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Afterthought by Cat Kane

Afterthought  by Cat Kane

Publisher - Liquid Silver Books

Available now from Liquid Silver Books! 

ISBN: 978-1-59578-579-4

Blurb

When you're choosing between right and wrong, sometimes love is just an afterthought.

Telepath Vance Gregory never thought that taking down high-powered underworld Path Marcus Rose would be easy. When his enemy proves to be a far more formidable danger than Vance anticipates, he has no choice but to join forces with Ayan, a beautiful low-level Path with mysterious connections to Marcus.

Captured by Vance's organization during a bungled ambush on Marcus, Ayan had no intention of helping them achieve their ends. But Vance isn't like anyone he's known. Given a glimpse of how life with him might be beyond the uncertain society they inhabit, Ayan agrees to Vance's plans.

Neither of them expect the intense attraction, nor the explosive mental bond it forges. And when Ayan's powers begin to spike out of control, neither of them want to face the unpredictable dangers that could tear them apart.

With Ayan at his side, Vance sets out to remove the threat Marcus poses to the Path community. But Marcus isn't that easy to kill, and when Ayan turns out to be vital to Marcus's continued existence, Vance has to choose between the enemy he hates or the man he loves.

 

Excerpt

Prologue

The silence was an odd thing to notice. Generally Ayan valued silence greatly, and even more so the empty nothing that came with it.

He'd just expected that when his world fell apart, there'd be more noise.

Most of Marcus's men fell to some unseen assailant, bodies jerking and dancing to the disembodied strings of an invisible puppeteer. Ayan didn't know whether they were dead, but their pain and fear still reverberated through his head every time he let go of Marcus's hand.

"This way." Marcus dragged him down a dark corridor. The power was already out in the building, and the emergency lighting drenched everything in a muted blood-red glow. "Try to keep up, Ayan."

Ayan stumbled, wishing for nothing more than to be able to yank his hand from Marcus's. The repercussions wouldn't be pleasant. Holding on was the lesser evil by far, clinging was easier than fighting.

"I told you, didn't I?" he said. "I told you something was wrong."

"So you did." Marcus grit his teeth, black braid swinging and flicking like a scorpion's tail, lashing out at Ayan. "So you did..."

It was only his worry that had led Marcus to put in place a makeshift defense just before the ambush began, but Ayan didn’t remind him of that. Much as Marcus claimed to value Ayan's powers, when those powers warned him of his own failures and lax security, it wasn't quite so endearing.

Marcus opened a door that led to a narrow staircase, and pushed Ayan up ahead of him.

"But, Marcus—"

"Last I heard, Paths can't fly," Marcus said, setting off up the steps towards the rooftop, passing him without a glance. "It'll be safe enough up here. I've got the chopper on its way."

Ayan didn't question how or when Marcus made those arrangements. After all, Marcus Rose didn't need cell phones or radios.

Still the uneasiness that had trailed him all day like an oppressive storm just off radar continued to trail their escape. He had little doubt that Marcus would escape–Marcus always did–but how he'd achieve it in the face of such an overwhelming threat was another matter altogether.

He tripped on the steps, hand wrenching free from Marcus's grasp to brace himself. Marcus didn't stop to wait, and Ayan had to hurry to his feet to catch up, keep up.

Always keeping up with someone, always watching someone's retreating back. Marcus promised him when he brought Ayan here that those days were finally over; if he fell behind now, he'd be throwing it all away.

"Marcus—"

"Get a move on," Marcus snapped, not looking back. "I won't be trapped like some rat by these fools."

The fire escape door at the top of the stairs opened out onto the rooftop. A cold wind bustled up from the streets below on a current of wailing sirens and the gasoline stench of traffic. A sky, black tinged with orange, hung so low above them he could almost reach up and touch it.

There were stars somewhere beyond the murk, he knew, even though he couldn't see it. He had to believe they were still there.

As they approached the edge of the building, a deep rumbled hum reverberated from somewhere beneath their feet. Moments later, a helicopter crested the rooftop, hovering like a metallic dragonfly in the air before dipping slightly, making its way to the centre of the roof where it could land.

Ayan breathed a little easier. He'd never doubted Marcus, but...well, even his lover could make mistakes.

Lover. Years after Marcus took him in, many months after their affair began, and he still had no better word to describe a man he certainly didn't love, but depended on the way he depended on air, on water, on day following night. He doubted Marcus loved him in return, but he took care of him, and that was all Ayan wanted of him.

With Marcus, he didn't have to think, didn't have to feel. He could just be, and be safe.

Even now, when the rest of his valued entourage fell to their pursuers, Marcus made sure he took Ayan with him when he escaped.

Fleeing at midnight from the top of a high-rise in a blacked-out helicopter; it wasn't exactly how Ayan envisioned his life would go, but since the day he'd realized he was different, he'd known nothing would be ordinary again. It didn't mean he couldn't yearn for it. It was still there, somewhere, he thought. Like those stars.

