Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(87)

“Jesus Christ.” Kent’s head wobbled on his shoulders. “You should be…”

“It’s their connection.” Dad moved in front of Isleen to look into her eyes. He reached out, pressed up one of her eyelids, and looked close. “I don’t get why you and Matt refuse to believe what’s in front of you.” He checked her other eye. “Well, young lady, unless you prefer to go to the hospital, we can take care of all your injuries back home. The Institute is a fully equipped medical facility.”

“I want to go home. But I need to…” Her voice trailed off, the false brightness in her tone flickering and fading.

“Baby, what do you need?” Whatever it was, Xander would find a way to give it to her.

“Kent…” She aimed her attention at the guy but said nothing else.

“What is it?” Kent asked.

Xander could see the guy would do just about anything to make her happy. Same as him. That was part of their problem—Kent was pissed because Isleen kept him in the friend zone.

She pressed herself against Xander. He could hear her heart galloping, her breathing wild. Whatever the fuck she was about to say upset her. He tightened his arm around her, offering her his own solid strength.

“Well…my mom…” Isleen’s voice dissolved.

“Shayla.” Dad said the name, expectancy dominating his tone.

“Yeah.” Isleen nodded. “She…died. They killed her. The same way they were trying to kill me. My father said he buried her nearby. Underneath the largest sycamore tree. He said Gran condoned him taking us and letting Queen torture us to get the evil out. That she was trying to save us—me—from the same fate as my mom.”

Her words were a grenade. The explosion of them sending shards of thought through his mind. Her mom. Her father. Her father killed her mom. Buried her. Largest sycamore tree.

“Fffuuuccckkk…” He looked up at the tree they all stood under. Glanced around. No mistaking they were standing near the grave.

“Not Shayla too.” Dad began shaking his head as if the action could dodge the words, keep them from sinking home.

“Your father? What… Who…” Xander didn’t even know what he was trying to ask. He knew less than zip about her father. It’d just never come up. A lot of things hadn’t come up. But this—this was big shit.

“The man who took Gran and me. The man who ordered Queen to keep us captive. The man who killed Gran, who shot you…” The silence drew out, skating on the edge of a blade. “He’s my father.”

Her words were a shock wave of sound, nearly knocking him back a step.

And yet, Xander had known. Not in the conscious part of his mind, but somewhere underneath he’d known the moment he’d made eye contact with the guy. A piece of him wanted to deny that the truth—not for himself, but for what the truth meant to her. Her own father had killed her mother, killed her grandmother, forced a life of torture on his daughter, and then had tried to kill her too.

“Baby…” He didn’t know what else to say. No words were going to make that okay. Dad’s eyes were bloodshot and brimming. Kent stood there like a metal post in the middle of a storm. Both men had apparently gone mute.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Really.” Her words came out too rushed. “I know I should hate him. But I don’t.”

Her eyes were wide and full of… Xander tried to name the emotion, but couldn’t quite find it. Then it hit him. Her eyes were full of empathy. Empathy. For the man who’d tried to kill her. “What the hell?”

“He stayed with me. Never left the entire time I was in that box. He told me how sorry he was, how he didn’t want me to die, but that Chosen One demanded it and he couldn’t defy Chosen One because he’s my grandfather. See? He’s not all bad. Not all of him.”

Xander had heard every word she spoke; his mind just wanted to reject them. How could those words pass her lips? Her father had stolen her life when he placed her in that trailer. Murdered her mother and grandmother. Attempted to murder Xander. Participated in trying to kill her today—would’ve succeeded if she and Xander didn’t have a special connection. Yeah, her father had provided Xander the opportunity to save her, but only after she should’ve already been dead.

“Who you trying to convince? Me or yourself?” He hadn’t meant to say it so harshly.

“You don’t understand. He—”

“I do understand.” He tightened his hold on her and stared into her eyes. “An evil man eased your torture, and you think that was kindness when it was still torture.”

Isleen flinched as if he slapped her. Shit. What was going on with his mouth? He couldn’t control what decided to shoot out of his lips.

“He’s not like the others. He didn’t want to do any of the things he did. Chosen One made him.”

“Baby.” Xander softened his tone. He didn’t want to hurt her. Christ, she’d been hurt enough, but the way she was thinking about this was an infection—one he needed to scrape off of her. He wouldn’t let her father infect her mind. The man had hurt her body, left her with wounds that would scar over and be constant reminders of what she endured. But Xander refused to let that man stay inside her head. “He killed your grandmother. He shot me—Chosen One didn’t force him to pull that trigger. Your father held you, let Chosen One force your face under water. And they were all naked.” His volume rose, couldn’t help it. “What did he let all those naked men do to you? What did he do to his daughter?”