Read Edge of Sanity: An Edge Novel Online
Authors: Shannon K. Butcher
Edge of Sanity: An Edge Novel (4 page)
Clay wasn’t sure how long he sat there, letting his brain spin, trying to make sense of something where there was no sense to be had. His body settled, and the shaking eased enough that he felt like he could stand without puking or falling over.
What was waiting for him on the other side of that door was a fucked-up mess, but one he would face head-on, the way he always did. He wouldn’t let anyone stop him from setting this right and finding the people responsible.
Clay wasn’t the only one they’d hurt. Apparently, they’d hurt Leigh’s brothers, too. That put her and Clay on the same side, somehow. It didn’t mean he trusted her, but she might be the only person who had some clue of what he was going through. Doctor or not, he couldn’t push that away. Not now, when he had nowhere else to go that wouldn’t risk Mira’s life.
He splashed water on his face and left the bathroom. Leigh was sitting near the door, coffee in hand, as if waiting for him to come out.
When she saw him, she straightened in her chair. “How are you feeling?”
“Pissed. Caged. Used.”
She nodded, a flash of sadness dulling her eyes. “Garrett never tells me the truth when I ask him that. He always says he’s fine, even though I know Stho, a flash he’s not.”
“Is that your brother?”
“Yeah.”
“Did they find who fucked with his head?”
“No.”
“How does he manage? Is he hiding out in some posh vacation house, too?”
“No. He’s in prison.”
The thought of being locked up made Clay’s core temp plummet. He’d drive off a cliff before he let someone put him behind bars. “What did these fuckers make your brother do? Did he hurt someone?”
She sniffed, staring in her coffee cup while tears glistened in her eyes. After a moment, she was back in control again and the tears were gone as if they’d never been. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He was going to make her talk about it, but she didn’t seem like the kind of woman he could bully. Better to get her to drop her guard and then pull the information out, nice and gentle.
Clay pretended that he didn’t mind changing the subject. “Where’s Payton?”
“He left to start tracking down answers. He said he’d text me when he had news. We’re supposed to stay here until we hear from him.”
The clock on the kitchen wall said it was nearly dawn. “You look tired. You should get some rest.”
She lifted a dark red brow at that. “You really think I’m going to be that easy to trick? I go to sleep and you sneak out without me?”
“I wouldn’t do that,” he lied.
She went to the counter and dug in her purse. When she turned back around, a shiny pair of handcuffs was dangling from one finger. “Payton left them.”
“Kinky.”
“In your dreams. He also said you knew how to pick the lock, so if I’m going to rest, it’ll be with you and me locked up together so I’ll feel it if you try to escape.”
“So I am a prisoner. Just like your brother.”
She flinched, and Clay instantly wanted to take back the callous comment.
“My primary goal is to keep you alive. If that means I have to sleep shackled to a dangerous man I barely know, then that’s the way it is.”
Clay moved closer, closing in on her and those dangling cuffs. “You really haven’t thought this through, have you?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“All I have to do is knock you out and you’ll never know I picked the lock until I’m long gone. It wouldn’t even take much effort.”
“That’s why I’ve also hidden your car keys. And mine.”
Clay patted his jeans, realizing that Payton must have taken the keys out when he stripped him. Bastard. “I’ll walk.”
“In this weather? You’re not that stupid. We’re in the middle of nowhere. It would take you a day just to get back to civilization where you could call for a ride.”
“I can handle the cold.”
“And where would you go? How exactly are you going to start hunting down whoever did this to you?”
That gave him pause. Normally, he’d start with his phone and try to trace the call that had triggered him, but what if something he heard or saw sent him back into one of those blackouts? “I’ll ask Mira to collect all the calls and texts on my phone and see if any of them are from people I don’t know.”
“And you really think getting her involved is a good idea? Mira is sweet, and smarter than anyone I’ve ever met, but do you really want her mired in this? Do you really want to make her a possible target?”
The fact that hadn’t even crossed his mind proved just how far off his game he was. His judgment was skewed, and he wasn’t thinking straight. No way would he risk Mira. Not even if it meant it was the end of the road for him.
“I’m sorry, Clay. I know how hard this is—sitting around and waiting for someone else to do the work. But we have to trust Payton. If it weren’t for him, both of my brothers would be dead instead of only one.”
