Chapter Twelve – Grayson
Grayson landed lightly and hurried to yank on some clothing after he shifted. He'd been at the bank when he got Arabella's call saying she might have found something. Now he rushed to the living room where Arabella sat among a plethora of weapons. He stopped dead, eyes widening.
"Whoa."
He hadn't seen so many guns all in the same place since he went to the war museum. Unlike the ones locked in the cases there, though, these ones were black and shiny. Each one gleamed with a ready-to-kill shine. A chill ran down his spine. Everything she had said before suddenly made sense. She was an assassin, ready to do whatever was necessary to get the twins back.
"You said you know where Kennedy is holding the twins?" he asked, shaking himself from the hypnotizing glitter of weaponry.
"Yes. I tracked down her phone. The idiot left it on. But we have to act quickly or the organization will get to her first."
Grayson nodded. He picked up a handgun and turned it over in his hands. He'd never been in a real life-or-death fight before. The thought of killing another person was repulsive – until he thought of that person harming his children. He'd kill to protect them. There was no doubt in his mind about that.
His gaze returned to the woman prepping the guns in the middle of his living room. She looked so sweet, so unassuming. But there was something deadly inside of her – he could see that now. Did it make the loving part of her less sweet?
He cleared his throat. "Arabella."
She looked up.
"How many people have you killed?"
Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she didn't break eye contact. "Directly, I've killed seven. If you take into account the suicides caused by my actions, twelve."
So she knew what she was doing. He didn't say that out loud, though. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he realized just how deadly the woman who had been watching his children was. Seven dead by her hand, plus five suicides. How did she sleep at night? Was she completely emotionless? A psychopath?
"I was put mostly in situations where I was meant to manipulate the mark, gain information, leak embarrassing secrets, that sort of thing. I've got one of the lowest kill rates in the organization, but I've got the highest rank in kill efficiencies. Very little mess, very quick deaths." She looked down at the guns again and shook her head. Her voice was heavy with bitterness and regret. "As if killing them quickly makes a difference."
Grayson repressed a shudder but was relieved to hear her speak that way. She didn't want to kill; she was forced into it.
"Manipulation," he said, drawing on something else she had just said. "Is that why you slept with me? To manipulate me?"
Arabella flinched.
Grayson loaded the gun he was holding and tucked it into his waistband. He crouched near Arabella and brushed the hair from her face, so he could see her eyes clearly. His heart beat shallowly in his chest, though he didn't know why this should affect him so much. She had already proven herself a liar; he couldn't trust her past what was necessary to get the children back. And yet, he found himself needing to know.
"Well?" he demanded.
"I had to do what was necessary to complete the mission."
"That's not an answer."
She pulled away from him and shook her head. "No. Or yes. I'm not sure. It wasn't part of the plan. I thought that maybe there was another way other than kidnapping the children. But I didn't plan to sleep with you, and after we did . . . I realized what a mistake I made."
Hearing her refer to their blissful time as a mistake made him flinch. He knew that he shouldn't feel so disappointed, but he was. He already knew it was a mistake to have developed feelings for her, but there was still a part of him hoping that there was some truth between them. Clearly, that was not the case. It made him furious and cold at the same time.
"And how many other men did you sleep with for your missions?" His tone came out harsher than he wanted it to.
Arabella shook her head. "I'm not talking about this anymore. I hate this life, but it's been who I am since I was sixteen. There's no changing that."
What kind of life was this? She said she'd been part of it since she was sixteen. What sixteen-year-old has the mental capacity to prevent being taken advantage of – being forced into a life like this?
"When are you heading out?" he asked, turning his mind back to the immediate situation.
"Right away."
Grayson nodded. "I'm going with you."
She gave him a doubtful look. "I work better alone."
"Maybe, but you're not doing this alone. These are my children. If you get hurt, how are you supposed to save them?" he narrowed his eyes at her. "Besides which, Kennedy won't be expecting you to go in on dragonback, will she? You'll make better time flying."
Arabella stood. She picked up a few of the weapons, strapping them to various places on her body. She took the handgun he had in his waistband and holstered it at her side. If she thought that was going to make him back down, though, she didn't know him.
"Fine," she said eventually. "You can come. But you do everything I say when I say it. Got it?"
Grayson nodded. It rankled him to have to follow orders, but for his children . . . he'd do anything.
***
Arabella's tracker brought them to an empty brick building that had once been a theater in a town an hour's flight away. Grayson kept as high as he could although he was mindful of not suffocating Arabella as she clung to his back. As previously planned, he tore open the roof of the building and dropped in, shifting as he went.
The first thing he noticed was the sound of Olivia crying. Before Arabella even had the chance to regain her footing, he was off. She shouted after him, but he ignored her, heart in his throat. His baby girl was here, alone and frightened. And where was Hudson? Why wasn't he crying? He tore through the rooms until he got to the ticket booth, where the crying was coming from. He ripped off the door—
It was empty.
Arabella quickly caught up with him. She had two guns out, gazing around them. They entered the booth together. Sitting on the counter was a computer, large speakers hooked up to it. A video clip played, showing Olivia sitting by herself in a dark room, a single bright light shining on her. Her hands were tied together with a strip of green cloth, and tears streaked down her face. There was no sign of Hudson. Grayson cried out, his heart clenching.
"They're not here," he whispered. "They're not here."
"Bomb!" Arabella shouted.
Her arms wrapped around him and she dragged him backward. Grayson didn't see the bomb or any indication there was one. He merely reacted on instinct.
The dragon turned to Arabella and picked her up. Tucking her into a ball in his arms, he shifted. His wings wrapped around both of them just as the bomb went off. Scorching fire burned along his back, shards of debris pounding into his wings. He dropped, holding Arabella under his body, as the whole place creaked and groaned.
When the burning stopped, he only paused long enough to make sure Arabella was uninjured before he leaped from the building. He flew hard to get away from the fire and smoke. Arabella hung limply in his claws though her eyes were wide and he could see her chest heaving.
He landed some distance away, setting Arabella on her feet. He shifted once more, searching her for any injuries. She fended off his attentions and then focused on him. Most of the debris that had hit him had glanced off his hard scales, but there was a large burn on his left leg where a piece of glass managed to embed itself.
"You need to go to a hospital," Arabella said, inspecting the injury. "I don't think it's deep, but—"
Grayson pulled her back to her feet. His heart still hammered and adrenaline coursed through him, clouding his reasoning. All he could think of was that if he hadn't come with her, she'd be dead. If she had been killed in that explosion, she would have died thinking that he hated her, that he saw her as nothing more than an assassin. That was unacceptable. He seized her and brought her to his lips before he could remember why this shouldn't happen.
Both of them pulled away even as their lips met. They stared at each other wide-eyed. Arabella's form molded to his. For a moment, all Grayson wanted to do was pull her back and kiss her deeply, passionately. But instead, he released her and pulled the glass from his leg.
"I'll heal," he mumbled. "They weren't there. What's our next move?"
His voice shook, but Arabella didn't comment on that. "I think I saw something in the video that might be helpful. I can't guarantee it, but—"
"But if it can be helpful, then we follow it." Grayson let out a deep breath, letting go of his confusing emotions. He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by his feelings. "So, what do we do?"
Arabella hesitated a moment. "Grayson, it might be best if you sat out of this one. Get the money put together and—"
"Henry is doing that."
Her shoulders slumped. "Okay. But just so you know, we might get arrested for this."