THIRTY-FIVE - Alana

THIRTY-FIVE

Alana

I'm six years old again, rocking back and forth on soft carpet. It's raining outside and I can hear the thunder. The smell of vanilla wafts around me, and then my mother falls to the floor, looking at me, fear sizzling in her eyes.

"Run," she whispers. I don't remember this part. I look up, not sure what to do. Those hard hands grab her again and lift her. I look up and I see the window, and then she's flying through it. The outline of a man comes into blurry focus. A car crashes and metal crunches. I smell blood.

Thunder bellows outside and jerks me awake. Glancing at the clock, I see it's around noon. My heart racing, I force myself from the bed to shower and dress in jeans and a light gray sweater and expertly cover my bruises before emoting a couple posts about the event tonight. I hint that I plan on dancing with at least one very eligible bachelor, but I'm careful not to mention Thorn's name.

I've learned my lesson on that one.

Ten bouquets of red roses arrive and I scatter them around my apartment, bemused. One white rose in one thin silver vase arrives a few minutes later. There's no card this time, but I know who they're from.

When Thorn makes a statement, he does it well.

But how can I think about a life with him? We feel connected, but our first meeting, those precious beginning seconds, are stained with blood. That poor waiter. I still haven't found his name and contacted his family.

I'm a coward.

I have to get out of the building so the security details do the same, leaving Ella a chance for a little freedom. We're meeting at Nico's place to see what he's learned about Greg's death.

Glancing at my watch, I hustle out of my apartment and down into the drilling rain and a waiting car, sliding inside and shutting the door before looking across the seat.

"Hello," Mrs. Pendrake says.

I jerk away from her and then look up at the driver. "I thought this was my car," I say lamely.

She shrugs, today wearing a pastel yellow sweatshirt and torn jeans. With her numerous piercings and the scars down the side of her face, she looks dangerous. "Your car might've been, um, removed."

I'm irritated. Oddly so. "He sent you to kidnap me?" How insulting. Yeah, that doesn't make a lot of sense, but if he wants me kidnapped, he can damn well do it himself.

"Of course not." She looks at me like I've lost most of my brain cells. "Drive."

The man in front starts to drive.

I stiffen in case I need to jump from the car.

"I won't hurt you, and your security detail is following, completely unaware that you're with me." She waves a hand in the air before tugging a laptop out of a bag near her feet. "Where do you want to go?"

Watching her, I give her Nico's address.

The driver turns in that direction.

She nods. "There's something you need to see." Flipping it open, she types rapidly, her blunt fingers surprisingly smooth on the keyboard. "My husband worked for Thorn, and when he was murdered, burned to death, Thorn took me in. Paid all of my medical bills and then gave me a job. Gave me a life."

That's nice. "Isn't that what the mafia does? Takes care of its own?" I ask.

"Yes." She taps one more key and slides the laptop my way. "The night of the attack in the bar."

I look to see the interior of Martini Money's and me with my friends.

She reaches over and clicks another button.

The exterior comes up—a side alley. As I watch, the sweet waiter who'd tried to help me approaches the building, no doubt heading to work. My stomach rolls over. "He looks so young." He seems to be whistling as he walks. My eyes sting, but I don't give in to the tears. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Keep watching," she says.

Two men move out of the shadows, pulling along another man who appears unconscious. He's young and wearing a waiter's uniform.

My young friend takes off the guy's shirt and jacket with smooth movements. Then he casually takes a gun from his back pocket and shoots the unconscious man in the head. Three times.

I gag.

As if he didn't just commit cold-blooded murder, he then dons the waiter's clothing. "He wasn't a waiter," I say numbly.

For answer, Mrs. Pendrake types again, bringing up the interior of the bar. "Watch his hands."

He's at the bar, slipping a small vial of liquid into a martini, which he then brings to me.

I gulp. "That's why I fell asleep in the car after Thorn kidnapped me. I was drugged." It didn't make sense that I would've relaxed so easily with him. "But how did Thorn know the waiter was dangerous?"

Mrs. Pendrake widens the screen. "Tattoo on his neck. It's a gang tattoo—the one who tried to take you."

I look at her, my heart expanding. "Why are you showing me this?"

She reclaims the laptop. "He deserves love, and he deserves for somebody to see him. All of him." She closes it and shoves it into her bag. "Don't tell him I told you. Please."

"I won't." I push my hair over my shoulder. "That same night, Thorn's knuckles were bloody, and he said he'd killed other people."

