6. Jamison

Waking to the sounds of the apocalypse raining down on her, Jamison shot upright. Floodlights flashed, and the high-pitched shrill of an alarm came from every direction.

"What the hell?"

She held a hand up to block out the barrage of lights, and through the pandemonium, a muffled voice shouted her name. "Back door, Jamison!"

Rowan.

Woozy from the wine, she stood. The soul crushing devastation of the weekend had finally gobbled her up somewhere around midnight, and she had come outside for some fresh air and to have a nice little breakdown by the pool.

"Jamison!" Rowan shouted from a camera by the kitchen window. "Go to the back door, and I'll release the lockdown long enough for you to get in."

"What's happening?"

"Move, Jamison!"

The urgency in his voice sent her running. Rowan wasn't the type to overreact.

Halfway to the door, her toe caught a paver, and she stumbled but didn't fall. Since that awful day with Toby, she had worked on things like strength and agility, just as Annabeth did. They were determined never to be helpless victims again.

Straightening, she continued around the pool, making it to within a few feet of Abe's ramp. The system, doing a damn good job of what it was created to do, screeched and flashed, assaulting her senses.

So, when her ears caught the distinct click of a gun cocking, she halted more in surprise than anything else.

Three people.

Two men.

One woman.

Her hands raised slowly in surrender as she took inventory of the trespassers approaching from the side of the house. The first man looked to be about Samuel's height—a good six foot five —with a stocky build and wearing black on black with a ski mask like the other two.

He had the gun aimed in her direction.

Toned and slender, the woman of the group moved with a controlled purpose. Should she become the aggressor, that lean strength would allow her to move fast. Going to the rear control pad, the woman pried open the panel door, and as she did, the cuff of her shirt shifted to reveal the tattooed marking of the Zanmi Society.

Only the most devout were allowed to have it. To be branded in the name of Zanmi was for those who donated not only their money, but their time and life to the cause. Ridiculous fools who thought they had found a family to love them.

The second man remained in the shadows, illuminated only by the occasional flash of the security light. He was shorter than the first man, but not by much, and had a more athletic build.

"You don't want to do that." Rowan silenced the alarm from wherever he was and turned the lights on full blast. "The police are less than ten minutes out. Leave."

Man number one closed the distance, standing directly in front of Jamison. She fought not to close her eyes when the gun's barrel hovered in her face. Make notes. Take inventory. All of it matters. When the police arrived, she would need to be able to provide as much information as possible, so she focused on the ski masks they wore. The type. The material. Heavy-duty, like something you would use in cold weather, and not just for face concealment.

Her nose twitched as she caught the scent of the cologne the man with the gun wore. Expensive. Like something her dad would wear.

"We'll leave as soon as we get what we came for," the man shouted at Rowan and then lowered his voice to where only she could hear. "Although I have to say, this is a much easier snatch and grab than we expected. Thanks for waiting outside."

"You're so not fucking welcome."

Perhaps that wasn't the best thing to say to a guy holding a gun, but when the second man hanging back in the shadows openly laughed at the show of defiance, it startled her. Their masks had mesh material over the mouth section, allowing his grin to show.

He was still smiling when he pointed a gloved finger at the woman. "Take it down."

The woman unclipped a walkie-talkie from her waist, and Jamison gritted her teeth in frustration. Rowan would've been able to lock onto a cell signal and possibly trace it to discover their identities. These people were beyond prepared and knew what they were doing. Nothing at all like the Zanmi members who had attempted to enter Haven House before.

"We don't have anything of Toby's here." It was always about retrieving some piece of his history. Things like toys from his childhood or photos they didn't already have. "It's in storage."

The woman ignored her and spoke into the walkie-talkie. "We have an unexpected guest, and he's making quite a ruckus."

Rowan's shouts from the speaker went silent, and night engulfed the patio, with Haven House going dark along with it. The hammering of Jamison's heart stopped completely when she realized the sound hadn't been her heart at all, but Simone and Annabeth pounding on the kitchen door. With no electricity, and no Rowan keeping them secure inside, they stormed out.

Simone waved a cast iron skillet. "Get the hell out of here."

"Let her go." Annabeth appeared right behind her mother, aiming a kitchen knife at the intruders. "You heard him. The police are on the way."

"Ah, now, these two we did expect." The second man stepped forward, that awful smile still in place. "We have no interest in you or your daughter, Ms. Howard. Please go back inside."

