Who Knows the Dark (4 page)

The scent of breakfast drew him down the narrow corridor and past the staterooms. Even Sam’s room was empty—and therefore devoid of the hovering Mason Todd—and Nox walked a bit quicker.

The part of his life that was “Nox and Sam” had suddenly expanded in ways he didn’t know how to navigate.

In the main space, where the kitchen was, Nox stepped into a crowded gaggle of passengers tightly squeezed onto two benches around a square table. Plates of bacon and toast and full mugs of coffee crowded the space, as conversation swelled then died off when Nox’s presence registered.

A band of felons and escapees turned to face him and flinched, as if a black cloud had just stepped in front of the sun.

His spine stiffened.

“Dad!” Sam, of course, was the first to greet him, his voice hoarse but cheerful. His glasses long gone, he blinked myopically from under a knit cap, wisps of hair poking out around his face. Swimming in an oversized navy sweater, he was tucked between Mason and Rachel—much to Nox’s jaw-clenching displeasure. “There’s real coffee!” Sam added and followed that up with a ragged cough.

“Sounds good,” Nox murmured, sliding his hands into his pockets, where he felt comforted as his fingers touched the handle of his knife like it was a talisman. “How are you feeling?”

The tiny smile on his son’s face gave him the smallest measure of peace. “Better,” Sam croaked, then shrugged when his voice seemed to fail him. “Upright at least,” he mouthed.

Nox couldn’t muster a smile, but he felt his expression soften. “Don’t push yourself.”

“Mason and Rachel…,” Sam started again, but the wheeze-cough of his lungs stopped him in his tracks. The wet sound had Nox moving toward the table out of instinct.

“Mason and Rachel are taking excellent care of you,” Rachel interjected, patting Sam on the back as Mason held him by his shoulders. She flicked her gaze to Nox, a charming smile on her face—which stopped him in his tracks. “Some things you don’t forget, right? Like riding a bike.”

Nox felt the telltale signs of anger return—a flash of red, a throb in his temples, the squeezing of his fists against the fabric of his pants—and tried briefly to decide between shooting her or tossing her overboard. Before he could open his mouth, something else filled his sight.

A smiling Cade.

“Have something to eat before you murder anyone,” he said dryly, pressing a mug to Nox’s chest. The heat refocused him; the burn reminded him of all the worried eyes pointed in his direction.

“Rachel?”

“Yes, Cade?”

“Behave yourself.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Nox wrapped his hand around the mug and nodded at Cade, hopefully letting him know that violence was momentarily off the menu.

“There’s bacon. I managed to wrestle enough onto a plate for you,” Cade said, his cheerful voice never wavering. “Want to eat up on deck? Blink once for yes, two for no, and three for they’ll never find her body.”

“We can eat here, that’s fine.” Nox finally broke eye contact with Cade as he stepped around him to refocus on Sam.

“I did a walk of the ship when I woke up,” Mason said, a trickle of nervous chatter in his tone as he refused to make full eye contact with Nox. “Cade and I talked to the captain. He said we should reach Charleston by midnight.”

Nox waited for a salute after his report; Mason’s hand twitched on the seat back just a few inches from Sam’s shoulder, and Nox knew it was right there, under the surface.

“Thanks,” Nox mumbled as he slid into the space Cade had vacated. Damian, to his left, shifted over as much as the wall would allow him, a haze of trapped animal coating his eyes. A plate heaped with bacon and four slices of overly buttered cold toast dropped in front of Nox.

Nox looked up to find Cade hovering over him, steaming cup in hand.

“That’s the extent of my culinary attributes, but I find everything else I can do makes up for it,” Cade said airily as one shoulder rose and fell in a graceful move. “When Sam’s feeling better, I’m putting him in charge of this chuck wagon. I’ve seen him cook chicken—the young man has skills.”

Sam and Cade shared a fond smile.

Up close Sam was clearly still suffering the ill effects of his kidnapping and the subsequent destruction of the Iron Butterfly. They could pretend things were better, enjoy breakfast after an actual night’s sleep, but Sam’s pale complexion and bruised, scratched face, not to mention his labored breathing, told the story that was their reality.