Her sigh is heavy. "Yes. He killed two human traffickers before calling me to rescue many children scattered throughout a San Francisco alley in tents. They're all at a safe place now. Because of Thorn."

The car rolls to a stop in front of Nico's apartment. "Thank you for explaining," I say. "But he's still a killer." But he doesn't kill the innocent. I'm pretty sure. My shoulders relax for the first time since I met him.

Her expression softens. "He's what he needs to be. What we need him to be."

I slide from the vehicle onto the chilly street, ducking my head against the pelting rain. What do I need him to be? Would I feel so connected to him if he suddenly turned that darkness into pure light? Not likely. "Bye, Mrs. Pendrake."

"I'm sure I'll see you soon." The car drives away.

I hustle inside and up the elevator to Nico's place where Nico and Quinlan wait in his breakfast nook. I walk inside, where they're chomping on some pizza, before turning toward me in welcome. Dead silence immediately echoes through the place.

"What the hell happened to your face?" Quinlan asks, partially standing. Lightning zaps outside the window as if in tune with him.

My whole head aches. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

Nico's chin lowers, and he glowers from the head of the table. "What do you mean you don't want to talk about it? That's a hell of a shiner, Alana. Somebody definitely punched you."

I've thought about all the excuses I could give, mainly going back to my lie about taking a boxing class, but frankly, I'm just not up to it. My face pounds, my rib cage echoes the throbbing, and my ankle twinges, although it's much better than the other two injuries. "Fine. I went on a date with Cal Sokolov and it went horribly south."

Drawing out a chair at the glass table, I reach for a paper plate and pluck a slice of pepperoni free of the carton. After taking a couple bites, I give them the entire story. When I'm finished, Nico and Quinlan look ready to start gathering guns.

Nico looks at Quinlan. "We need to take care of this."

My jaw hurts slightly as I chew. "Nobody is doing anything. I can handle my own problems." I haven't quite figured out what to do since I don't want to press charges. Maybe I should revisit the idea. At least I would alert the public that Cal is a nut job.

Quinlan stares at me. "We should call the police."

"I know," I say, "but it's his word against mine and I didn't call them right away."

"You have the evidence on your face!" Nico explodes. Apparently he has taken the place of my older brother since Greg is no longer with us.

I chew thoughtfully. "I know, but just think of the media circus that would ensue."

Nico leans back. "We'll get a lot of social media play if one of us punches him in the face tonight at the ball."

"As well as satisfaction," Quinlan adds, his brown eyes sparking.

"It's too much," I admit. "Not only that, people will take his side and then it'll turn into a big old issue, and the last thing I want to do right now is help Hologrid. If we accuse him, he'll deny it, and they'll galvanize their influencers. This might even help him more than us."

"We sure don't want that," Nico mutters. "All right. I'll steer clear of him tonight." He emphasizes the last word.

A knock sounds on the door. "Come in," Nico calls out.

Ella bursts inside, her hands full of file folders and haphazardly organized papers. "Hey, sorry I'm late." Her glasses are perched halfway down her nose. "I've been doing a deep dive and I think I've found something." She stumbles inside and drops the papers on the table. "Ooh, pizza."

I reach for a plate and give her a piece of the veggie pie. It's her favorite.

"Thanks." She pulls out the final chair and drops into it.

"What did you find?" Nico asks, his gaze warm.

She takes a big bite and chews before talking. "I hacked into Malice Media."

"You did what?" My ears start to ring.

She flicks me a glance. "Whoa. What happened to your face?"

"Cal and I brawled. I'll tell you all about it. But you first." How in the world did she hack Thorn?

Concern darkens her eyes. "All right. I keep a running status on all the social media companies, even a couple of the up-and-coming ones, and someone attacked Malice the other night with malware, and while they were busy countering, I snuck in the back door."

It's a brilliant move, but I don't know that I would want Thorn for an enemy. "Ella," I say.

"I know. I know." She reaches for another slice. "I still haven't forgiven him for kidnapping you, but I can maneuver within other servers better than anybody else."

She isn't bragging. She's that good.

"What does that mean?" Quinlan sits back.

She flicks olives off the slice. "The alexandrite crystals they now own have the ability to cut through data faster than any other gem."

"Seriously?" I ask, my chin dropping.

Her eyes sparkle. "You remember those cameras along the way to Vultures Perch?"

"Yeah. They were erased and broken and destroyed," Nico says grimly. "We've tried to trace them all back to their source and there just isn't one."

Quinlan finishes his beer. "All of those cameras have onboard storage but the SD cards were all taken. You know that."

