7: Bolt Saga, Book 7 Read online

  “And a succubus with a chainsaw for a heart?” Foley counters.

  Wade groans. “Goddamnit. Real life’s supposed to be different than video games.”

  “This isn’t real life, dude.” Foley tsks. “Remember?”

  Emma pivots forward to get a better look at the screen though drops her hand to keep our fingers entwined. “Who are all these other people? What event is this photo from?”

  Wade leans back in the chair. Pushes away from the desk and circles to face her. “Well, that’s the interesting twist,” he declares.

  Fershan nods. “We were trying to jump over Scorpio cartel firewalls, looking for a loophole or a back door. But many times, the best back door is the front door.”

  “Huh?” Emma frowns.

  “They’re right.” Foley all but growls it. “I’ve been thinking so hard about all of this, I overthought it.” The growl finally erupts as he palms the center of his forehead. “The easiest entrance. The softest sites to hit. Social-media pages, photo collection or video scrapbook web pages…”

  “Easily located by searching for hashtags with the Scorpios’ shell companies,” Fershan finishes.

  “Only reason this one took so long for us to find was because it was taken three and a half years ago,” Wade adds. “It’s from a Flickr page. Says it was taken at the Consorcio Sciences board retreat…in Barcelona, Spain.”

  Emma starts to tremble. The trembles become shivers. The shivers become sobs.

  “Consorcio.” Foley sounds like he’s ready to hurl. I don’t know whether I’m more tempted to join him or Emma in her rising tears. In the end, my rage eclipses both—especially as Wade voices the fact that drives this shocking dagger in deeper.

  “Consorcio. That’s Spanish for…what? Consortium?”

  Foley snarls softly. Emma snuffles harder. And all the glowing crap inside my chest and gut now congeal into a payload of nuclear-grade explosives ready to be cut loose and detonated over one prime target.

  The man looking like a goddamned Valentine’s Day card with Faline in that picture.

  Surrounded by a bunch of people who, like that bitch, are marked with the same scorpion tattoo on their necks.

  Who have been working with the Consortium. Who have been financing their “fringe science” experiments. On non-voluntary human beings.

  Like me.

  “Fuck.”

  It falls out of me as I wheel away from them all, hands dragging through my hair, dread weighing my steps. Just one word on my lips but representing so many more, all burning and terrible. The nuke in my heart has turned into a vat of lethal, searing liquid.

  What was Dad’s relationship with Faline? Were they lovers? Just “close chums”? Did he know about the real organization all his fellow “board members” represented? Was Consorcio Sciences the genesis for the Consortium—and how far they chose to take torture in the name of advancing “science”? And did he know that too?

  And if he did…

  “Fuck.”

  I can barely stand to summon the thought to my brain. To even form the words, though silent, in my psyche.

  But I have to.

  As much as gouging out one of my own eyes seems like a less painful alternative, this is where the fucking rabbit hole has burrowed to.

  If my father knew about the Consortium and their plans, did he betray me into their captivity? Did he offer me for their lunatic experiments?

  On the other side of posing the question, I’m confronted by an even more relentless pain.

  That of not having an answer.

  And the compulsion, a unique torment all on its own, of needing to find out.

  Only when I’m glaring at the cuts across my fist, and the blood turning purple because of the throbbing blue light beneath it, do I realize I’ve marched across the room and tried taking out my fury on a framed pop art poster. Not able to meet anyone’s gaze, I duck my head, hunch my shoulders, and head for the bathroom to clean up.

  As I expect, Foley follows me in.

  As I also expect, so does Emma.

  After dunking my hand beneath the faucet, I let the mirror convey the violent tempest still ruling my senses. My irises have gone silver, and the white orbs around them have filled with spikes of furious lightning. Neither of them flinches, thank fuck. Emma, with her pumping chest and tear-tracked cheeks, humbles and moves me more than ever. Even now, in the middle of this insanity, my soul connects to hers in a new, raw reality of utter honesty. For my heart to belong any more to her, I’d have to carve the thing out of my chest and lay it in her hands.

  Foley, thank fuck, is a lot less emotionally invested. Oh, he’s pissed to be sure but is clearly capable of thinking beyond the blast zone of this new revelation. I bore my gaze directly into his, hoping like hell I’m correctly interpreting his scrutiny.

  “Hit me with it.” I add a determined nod now. “What’s your plan?”

  For the first time, Emma rips her gaze away from me. “You have a plan?” she demands at him.

  Sawyer twists his lips. “I wouldn’t call it a plan.”

  I succumb to a grimace. “So you are thinking the same thing I am.” My voice is dismal. “Fuck.”

