Warrior Betrayed: The Sons of the Zodiac 3 (17 page)

“You fought Destroyers, right?”

“We sure did.” Quinn’s victorious smile was broad and infectious. In fact, as she gave him an answering smile in return, she had to acknowledge she’d never seen him so carefree.

So joyful.

“We fought and destroyed eighteen of them, to be precise,” Drake offered up.

“Our girls can kick some ass,” Kane added, giving Ilsa another squeeze.

Montana took her stool and stared into her half-drunk mug of tea. “Where did they all come from? And why were they after me?”

The easy camaraderie and boisterous comments faded in the face of her question.

“You know…,” Brody started, then faded off.

Montana didn’t miss the pointed stare he shot Quinn, or the fact that the Taurus took the seat next to her, placing his hand over hers again. Although she felt comforted, it couldn’t fully erase the creeping knot of worry that quickly reasserted itself in her stomach. “We’re trying to figure that out.”

“No. Really. What would this Enyo person want with me?” At the questions that filled Quinn’s dark gaze, she added, “Callie told me all about her.”

Montana saw the speculative look rise in Quinn’s eyes and she cut it off. The steady fire that had simmered under her nerves for the past hour leaped to life. She wouldn’t sit back and be talked about.

Damn it all, she would
not
. They might have left her behind, but she was an active participant in what was happening, whether she liked it or not. They’d damn well start giving her that baseline of respect.

Waving a hand in Callie’s direction, Montana didn’t give Quinn a chance to say anything. “And before you go shooting Callie dirty looks, you can just stop it right now. I have a right to know what’s happening to me. You all went out and fought on my behalf and left me here to sit and wonder if you would all be okay. If you’d even survive. I have a right to know.”

“She’s got a point, Quinn.” Drake offered, taking a seat on the opposite side of the butcher block. Callie had already laid out a huge platter from the fridge and Drake had a piece of friend chicken in his hand. “We need to tell her what we know.”

“We know fucking little. Still,” Quinn growled. Even as she wanted to snap back at him in anger, Montana had spent enough time with the stubborn man to know that the lack of information frustrated him.

And in that frustration came the anger.

Calming her tone, Montana reached for her mug and took a fortifying sip, willing the warm brew to soothe the increasing tension that refused to settle. “So tell me what you
do
know and we’ll take it from there.”

The rest of the Warriors took seats at the large, square counter as Callie bustled around grabbing various drinks—clearly favorites—for each of them. Brody had already snagged another large platter of fried chicken from the fridge so that each end of the table had a platter. Grey was the only one who made his apologies and then disappeared to his nightclub.

Once everyone was settled, Montana began her line of questions. Funny, the lot of them sitting around the table reminded her far too much of her weekly staff meetings.

Which immediately made her think of Jackson. A distracted glance at her BlackBerry still showed no message.

Where was he?

Laying the device down once again, Montana took a deep breath and applied her best work tone and manner to the discussion.

“You killed off a horde of Destroyers this evening. I can only assume, by the vague descriptions you’ve provided of them, these are also the same creatures who’ve gone after me four times now.”

“Yes. Although, we still don’t know if that was a Destroyer in the park earlier today. It could have been something else,” Quinn added. “But yes. If we count the park and twice last night—at the benefit and then afterward—and then this evening outside the car, it’s four times.”

“And you think Enyo’s behind it.” Montana shot a glance toward Callie. “She’s the goddess of war, right?”

Callie nodded as the assembled table offered up a varied set of “yeses.”

“Although…” Ilsa’s unfinished statement hung over the middle of the table, like a thunderstorm ready to produce rain.

“What, babe?” Kane reached over and rubbed her back, the motion so simple—so easy—Montana felt a nasty swipe of envy strike at the very center of her stomach.

What must it be like to be that in tune with someone?

That
comfortable
.

Before she could dwell on it any further, Ilsa continued her point. “Six months ago. The night I found you.” Kane nodded. “I was attacked by Destroyers. We never did figure out why.”