Clay wasn’t sure how far his trust would extend, but until he had a better plan of how to attack his problem, there wasn’t much sense in running into battle. Besides, Leigh looked all wilted and exhausted. She needed to rest and not toss and turn, wondering if he was going to try to sneak off.
“Fine. You have my word that I’ll stay here for the rest of the night. Go get some sleep.”
“Do I need the cuffs?”
“Not for sleeping. If you have something else in mind . . .”
She shook her head, smiling as she dropped the cuffs in her purse. “Nice try, Romeo.”
A thrill raced through him as he realized that he’d been the one to make that smile happen. It shouldn’t have mattered in the greater scheme of things. His life was a wreck; his job was at stake; he might have brought down all kinds of misery on the people he cared about. Still, that sweet, faint smile went a long way toward brightening his world.
“Get some sleep. I’ll be a good boy.”
“I’ll take the bedroom at the end of the hall. Wake me if you need me.”
Clay wouldn’t. If there was one thing he’d learned, it was how to stand on his own. As soon as he figured out how to solve this current problem, he’d be back on his own two feet, not needing anything from anyone.
* * *
Acquire, but do not kill.
Those instructions made the job much harder, but also much more expensive.
One of his men followed Moneybags out into the countryside to an isolated home tucked away on a big chunk of acreage. His man reported back that he’d seen the target inside.
It had taken several hours for Grady to reach the location, but after a thorough scouting of the area, he decided that he liked it. There was no one around to hear gunfire or screams. There was only one person inside with the target—a woman of no consequence. He could kill her and stow her body somewhere only the coyotes would find. Problem solved.
Even the security system was a joke. It hadn’t been updated in at least a year, and Grady was good with tech. It spoke to him, revealing its secrets in a way that made complete sense, unlike people.
Dawn would come soon, and with it all the inherent risks that daylight would bring. Mail delivery, newspaper service, meter readers—they all would come only with morning. Better to have the job done by then.
Grady hiked in to where his man was keepi
ng watch, and settled down to wait for all the movement inside to die down. The couple inside was up late, but that only meant they’d sleep harder when they finally crashed.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Chapter Six
L
eigh was a fool to trust Clay.
She tossed in her bed, unable to sleep for fear that when she woke, he’d be gone.
She flipped back the covers and padded to the window for the tenth time in the past hour. Both cars were still there. She hadn’t heard a door open or shut, but there was movement below on the ground. He was slinking around out there, sticking to the shadows, likely trying to figure out how to break a car window and hot-wire it without waking her.
A quick glance at the security system showed that it had been disarmed. Apparently, picking handcuff locks was not his only hobby.
Frustration scratched under her skin, and she barely held back an angry growl.
I can handle the cold.
Sure he could. He was all tough and manly. That didn’t mean he was smart enough to remember he was also human. Without any fat to insulate him, he’d get cold easily, and the thought of him out there in the dark, shivering, was enough to drive her out into the cold herself.
Leigh eyed the loaded syringe sitting on the bedside table. She could dose him again, ensuring he stayed put for at least another few hours. Then she’d be able to sleep in peace.
Of course, if she did that, he would almost certainl V to>
Leigh slipped on a robe she found hanging in the closet and tucked the syringe in the pocket, just in case. She left her room and hurried down the hall, which was open on one side—a minibalcony overlooking the living area below. Shadows of tree limbs blown about by the wind danced across the thick carpet. The moon was bright, giving her plenty of light to see.
Clay’s door was open. She could hear him snoring quietly. As she neared, she saw his bulk lying on the bed.
If he was in bed, then who had she seen outside?
A flicker of motion in the living room below caught her attention. She turned and saw a shadow of a man slide over the floor. In one of his hands was the unmistakable silhouette of a long-barreled gun.
Fear stole her breath for a series of painful heartbeats. She heard blood roar in her ears as it flooded through her, carrying adrenaline to every sparking nerve ending. The urge to scream and run stampeded over her brain.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, she was able to move enough to push Clay’s door all the way open and slip inside.
He bolted upright in his bed. Any signs that he’d been asleep were impossible to detect. His eyes were bright and alert, his movement both powerful and fluid.
One look at her face and he was on his feet, heedless of his lack of clothing. Clad only in tight boxers, he seemed to glide across the space, and took her by the arms as if fearing she’d fall over.
“There’s someone out there,” she whispered, feeling the dry stickiness of her tongue across the roof of her mouth. “He has a gun.”
