"She said Michael not telling anybody about the blackmailing wasn't weak or him trying to hide. It was him protecting her, showing her how much he loved her. Then she asked why I never tried with Payton."
"Payton?" I ask, surprised by the detail.
"We got close after Peter was born. I don't think a lot of people realized that because they were so fixated on her being my brother's ex and still spending time with all of us. Somehow his money and prominence make it so a perfectly normal arrangement for anyone else is bizarre for him. But she and I did spend a lot of time together. Sometimes she would come hang out at my place if Michael was out. But it never turned into anything. I didn't want it to. I guess that's why it hurt so much when Everly suggested it."
"And when you left, she was fine?" I ask.
"Perfectly. I told her I would never forget her and took the bracelet. She didn't argue with me. I felt like that was us coming to an agreement in a way. We'd always know, but it didn't have to be talked about. Then I left. I spent the rest of the morning sitting under a hot shower until I heard Maggie screaming."
"You've managed to be really cold and even callous about her. You even stayed with her body. How could you do that?" I ask.
"Because I thought she killed herself, and it destroyed me. It was easier to slip back into hating her than it was to actually feel it. Then when Sheriff Johnson announced it was now considered murder, I hated myself for leaving her even more. If I’d been there for just a little longer, I could have protected her," he says.
"Just one more question. When you went to see Everly, where was she?"
"Where was she?" he asks.
"In the house. Where was she?"
"The sink and changing area of the bathroom," he says. "I came through the connection between the two houses. Most people don't even realize it's there. Michael had them concealed when he first bought the house, so it didn't look strange."
"Where is it?" I ask.
"At the end of the hall beside the bath. It's hidden inside a wardrobe cabinet. The back panel moves out of the way. It's easier to use that than the doors, but Michael hates it. I don't do it often, and we've never told anybody they're there."
"Thank you, Daniel. I truly am so sorry for your loss."
“Thank you,” he says weakly, looking down between his pulled-up thighs at the porch. “You know what moment of that morning will always stick with me?”
“What?” I ask.
“When I saw here hanging there and saw the scar on her hand, all I wanted to do was hold it. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get that out of my mind.”
“Scar on her hand?” I raise an eyebrow.
“You didn’t notice? Everly had a scar on her pointer finger. She told Michael the branding on her waist wasn’t the only way to mark the women. They were also required to wear metal bands on their pointer finger to mark them. At first, it seemed like a gift. Then they start heating it with coals and the branding iron. Hers left her with a deep scar.”
That makes something course through my head.
“Son of a bitch.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Him
“I want answers,” he demanded, hovering over the two men.
They cowered in front of him. Exactly how he wanted them. Both were shirtless, putting their tattoos on full display. The massive sea monsters carved deep into their backs and filled with black ink marked them as loyal to Leviathan. He had a similar tattoo, but the waves etched beneath its undulating body were tinged with red, signifying the blood that brought him to his place as head of the organization.
“We don’t know,” one of the men answered.
“Neither of you?” he asked.
“No,” the other replied. "We don't know who supplied the explosives or planted them.”
"And you haven't heard anything?" he asked.
"Nothing," the first man answered. "We've asked, but no one is talking. Most who know assume it was Leviathan.”
That number would amount to little more than a handful. Those who knew about Leviathan pledged their lives to the organization. They were recruited from the streets, brought in fresh from the prisons, courted from universities and government agencies. Among them, the most brilliant and skilled scientists and craftsmen to create weapons and implements of warfare, the well-connected to find supplies and dedicated clients, and the reckless and driven to take the biggest risks.
Those who knew Leviathan existed but who were not counted among its number were very few. To know about the organization was a burden, and a privilege, for Leviathan was created for chaos. Its goal was to nurture fear and foster warfare. When society became too balanced, it stagnated. Chaos allowed for that imbalance. A terrorist organization so sleek and expertly run it had not even been identified by the CIA, Leviathan lived up to its name.
For thirty years now, he had given of himself fully. He unleashed death, destruction, and turmoil onto an unsuspecting world. And with that came power and a constant stream of money from the terrified arming themselves for war. In those thirty years, he rose through the ranks, gaining influence and dominance until the blood was etched into his back, and he took full control.
The chaos kept people aware of the moment and didn’t allow them to forget to live. Because at any second, the option may no longer be theirs.
But despite the credit being given to them in whispers among the select few in the know, this time it wasn’t them releasing torment. The explosion at the bus station wasn’t his plan, and it infuriated him that someone else orchestrated it.
"Do any of you understand the sheer magnitude of the situation? Do you grasp the severity of what happened?"
"Yes," both men answered.
"I don't think you do. I don't think either of you could possibly appreciate just how disastrous this really was. I don't care about the deaths. The destruction means nothing to me. It was just another building. But he was in there. And what if it had been Emma? If she was there… "
He drew in a breath to quiet his mind and stop the sentence from forming. He couldn't even bring himself to imagine the consequences if Emma had been in that bus station. The effects of the explosion were already impacting his plans. Everything had been laid out exactly as it should have been. They had timed every step, prepared for what they believed was every eventuality. It never even occurred to him that someone else's eyes would be on that station.
Now he had to know who. The vast majority of the weapons in Virginia and several surrounding states were run through him. Men scattered across the country and across the globe prepared to go to battle armed with artillery he provided. Whether it was gang members facing off with handguns in battles over street corners and drugs, or small armies tired of seeing the blood on the sand, he provided a service to them. He ensured they had what they needed to further his goals, in exchange for exorbitant fees and loyalty.
The favors owed to him by those who took patronage of his empire collected like the money in his bank account. He kept them close, rarely calling them in. It was better to have these people beholden to him and prepared to do whatever he asked of them than it was to make a simple task simpler. But now it may be time to start cashing in some of that debt.
"I want to know who supplied those explosives and why they planted them. And I want them brought to me."
"Brought to you?"
"The plans must change. There's too much danger. I've already had to spend so many years away from her. I've done my time. I can't be without her anymore. Soon it will be time. And nothing will stand in my way."