"Yes." Ella holds both hands up. "Listen. The interior memory in those cameras is just damaged, and so far, we haven't found a way to reassemble it. We can with these new crystals. I just needed one of the cameras, and now I have one."

"Where'd you get it?" I ask.

"I climbed a tree." She scrutinizes her pizza and finds another olive, gingerly picking it off. "It's a long story. Anyway, I secured one of the cameras and yes, the SD card was gone, but the internal memory should be accessible now. It's like reassembling data in a computer."

For the first time, hope lights in my breast. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. It takes time and I'm still writing the algorithm."

Nico holds up his beer. "Here's to finally figuring out what happened to Greg." We all clink. He winks. "At least now you don't have to worry about marrying that asshole Cal, especially after we show your father that bruise."

I smile. That's a true statement. I feel sure that nobody in my family will take out Cal at the ball, and Thorn has given me his promise that he won't cause a scene, and yet I can't dispel this hollow feeling in my stomach that something's about to go horribly wrong.

I lose the happiness for a moment and study the group. They've been in my life since I was a child. Somewhat separated because of our age differences, but still. I need to ask questions, and they're here right now. "Do you guys remember when I was hit by the car as a kid?"

Nico pales. "I do. You were in the hospital for over a month. You were so small and young. It was terrifying."

"Yeah," Quinlan says, "Scarlett and I had already lost our parents, and then to have your mom taken and you so injured . . . it was just a blow."

I had no idea they felt like that.

Nico places his beer on the table. "Greg and I were out of our minds with worry. We both grieved your mother, but we were afraid we'd lose you, too."

It's sad, really. The only parent still standing is my father. People think that the owners of these companies are infallible, but in truth we seem to be more vulnerable than anybody else.

Nico's parents died in a fire that was later determined to be arson, and my parents took him in. Of course, the culprits were caught. They were from a rival social media company that never really saw the light of day. I have no doubt my father made sure of it. Their parents died in a helicopter accident that appears to have been natural. Well, as natural as a helicopter crash can get. And Ella and I are still trying to figure out how her father died. She suspects that Sylveria had something to do with it, but we haven't found any proof.

"Is it the truth?" I ask. "Did my mother really die in a car accident, or was it more like Greg dying in a car accident that wasn't?"

Nico finishes his beer. "Oh, no. Your mom definitely died in a car accident. You jumped out and tried to run and got hit, remember an accident?"

"No!" I explode. "I don't remember anything!"

He sighs. "I promise you. You were only six years old, but Greg and I were teenagers. I remember every moment of that entire week. We slept on the floor in your hospital room."

I do vaguely remember that. They were a constant comfort in a time of pain.

"Why do you ask?" Ella asks.

"I've been having these dreams."

"About her death, the accident?" Quinlan stands and crosses into the kitchen to fetch two more beers as well as mimosas for Ella and me. He places the scrumptious drinks in front of us before retaking his seat.

I sip delicately, enjoying the subtle taste. "The nightmares focus more on my feeling terrified while somehow hearing my mom's voice."

"What's going on with Greg's accident is probably messing with your head," Nico says. "I promise you, there wasn't any sort of doubt or even investigation at the time. Your father was beside himself and he would've found anything suspicious."

That's true. I know without a doubt that my father would've avenged any slight, much less murder of family.

We finish lunch and I walk Ella out of the apartment, noting how her fingers trail across Nico's hand as she leaves the table. We wait for the elevator. "I need a favor," I say.

"Of course. Anything."

I chew on my lip. This is a tough one. "Thorn needs access to your servers. That Malice attack you talked about with the malware? He needs to trace it back, and he thinks it came from Sylveria and TimeGem."

Ella tries to soothe the stacks of papers into some semblance of order. "Um, no. Sorry. I don't let anybody into my servers. Tell him to go with his gut."

I'm not surprised but I am a little hurt. "Please?"

"No." Her lips firm in a look that isn't usual for her. "Sorry. I don't trust him. That guy is a killer, and I'm not entirely sure he hasn't murdered substitutes for you. It makes a sick kind of sense."

"That's not his style," I say, knowing that to be true.

Quinlan walks out. "Hey. I need to go find a tux that fits. Nico's extra doesn't."

The elevator door opens, and he nudges Ella inside.

For the first time in my life, duty and desire are clashing. Thorn draws me with an irresistible force, but I love having my friends in my life. Do I love him? If so, how am I going to broker peace with everyone?

Ella doesn't meet my gaze as the doors close.