The look of concern he’d been wearing changed swiftly to something darker and far more frightening. “Stay here.”
He grabbed a handgun from his nightstand and slipped silently out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
Leigh stood there in the room for a long moment, trying to make sense of what was happening. She’d known when she’d agreed to help Clay that there’d be danger, but she hadn’t known that it would come from an armed gunman.
* * *
Clay heard the quiet click of the back door’s lock opening. The alarm didn’t go off, telling him that whoever was down there knew what he was doing.
Clay hurried down the steps and pressed his body flat against the wall on the other side of the doorway into the kitchen. The slight recess didn’t hide him completely, but all the lights were off, and it was better than standing out in plain sight, providing a clear shot to whoever was out there.
The back door swung open. Clay could hear the wind howling outside and feel its chill wrap around his bare legs. A moment later, the wind quieted and the breeze stopped. The door was shut.
Eager energy flooded Clay’s bloodstream, making his veins hum with the need for a fight. His body was primed to attack. His weapon was firmly in his grip, ready to be fired.
The man’s footsteps were nearly silent as he crossed the kitchen, but Clay’s whole system was running hot, heightening all of his senses. The ache of bruises and abused bones disappeared as if he’d never been hurt. There was no pain in this space—no fear—only anticipation and the thrill of impending battle.
The man’s right foot came into view, showing the tip of a black combat boot.
Clay’s muscles coiled, preparing to strike. He was willing to kill this man if it came to that, but he much preferred finding out who he was and why he was here. Disabling him was the smarter option.
Another step, and the intruder was within reach.
Clay charged, using fast, hard aggression to his advantage. He stayed low, slamming a shoulder into the man’s stomach while pushing his weapon arm high. A rush of air came out as a gasp of pain—his reward for hitting the target.
He was acutely aware of Leigh’s presence upstairs, and how unprotected she was. The enemy’s gun was a problem. A single shot could too easily rip through the ceiling and find Leigh’s soft flesh.
Even the thought of it stole some of Clay’s stony calm, letting fear sink in along the edges where the thrill of a fight usually lived. That fear made his blood pump faster, giving him more strength. He took control of the man’s arm, pointing it well away from the bedroom where Leigh was, and keeping it there.
The muzzle of Clay’s gun was pressed against his opponent’s ribs. He could feel the inflexibility of either bone or body armor. One option would leave him in pain. The other would leave him dead. Either way, if he pulled the trigger, it was going to be a really bad day for the fuckhead.
Only the need to question him kept Clay from firing his weapon. If his enemy’s gun moved even one inch in Leigh’s direction, the decision would be made. Easily. Clay would find another way to get the information he wanted.
From the corner of his eye, he saw another man dart behind some kitchen cabinets, out of sight. A second later, the barrel of a gun appeared over the countertop, pointed right at Clay’s head.
Some shivering kind of power slid over his mind, threatening to take control. He’d felt it before in Arizona, when he’d blacked out and woken up surrounded by men he’d killed. He still didn’t remember pulling the trigger on any of them.
It’s a kind of hypnosis . . .
Mind fuck was more like it.
Clay fought the compulsion to let go and give in, growling as he angled the man in front of him to act as a human shield.
There was a loud pop—similar to the sound of a suppressed round. The man in his grasp went limp, crumpling to the floor.
The weapon peeking over the counter now ha [ounze=d only one target.
Clay stared at it and lifted his gun to fire as he dove for cover. Before he could discharge his weapon, a frantic buzzing filled his head. Something deep inside his skull snapped free, and then he felt . . . nothing. The entire world winked out.
* * *
Leigh couldn’t let Clay deal with the threat of an armed gunman alone. He wasn’t well enough to handle that kind of stress—not if he was suffering the way her brothers had. Their hold on reality had been tenuous at best. They had been distracted easily, breaking whenever the pressure of even little things became too much to bear. And this was no little thing.
There was no way Clay could do this alone.
Leigh rushed back to her room and dumped the contents of her suitcase onto the floor. The cushioned box holding her revolver tumbled out, along with her socks and underwear. Her keys were hidden under her mattress, and she shoved her hand under it, frantically searching for them.
Hard metallic edges met her fingertips. She fished the keys out and fumbled to unlock the box.
Downstairs, she heard a popping sound, kind of like a cap gun. She’d been to the range often enough to know it wasn’t loud enough to be a gunshot, but it was definitely something.
