No Love for the Wicked (28 page)

Bile churned inside me. This wasn’t some smuggled artifact. This was one of Father’s actual tools. She was holding one of the torture devices that had been used on me. That was
my
blood she brushed her fingertips over.

The shock made me pause, pull back enough from her mind that she fell forward, catching herself with her hands. She looked up at me, and I remembered just how strong she really was. I knew the mindsweep had sent pain coursing through her, but she refused to betray any sign of her hurt. She really was one of the strongest agents on Thirteen’s team.

“It’s not what you think, Magnolia,” she said, her words a struggle. “You have to listen to me.”

“There’s only one way you could have gotten your hands on those tools. You’ve been to my family’s estate.”

“No. Magnolia, listen—”

I tore into her again. I had to know. This time she writhed on the ground, her body contorting as she screamed out in anguish. In her mind I saw the tools again, laid out on a kitchen table I didn’t recognize. She lifted a set of needle-nose pliers, her hands shaking. Tears pooled in her eyes as she examined the tool under a fluorescent light. Another moment and she dropped it back on
the table. She turned away, disgust plain on her face. A deep voice spoke softly from behind her. Pinpricks needled over my flesh. In her memory, her horror instantly faded. Peace, serenity, and hope washed over her as that deep rumble continued murmuring close by. When she finally looked up, her face and mind had been completely transformed. Gone was the disgust of an intelligent, strong agent. In her place was a malleable, devoted woman whose eyes shone with complete and utter adoration.

She’d turned in to the chest of the man behind her, eager to take comfort in the warm, strong hands that pulled her close. His deep voice continued lulling her with mumbled explanations about stolen tools that had only ever caused pain. A pain that she needed to help him put to an end.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes moved slowly toward the man’s face. My body coiled to attack. Ice ran through my veins, painful against the heat of my fiery power.

No, it was impossible. This was Cordele. One of the most loyal, intelligent agents Thirteen had. We’d been in explosions together, shopped together. She was awkwardly trying to be my friend. Hell, I’d saved her life, like, three times already. There had to be an explanation. If I could just hold my instincts in check, let her explain…

Reluctantly, I returned to her memory. She drew out the vision of the man before her. The silk fabric of a custom-made designer shirt, the thick tendons of an olive-toned throat. Cordele licked her lips at the smooth jawline, the full, perfect mouth so similar to my own.

By the time she reached his eyes, my hands were fully changed. Claws stretched and curled into fists at my sides. My jaw ached as my teeth fought to sharpen in my mouth. In her mind, she sighed as the monster cradling her came into sight.

Malcolm. My older brother.

“Oh, Cordele. What have you done?”

Snow looked like drops of blood falling softly on Cordele’s weeping body. When I’d pulled out of her mind completely, she’d collapsed against the pain. I’d gone too deep and torn too harshly for her to bounce back anytime soon. Damn it, now I felt guilty.

When she finally found the strength to lift her head and attempt to glare at me, one look at my face had her falling back in a weak crab-walk, scurrying away from me in a horrified cower. I rolled my stinging eyes.

“What did you expect, Cordele? You’ve been at my family’s estate. You’re all cuddled up with my brother. Did you think I’d be happy about that? Jesus Christ, what are you thinking?”

“Magnolia,” she said, her voice both overly reasonable and trembling with urgency. “Just listen. You remember when I was taken to your family’s estate last year. When I was tortured by your brother Markus until you courageously broke through your family’s security and rescued me and the others.”

“Don’t even think about kissing my ass right now, Cordele.”

She started over. “That experience changed me. I never really trusted you until that moment. When you killed your brother and Banks to save Thirteen and the rest of us, it was like a light going off for me. You really weren’t some double agent for your family, like Marie and Charles always thought. You were a part of our team. A real agent trying to destroy your family, just like the rest of us.”

My fingers flexed at my sides, the leathery skin pulling taut. Where was she going with this?

“You were an inspiration to me…”

A snarl vibrated from my chest. “You’re kissing ass again.”

She shook her head quickly. “I mean it. Being at the estate like that—it confirmed for me that everything you’d said about your family was true. They really had tortured you. Heck, while I was captured, Markus even talked about some of the things he’d watched your father and uncle do to you.” She swallowed hard. I raised my eyebrows impatiently.

“I barely survived what Markus and his guards did to me. But you, you not only walked away—you joined the Network to keep them from doing it to other people. I respect you, Magnolia. You have to know that.”

OK, I wasn’t nearly the humanitarian she was making me out to be. Hell, if Thirteen hadn’t been the one Markus had captured, no way I would have returned to the estate just to rescue her and some other agents. But her sincerity rang true. I didn’t sense any feelings of guilt or disloyalty from her—only anxiety mixed with varying degrees of fear.

“What I know is that you are a liar.” She cringed as if I’d slapped her. “All this time you’ve been blocking your thoughts from me, I left you alone about it because Heather thought you wanted to be my friend. But I can’t trust someone if I can’t see
inside them. It never occurred to me that you were betraying not only me but the entire Network. God, Cordele. Working with my brother? How could you even do that?”

Her lower lip quivered. The tears in her eyes weren’t from the lingering pain of my mindsweep. After a moment, she swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “I’ve never betrayed my team or my mission. I’m the most dedicated agent Thirteen has. You
can
trust me.”

