Race the Darkness (22 page)

Holy Christ. Her level of desperate-to-not-be-alone surprised him. It wasn't like he saw her every day or even every week.

“She's wrong for you. She's all simpering and fake nice. You'll get bored with her.”

He turned into her trendy apartment complex and parked outside her door.

“I bet she can't give you what I can.” She put her hand on his crotch and squeezed his dick, and damn if his balls didn't shrivel away from her, hiding themselves somewhere behind his liver.

He grabbed her wrist, tore her grip from him, and shoved her away. “Don't.”

The silence growing inside the truck and in Camille's mind seemed lethal.

He'd said what needed to be said, and now he needed to get back to Isleen. Camille didn't look back at him, just opened her door, and stepped out of his truck. He reversed out of the space and sped for home, his mind locked on Isleen. Always Isleen. She was his guiding star, his reason for living.

He'd lived his entire life on the same property, been up and down the steep, curving driveway so many times he could probably navigate it with his eyes closed. But tonight everything seemed off in some indiscernible way.

In the periphery of his truck's headlights, the trees speared the sides of the lane, their sharp vertical trunks like raised pikes supporting the shrouded sky. Branches arched over the drive, hulking monsters ready to crush and smash. He heard his own damned heart pick up a faster pace. Tonight, nature felt oppressive and unfriendly.

He jammed his foot on the gas, going faster than what was safe on the gravel.

The worm of warning in his gut grew to the size of an anaconda. He shouldn't have left Isleen. Call him possessive, controlling, jealous—whatever—he'd own it. But that didn't change the bone-deep certainty that he wasn't going to feel normal until he was with her again.

His vehicle tore out of the woods, revealing the clearing the main house resided in. Kent's oh-no-I'm-not-compensating-for-anything huge truck was parked in front of the arched entryway. Inside the house, lights were on, but the outside remained dark. Exterior lighting in summer attracted every insect in a ten-mile radius.

Why wasn't Kent waiting at Xander's cabin? The asshole was supposed to be guarding Isleen, and she hadn't wanted to come to the main house. Had something happened?

He stomped on the brakes, and the ABS stuttered and jerked. The tires lost traction on the gravel and went into a long skid. He rammed the truck into park and was out the door before the vehicle stopped moving. Fuck his transmission. The only thing that mattered was Isleen.

He full-on sprinted for the house, his boots crunching through the crushed rocks, overwhelming all other sounds. He rounded Kent's truck and saw her.

She stood on the top porch step, Hopkins right beside her, his hand resting on his service weapon as if Xander were a potential threat. Another BCI guy stepped out of the shadows. At least they took their job of protecting her seriously.

“Why aren't you at home? What's wrong?”

She came down the porch steps, heading for him, and he met her halfway, wrapping her in his arms. All the pressure, all the worry evaporated. He held her against him. Yeah, he might be a foot taller, twice as broad, and have close to hundred pounds on her, but when she put those arms of hers around his waist, he fucking felt safe and a little bit invincible.

She hadn't answered his questions.

He pulled back to see her face. “Did something happen?” Starlight colored her features in shades of slate and silver. Her eyes were wide, unblinking—she looked worried—and he'd do anything to get that emotion off her face.

“Nothing happened.”

He heard the quivering undertone. He heard the change in her heart rate, and the way she stopped breathing, holding her breath to see if he bought the lie she was trying to sell.

Tension fisted between his shoulder blades. “I can hear the lie in your voice. Now I want to hear the truth. What happened?”

Her gaze darted between his forehead and his mouth, never meeting his eyes, but she didn't step away from him. She kept her hands on his sides, her fingers twisting in his shirt.

He glanced up at Hopkins. The guy practically sprinted to the far end of the porch. Either he didn't want to get involved or Xander's Frankenstein face scared him.

Kent walked out of the house carrying a feminine tote bag. The same style of bag as the one Row had brought to Xander's cabin with some of Isleen's clothes. He wanted to chalk it up to Kent getting in touch with his girly side, but Xander wasn't stupid. He knew how to add.

Kent + Isleen's tote bag = Isleen was leaving with Kent.

Every muscle went taut, bracing for the final blow to his heart. Xander forced his arms away from her, forced them to hang at his sides.

