Fracture (Book 1) Read online

  Looming over Allyn, the man reached down with an open hand and waited.

  He’s helping me up. With a shaking hand, Allyn took the man’s arm and was pulled to his feet.

  “I’m sorry,” the large man said, his voice deep, but warm. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Why don’t you help him to a chair, Jaxon,” the older man said. He smiled at Allyn, though it did little to calm his nerves.

  Jaxon led him to the high-backed chair beside Nyla then stood beside the older man, his arms crossed. The older man sat back down, watching Allyn, and traced his lips with his finger.

  “I assume you probably have a lot of questions,” the older man began. “But first, let me welcome you to my home. My name is Graeme. You’ve already met Nyla and Jaxon. We were hoping you could answer a few questions for us.”

  “If I answer your questions, can I go?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  Graeme smiled. “On your answers.”

  Is he serious? Allyn licked his lips. “I don’t know.” I don’t know if I can trust you.

  “It’s only a few questions.”

  “I need to know that I won’t be harmed.”

  “You have my word.” The old man seemed amused.

  Allyn looked at Nyla and Jaxon. They both leaned forward slightly, their faces expressionless, eager to hear what he had to say. They didn’t strike him as dangerous—well, not immediately dangerous. And both had been kind to him, even if Nyla had been cold. “What do you want to know?”

  “What do you remember about your attack?”

  How did they know it was an attack and not a burglary? “I came home and found a man in my condo. He attacked me and threw me out the window.”

  “Did he ask you anything?”

  “No.”

  “Take anything?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Was there anything… unusual about the attack?” Graeme leaned forward even farther. If he moved too much farther, he would fall off the chair.

  “Not that I remember.” What about the invisible force that held your feet to the ground? Or the way he threw you against the wall and across the room without ever touching you?

  “You said he threw you…” Jaxon said.

  “I didn’t jump, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Are you sure?” Jaxon pressed.

  Of course I’m sure. He didn’t remember the man physically picking him up and throwing him out the window, but he had no other explanation for it. He had to have been thrown. But a small voice in the back of his mind said otherwise. The last thing Allyn remembered seeing before he busted through the window was the man standing in the center of the living room. The man couldn’t have thrown him. But that has to be a symptom of the concussion, right? Just because he couldn’t remember it happening didn’t mean it didn’t.

  “Did he have anything like these?” Graeme asked, rolling up his sleeve. Three evenly spaced scars ran from his shoulder to his elbow. Not scars, Allyn decided. They were more like tattoos that rose from the skin. Brands. Graeme rolled up his other sleeve, exposing a matching set of brands on his other arm, then looked at Jaxon. He had a similar set on his arms, though instead of the pink like Graeme’s, Jaxon’s brands looked white against his dark skin. The top one ran across his upper arm and looked like a crude symbol for water, with four wavy horizontal lines stacked on top of each other. The jagged lines of the bottom brand near his elbow looked like fire. Allyn couldn’t make out the other. Air?

  Allyn looked at Nyla. The embellishments on her necklace matched the brands on the men’s arms. “I don’t know, but he did have tattoos on his neck that looked something like those.”

  Graeme leaned back, disapproval on his face. He rubbed his chin. “His name is Lukas.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s dangerous,” Graeme said. “To both of us.”

  “What does he want?”

  “I don’t know.” Graeme stood and walked to the fireplace, clasping his hands behind his back. “You’ve been thrust into something you don’t understand, Allyn. A world you never knew existed. I don’t know what Lukas wants with you, but I’m going to find out. Will you help me?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because we saved you.” Graeme’s words echoed off the coffered ceiling. “You’re a man of the law, Allyn, and I suppose you require proof, but the only proof I have is your own body. You were cast out a second-story window onto pavement, and yet here you sit, talking to me, alive and without any serious injuries. Explain this to me.”

  Had this man actually saved him? Graeme was right—he should be dead, and Allyn didn’t have an answer for that. But he didn’t know these people or what they were capable of, and they were somehow connected to his attacker. And that made him nervous. It could all be a ploy to earn his trust. They would act as the savior while really being the opposite.

  “I can’t explain it,” Allyn said, “but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know who you are, either. How do I know if I can trust you?”

  “We saved you, Allyn.”

  “So you keep saying,” Allyn said, “but I don’t do business when I don’t know all the facts, and you’re obviously hiding something.”

  “What happens when Lukas returns to finish the job?” Jaxon asked.

  Allyn didn’t have an answer for that. “I’ll figure it out.” He didn’t believe the attacker would come back anyway.

  Graeme nodded to Nyla. She got to her feet and placed a hand on Allyn’s shoulder.

  “If this is business, Allyn, then it’s the business of life and death, and you just made a bad investment.” Graeme nodded to Nyla again and strode out of the room, Jaxon at his shoulder.

  Allyn felt a pinch on his shoulder, and the room went dark.

  Chapter 3

  A sharp jolt brought Allyn back to consciousness. A door slammed, an engine roared, and tires squealed. The hot, muggy air had a dull odor. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He licked his dry lips, his tongue brushing against something rough.

  A hood covered his head.