They were fugitives and this was an escape attempt.

“Deal,” Sam croaked, as cheerfully as he could muster. He was resting against Mason, as if Mason were the only thing keeping him upright—not that Mason minded, judging by the expression on his face. “I think a little more sleep and I’ll be up and around.”

A coughing fit followed, and everyone seemed to pretend it didn’t sound like Sam’s lungs were trying to crawl out through his throat.

“What did I tell you about talking too much?” Rachel murmured, rubbing circles against Sam’s back. “Let’s give your lungs a break, okay?”

Sam nodded as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Sorry,” he mouthed, but Nox shook his head.

“We’ll get you some paper and a pencil so you don’t have to talk,” Nox said, shooting daggers at Rachel. How could he hate someone so much and yet feel dependent on her? It turned his stomach violently. He kept seeing her with baby Sam in her arms at the National Guard tent all those years ago, cooing and clutching him so Nox would do whatever she said.

She’s Rachel now, not Jenny
was a mantra that just didn’t cut it.

“What a great idea.” Rachel slid out of her seat carefully, a tiny smirk just for Nox. “C’mon, honey, let’s get you back to bed. I’ll bring you some tea.”

The whole thing took less than a minute—Rachel on one side, a nervous-looking Mason on the other, leading Sam back to the stateroom. Father and son shared a tender smile, but then Sam was gone, and Nox’s appetite in his wake.

Cade slipped into the seat across from him.

“Eat. We have a ton of shit to deal with, and I need you at your ten thousand percent badass alphaness. We can discuss your issues about your son and his hunky boyfriend later,” Cade said lightly, but Nox felt the steel undertones. When he looked up from his plate, Cade’s smile was thin.

“I don’t like her around him,” Nox muttered, reaching for his coffee mug. Beside him, Damian twitched.

“Well aware. But right now Sam needs a caretaker, and the boys need a chaperone, as their puppy eyes are starting to make me nauseous,” Cade deadpanned. “She’s depending on us to keep her alive. If she wanted to sell us out, we wouldn’t have made it out of the harbor.”

Nox grunted, because he didn’t want to tell Cade he might be right.

He turned his attention to the plate of cold food.

Every mouthful was fuel for his body and a few minutes to clear his mind. The discombobulated feeling of waking up dissipated, along with his automatic reaction of anger every time Rachel opened her mouth. He focused on every peppery burned bite of bacon and every dry scrape of toast. At the bottom of the cup of coffee, Nox found a surge of energy.

“I’m going to talk to the captain,” Nox said after wiping his mouth. Cade’s attention had drifted during the silent meal, and at Nox’s words, he snapped back to earth.

“I already did that.”

“I know.”

“So did Mason.” Cade’s grin was fighting to escape his lips.

“Well aware.”

“But you’re still going to.”

Nox gave him a pointed look. “Moving on, we need to find a way for you to reach out to your parents.”

Cade sighed, clasping one palm over his eyes. “Not looking forward to that phone call.”

“Is this going to be a problem?” Nox asked sharply. Because if there wasn’t a farm to hide on at the end of this bullshit, he would have to pull an alternate plan out of thin air. Which was why he didn’t bother to depend on other people.

Cade shook his head. “No, it’s going to be fine. My father is filled with disapproval about my—well, previous—occupation, but he wouldn’t turn me away. My mother will make you all eat a lot of food and sit through a couple of Bible studies. And, well, if there’s one person I am sure’ll have my back, it’s LJ.” He blinked at Nox as if registering something new. “Question is—am I telling them the whole story or making up something to ease our way in?”

Nox pushed the plate away, leaning back against the vinyl seat. “You can’t lie to them.”

“Seriously? Given your cast of alternative identities, I would think you’d be creating a fabrication right off.” Cade shot him an annoyed glance.

“The first place the feds are going to look is where you’d most likely show up—home.”

“My parents can tell them they haven’t seen us.”

“And if they’re being watched?”

Cade looked irritated, posture straightening as he twisted in his seat. “Then why did you agree to this?”

“We didn’t have any other options.” Nox ran his fingers through the tangled mess of his beard. “You need to contact them and see if anyone’s been asking about us. Then we need a way to get to the farm, where we won’t be seen.”