Roweena followed Kent, her jaw thrust out, her arms crossed over her chest. Xander knew that look. He'd been the recipient of it daily during his teen years. Row was pissed and aiming her anger at someone other than Xander.

“Row, what's going on?” He flipped on the switch to hear Row's thoughts. Out of habit he flinched waiting for the pain, but it never came. And neither did Row's thoughts. She said what she was thinking.

“I don't care what excuse she gives, she shouldn't leave you. It's not right.”

He aimed his next words at Isleen. “Tell me what she's talking about.” He spoke deliberately, making sure his tone was even. She still wouldn't look him in the eye, but she still held on to him. If she was leaving, why wasn't she letting go?

If you let her go, it'll be the biggest mistake of your life.
Row directed her thoughts to him, knowing he'd hear her.

Kent's thoughts overlapped the end of Row's.
Yeah, asshole. She's leaving you. Wants to spend the night with me. Not you.

The air punched out of Xander's lungs.

Row's and Kent's terrible thoughts bombarded him, echoing over and over inside the cavern of his skull.

If you let her go…

Wants to spend the night with me.

If you let her go…

Wants to spend the night with me.

“Xander?” Isleen stood directly in front of him, no more than a foot away, but her voice seemed faint as if it had traveled a great distance.

“You want to leave me for him? I'm not going to beg you to stay.” His voice came out rough-hewn and primitive, and anyone really listening would hear his own lie. It made him a motherfucking pussy, but he would beg her to stay. Anything to keep her with him. “And in case you were wondering—I don't share.” That at least was the truth.

Isleen grabbed his waist tighter. “Xander, stop it. It's nothing like that.” Her mouth puckered up like she'd eaten something sour. “I just need to go with him for the interview. There are so many questions I need to answer—about what happened at the trailer. About my dream of Gran…”

“I don't believe you.” Oh, he wanted to, but he could still hear that little shiver, smaller now, but still there.

“I can't wait. I want to get it done. Now. Get it all out. I want to find the person responsible for Gran's death. I won't relax until he's caught.”

Keep pressing it, asshole. You'll see she doesn't want you around.
Kent's thoughts were begging to meet Xander's fist.

“What's really going on?” He looked back and forth between her and Kent, who still held that girlie tote in his hand. “And why do you need an overnight bag if you're just being interviewed?”

She seemed to try for a reassuring smile, but missed the mark. “I thought if I got tired, I could lie down for a bit.”

“There's some truth there, but you're still lying about something.”

No one said a word. Nature sounds filled the void, and for a moment Xander wished he could go back to that night on his porch when he got that brain itch—and fucking ignore it. Save himself the pain and suffering Isleen was about to cause him when she ripped open his chest, cut out his heart, and stomped on it.

“You want truth? Here's some truth. I'll be back in the morning. I promise. Nothing is going to happen between me and Kent. We are just friends. He is going to interview me. I have a pair of pants and a sweater in the bag in case I get cold. If I get tired, I might take a nap. But I want to do this now. Right now. Not later. Not tomorrow morning. Now.”

She was telling the truth, but something wasn't right.

Ask to come along. Ask to wait on her during the interviews. Ask her.

Xander recognized Kent's thoughts for what they were. A trap. Designed to maim Xander in the deepest way, but it was a snare he couldn't resist. “Okay. I'll drive you. I'll wait for you until you're done.” A fist of dread closed around his windpipe.

“It could be all night. You stay here. I'll call you when I'm done.”

Fucking goddamn. She was lying again. He had to be sure. “I don't mind waiting.”

“You should stay here. It'll just be boring, and they probably won't let you…”

See, asshole? She doesn't want you around. She wants to be with me tonight. Not you.

“You don't want me around.” The words came out in blocks of concrete certainty.

Through the entire conversation she still clung to his shirt. “I'll be back in the morning. After I've done the interviews and—”

After I've spent the night with her.

Kent's words hit Xander's anger ignition switch. “Dude, you better fucking walk away right now before my shit gets too hot.”

“I have a right to be here. She asked for my
help
.” The way the guy accented
help
made it sound like he was saving Isleen from Xander. “Asked me. Wants to get away from here. From you.”

“Kent! That is not what I said. Or meant.”

A jolt of energy Xander couldn't deny or control—and didn't want to—landed directly in his shoulder. He grabbed Isleen's wrists, pulled them off his shirt, then took two steps away from her—all the time he needed to funnel the anger into his fist. He swung at Kent.