She pulled the revolver out of its foam cradle and used the speedloader to load it.
Oddly, her hands were steady, even though the rest of her felt like it was going to shake apart.
Leigh hurried downstairs, keeping an eye out for armed strangers. The sounds coming from the kitchen were horrible, guttural things. Glass shattered against the floor. Deep male grunts of pain and rage punctuated the sound of bodies slamming into cabinets.
She slowly peeked around the corner and saw Clay with his hands wrapped around the neck of another man. A third man was crumpled on the floor, completely still.
Clay’s opponent slammed his fist into Clay’s ribs hard enough to make her wince. She knew the damage that had already been done there. If any of those ribs were cracked, a punch like that could easily break them.
She lifted her gun and barked out, “Stop!”
The stranger froze. So did Clay. He turned his head to look at her, but there was something terribly wrong with him. His amber eyes were glowing with feral hatred. His lips were pulled back in a snarl, baring his teeth. His whole body vibrated with chaotic tremors.
Leigh had seen this before. She knew what this was. The man facing her now was not Clay. Not even close.
Without looking away from her, Clay twisted the neck of the man, whose hands were lifted in surrender. The sickening sound of breaking bone filled the kitchen, stabbing at her ears.
A wave of nausea choked her as she processed what had just happened. Clay had broken the man’s neck. The intruder [The
He let the man fall to the floor and stalked toward her, his eyes on her gun. There was no mistaking that twisted expression of hatred. He was going to kill her, too.
Leigh set the gun on the floor and backed away. “It’s me,” she said, her voice so faint she wasn’t sure he could hear her. “It’s Leigh. You don’t want to hurt me.”
There was no flicker of recognition. He looked blank. Empty. Just like Hollis had the night he’d broken her arm—the night he’d killed himself.
That memory surged to the surface, threatening to drive her to her knees. So much pain and loss. A life full of promise thrown away—ended in the blink of an eye. Permanent and irrevocable.
“Clay,” she said louder, trying to sound stern. “Stop right there. You know I’m not going to hurt you.”
He didn’t respond.
Leigh’s back hit something hard, blocking her path. The wall. She was trapped.
She tried to dart out of the way before he could reach her, but he was too fast. He grabbed her arm and flung her to the floor. She scurried back on her elbows. The long hem of the robe kept tripping her up, preventing her from putting any distance between them.
“Clay!” she shouted, the sound of her voice loud and frantic over the heavy thud of her heart.
Payton had been wrong. Clay
was
going to hurt her. That vacant look in his eyes was proof that the man Payton trusted was nowhere to be had. Whoever was behind the wheel now was cold, methodical, and without feeling.
He stepped on the robe, pinning her in place. Then he reached down and jerked her back to her feet by her arms, tossing her back into the front door.
“Please. Don’t do this,” she begged.
No one was going to stop him. No one was going to save her.
And then she remembered the syringe in her pocket.
She would save herself.
Clay had a painfully tight grip on her biceps and was slowly lifting her higher. The cold glass chilled her back. The wooden frame around the window scratched her skin, even through her robe and nightshirt. His grip was so hard that her fingers began to tingle from lack of blood.
If she was going to do this, it had to be fast—before she lost all feeling in her hands.
He didn’t seem to notice her reaching in her robe pocket. His gaze was fixed on her, his eyes as empty as a freshly dug grave.
Clay grabbed her face, wrapping his fingers around her jaw. He began to push up, shoving her head hard against the door frame. Pain splintered along her skull. Panic closed her throat around a scream.
She uncapped the needle and jabbed it into his armpit—the only target [ on
He didn’t even notice that she’d stabbed him. It was as if he hadn’t felt the pain at all.
His eyelids fluttered. A momentary flicker of confusion clouded his eyes, and then they slid shut.
Clay collapsed onto the floor with a heavy thud. Leigh landed on top of him, panting. Tears streamed down her face as she clumsily disentangled their limbs and hobbled away.
As much as she wanted to slump to the floor and sob with relief, she knew better than to give in to that urge. She was on her own—too far away from help to even bother calling for it. There were three men to deal with. And only one pair of handcuffs.
She left Clay where he lay and went to the closest man. He was breathing. His heartbeat was steady. A fringed dart was sticking out of the back of his neck—likely some kind of tranquilizer or poison.