He followed Marcus towards the chopper, one hand up to keep the wind out of his eyes. Past the rushing of wind and motors, he could hear the crackle of the pilot speaking on the radio, heard the resonant hum of the rotor blades as they sliced the sky.

Marcus climbed into the helicopter's cabin, and Ayan had one hand on the edge of the open door, one foot on the skids when Marcus turned towards him.

"Wait."

"What?" Ayan felt the words snatched from his lips, more by bewildered surprise than the wind. "What's wrong?"

Marcus tilted his head, inhumanly calm, watching him thoughtfully.

"You are aware of your function, yes?"

"Is this the time for a pop quiz?" He frowned. Marcus silenced him with a glance. "Yes, I'm aware, but--"

"Good."

Marcus drew him close, and for a fearful moment he thought Marcus might actually kiss him. Even ignoring the situation, the danger, he didn't want such a clear sense of Marcus's thoughts. There was a calculating darkness in Marcus's eyes that Ayan didn't want in his head.

But Marcus just gazed to him, black stare boring into Ayan's until he could almost feel the cold vines of it probing his soul with dispassionate fingers.

Then Marcus let him go.

Ayan stumbled back, the rooftop tilting like an ocean swell beneath his feet, his body unable to support itself. He dropped to his knees as the helicopter took off, rotors whipping up a wind that sent his hair tangling around his face, gladly blocking off his view.

Somewhere–out loud, in his head, Ayan couldn't tell–he thought he heard Marcus's voice.

"I'll find you."

The sentiment should have been a comfort, but to Ayan the words sounded like a threat, as a consequence of some slight he hadn't even realized he'd committed yet.

Pushing his hair back from his face as the wind eased, he was still staring at the flickering lights of the departing helicopter when the door onto the rooftop opened behind him. He could feel at least a half dozen pursuers, maybe more. At the best of times his powers weren't too accurate in a crowd, and these were certainly not the best of times.

However many of them were there, they filed out onto the rooftop in silence, just the occasional scuff of a shoe against the ground, or the rustle of clothes announcing their presence.

He must look like a forlorn child to these people, a foolish dog still staring at the front door expecting its errant master to come home soon.

Marcus wasn't coming back. The man who promised Ayan that he would never be alone again had left him here.

Summoning what tattered pieces of his dignity he could find, he turned to face his pursuers.

"Slowly," A clipped voice said behind him. "If you so much as breathe wrong, I shoot."

Ayan did as he was told, keeping his hands held out slightly at his sides as he stood. Instinct, he supposed; there was no other particular reason he wanted to stay alive, except that Marcus would kill him himself if Ayan chose an easy out.

Instinct also had him sending out questing feelers of power as he turned around, trying to figure out his captor while he had the chance. There was no point; he couldn't feel a thing. As much emotion emanated from the nondescript young man as did from the gleaming black handgun he held aimed at Ayan's chest.

"Where is he?"

Emotion or not, Ayan knew the man meant Marcus. Everyone meant Marcus.

Yet if he admitted he didn't know, he wouldn't only be selling out on Marcus, he'd be selling out on his own desperate foolishness. How could he, of all people, be seen to be as much of an idiot as everyone else, as much in the dark?

He said nothing, bracing himself for the impact of the shot.

The man shrugged. "Fine. Then you'll come with us until you're feeling more talkative."

One nod brought several of the other men to surround Ayan like a dark-suited fence, until the oppressiveness of it made him dizzy. Closing his eyes against a wave of nausea, he tried to focus on anything else that might distract him.

"The building is secure, sir." One of the suited goons reported. "We're calling ahead, is everything we need at the facility?"

"Call Vance," he heard the man say, and for the first time he felt a flicker of something coming from the guarded psyche; admiration, affection, and not a little annoyance. Whoever Vance was–Ayan drew out the name in his head, harsh and sibilant–he was someone who could create ripples of emotion in an otherwise empty pond. "He can deal with this. Let him do some work for a change."Chapter One

There weren’t many jobs where the employees could carry out business in dark corners of smoky clubs and still call it legitimate work. No one besides bartenders. And him.

The second hand on the platinum Rolex ticked down the last breaths of the minute, bright little flickers of movement on the periphery of his vision in the dim light. Vance took a long slow drag on his fifth cigarette of the evening, gaze trained on the door. Right on cue, a man walked in, making his way through the clustered groups towards the bar.

There was nothing remarkable about Bobby Walker. Generically handsome but nothing that stood out, nothing anyone here would remember, even if Vance allowed them to. Sometimes he did, just to see if he’d be caught out. He was never sure whether he was relieved or disappointed when no one did.

He watched as Bobby gave his order to the bartender, who looked Vance’s way when the order ended with "...Oh, and send the guy at that table another of whatever he’s drinking."

Free drinks were just a simple perk. He’d known the value of simple perks long before the reality of his situation became apparent.