  “Which is what?” Emma ping-pongs her stare between the two of us, obviously barraged by the same questions in the wake of that photo—which is corroborated by more shots of Dad and Faline from other events, judging by Wade’s and Fershan’s outcries from the next room.

  Foley jams his hands into his pockets. Squares his shoulders. “In order for you to get those answers about your dad, you’ve got to get close to your dad.”

  I coil one hand into a fist against the counter. “And that means getting back on the Virage project.”

  “And that means cleaning yourself up and issuing a public apology to the city and your family,” he confirms.

  But simply hearing the words detonates the explosives inside my chest all over again. Having to get on camera and appear contrite is on par with a colonoscopy. The end is worthy; the means is a goddamn mess.

  Then I’ll just have to focus on the goal. Wiping the slate with the mayor. Smoothing the path back to Dad. Clearing the air with Tyce—and hoping he’ll recognize the gesture, despite its impersonal delivery method, to try to reach back out to Emma or me once more.

  I snarl again, harder and deeper.

  Focus on the goal.

  Do what’s right.

  No matter how hard it sucks.

  I lean over the counter, wondering how many punches it would take to break open the marble slab beneath my palms.

  “Do it.”

  I snap my head up at the pair of words that break the silence—coming from the woman who now steps back next to me. Emma palms the side of my face while pressing tight against me. The electric rage in my eyes now reflects in hers, but against her turquoise depths, the light turns into glimmers like a vast fairy tale lake. Because that’s what this woman does to my life. In her view, my ugliness is turned to beauty, my darkness becomes light.

  “Do it, Reece,” she repeats in a whisper. “Do it, and know I’ll be at your side through every step of the journey and every second of the storm…no matter what.”

  For a long moment, all I can do is stare. My mind bursts with amazement; my soul implodes with love. How have I come to deserve this woman? What did I do to earn her belief in me and this insane existence, in which she’s ordering me to apologize to the world in order to determine how far the monster factor really runs in my family?

  I have to shut my eyes as those questions take a terrifying turn.

  When will I have to make an equally tormenting sacrifice for her?

  When do I decide that the storm is too dangerous—and it’s time to let her go?

  I pull her tighter against me, mashing the beats of our hearts against each other, and pray like hell it’s the one question I’ll never have to answer.

  After several long minutes, I reluctantly release her. We leave the bathroom hand in hand.
Back out in the office, I scoop up my phone and punch in the autodial for my office at the Brocade. “Joanne,” I utter after my assistant gives her cheery greeting. “I need you to call the media reps at Richards corporate. Tell them I need to call an emergency press conference for today at noon Pacific. They’ll already know what it’s about.”

  Because the storm’s already started.

  Continue the Bolt Saga with Bolt Saga: 8

  Available Now

  * * *

  Enjoy Bolt Saga: 7?

  Please leave a review.

  Also by Angel Payne

  The Bolt Saga:

  Bolt Saga: 1

  Bolt Saga: 2

  Bolt Saga: 3

  Bolt Saga: 4

  Bolt Saga: 5

  Bolt Saga: 6

  Bolt Saga: 7

  Bolt Saga: 8

  Bolt Saga: 9

  Bolt Saga: 10

  Bolt Saga: 11

  Bolt Saga: 12

  * * *

  Secrets of Stone Series:

  (with Victoria Blue)

  No Prince Charming

  No More Masquerade

  No Perfect Princess

  No Magic Moment

  No Lucky Number

  No Simple Sacrifice

  No Broken Bond

  No White Knight (October 16, 2018)

  * * *

  Honor Bound:

  Saved

  Cuffed

  Seduced

  Wild

  Wet

  Hot

  Masked

  Mastered

  Conquered (Coming Soon)

  Ruled (Coming Soon)

  * * *

  Cimarron Series:

  Into His Dark

  Into His Command

  Into Her Fantasies

  * * *

  Temptation Court:

  Naughty Little Gift

  Pretty Perfect Toy

  Bold Beautiful Love

  * * *

  For a full list of Angel’s other titles,

  visit her at

  AngelPayne.com

  About Angel Payne

  USA Today bestselling romance author Angel Payne loves to focus on high-heat romance starring memorable alpha men and the women who love them. She has numerous book series to her credit, including the popular Honor Bound series, the Secrets of Stone series (with Victoria Blue), the Cimarron series, the Temptation Court series, the Suited for Sin series, and the Lords of Sin historicals, as well as several standalone titles.

  Angel is a native Southern Californian, leading to her love of being in the outdoors, where she often reads and writes. She still lives in Southern California with her soul-mate husband and beautiful daughter, to whom she is a proud cosplay/culture con mom. Her passions also include whisky tasting, shoe shopping, and travel.

  For more information, please follow Angel Payne at:

  AngelPayne.com