Pain stabbed through Riley, a shockingly intense stab of loss and nausea. “Did you…did you kill my family?”
Anson had the grace to look appalled. “No! I would never do something like that. It was a horrible accident.”
That he’d capitalized on. She pressed a hand to her burning stomach.
“What were you going to do with her?” Sam sounded as sick as she felt. “Leech her?”
“No. I don’t think I can do that anymore.” He sounded sad. “Quinn broke me.” He tipped an imaginary hat in her direction. She didn’t move.
“Good,” Nick barked. Anson ignored him.
“I wanted her to be mine. To care about me the way Marley did. I underestimated that kind of power,” he admitted, and Riley caught a glimpse behind all his pretense, to the lonely boy underneath.
In any other circumstances, she might have felt sorry for him.
“What’s their plan now?” Quinn asked in such a soft voice Riley spun toward her, alarmed. She was sagging against the wall now, but her gaze was steady on Anson. “It sounds like they’re moving on from you.”
Anson didn’t like that. He straightened in the chair and yanked his foot out from under the leg of Nick’s, which he’d eased up on just enough. “The Numina losers wanted me to identify goddesses so they could send recruiters to them. They’d feel them out for weaknesses or ambition. See who might be willing or susceptible to working for them.”
“Leeching them?” Riley asked, though they didn’t meet the criteria. Maybe their heritage made it possible for them, just like sons of goddesses.
But Anson shook his head. “Just employees with really unique skills. They want to set up a network and use the goddesses to help them get back on top.”
“I’ve heard enough.” Nick hauled Anson up by the collar and dragged him toward the garage door. “We thank you for your cooperation. Sam, call the security team in. They can decide what to—”
The prickles burst into Riley’s brain, and she gasped. “Nick, no!” Too late. Before she could tell him someone was out there, he twisted the handle on the garage door. It slammed inward, knocking both Nick and Anson back, and three men barreled in. Nick recovered immediately, tossing Anson at the first guy and kicking the door into the face of the third. The second guy made it inside and swung a fist at Nick’s head. He missed, and Nick didn’t hesitate to fight back.
Riley caught Quinn and pulled her away from the fight, into the living room. Sam put himself in front of them, but then the front door blasted open, too, splinters flying, the alarm blaring into life. Bodies seemed to pour in from every direction, though Riley flash-counted only half a dozen. Still, too many. Nick had his guy down, but the first one was on his back, struggling to pull Nick’s arms behind him and yank him upright and vulnerable. Sam moved forward to meet the second bunch, looking like an action movie hero as his fists connected with heads and guts, but there were too many.
Riley squeezed her candlestick and drew harder than she ever had, shoving two attackers off Sam in quick succession but not doing enough damage to keep them down. She watched Quinn for a second. The woman was weak and didn’t go for blunt force like Riley had. She pulled a rug and sent two guys tumbling to the ground, then dropped crystal vases and knick-knacks off a shelf onto their heads.
Sam landed a fist deep in someone’s abdomen, not just doubling him over but sending him staggering halfway across the room, where he tripped and crashed into an end table. There was no way Sam, as big and strong as he was, could have done that without putting power behind it. But the effort took its toll. He swayed on the spot and shook his head as if to toss off dizziness.
Another attacker ran in to tackle him around the waist. Riley wound up with her candlestick, threw power behind her swing, and swung for the cheap seats. The metal connected with his chin, flattening him before he reached his target.
Sam appeared to have recovered. He bounced on the balls of his feet, hands held loosely in front of his face, a small sneer forming as the remaining guys backed off. And then Riley heard a hollow pop.
Quinn yelled and made a pushing motion with both hands but fell to her knees, obviously tapped out. Riley spun, drew, aimed, but she was again too late. A thud vibrated the floor under her feet. Nick had been felled like a tree by a tranquilizer dart just like the one heading straight for Sam’s neck. She lashed out again, and again, until the candlestick seared her hand and she was forced to drop it.
“No!” she screamed as someone thrust a hood over Quinn’s head and dragged her upright, hauling her toward the open door. She struggled against hands and arms, tried to draw on Sam’s screw-ring, but it wasn’t enough. The more desperate she grew, the less the energy came. And then there was a sting in her arm, her head went fuzzy, and everything faded away.
Chapter Seventeen
One discovery that has stemmed from our new focus on education and understanding is the range of limitation for each goddess. Years of practice and training can make us believe we know our limits, but circumstances can always push our boundaries and give us new knowledge about each other and ourselves.
Riley blinked in a sudden burst of light when the hood was pulled off her face. She barely had time to register a basic beige hallway before they shoved her into darkness and slammed a door behind her. She landed on her hands and knees on a shaggy rug.
“Fuck!”
A feeble glow lit and moved across the space toward her. “Riley?”
“Quinn?” Riley rose to her knees. Quinn huddled on a bed against the wall. She knee-walked across the floor. “Are you all right?”
“Relatively speaking.” The phone dimmed, and Quinn hit a button with her thumb. “Are you?”
“Mostly. Assholes.” Stupid ones. They hadn’t searched her or taken anything away. She dug in her inside jacket pocket for her keychain. It had a small flashlight attached. She twisted it on and waved it around the room.
Colors were hard to distinguish, but the walls were bare, painted drywall. The bed was the only furniture, and the light fixture in the center of the ceiling had no bulbs. No windows in the room, either, not even covered. “This looks like Millinger.”
“We haven’t been gone long enough to be in Georgia,” Quinn said. “I don’t think.”
“I know, but I mean, it’s just as empty and cold.” Riley set the light on the floor and crossed her legs. “Do you have any idea where we are?”
“Not at all. I passed out. Were you able to pick up any clues coming in?”
“They drugged me, so I was foggy but conscious. I heard city sounds, but nothing specific.”
“You didn’t overhear conversations or anything?”
“No.” Riley fumed, replaying the whole attack in her head. “Who the hell were those guys?”
“I don’t know.” Quinn cleared her throat and shifted again. “They all seemed young. In their twenties.”
Riley had noticed that, too. “And they weren’t dressed like Anson’s thugs. Their clothes were more expensive. Speaking of Anson.” She thought harder, but couldn’t remember seeing him after he’d been knocked to the ground. Had he just run, or were their attackers working for him? “That had to be the reason he was stalling, right?”
“That’s my guess. Riley…they tranqed the guys, didn’t they? What did you see? Is Nick—” Her voice quavered and stuck, as if she didn’t want to know the answer.