When he’d been a kid, Vance Gregory had made his dad leave the keys in an idling car, just by thinking how cool it’d be if the old guy just plain forgot about it, just went into the house and shut the door. To this day it brought a smile to his face, picturing his dad’s face as he tried explaining to the cops that he had no idea how his ten year old son could have found the keys, let alone driven the car three blocks before it skewed off the road into someone’s front yard.

At least these days, he didn’t have to give the cars back. And no one ever looked at him the way those cops had looked at his dad–like he was out of his damned mind.

Vance Gregory wasn’t out of his mind, he was just in other people’s.

He wouldn’t have to toy with Bobby's mind much longer though, fortunately. When the bartender brought over the drink,Vance feigned surprise at the kind gesture, raising the glass slightly in Bobby's direction in mock thanks.

Stubbing out the cigarette, he refrained from tapping a sixth out of the packet. Something new and far more interesting was fluttering against the edges of his thoughts, and he didn’t want to draw undue attention to himself yet, not when things were only getting started.

He didn't have to wait long.

The man that walked into the club would have turned heads where ever he went, with his pale skin, sharp features, and the long black hair that fell in a thick rope of a braid down his back.

Marcus Rose.

Nothing ordinary about this one, and no one would have paid attention to the three goons that subtly trailed him into the room. Vance smiled as the black haired man scanned the room, gaze landing on the same target at the bar. Robert J. Walker. Small time dealer specializing in the kind of mind altering substances that allowed Marcus Rose and his kind greater access to the human user's mind. Word on the street was that good ol' Bobby had turned informant, and was endangering all of Marcus's operations.

He hadn't of course, but the rumor had certainly forced Marcus out into the open.

Only the swirling ice cubes in his scotch were privy to Vance’s smile. He didn’t need to look up, he could watch proceedings through Bobby's eyes now that there was something worthy of seeing.

Tendrils of his consciousness seeping through Bobby's like a vine, he turned Bobby to face Marcus, made him smile, made him raise his glass in a parody that probably only amused Vance.

They were his thoughts, but Bobby's voice, his lips that moved to speak. "Did you want something?"

"No," Marcus smiled, showing teeth, the expression too angular and gaunt to be handsome. "I think I've found what I wanted."

Back at the office at the OPS headquarters, he had a file several inches thick on Marcus Rose, but it still didn’t quite prepare him for the near electric charge of being this close. He wasn’t even deliberately touching Marcus’s mind but he could still feel it, like static. Powerful, but then he knew that already. He wouldn’t be here wasting his time for anything less.

"Well... " His thoughts spilled from Bobby's lips again. "I guess that depends on what you were looking for in the first place, doesn’t it?"

Something swarmed at Bobby's mind, and Vance retreated a little, just enough to allow Marcus's influence to touch his own.

Come outside with me.

The touch felt cold, unnatural even for Vance's experience. For a moment he worried that Marcus knew he was there, when that dark gaze swept the bar again. Just checking for witnesses, no doubt, but it paid to be careful.

He let Bobby's face fall into a suitably slack expression as he nodded, and Marcus's smile quirked as Vance encouraged his new toy off the stool, following Marcus towards the back of the club.

So good. Mr. Rose wasn’t going to disappoint. He wasn’t as good as Vance, obviously, no one was, but he was the best opponent he’d had in a very long while.

He’d need to be more careful than usual, but when the rewards were this enticing that wasn’t exactly a chore.

Sinking back slightly into his chair, Vance slipped off his wire-rimmed glasses, polishing them on his tie. He looked okay as far as he could tell, from the occasional glances he allowed Bobby to take in his direction. He’d bought this suit last week and it already looked as though he’d been sleeping in it ever since. His dark gold hair looked as though it had needed a cut about six weeks ago, but had given up the ghost when none was forthcoming and contented itself with brushing his collar and falling into his eyes. It was too dark to actually see his eyes, but the glasses caught the light a little too much for his liking, so they had to go. It was better than a mirror, seeing someone else’s three-dimensional view of himself, and it paid to check now and then. If he became engrossed in his task, sometimes it showed, and someone like Marcus Rose would surely notice.

There was nothing to notice. Just an average guy enjoying a drink all on his lonesome.

Putting a little more of a spin on his hold of Bobby's thoughts, enough to throw Marcus off if he decided to probe a little deeper, he tried to keep the amusement out of the feigned shock.

"What’s going on? Where are we going?"

Marcus didn't answer. Outside the club, any pretence at seduction was gone, replaced by a pensive irritation.

Vance let a tendril of his own slip forth, feeling the annoyance, the frustration. Walker. Time wasting. Foolish. Something was bothering Marcus that was greater than their mutual friend..

The goons drew in around Bobby. Vance allowed him to splutter and back fearfully against a wall.

"Wait, what are—"

Through Bobby's eyes, he caught sight of a black car, devoid of any insignia or identifying mark. Then there was just blackness and static as one of the goons threw a punch, and Bobby's head ricocheted between the beefy fist and the wall like a Ping-Pong ball.

Well damn.

 

 

 

 

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