Fights in real life weren't like in the movies where everything was perfectly choreographed. In real life, there were misses and failed maneuvers because fury, not intellect, drove the body.

Kent flinched at the last second. Xander's knuckles didn't connect with bone; they just scraped Kent's face hard enough to burn them both.

Before Kent could recover and react, Xander mashed his other fist into Kent's gut. Surprise was going to determine who won this battle, but Kent didn't go down from the gut punch. Must've been prepared for it. He and Kent were too similar. They'd grown up fighting. Taught each other how to brawl through the experience.

Kent launched himself at Xander, tackling him low in the waist and driving them both back. Xander's boots couldn't keep up with the momentum and went airborne. He landed ass first, spine, then shoulders on sharp shards of gravel. Might as well have been a bed of nails. Kent used Xander as a landing pad, driving each gravel spike a bit deeper into his flesh. He ground his teeth to keep from groaning.

Street Fighting Fact 1: Keep standing. Don't go down.

Street Fighting Fact 2: If you go down, be on top.

Street Fighting Fact 3: If you are on the bottom, you are fighting two people—gravity and the asshole on top of you. Yeah. And Xander was underneath two hundred pounds of Kent's temper.

Everyone started shouting. He could pick out each of their voices—Isleen, Roweena, Hopkins, the other BCI guy—

Kent's fist caught him in the jaw. The sharp crack of flesh against flesh was something he heard both externally and internally. Acrid warmth filled his mouth. It was low—he knew it and didn't care—but he spit the blood and saliva in Kent's face. The guy startled, giving Xander an opening. He bucked, knocking Kent off balance, and then flipped the guy over, landing on top.

Kent knew the rules. He wrestled Xander for top. Top being more important than landing any blows. They went into an alligator roll. The world flipped over on itself again and again as they battled for primary position. Xander lost all sense of direction, of up and down, top and bottom.

The spinning stopped. Kent crushed Xander's skull between his hands and slammed his head back. Twinkling stars of pain burst in his vision. Guess he was on bottom. He punched the guy in the ribs. Heard a satisfying grunt.

Isleen shouted, but Xander's brain wasn't working fast enough to understand her words. His gaze found her. The BCI guy—the one Xander didn't know—held her from behind, arms around her, pinning her hands to her sides. She fought his grip, throwing her head back to butt him, but he was too tall and she hit his chest.

Part of Xander understood why the guy was holding her. He was trying to keep her away from the two grown-ass men going at it with their fists.

Pain exploded in his cheek. Spit and blood slung from his mouth. Kent had used Xander's distraction to get in another shot.

The other part of Xander—the Bastard in His Brain—didn't understand logic. All he saw was someone holding Isleen against her will. She'd been there, done that, and he'd be damned if he'd let anyone ever hurt her again.

Xander's world went white, Bastard in His Brain officially in control. The only color that existed was Isleen. Quick—one, two—he landed a double punch to Kent's ribs, then threw him off as if he weighed no more than a toddler. Xander was off the ground and in front of Isleen before any of them had a chance to react. He popped his fist into the BCI guy's nose and snatched Isleen to his chest, so the guy wouldn't take her down with him.

And he did go down. Fell straight back. Unconscious.

“Don't fucking touch her.” He spat the words at the world, blood dripping from the side of his mouth and over his jaw, then sliding down his neck. Everything had gone still and silent.

“Xander…” Isleen reached up to him, sticking her hand in the mess on his face. He flinched away from her, but the moment she touched him, everything changed. The Bastard in His Brain receded, taking all Xander's tension and anger with him. The hundred points of pain in his body eased and vanished. A cooling tingle spread through him. Was this what she felt when he took her pain away? Was this her healing him?

“You feel this?” he whispered, his gaze locked on her. “This is why you can't leave. We are special together.”

Her chin quivered, and water glistened in her eyes. “I had a nightmare. You died.” She choked on the words. “I'm given these dreams in order to save lives. To stop these bad things from happening. It's my duty. So I
will
stop this dream from happening, but the only way is to find the guy who killed Gran. And use what I saw in the dream to stay away from any situation that may re-create what happened. So I can't be around you at night. I have to leave.” Truth resonated in each of her words.