Simone swung the skillet at the woman's head, but she dodged it easily. On the second swing, the woman snarled under her mask. "Don't make me hurt you, Ms. Howard."

"The hell you will!" Simone screeched, holding the skillet like a baseball bat. "Leave me and my babies alone."

Faster than Jamison's eyes could register, the woman jerked forward, headbutting Simone with enough force that it knocked her back into Annabeth.

Jamison screamed as the skillet crashed to the ground, and the woman pounced, striking Simone repeatedly in the face with a fist. Annabeth tried to shield her mother, dropping the knife as she blocked each hit.

Without any care for her own safety, Jamison moved to intervene, but the man with the gun put an end to that idea. Clasping the back of her head, he pressed the gun's barrel painfully into her forehead. "No, pretty girl. You stay put."

"Fuck you."

"Enough," the second man shouted, no longer grinning like a psycho. "Put them to sleep."

The woman slipped two syringes from a side pocket of her cargo pants and held down Simone and Annabeth, who lay crumpled on the ground from the attack.

"Why are you doing this?" Tears spilled as she watched Simone's body twitch as whatever they were giving her took effect. "Please don't hurt us anymore."

The second man came closer. "Get your hands off my property."

Lowering the gun, the big guy stepped aside without question.

"Forgive my friend Bruce here," The second man said, standing before her. "He can be overly enthusiastic when fulfilling orders."

Jamison tried to scan him for clues to his identity, but try as she might, she couldn't peel her eyes off Simone who lay spasming on the ground as if she were having a seizure.

"Don't worry," the man continued, drawing her attention to him as he skimmed fingertips down the long length of her hair. "They'll wake sore and with a headache in the morning but not much else."

Pulling his mask away, he stood unburdened by the hood, and even in the dark, she could tell he was handsome. Messy light brown hair framed chiseled features that, in other circumstances, she would have stopped to take notice. He was in his mid-thirties or perhaps younger. The cocky grin and jaded arrogant glint in his eyes made it hard to tell for sure.

The woman joined them, holding a third syringe, but he held up a hand. "Give me a second, Denise."

Denise nodded, removing her mask. Like the man, she appeared to be in her mid-thirties but didn't hold the same level of uniqueness as him. Instead, she looked like every other female member of Toby's followers. Drab and dull, with nothing extraordinary about her.

"They're people who so desperately want to belong," Liam's father had explained when the group first formed. Will Cohen constantly tried to stay on top of Zanmi's movements, utterly fascinated by them. "Some may have succeeded in life, but it wasn't enough, and if it was, the hedonistic freedom Zanmi provides is icing on the cake."

Not only did half of Toby's followers believe he was innocent, but they also pushed the idea that his victims had wanted to die through being "claimed" by him sexually. The rumored level of depravity some of the members engaged in went beyond disgusting.

Judging by the salacious gaze sizing her up, she would guess this man leaned more in that direction of thinking. With a quick tug of her robe belt, he exposed her body, and embarrassment cracked at the terror. She tried to cover herself, but he wouldn't allow it.

"Exquisite." Tracing his fingers over the intricate design on the lace bodice, he addressed her breasts as he spoke. "My name is Michael Sinclar, and it is the greatest pleasure of my life to meet you."

"Get your hands off me."

"Oh, I think not." He smirked, his hand slipping to her lower stomach. "You and I have a lot of ground to cover."

Bile rose in her throat. She'd thrown on her honeymoon lingerie earlier to torture herself, and while the man currently admiring it might be handsome, his possessive touch had violence coursing through her veins.

And leaning into that violence seemed like a pretty good idea right about now.

With a sharp inhale, Jamison headbutted Michael Sinclair with every ounce of force in her body, matching the move Ugly Denise pulled on Simone.

"Can't handle a taste of your own medicine?" Jamison shouted as Michael staggered slightly and held his nose. She hopped on the balls of her feet, unable to control the adrenaline.

With the syringe poised like a dagger, Ugly Denise rushed over. Realizing she meant to plunge it into her neck, Jamison attempted to scurry away, but Bruce caught her easily, seizing her by the arm before she could get far.

"Don't fight." The brut anchored her against his chest, twisting her head to the side so Denise would have access. "It'll hurt worse."

At the sharp prick of the needle, Michael lowered his hands to shoot a gruesome, bloody smile at her. "Not a full dose. I like my women responsive."