Page 77 of Toxic Vengeance

“We’ll all do whatever it takes to end this, me included.” Her brave smile and surprised expression damn near broke his battle-scarred heart, as if she couldn’t fathom him worrying about her. “It’s all right, Marcus. I’m well aware of the risks and what my role is in all of this. I’m not afraid.”

Yes, she was, she just would never admit it to anyone, maybe even herself. But it was also the first time she’d said his name, and hearing it wrapped in her soft voice made his chest hitch.

He took hold of her upper arms, determined to get through to her. He was afraid for her. For what she might do to see this thing through. What she was prepared to sacrifice. “You’ll find another way,” he repeated, sure of it. “Whatever happens, the team will handle it together.” And dammit, he wanted to be part of whatever shape that took. He was sick of sitting idly by while all this shite was playing out in front of him.

Pain flared in the depths of her eyes for an instant, then was gone. “None of us are safe, including you. Not even here. And we won’t be until this is all over.”

Her words resonated inside him. From day one he’d known that bringing Megan here, then the others, was only a temporary reprieve. That sooner or later, his home would no longer be a safe haven for them. That the day would come when it posed more of a threat than safety.

And, selfish bastard though he was, he wanted to delay it as long as possible. Because when that day arrived, Megan and the others would leave, scattering to the wind once more, and Kiyomi with them. He’d thought losing Megan would be the hardest part. But now the idea of losing Kiyomi hurt just as much.

“I want to show you something,” he said. Only Megan and Trinity knew about it, but he needed Kiyomi to see it now.

She nodded slowly, searching his eyes. “All right.”

He released her, grabbed his hated cane from where he’d hastily leaned it against the wall, and turned right down the hall. The familiar, comforting scent of wood smoke and leather beckoned as he neared his study, but it was far more than just his place of refuge.

Flipping on the overhead light, he shut the door behind her. “This way.” He crossed to the section of built-in bookshelves to the right of the fireplace. “Here,” he said, bringing her to stand next to him.

Her feet were silent on the Persian rug covering the cold, hard stone beneath. “What am I looking for?” she asked, perusing the leather-bound volumes before them.

“This one.” He took her hand, placed it on the spine of The Secret Garden, and watched her face. “Press it.”

She did, her expression fascinated as a quiet snick sounded in the still room, revealing a tiny gap in the wood between that row of the bookshelf and the one above. She looked up at him, so close he could drink in her warm vanilla scent and see the various colors of brown flecks in her eyes. “A secret passage?”

Rather than answer, he pushed the panel inward to reveal a short corridor carved into the stone wall. Taking the battery-powered torch from its holder on the inside wall, he shone it down the corridor, illuminating the space beyond the corridor. “Go inside.”

She went without hesitation, him right behind her, and stopped at the trap door in the floor. “Do you have a dungeon?” she asked.

“No.” Setting aside his cane, he eased into a crouch, covering a grimace of pain as his hip and thigh muscles spasmed, and reached for the old iron loop on the trap door. The old hinges were almost soundless as he pulled it open, thanks to the oil he’d recently put on them.

Easing back, he aimed the beam of the torch downward so she could see inside. “It’s a priest hole.”

She frowned. “A what?”

“They date back to the Reformation, during the Tudor age. Religious upheaval was the order of the day back then, and Catholic priests were persecuted for maintaining the old faith. Some of them sought refuge in houses like this one, where they would stay out of sight until the people looking for them were gone.”

“What’s inside it now?” she asked, peering down the ladder he’d built inside it.

Reaching past her, he slid a hand into the opening and found the switch he’d put on the wall. With the flick of his fingers, the lighting system came to life.

A soft gasp escaped her, her face full of wonder as she took everything in. “An armory.”

“Aye.” Dozens of pistols and rifles were mounted in neat rows along the stone walls at the base of the ladder, along with knives, ammo, food, emergency cash and medical supplies. “Megan and I started working on it when she moved in. There’s a tunnel on the far side that leads to another trapdoor on the south side of the house, just outside the garden wall.”

Kiyomi gazed around the space for a moment longer, then looked at him. “Why are you showing me this now?”

“Because I want you to know you’re safe here.”With me.He bit the last words back before they could escape. But shit, yeah, if it came down to it he would defend her and the others here to the last bullet.

Kiyomi’s expression softened. Easing back on her haunches, she lifted a hand to cup the unscarred side of his face. Marcus stopped breathing, the warmth of her touch seeping through his beard. “We’re safe here for now,” she murmured, her eyes holding him captive. “But that’s a promise you can’t keep. None of us can.”

Before he could argue she dropped her hand and stood to leave.

He quickly turned off the light, closed the trapdoor and followed her back into his study. Karas was sitting at the tunnel opening, and greeted them with a thump of her tail on the rug.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Kiyomi said to her, reaching down to stroke the dog’s head. Karas nudged into Kiyomi’s hand, asking for more, and it surprised Marcus. Karas was aloof with everyone except for him and sometimes Megan. But she obviously liked Kiyomi, and that in itself was meaningful.

Kiyomi turned to Marcus. “Thank you for showing me. See you in the morning.”

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