“I’ve fought off more than a few in random attacks over the last several months,” Drake added. “One went after Emerson a few weeks back, too.”

Montana saw the quick gazes of the women at the mention of Emerson’s name, whoever that was, but the moment faded as quickly as it arrived.

Hmmmm…clearly there was a story there. Or some really good gossip.

“How’d she know it was a Destroyer?” Quinn questioned. “And why are they randomly going after mortals?”

Drake shook his head as he stared into a now-empty glass of scotch. “The electricity. She knew enough from what we’ve told her to put two and two together and got herself over here before the asshole could do any damage.”

“Yeah. I bet that’s the only reason she showed up.” Brody added before Ava slammed an elbow into his gut.

Oh yeah, Montana thought,
definitely
something going on there.

Quinn drained the last of his scotch and, in a move that mirrored Drake’s, he stared into the bottom of the glass before glancing at each person surrounding the table. “Look. We can sit and wonder about this all day. It doesn’t change the fact that a horde of Destroyers methodically attacked Montana’s limo and then another group added to their numbers and attempted a surprise attack on Ilsa, Ava and me. The shit-storm of the century’s going on and we need to figure out what the hell it is and why Queen Bitch has her nasty paws all over it.”

“Is it possible she’s helping someone?”

Seven pairs of eyes turned to look at her in unison.

“I’m serious. That’s an awfully large distraction. Is it possible she’s taking your attention away from the main event?”

“Like what?”

Montana wasn’t sure what brought it on, but in that moment, a series of thoughts clicked into place with frightening clarity.

The random nature of the attacks showed no rhyme or reason.

The Warriors protecting her were just distracted for several hours, on top of a completely nonexistent threat at the evening’s event.

And she had no BlackBerry message telling her good night.

“My house. Oh my God. They’re at my house.”

“Hold on to my arm and don’t let go.” Montana reached for Quinn’s outstretched arm. Five minutes of arguing that she needed to stay behind didn’t change her mind, so here they were.

Wasting precious time.

What he did make her stay back for was the quick ports in and out of her apartment, ensuring the other Warriors ended up in the right place. A muttered explanation of a needed visual barely held her back from grabbing on to his arm, but ultimately she acquiesced.

Montana knew every second counted and these men could do a hell of a lot of damage if necessary.

“Come on, darling. Hang on.”

That heavy sense of gravity, like all of her weight was centered in her feet and then she was flying. The sensation would have been dizzying if it had lasted longer, but in no more than a heartbeat, she and Quinn stood in the front hallway of her apartment.

Without even seeing the carnage, she knew her home had been violated.

“Where is it?”

Montana appreciated Quinn didn’t play dumb or try to hide what she was about to see. “Most of it is in your office. Come on.”

“But my office was locked.”

“Locked to a mortal, maybe. But immortals have a way.”

“But you said you needed a visual to port.”

Why she could even say that—why that simple point stuck out in her mind—was a mystery. But Quinn stopped and turned toward her. “Yes. You’re right. Who’s been in your office?”

“Just the staff. Jackson.” A harsh sob choked her throat. “It’s Jackson, isn’t it?”

Quinn nodded, his jaw hard as granite, his eyes dark, fathomless pools of black. “You don’t have to see this, darling. The guys have secured the place.”

“I have to.”

Quinn stopped her, his hand on her forearm to hold her still. “What if I don’t want you to?”

The dark pools of his eyes changed in that moment. Softened as he looked down on her with so much compassion it made her ache.

But she needed to see what was in the other room.

Needed to know.

Reaching up, Montana twined her arms around his neck and laid her cheek against his chest. The heavy, steady thud of his heart reassured and comforted her.

The solid tempo of his pulse—quiet strength in the face of what she was to endure—offered the serenity she desperately needed to go on.

Fortified emotionally, she pulled back to look up at him. “I have to do this. He’s one of mine. Can you understand that?”