“Bullshit! I saw your memories. I saw you curled up with Malcolm. God, I don’t even want to think about all the Network information you’ve passed on to him.”

“I never passed on anything! Not about our team and certainly not about you. I would never betray our mission like that. Malcolm has been helping
me
. He’s the one passing information on to me.”

Jesus Christ, she really believed that. It was plain as day all over her mind. She truly believed she’d found the perfect inside informant in my brother. And Thirteen had thought
I
was naive when it came to relationship shit.

She pushed herself to standing, holding herself up on unsteady legs. With a swipe of her hand, she pushed the snow and tears from her face. “Think about it, Magnolia. Everything your father and uncles did to you—the torture, the degradation. You had to escape the only home you’ve ever known just to get away from the daily persecution. Malcolm is the same way. He’s just not as strong as you are. He has to fight them in secret. If he ever tried to escape—”

“Wait. What?”

“Your brother Malcolm.” She took a deep breath to steel herself. “You were right. I have met with him. Not at the estate,” she said quickly, “but at secured locations.” She sighed. “He found me right after that whole thing with Markus. While the
FBI questioned your father and uncles, he snuck out and went to the hospital to see if any of Markus’s prisoners had survived. Your family knew we were all with the Network, and Malcolm figured this was his best chance to get in with us, to help stop your family. He saw me leave the hospital and followed me home. When he surprised me on the front steps of my house, at first I was terrified. I knew who he was, and I tried to shoot him right then and there. But then we looked into each other’s eyes, and it was just…” Her voice turned dreamy, and I wanted to vomit.

Yeah, I bet everything changed the moment she’d looked into his eyes. His mental manipulation powers weren’t nearly as strong as mine or Uncle Max’s. He had to look his victims in the eyes to turn their minds to his will.

“He’s the one who gave me the formula to develop the truth serum we use,” she continued eagerly. “He’s the one who got us the invitations to the gala. He wants out of your family as much as you did, but he can’t escape the way you did. He can’t fake his death and run away. His father and the senator would come looking for him. They need him, Magnolia.”

My chest burned, and I realized I’d stopped breathing. This was so bad. The lies she was remembering him telling her, the stories she believed so completely.
Oh God.
Malcolm had completely scrambled her logic.

“Cordele, listen to me very carefully.” My eyes were still red, and my hands were still claws, but maybe if I kept the sincerity in my voice, she’d see past all that and actually hear me. “You are the smartest person on our team, and I need you to use that big brain of yours to understand what I am saying. Cordele, Malcolm has used his powers on you. He’s lied to you. He has never helped you or anyone else. Ever. Whatever information he’s passed on to you, he did with his own agenda.”

She shook her head. “No, Magnolia, you’re wrong. I know him now. I know what he’s been through. He hates your family as much as you do for what they did to you and him.”

“They never did anything to him!” And if her mind wasn’t totally twisted right now, she’d remember that.

Cordele flinched again. I took a deep breath. “Cordele, Malcolm has never been tortured a day in his life. He tortured me. And I’m not talking about him just sitting there and watching while Father did his thing—I can see that’s what you’re thinking right now. He participated, Cordele, in nearly all the stuff that Father did to me. Hell, he’d seek me out so he could hurt me on his own.”

Still she shook her head. In her thoughts she replayed all the tales he’d told her: how Father had forced him to watch my punishments, how he himself had been used in Father’s experiments, cut and beaten. I tasted blood as my teeth fought to turn into fangs.

“Lies!” I hissed. Cordele pulled out her gun. Holding it in both hands, she aimed it at the ground in front of me. Fortunately, I was too pissed off to care. “Father never laid a hand on that bastard. Never bled him, never beat him. Nothing. If Father had even attempted to do half the shit to him that was done to me, Malcolm would have been dead years ago. Instead, Malcolm cut me and gutted me—and the prick got off on it! My God, you are not this fucking stupid. He’s the one who killed me, for Christ’s sake!”

“Apparently not.”

The clear satisfaction in his deep voice came from behind me and froze me in place.
Motherfucker.
I’d been so wrapped up in my shock and anger at Cordele that I hadn’t even felt his energy in the air. But I felt it now. Cold, arrogant, calculating. This was the reason my powers were acting up right now. Malcolm was here.

Son of a bitch.

Slowly I turned. Cordele and I had moved farther into the yard than I’d realized. Malcolm stood right in front of the porch steps, a good twenty feet away from me. My breath caught as a slew of memories crashed into me: the cracking laughter of an adolescent as Father showed him how to bind me with chains in the old horse barn; his tireless whining at dinners, while I hid motionless behind the draperies, begging to be given a chance to bleed me on his own; the sick, endless games of hide-and-seek where his lust-filled thoughts always preceded his painful gropes.

It had been over a year since he and Markus decapitated me and buried me under Uncle Mallroy’s shed. Weak-ass morons had had to shoot me in the back with a tranq dart to get me down. Neither was powerful enough to take me out on his own. Standing before me now, the bastard was more handsome than ever. Taller than me by a good couple of inches, dark-blond hair waving in the snowy breeze. Polo cologne wafted all around him, so
thick I had to swallow back my gag reflex. Thick eyebrows over deep-set eyes, a jaw so similar to Father’s it should be broken on principle. Only his nose disrupted an otherwise flawless set of features—I’d shattered his face too many times defending myself for it to have been set perfectly.