“So you’re going to the place they’ll be looking for us?” an astonished voice asked. Nox and Cade turned in unison as Damian spoke.

“Hide in plain sight,” Nox answered. He’d been doing it for years. He flicked his gaze back to Cade. “Can you do that?”

Cade blew out a breath but nodded. “Yeah. I can do that.”

N
OX
HEADED
above deck to speak to the captain.

The blast of cold air took him aback; he’d wrongly assumed that heading south meant some relief from the winter up north, but the air was icy and the water churned violently, leaving the deck covered in puddles of water. In the distance, through the growing fog, he could see the faint outline of land.

The damages of the devastating weather patterns that had destroyed his city still littered the Eastern Seaboard. Nox was aware of it—he wasn’t entirely a recluse, and while his concerns lay in his immediate vicinity, there was no denying how much wreckage still existed almost twenty years later.

After laying waste to New York City, the superstorms had continued their destructive pounding both up and down the Eastern Seaboard. Some states were spared the full power by a stroke of luck—a timely wind, a lucky turn of the storm—but others felt the assault of Mother Nature like she had a personal vendetta.

Rhode Island to Maryland saw miles and miles of destruction, cities and businesses reduced to kindling. Massachusetts and Maine were a roll of the dice—seaports wiped out when ten miles up the road there were still docks intact. The Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida fared a little better, but some cities never fully recovered from the losses. With so much destruction and so little federal money to spread around, most just accepted the mess and rebuilt farther inland.

Decaying docks and abandoned seaports slipped by mile after mile; in the distant cities, people still went about their daily lives, but everything close to the coast—from New Orleans to Boston—had taken several giant steps back from the waterfront.

Trucking firms cashed in as they carried goods from the docks to warehouses, now relocated miles inland. International shipping became a costly enterprise—it was dangerous work, as even rebuilt structures sat on unstable ground—and everyone paid for it.

And so it went. Some people got richer when the game changed, but many others suffered the ill effects, never to recover their money or stability.

“There’s a private dock in Charleston where I have a connection,” the captain said as he joined Nox starboard. His inflection on “private” suggested it wasn’t luxurious as much as it was controlled by underworld elements. They stood at the railing, watching the boat cut through the angry waves. “You can disembark there.”

“What are your plans after the drop-off?” Nox asked casually, resting his hands on the railing. “Back to New York?”

The man at his side barked a laugh. “No. Not a good move in my opinion. My crew and I are relocating to better climes.”

Nox didn’t bother to ask where.

“Once we’re in Charleston, can you recommend anyone for a truck? I’ll want to buy it.”

“If you have enough money, you can get anything you want.”

N
OX
WENT
back to the stateroom, forcing himself to walk past the closed door where Sam and Mason were staying. The young couple’s adoring devotion to each other prickled nervously under his skin. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when their little band of refugees went their separate ways.

As much as he wanted to be done with Rachel….

When he entered the cabin, all of his and Cade’s belongings were spread over the room. Clothes on the bed, shoes on the floor, open bags in the corner. And in the middle, Cade—hands on his hips—surveyed the mess.

The extreme frown on his face didn’t quite match the far-flung clothing and general sense of disorder.

Standing in the doorway, Nox coughed to get Cade’s attention.

“Oh, hi.” Cade didn’t even look up. “I’m just… repacking everything.”

The fashionable young man slowly disappeared over the past few weeks; Cade wore jeans and a heavy black sweater, far removed from his slim-cut suits and artfully sculpted hair. His dark blond hair fell forward—free of product—absently pushed away now and again as he surveyed the room. No more smooth moves and sensual smiles, no slinking boy with a smart mouth—the frown lines on Cade’s face were starting to look permanent.

Nox thought of Sam down the hall, sick and injured, of Mason, whose career was gone in a heartbeat, and here was Cade, so far removed from the world he’d once called home. They were all just literally drifting toward the unknown, untethered from almost everything they’d had before.

He rubbed his eyes, digging in until he replaced the ache with a sharper sting. For so long he’d wondered what it would be like to be free from the prison of the city, and it turned out freedom felt just as confusing.