Reece looked up at that moment, his gaze going to Grayson. Several emotions flashed over his face, too fast for Grayson to parse through. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” he bit out through gritted teeth as the men yanked him forward. “Stone Solutions and the Dead Man, the dream team, waiting for me together.”
Grayson opened his mouth, but Charles spoke first. “Oh, please,” he said derisively. “Evan is a liar and our enemy. He’s been on the empaths’ team since the start. You know that better than most, Mr. Davies.” He gestured around them as more men closed ranks. “And you can stop your useless efforts toproject emotions on this group. My men wear the same material we make our gloves from. It’s extremely expensive to create these suits, but worth it. And as for me...”
His eyes fixed on Reece. “I have been dealing with your kind since long before your birth. The only thing your projected anger will achieve is making me more irritated withyou. I know you can hear the truth in my voice.”
Reece’s expression darkened even further. The man holding his arms behind his back was as big as Grayson, and his grip was hard. “Have your man let go of him, Mr. Stone,” Grayson said evenly.
“I don’t think we will, Evan,” Charles said. “I told you: The three of us have business together. And I’d hate for Mr. Davies to be holding out hope that his sister will come for him: Ms. St. James is currently looking for you on the other side of the stadium. I’ve requested Vivian call and try to convince her to support your imprisonment. Useless, of course, as an empath sibling would never agree to such a thing, but it will keep them both distracted.”
Reece’s expression grew even more dangerous. Grayson did another head count: thirteen armed men, possibly more in the vehicles, and guns very close to Reece.
Stone will be ready to run, will probably have both his car and his helicopter waiting, Alex had said.Find him and stall him. We’re taking care of the rest.
Grayson was gonna have to put his trust in Alex. “You still haven’t said what we’re doing here,” he said to Charles.
“It will be easier if I show you.” Charles made a beckoning motion with his finger and began to walk toward the unmarked van.
Grayson met Reece’s eyes, the big black pupils glittery with anger now. “That means move it,” said the man holding Reece, shoving him toward the waiting van.
“Hey.” Grayson’s voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise.
The man looked over, his face hidden by a balaclava-style mask, his eyes level with Grayson’s. “What?”
Grayson nodded pointedly at his death grip on Reece’s arms. “You’re handling him too rough.”
“It’s because he’s terrified of me,” Reece muttered. “Twice my size and armored like a tank, but I’m the scary one.”
The balaclava man’s hands tightened enough that Reece winced. “If you don’t watch your mouth—”
“If you don’t watch your grip,” Grayson interrupted, “and you leave any bruises on him, I’m gonna pay them back, with interest. Understand?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. But his grip loosened ever so slightly as he forced Reece forward, toward the van.
Grayson followed. As they came up on the van, two men opened the back door to reveal what looked like the inside of an ambulance. An array of medical equipment surrounded a bed, and on the bed, lying partially propped up and staring blankly forward, was Cedrick Stone.
Reece’s eyes went very wide. His gaze darted between Charles and Cedrick, father and son. “What the fuck is this?” he spat.
Charles made another beckoning motion.
And suddenly, four of the men grabbed for Grayson. But as he raised his arms to fight, Charles moved quickly, and from his coat pocket, drew a gun.
“What this is, Mr. Davies,” he said as he pressed the gun against Grayson’s temple, “is a hostage situation.”
Jamey stood at the overlook at the Summit Level, gaze sweeping across the field and to downtown beyond. Cleanup had started on the field far below. In the stands, she could just make out Aisha on a stretcher, being moved to safety.
Her phone began to ring. She fished it out of her coat pocket to see a number she didn’t recognize on-screen. She put it to her ear. “This is Jamey.”
“Ms. St. James.” The woman on the other end had a very posh and feminine voice. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced. My name is Vivian Marist, and I’m—”
“I know who you are,” Jamey said testily. “Why are you on my phone and not here at Lumen Field helping clean up the mess?”
“Not that I owe you an explanation, but I’m nearly there,” Marist said, her voice with a new testy edge of its own. “I called because Charles Stone has made a request of me, that I try to convince you to agree that your empath brother should be taken into Stone Solutions’ custody.”
“Oh, really?” Jamey said. “The same Stone Solutions that once threw me in chains on its rooftop and threatened to torture me to see what it would do to Reece?”
Marist made a strangled sound. “I wasn’t—”
“Hard pass.” Jamey went to hang up.