  Allyn pulled the hood off, catching sight of a black sedan screeching through a stop sign. He was sitting on the sidewalk of a private street. Mid-level BMWs, Mercedes, Lexus, and Acuras were parked along the curb and in the driveways of condos and apartments. A tractor was parked in the field across the street, ready to continue construction the following morning.

  He was home.

  Suddenly self-conscious, Allyn looked down at himself. He was fully clothed. At least his abductors—or saviors—had the decency to return him fully dressed. The clothes weren’t his, though. They had replaced his black business suit with a pair of loose-fitting trousers and a thin, neutral-colored three-quarter-sleeve shirt. He looked like a hipster, and he hated to admit it was comfortable. More importantly, he found his keys and wallet, complete with all his credit cards, in his pocket.

  The garage door to his left opened, and his neighbor wheeled out a green garbage can. Others already lined the street. That meant it was still Sunday. Only a day had passed since the attack.

  One day.

  It felt so much longer than that. He’d spent most of the time unconscious and the rest of it confused. It felt good to be home, somewhere familiar, where things made sense. Allyn nodded to the neighbor and walked up the driveway to his condo.

  It was cold inside. The sliding glass door was open—no, it was broken. Shattered glass covered the floor. He would have to get a tarp or something to cover the door until he could get someone out to fix it.

  Memory of the attack flooded back to him: seeing him on the stairs, being unable to move, feeling powerless, and the intruder’s apology. What kind of person apologized be
fore trying to kill someone? It didn’t make sense, but what did? He was alive, and that was all that mattered. Alive and alone. Or was he? Could the intruder be waiting for him?

  Allyn’s breathing quickened. Shadows seemed to grow longer and darker, providing an intruder with ample space to hide. What was that dark mass behind the couch? There was a creak on the stairs. Was that someone breathing?

  You’re paranoid, Allyn told himself. You’re alone. The condo is empty.

  The stairs were empty. Allyn took them two at a time and rounded the corner into his bedroom. The bed was made, and the room was clean—the way the downstairs should have been. The blinds were closed, shrouding the room in darkness. He sat on the foot of the bed and exhaled a long, slow, stress-erasing breath. His head dipped in exhaustion. How could I still be tired? He yawned. It felt good to be home.

  The room around him disappeared.

  Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

  Monday. Time for work. When did I fall asleep?

  For the first time in a long time, Allyn thought about calling in sick. The world had changed, and it was too much to take in. The thought of dwelling on someone else’s problems when his own were so much more complicated was frustrating. Who cares about dog custody agreements or bickering ex-spouses? I just got thrown out a window and was saved by a shadowy group of strangers who hint at being able to do things the rest of us think impossible.

  He needed to talk to someone. He called his sister.

  The phone rang several times before the call went to voicemail. It was early, but Kendyl might be in her studio or at work or, more likely, still sleeping. Allyn left a short message asking her to call him back when she got the chance. Then, without knowing what else to do, he got ready for work.

  He arrived later than normal, and his boss and a few coworkers were already in the office. Mr. Clarke nodded to him from his office as Allyn entered. What are you going to do now that you have my attention? Mr. Clarke had asked the last time they’d spoken. Allyn hadn’t planned on showing up late. He probably thinks I’m slacking off. I’ll have to work even harder to make up the lost ground.

  He took a little while to get going. His mind was sluggish and resisted the mental workout, but once he worked himself into a groove, someone else’s stress began to replace his. The day became a blur of paperwork and meetings, and with it went his memories of the attack, and the strange occurrences thereafter faded. He needed a distraction, and work was the best kind. Each client was an escape.

  He worked through lunch and was well into the afternoon before he took so much as a bathroom break. He didn’t eat. He didn’t drink. He just worked. The sun was on the western horizon when his stomach began to gurgle. Scents of spicy chicken and takeout filled the office. Several coworkers were eating in, it seemed, which meant Allyn would, too.

  He ordered pizza from a small pizza joint around the corner. They didn’t normally deliver, but Allyn ate there frequently enough that they made an exception for him. Before returning to his desk, he made sure to tip the delivery guy, who was a surprisingly muscular high school kid with an acne problem. Grease pooled on top of the pepperoni and mozzarella, and the thin, doughy crust drooped when Allyn held it up, forcing him to fold it in half and eat it like a taco. It was delicious.

  Allyn checked his messages, expecting to see a missed call from Kendyl, but she hadn’t called. That’s weird. He scrolled through his contacts and called her again, and for the second time that day, his call went to voicemail, this time without ever ringing. Payback. She called you eight times, and you never answered. She’s proving a point.

  He finished his slice of pizza and got back to work.

  Life returned to normal as Allyn settled back into his daily routine. Up early, home late, and life in the office dominated the rest. His clients’ problems became his own, and he was once again on the path to becoming a partner. By Wednesday, two days after his return to his normal life, Kendyl still hadn’t called, and he got a little anxious. He left her two more messages, each more agitated than the last, pleading with her to call him back. When Thursday arrived without a word from her, he began to worry. By Friday, he was in a panic. He wasn’t going to wait for her to call him back. He was going to go over there and talk to her in person.