“Yes.”

Quinn reached down and pressed his lips to hers. It was a silent offering, simple and somehow pure, in the midst of a whirling storm of evil and madness.

When he lifted his lips from hers, his gaze stayed steadfast on her. “Are you ready?”

She nodded and linked her fingers with his.

As they walked down the hallway toward her office, the only home she’d ever known suddenly looked horrifyingly foreign.

Separate. Cold. And she knew she’d never live here again.

As Quinn held her hand, they approached the door to her office. The heavy door was open, the light from the hallway spilling into the room. She saw Quinn’s brothers first, where they moved about the room, looking for God knew what in the sheer disaster that covered the floor.

As Montana stepped across the threshold, she saw where they’d laid Jackson on the couch, his body battered and nearly bruised beyond recognition. The men had wrapped a blanket around his body like a shroud and Montana could only imagine the damage underneath.

Montana ran to him, dropping to her knees next to the couch. Everything from smashed wood chips from the destroyed bookcases to randomly strewn papers crunched under her knees, but Montana paid them no mind.

Gently laying her hands over Jackson’s where they folded under the blanket, she leaned forward and wept.

“Quinn. You need to see this,” Brody whispered in his ear.

Quinn glanced briefly at Brody before shifting all his focus back on Montana. He didn’t know how to help her cope as she lay with her head pillowed on her friend.

Brody kept his voice low, but the insistence wasn’t lost on Quinn. “I need you to see this and we can’t do it with her here.”

Reluctant to leave her, but even more reluctant to cause her any further pain if he could avoid it, Quinn followed Brody to a small room next to the office.

“What is it?”

“The guy was smart enough to turn on video.”

“The attacker?”

“No. Jackson. He didn’t get much, but what he got tells one helluva a story.”

Quinn followed Brody to a security system that could rival NASA and sat down in front of the various sets of equipment. The security system was so like his own that he lost no time in navigating through the film of Jackson’s last moments.

Quinn had to admit that the entire apartment, and Montana’s office especially, really did have some slick security. In the office alone, four cameras caught all the detail from different angles, so there wasn’t an inch of the room that was missed.

On his first viewing he watched the camera focused on Jackson. The man was strung to the desk chair, his hands bound behind his back, his face dripping with blood. Quinn was reminded of the proud way the man had looked out for Montana in her office earlier that day. His respect grew immeasurably as he watched Jackson question his attacker before thousands of volts of electricity slammed through him.

“Fuck,” Quinn muttered. “Would you look at that? It’s got to be a Destroyer.”

“That’s my guess,” Brody agreed.

“What the fuck?” The tape continued, but Quinn felt the absolute bottom fall out of his stomach.

“Is that what I think it is?” Brody leaned closer to the screen, reaching for the toggle to rewind the film.

Quinn didn’t need to see it again. He knew what it was that leaped on Jackson.

It was an exact match for the bull that rode on his shoulder and lived within his skin.

Montana huddled in a blanket on the couch in the sitting room off her bedroom. Ava, Ilsa and Callie continued to check on her, but for the most part kept their distance by staying in her bedroom.

Abstractly, Montana played with a tassel on the end of the blanket. The entire evening—hell, the last forty-eight hours—felt like a nightmare within a nightmare. The attacks directed at her had been bad enough, but this?

Jackson?

And the horrible person who got him also killed Laura in the kitchen and Tony earlier in the park.

These people had depended on her, were loyal to her, and what had it gotten them?

Death.

Grisly murders, all three.

Oh God, what was this horrible curse? What could anyone possibly want with her that they’d do this evil thing to innocent people?

The nausea that had filled her stomach when Quinn informed her about Laura and Tony rose again, and leaning forward, she took long, deep breaths to try and calm her body.

“It’s okay, sweetie.” Callie was by her side in a flash, a small wastebasket at the ready.

