L.L. Foster - The Kindred

Fabian scrambled back, but he had nowhere to go. “Stop right there.”

“Not until you’re dead at my feet.”

He stopped retreating, and a glint of rage entered his eyes. “I think not.”

Just as Gaby reached Fabian, he called out, “Now,” and the interior door to his office slammed open.

Luther had his gun out just as quick, but when he saw the sight before him, impotent fury froze him.

Gaby remained near Fabian, but unmoving.

Gleeful, Fabian said, “Did you really think I’d meet you without backup? Gaby, Gaby, Gaby. My dear, you disappoint me.”

Mouths gagged, hands tied, Dacia and Mali stood clamped close to the side of a man with venom in his eyes. His friend held a gun on the girls.

Smiling, the fellow said to Luther, “Drop it, and kick it toward me, real slow-like, or I splatter brains all over this fucking place.”

It galled him to do so, but Luther complied.

The man picked up the gun, then said to someone behind him, “Get in here,” and two more hostages came forward.

Bloodied and wet with tears, Bliss fell to her knees before the men. She looked at Gaby in abject apology and shame. Luther’s heart broke for her.

Next to her, Mort stood rigid, his eye bruised, his nose bloody, the gag cutting into his face. But he didn’t fall, and he didn’t cower.

Gaby’s influence on him showed in his inner strength, his brave composure. Mort stepped nearer to Bliss, trying to shield her from the men, lending her what protection he could.

Fabian had attacked everyone dear to Gaby, and in the process, attacked her where she was most vulnerable.

Fuck procedure, Luther decided. One way or another, he would kill Fabian for this.

Before the night was through, the man would be dead—at Gaby’s feet—as she had wished it.

In a single heartbeat Gaby took in the situation, assimilating the various scenarios about to unfold. She prayed Morty wouldn’t try some foolhardy stunt. He looked ready, almost anxious to do that.

God love him. He was the dearest of friends.

And Bliss . . . she was like a sister to Gaby in every way that counted. And these men had harmed her, frightened her.

Gaby couldn’t look too closely at the girls. Doing so might impinge on her tightly strung control, might send her into the mindless zone of a paladin. Right now, she needed to stay clearheaded and in control of her own faculties.

“Mort, do nothing. Do you understand me?”

Whit laughed. “He’s not that stupid.”

“No, but he’s that brave.”

Scowling, Fabian said, “You know his thoughts?”

She peered at each of her targets, and felt that small smile slip into place again. “I know what each of you is planning.” That wasn’t entirely true. She could read Mud and Whit, but Fabian’s thoughts, perhaps because of the familial connection, mostly eluded her.

But she could still gauge what a lunatic in his position might do, so she felt confident in her assumptions.

Unable to speak, Mort nodded to her. In his eyes, Gaby saw trust and confidence. He believed in her, even now, after what had been done to him—because of her.

And it was because of her; she had no misunderstanding about that. In his own cunning fashion, Fabian had threatened Gaby with her inner circle, those closest to her.

And in the bargain, he’d signed his own death warrant.

Because of his visibly unstable rage, she considered Mud to be the most immediate threat. Keeping her gaze on him, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her knife. Slowly, making sure they all noticed, she jerked the blade free of the cabinet.

Mud raised the gun, but Fabian waved him down.

Daddy dearest saw no real threat in her being armed.

And he called himself her father?

No, blood meant nothing to her. Not anymore.

There was a time that it would have been everything, her whole world. Back when she’d been a scared, ostracized child, and later, an aberration of society, an outsider from everyone and everything ordinary in life . . .

Yes, back then she might have welcomed a monster into her life.

But since meeting Luther, she’d come to understand that family was more than blood ties. A lot more. God had blessed her with a quirky, meddling, hodgepodge group of people who remarkably enough cared for her. They were all the family she needed.

And Fabian threatened them.

Gaby held the knife to her side and waited for the right opportunity. Thoughts fluttered through her mind with the rapidity of a film projector.

Had Ann spoken with Mort before he was taken? Had he somehow alerted her? Would she realize the threat and enter?

No, if Ann knew Mort was in danger, she’d have already come in with a force of uniformed cops to protect him. She loved Mort that much.

Unless there was some kind of ruckus, Ann would remain outside, waiting. But if Gaby threw Mud through the front window, would the girls get hurt before she could get to them?

Disarmed, Luther seethed beside her. Please, God, don’t let him do something heroic that might get him hurt or killed.

She looked at Luther, waited for him to meet her gaze, and then said, with no inflection, no fear at all, “I’ve got this.”

Luther, bless him, didn’t look skeptical. He simply nodded.

When Gaby heard Bliss sob, she turned next to her. “It’s okay, Bliss. I promise. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Now I don’t want you to worry. Any of you.”

Whit and Mud were speechless at her confidence.

Fabian was amused. “Enough. These meager beings are nothing to you, Gaby. Less than nothing. You will see.” Fabian straightened his shirt. “But you, my dear daughter, you are divine.”

“You’re right about that.” Even now, without going into the unseeing, killing zone of a paladin, Gaby felt the acumination of her own skillfulness. She could hear the fast and shallow breaths of more people crowded into that small back room, and with the same instincts, she knew they weren’t a real threat.

She sensed Fabian’s omnipotent bias, and apperceived it as his greatest weakness.

She felt Luther’s caring, Dacia’s trust, Mort’s poise.

Under her cool skin, her muscles rippled and ripened in preparation.

Never before had she summoned the talents without losing sense of self; this time, she administered control of those skills with a clear head.

“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble here, Fabian. What is it you want?”

He laced his hands behind his back and moved to face her, to study her. “It is lonely at the top, daughter. I have had no true adversary, no true companion, none to equal me in intelligence or daring. But you have impressed me.”

“Just wait.” Gaby met his gaze without fear. Oh, she’d impress him, all right.

Fabian shook that off. “You are not quite of my level, not yet, but you will now join me. You will grow, expand your knowledge and experiences.” He looked at her under lowered brows. “I insist.”

Slipping an arm around her, Fabian foolishly put himself too close to her.

But with everyone she cared for in peril, Gaby restrained the urge to break Fabian in two.

That would come. Soon . For now, she had to let her natural sagacity guide her instincts.

She had to react as Luther would prefer.

Fabian’s heated breath brushed her ear. “Once you’ve tasted the sweetness, once you’ve bathed in the blood, you’ll understand the supreme joy of it, how it rejuvenates the soul and enhances every function.”

Gaby stared straight ahead, repulsed but determined to time her first move to the best advantage. She’d have to take out someone, stun someone else, immobilize through fear.