Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(8)

Quill inhaled a long-drawn breath. He was a big guy, bulky big with tree trunks for legs and arms pretty much the same. But the guy was light as hell on his feet by the way he’d scaled that f*ckin’ twelve foot wall like a cat.

“Got to have a plan. The girl is obviously human and can’t stay with the Scars. Waleron will erase her—”

I grated out, “Waleron doesn’t f*ckin’ touch her.”

Quill put up his hands briefly then lowered them back to the steering wheel. “Hey, trying to help out, *. Want some advice?”

“Fuck, no.” I shook my head, knowing I was getting it anyway. Quill and I had been emailing for the last few weeks, and I realized he liked to ask questions and give advice.

I liked neither.

“Tell Delara about her first. Waleron likes her, maybe she can ease the blow.”

“Don’t need a woman easing the blow.”

“Yeah. You do. For this, you do.”

I grunted.

I ran my hand back and forth over my head before glancing at Rayne. Jesus, she looked like a beat-up kitten that had been starved for months. And what pissed me off was she looked worse than she had a few weeks ago. Dark circles under her eyes, thinner, if that was possible, and pale. Vampire pale.

A strange feeling seeped into me and I knew what it was—guilt.

Fuck.

I never felt guilt. Ever. It was a useless emotion. I owned my actions and never regretted anything. Not anymore. It helped that I didn’t give a shit about anyone.

I had nothing to feel guilty about. It wasn’t my fault she’d married a jackass. But from what I’d researched on her husband, Anton Thurston had been her guardian since she was ten years old. Married her when she was eighteen. Sick bastard. He was three times her age and had been her parents’ friend.

The SUV skidded to a halt and Quill slammed it into park before opening his door and hopping out. I got out on the opposite side, walked around the car, and then opened the passenger door.

Rayne sat up and looked at me, but made no move to undo her seatbelt, so I leaned over her and unclicked it myself.

“Let’s go,” I ordered, straightening.

“Where are we going?” Her voice was hesitant and quiet.

“Toronto.” I didn’t wait for more questions and took her hand, urging her out of the car.

“I, ah… I don’t know if…” she glanced over my shoulder at the plane. “I don’t know if I should.”

“You have family here?” I corrected myself. “Family that doesn’t beat you?”

She shook her head.

“A f*ckin’ pet you can’t part with?”

“No.”

“Friends?”

She hesitated before admitting, “Umm, no.”

“Then you’re getting on the plane and coming to Toronto.”

“Kilter, let’s go, man,” Quill called from the door of the plane.

I tugged on her hand. She staggered and nearly fell to her knees. “Shit, babe.” I grunted as I stepped into her and picked her up in my arms. “You need to f*ckin’ eat.” I told her that three weeks ago while we sat in the air duct. “The place we’re going, no one will hurt you. You can beef up, get yourself together, and then decide where you want to go. Good?”

She was stiff in my arms, but nodded. “I, ah… I can walk now.”

I ignored her as I continued to the plane, walked up the stairs and down the aisle, and then placed her in one of the large swivel leather seats. I grabbed a blanket from the bulkhead and laid it over her.

“Ah, thanks.” She clutched the edges and pulled it up to her neck before turning her head to face the window.

I moved up the aisle to the four leather seats facing one another with a table between them.

The plane belonged to the Scars and it was first class. The pilot was paid a shitload of money to be on standby and work strictly for us. He was human, so we were careful about using abilities and talking Scar business when he was around.

“How is she?” Quill asked and plopped down into the chair across from me.

“How the f*ck do you think?” In shock and a walking corpse. And every time I saw her husband’s fingerprints on her neck, my gut twisted. They’d be purple and blue by tomorrow.

“Hey, just asking, buddy,” Quill said, paused, then continued, because that’s what Quill did. “She’s going to need serious help. That place was f*cked. Drugs. Laboratories. Beds with straps, and I’m talking metal ones, not fluffy nice straps for, you know… fun shit.”

I grunted.

Quill’s piercing blue eyes sparked with anger and strands of his reddish blond hair fell in front of his face as he shook his head. “A real bad taste in my mouth from that place. Don’t want to think about what that chick’s been through. She’ll need—”

“I’ll deal with it.”

“Kilter, man, the girl is sick, and I’m not talking just physically, emotionally. It’s bad. I taste it, man.”

“You think I don’t know that.”

“How are you going to deal with it?” Jesus Christ, the guy didn’t know how to shut up. “The only person you’ve looked after is yourself.”

Not true. There’d been a time when I looked after my family, my clan. “Yeah, well, for good reason. I’d be stupid to trust anyone. Did that. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”