Page 28 of Breaking the Code

“Don’t look back, dammit!” Damon growls at me.

My head swivels to Damon and the tree line just beyond him. It’s in sight. That tree line and the people waiting in it represent freedom and a new life. It’s so damn close.

We break through the tree line and I stop, dropping to the forest floor. Sobs shudder through me.

“You’re gonna wanna see this,” Everly says.

One last quick breath and I get back to my feet. I turn back to the house, standing with the others who are fighting for our freedom from Owen Black and the Order of Death. We’re not just fighting for our freedom, though. We’ve banded together. Our mission: eliminate the Order of Death and find those the Order has stolen and give them back their lives.

The night sky suddenly catches fire. The place I called home for the majority of my life has exploded. The blast sends a cloud of stone, glass, and wood at us. The force knocks me back a couple of steps, even though we chose this spot to put us out of the blast range.

As the glow and heat of the explosion draws us forward, a bittersweet feeling overtakes me, and tears slowly roll down my face. I knew this was coming. It was our plan since Everly and her men made the decision to exact revenge. I never thought I’d feel despair at seeing it leveled, though.

Everly steps up next to me and asks, “You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, I just realized I’m homeless.”

Everly tucks her arm through mine. “I have just the spot for you.”

I look at her, the tears on my face reflected on hers as well. Seeing the emotion on her face that I feel, too, lets me know the vulnerability I feel isn’t something I’m alone in.

“You do?” I ask.

“There’s a suite of rooms in the Society’s basement set up and waiting for a tech guru. There’s a sitting area, bedroom, bathroom, and office area,” Everly says.

My chin wobbles and the reverberations flutter through me and it takes me several minutes to respond. “Thank you.”

Everly gives my arm a squeeze as she tells me, “There’re no thanks necessary. You saved me. You sent the guys after me. This is our way of repaying that debt.”

I nod, and she walks back to her men. They watched every second of our interaction. The protection and possession shine in their eyes whenever they look at her. But unlike the possessive gazes I’m used to, the ones I see coming from her men are night and day different. They own her, but only because she wants to be theirs, but it’s something she gives them one hundred percent willingly. It’s exactly the type of owning I crave.

It’s nothing like what I’ve been subjected to for the last decade. For nearly the last two decades.

Da didn’t live in the Order’s headquarters willingly. He, and by extension me, was here because Owen ordered it and had Da not complied. Then he and I were both at risk of losing life and limb.

I’ve heard Owen make threats against me to first Da, and then Samuel, and most recently, he’s threatened me directly. I know he won’t kill me. At least, not yet. But with my twenty-fifth birthday and Mum’s inheritance deadline coming at me like a runaway train, I know my reprieve is limited. Owen will torture me to get what he wants. And what he wants is access to my trust fund.

I still remember how mad he was when Da’s Will was read, and he realized that Da wasn’t the executor of Mum’s estate and my trust fund.

Owen stares at the attorney. His face hard as stone. I’ve seen that look on his face before. It always shows up just before…

“What the fuck do you mean Buchanan isn’t the executor of the estate? Why was he not informed of this?” Owen fumes.

The attorney’s Adam’s apple slides up and down the scrawny column of the man’s neck as he gulps. He opens his mouth several times, but nothing comes out.

Owen’s face turns harder and colder the longer we wait. I sat quiet as a mouse, keeping my breaths slow, shallow, and even so as not to draw attention. When Owen is this angry, he’s unpredictable. Anyone in his path is subject to his wrath. Sometimes you get off lucky and all that comes out is ridicule. Other times, what you get is violence that would make the most hardened criminal on death row have nightmares.

I do not want to be on the receiving end of whatever comes out of the man. So, I wait and watch. The lawyer still hasn’t responded. His eyes are glued to the file in front of him. He glances up a couple of times, but his eyes get nowhere close to meeting mine, so I know they don’t meet Owen’s since he’s almost a foot taller than me.

When the attorney gulps and glances up for what has to be the fourth or fifth time, Owen stands. He straightens his tie and vest, then buttons his suit coat. He turns, circling his chair. I follow him with my eyes, turning my head to keep him in sight.

He won’t just leave without getting the answers to his questions. I know this for a fact. That isn’t Owen’s way of doing things. If he wants to know something, you will give him the answers, or he will pull them from you like a dentist pulling teeth.

“Answer my fucking questions!” Owen yells as he swipes his arm over the credenza between the windows in the lawyer’s office.

The crystal decanter and the half empty bottle of Balvenie flies off the credenza toward me in slow motion. My eyes widen as the bottle and decanter get closer and closer, the amber liquid spraying the air as they fly toward me.

My brain kicks into gear and I throw myself to the floor, flattening myself as much as possible. A gasp and a yelp fill the air just before the crystal shatters. Slowly, I peel myself off the floor, raising myself back to my seat.

---