’s when I was nine.” Jase’s shoulders go tense, and Kian’s eyes in the mirror go deadly cold. My blood chills; I’ve never seen him look like this. The only Kian I’ve met so far is the happy-go-lucky one.
This one I wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley at night.