“No. No, I’m fine.” Montana sat back and allowed Callie to take a seat next to her. The small woman wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close.

“Get it out, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

“It’s my fault.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“It is, Callie. I never got the BlackBerry message. I never checked on him. On any of them. I never thought.”

“Your place has top-of-the-line security, Montana. You couldn’t know.”

“But we did know.” The words fell from her lips, half sob, half accusation. “We did know. We knew we were dealing with an immortal and I never thought to secure my home. My
family
.”

The sobs racked her body, the grief a living thing inside her chest. Without her knowing it, Quinn came in and relieved Callie, wrapping her up in his big embrace.

“Shhhh. It’s okay.”

Through the pain and the self-recrimination, Montana knew one thing. “It’s not okay, Quinn. Whatever else you say to me, don’t say that.”

“All right. I won’t.”

They sat there for what seemed like forever, but couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

“I’m going to show you something. I need you to make an identification and I need you to understand something.”

She nodded and stood. With exquisitely gentle movements, Quinn leaned down and picked up the blanket where it lay near her feet. “Here. Hold this so you don’t trip.”

She followed him down the hall, huddling deeper into the blanket when she caught sight of the open office door. “I can’t go back in there.”

“We’re not. I want you to look at something on the security monitor.”

“The monitor? But I didn’t leave it on.”

“Jackson did.”

“He what?” Montana let the blanket fall to her waist as she followed Quinn into the small security room that operated everything in the house as well as the cameras that surrounded the apartment building. “How could he have?”

“He’s a smart guy and knew we needed information. Even tied up, he managed to get to the security button, turning the recording on. He didn’t get much and I’m sorry to expose you to what he did record, but the faster we can move on this, the better shot we have of catching this asshole.”

Montana took in the racks of cold metal built into the security room. A wall of screens stood sentinel, capturing the daily life inside and outside the apartment. Although she almost always kept the security off inside the house, Quinn must have turned everything on because the screens lit up like a billboard.

“It’s on tape? Jackson’s last minutes?”

“Yes. And while I’m sorry to say that, he was so brave to help us—to give us this to work from.”

Montana nodded. “Of course he was.”

Quinn settled his hand on her lower back, the motion meant to reassure, and pulled her toward the rolling chair that sat before a computer keyboard. “You’ve got four cameras in that room, each recording on a separate deck. We’re going to watch the camera on his attacker. I need to see if you can ID him.”

“Ohh…okay.”

Montana took a seat in the chair and waited as Quinn fiddled with a few dials. Grief tore through her again, great suffocating waves of it, along with cold terror for what she was about to watch. It clawed at her stomach and she was grateful she’d avoided nearly all of her meal at the benefit.

Quinn stopped fiddling with the machines and turned to her, his gaze understanding yet firm. “I’m sorry to ask you to do this, Montana. Are you sure you’re ready?”

She looked up into his face and saw his concern. Saw it in the deep creases around his eyes, in the harsh line of his jaw, in the tense set of his shoulders. And in that moment, she needed only one thing.

“Tell me something.”

“Anything.”

“Tell me you’re not immune to this,” she whispered, the answer to the question more important than any other she’d ever asked. “Tell me this isn’t just a job anymore.”

With exquisite gentleness, Quinn kneeled down in front of her and pulled the swivel on the chair until he was directly beside her. She felt the press of her knees in the hard wall of his stomach muscles and shifted, opening her legs to straddle him.

His touch gentle—so gentle she barely felt the brush of his fingertips—he ran the pads of his fingers down the side of her face before cupping her cheek.

“This isn’t a job, Montana.” He kissed her forehead.

“It’s not a game or simply a vendetta.” He pressed his lips gently against each eyelid as he murmured each word.

“I will find whoever did this. I will hunt him to the ends of the earth and beyond if I have to. I will keep you safe and I will avenge your loved ones.” Quinn pressed his lips to hers and she felt them tremble.

“I believe you,” she murmured against his lips. “I believe you.”