  Kendyl’s apartment was in northeast Portland, a single block off Burnside in a trendy, gentrified pocket community with nice boutique ships, small diners, and coffee shops. Allyn hated it. He didn’t care how hip the neighborhood was; the surrounding area was plagued with escalating gang activity and violent crime. What Kendyl considered cultured, he considered questionable.

  It was well into the evening by the time he made it to her neighborhood. He parked a block away, in the parking lot of a closed coffee shop called A Better Cup. A group of men with soiled clothes and greasy hair stood at the bus stop, talking through missing teeth. They ignored him as he passed by.

  Her parking space was empty, but that didn’t mean anything since Kendyl didn’t own a car. The couple who lived above her rented her space for their second vehicle. Allyn quickened his step so that he was almost jogging through the complex. He sighed in relief when he saw her bike locked to the stairwell. She was home, and knowing she was safe felt good. He almost turned around and left, but he stepped up to the door and knocked. When she didn’t answer, he knocked louder. She still didn’t answer.

  Beating on the door, he called to her. “Kendyl! Kendyl, open up! It’s your brother.”

  Nothing.

  He pressed his ear against the door. Maybe her TV was too loud or she was in the shower or listening to music. He didn’t hear anything. She could be out for a walk. No, even if Kendyl thought her trendy neighborhood was cultured, she wasn’t stupid. Naïve maybe, but not stupid. He knocked again.

  “Kendyl, please open up. It’s me. I just want to talk. Please let me in.”

  The door behind him creaked open, and a middle-aged woman stepped out. She wore a set of mismatched cotton pajamas, and her bleach-blond hair was tied into a ponytail atop her head.

  “Sorry,” Allyn said. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “Did you say you were her brother?” the woman asked. Her voice was thick and raspy, damaged by too many years of smoking.

  “Yes,” Allyn said. “Do you know Kendyl?”

  “Yeah.” She pulled the door closed behind her. “I’m Rebecca.”

  “Have you seen her lately?”

  “No. I haven’t seen her in almost a week.”

  Allyn shook his head. “How often do you normally see her?”

  “Often enough,” she said. “I heard her fighting with her boyfriend the other night.”

  “Her boyfriend?”

  Kendyl didn’t have a boyfriend, not that she had told him about anyway. They weren’t as close as they used to be.

  “Yeah, a shorter guy, stocky, with tattoos on his neck.” She nervously rubbed the side of her face with the back of her fingers. “I haven’t seen her since.”

  Allyn’s blood froze. Short. Stocky. Tattoos on his neck. He knew exactly whom she was talking about. He turned and kicked the metal door. It didn’t move. He kicked again. The wooden frame groaned against the impact, but it still didn’t open.

  “What are you doing?” Rebecca asked.

  Allyn ignored her, continuing to beat the door with his foot. It remained shut, taunting him. He began to panic. The door wouldn’t budge, but he had to get into that apartment. He checked for a hidden key under the welcome mat, on top of the doorframe, and in the vase in the corner. Nothing.

  “What are you looking for?” Rebecca asked.

  Without a key, the door would have to come down. He backed up a few feet and charged, throwing his shoulder into the door. Pain shot through his shoulder, then his arm went numb, and still, the door remained shut. Allyn became fur
ious. Someone was after him. He’d been attacked and abducted, but he’d never told Kendyl. Stupid. She was in danger and it was his fault.

  Fury spreading through his veins like adrenaline, Allyn charged the door again. This time, he buried his foot inches from the frame. The door burst open, wooden shrapnel exploding into the air, and the door hung awkwardly on a single broken hinge.

  “Call 9-1-1,” he shouted, charging into the apartment.

  The apartment opened into the kitchen. Moldy dishes covered the yellow Formica countertop, and an army of ants marched from the sink, down the cupboard into the living space, and disappeared into the stained carpet. The smell of spoiled meat hung in the air, and Allyn covered his nose with the crook of his arm.

  “Kendyl?”

  Silence.

  Allyn’s frantic pace slowed. He became more cautious and observant. The apartment was a small studio with the bed tucked around the corner. Blankets covered the bed, hanging onto the floor in disarray. Clothes had been thrown about and were hanging off chairs, stacked on the couch, and littered the floor. None of the windows or pieces of furniture was broken. He saw nothing that would suggest an attack. And that gave him hope. But she wasn’t there. And the same intruder who’d attacked him had been in her apartment.

  He was sure she’d been abducted, and it was his fault. He should have warned her. He had to get her back. How? Think, Allyn. You know who took her, and that’s an important first step.

  Allyn exited the apartment, a plan forming in his head.

  “Where are you going?” Rebecca called after him. “You’re leaving the scene of a crime!”

  He knew he was breaking the law, but he didn’t care. He had to find his sister, and he couldn’t do that while answering police questions. He couldn’t go to the police at all. What would he say? I was recently attacked by a man with supernatural abilities, thrown from a second-story window, only to be saved by another shadowy group of people. No, I don’t have any proof. No, I didn’t go to the hospital. No, I didn’t file a police report. That wouldn’t go over well. They would never take him seriously. The police wouldn’t be any help, but he knew who would be.