Page 22 of Cuckoo (Kindred)

She didn’t feel any better. “I knew Grant for five years, but it took you telling me about Game Time for me to figure it out. I didn’t suspect that you were involved in what happened in Quebec. I didn’t see Grant’s double cross coming. You were out of the game for months, yet you picked up on it before I did. I was the only one to spend time with Benedict and I had no idea he was following his own secret agenda. When CI landed on you and you didn’t want to handle it, you called your ex-girlfriend to bail you out. I’m done. I don’t have any skills that can help you or the Kindred.”

“And you think walking back in there to Daddy and handing him a bundle of cash will make you feel better?”

“You don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not here because I’m running back to him. I want to be with you, but I have to confront him, to make him see that he wasn’t right. My confidence relies on him admitting his mistake.”

“That’s not why you’re here. You’re running. You think I haven’t notice that you’ve avoided going back to the compound? Atlas was easy to avoid; we have no reason to be there. You can’t handle the deaths of people you care about because it reminds you of your mother.”

Brodie was way more perceptive than she’d given him credit for, and more attentive of her behaviors too. Swallowing, she wouldn’t let herself become emotional with him again. “How do you know that?” she whispered.

“Because when I was grieving, I shut myself off and got drunk. Your coping mechanism is to be busy. You always want to feel useful. It’s more acute now because you’re trying not to face how losing Grant has hurt you.”

Biting her lower lip, she held it between her teeth. “I wasn’t there for him at the end. I can’t fix that relationship.”

“So, fixing your relationship with your dad is some sort of substitute?”

Determined, she tried to conjure the resolve she’d had before embarking on this trip. “My dad needs me.”

“Your dad needs money,” he said. “He’s not gonna welcome you without judgement. If you want to stay here because you think he’ll make you feel useful, then do it. But it will fuck you up because he’s never gonna be the guy you want him to be.”

Zara knew that, her optimism had faded. Because she was here, she felt that she should go in to hand over the cash. The Kindred had plenty to keep them busy, and she wasn’t an integral part any longer.

Glancing up, she became overwhelmed by the sight of him. Brodie was an amazing man, handsome, smart, dedicated, and he had a purpose, which he’d put aside to come here to intercept her. “I’m of no use to you anymore. We both know it. How long will it be before you get tired of my dead weight on the team?”

His scrutiny made her return her focus to her father’s front door. Ignoring her love, she began trying to psyche herself up to start walking. All she could think about was her father’s judgement, about how her answers to the questions he asked would never satisfy him.

“That’s what your whore comment was about,” Brodie said and sighed. “You think if you can’t do a job then you’ll spend your days sucking my dick.” She shrugged because yeah, that was pretty much it. “The first time I shot a gun, I blew out the back tire of Art’s jeep.”

Despite the randomness of the statement, she drew her attention around to portray how impressed she was because that was a precise shot for a beginner. “Wow,” she said, surprised his aptitude had come to him so naturally.

He shrugged. “Thing is, I was aiming for a target six feet to the left and shot wide. Art had taken me to this little African village. He’d been there before and helped them out with a shitty landowner who thought he was God. Everyone in that village was watching me. They were so impressed because they thought that tire was my target. These people worshipped Art and after seeing that shot, they loved me.”

Young, triumphant Brodie was a hard thing to picture. “The praise must have felt good.”

“Are you kidding?” he said. “I felt like crap. We stayed in that village and ate with the people while they were celebrating my superior skills.”

“You could have just faked it,” she said. “Made them believe you had full confidence in your ability.”

“That’s what Art said,” Brodie replied. “The thing was, I was shit scared. I asked him, ‘What do I do if they call me in to get rid of some crazy bastard? They’ll find out I was a fraud thirty seconds before I get my ass handed to me. I’m not as good as they think I am.’ I asked how I could make sure that didn’t happen, how I could explain to them that I wasn’t that good.”

Her love didn’t often share stories of his past with her, and she relished the chance to hear one now, even if it was an odd time to be sharing. “What did Art say?”

Brodie moved in real close and draped an arm around her, across the width of her shoulders. “He leaned in to whisper and I thought he was gonna reveal some big secret and he said, ‘You’ll just have to get that good.’ I was pissed as hell.” She smiled. “I told him it wasn’t that easy. Then he asked if I wanted to know the secret to being a good shot.”

He paused for long enough that the suspense made her lean until she was almost kissing him. “So, what did he say? What’s the secret?” she asked, desperate to know.

He lowered his volume to a whisper, “Practice.”

Wilting, she was peeved he’d duped her like Art had duped him. “Hilarious.”

Though she tried to cast his arm off her shoulders, he didn’t take the hint. “It’s not a joke. I’m telling you that you’re still a rookie and getting that good takes time. You’ve been thinking about Saint’s death. You want to know who Leatt is working for and what his people are up to, right?” She shrugged. “When I didn’t give you the answers you wanted about Game Time, what did you do?”

“Research,” she said. “At CI, but I don’t have access to—”

“There are other places, other books, other systems. If you want to know who Leatt is, do some research.” Her confidence had taken such a knock that she wasn’t sure she was capable of taking on that challenge. Leatt wasn’t her primary concern since Kahlil had presented his offer. Her eyes drifted toward the house again, and Brodie’s lips closed in on the shell of her ear. “Your answers aren’t in there. Yeah, you can give up. You can walk away. But what makes you think you’ll be any more content in there than you are with me?”

Raising her chin, she apologized with her gaze. “This isn’t about us. I love you.”

“And how long will that last once your dad has you back under his thumb? There are plenty of eligible guys around here.”

---