The Aberration of Eden Pruitt, page 7
Long before Eden moved to San Diego and became best friends with a brilliant but geeky kid named Erik Gaviola, when she still lived in Seattle, she used to play tag with her classmates at recess. The tall, swirly slide was home base. Home base was safe. She and Camila, a girl who’d moved to Seattle from Guatemala, would crawl inside the tunnel and hide. Camila wore special braces on her ankles to prevent muscle contractures, which made running hard. She preferred the safety of base and Eden preferred Camila. Sometimes, they’d become so engrossed with their silly, whispered conversations, they’d forget they were playing a game. They’d forget that outside, someone was after them.
The luxurious bathroom inside their suite on the sixtieth floor of The Sapphire Hotel felt like that swirly slide. It had turned into home base. Only her mother, who was pinning Eden’s hair into a thick updo, had replaced Camila.
“Do you think Erik’s watching the coverage?” Mom asked.
Last year, the two had watched the live event together in Eden’s living room with a bowl of popcorn. They’d wanted to attend via the Prosperity Ball metaverse, which was entirely affordable for middle-class families such as theirs. But Eden’s parents had objected. At the time, Eden thought their objection had to do with the significance of the day and their discomfort with celebrating something so tragic. Now, with the gift of hindsight, she could see the full picture. They wanted to keep their daughter off the radar. Attending the Prosperity Ball, even if only virtually, would have put her on it.
So, Erik and Eden resigned themselves to watching the festivities the old-fashioned way. In an attempt to distract Mom from her melancholy, they convinced her to join them while Erik provided a stream of hilariously biting commentary on the partygoers’ attire.
“I think he knew the name of every celebrity who walked the carpet,” Mom said.
“His brain is a vast ocean,” Eden replied.
And now, so was hers.
She imagined how crazy this would drive him. Her newfound ability to memorize the numbers of pi. Or every gambit ever played in the World Chess Championship, a tournament Erik followed with the same fanaticism most boys his age followed March Madness.
She missed him terribly.
Coverage of the event played on the flat screen outside the bathroom. Paparazzi descended around a red carpet outside The Sapphire, where cameras flashed, and reporters called out celebrity names as they filed inside. All the while, her dad and Jack turned their suite into a surveillance room worthy of the CIA—breaching security, checking connections, monitoring check-in to see which guests already had their retinas scanned and which guests were not yet accounted for.
Nicholas Marks belonged to the second category. So did Cassian Ransom—twenty-two-year-old nephew to two-time Nobel laureate, Dr. Beverly Randall-Ransom, the world’s most esteemed neurosurgeon—and his plus one, Eden Pruitt. Thanks to Jack Forrester, Cassian was now on the grid. His past, squeaky clean. Or rather, non-existent.
Mom secured her hair with another pin as Eden forced her fists to unclench in her lap. Her palms were clammy. She was more nervous now than she’d been when she’d gone off to rescue her parents. Then, the adrenaline coursing through her veins had been much less nervous uncertainty, much more ferocious determination. She’d been zeroed in with laser focus. Now, the goal was murkier. What if Mordecai didn’t show? What if he wasn’t looking for her like they assumed he must be and this ended up being the most extravagant date of Eden’s life, all while her parents and Jack Forrester eavesdropped via Bluetooth?
Out in the suite, Jack and her father discussed the hotel’s layout.
Eden tried to block out the unfolding conversation. She ignored the ornate double sink, the Jacuzzi bathtub, the high-end soap and shampoo on the marble-topped vanity and focused instead on the mirror, as if doing so might trick her nerves into thinking she was in San Diego, getting ready for homecoming with her date, Erik. But then, homecoming didn’t involve celebrities. Homecoming didn’t involve this level of surveillance, or a psychopath named Mordecai. Nor was it held on such a morbid anniversary.
She peeked at her mother in the mirror’s reflection.
Oswin Brahm might want to celebrate how far the nation had come since The Attack twenty-one years ago, but the Pruitts would always mourn. This day and two days after, when Eden’s parents watched with utter helplessness as an asthma attack stole their firstborn.
Their only born.
Christopher.
His death had a profound impact on Eden’s life. She’d always known this. She just hadn’t realized how big. His absence left a void. It took Mom’s breath away. Without that absence, they never would have taken Eden at all. There would have been no void to fill. No breath to give back. But Christopher had died, and the void was there, and Mom’s breath wasn’t, and so they took her. And in an ironic twist of fate, Eden had nearly taken her mother’s breath away permanently when she wrapped her hands around her mother’s neck.
“Mom?”
With a bobby pin clamped between her teeth, her mother murmured a muffled, “Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
Mom paused from the hair styling.
Eden could feel muscle and sinew beneath her fingers as she squeezed. Squeezed. Squeezed. “I—I almost killed you.”
Mom took the bobby pin from her mouth.
But Eden rushed onward, before her mother could interrupt. “I’ve always tried so hard to make you and Dad happy. I know you get sad. I know you worry.” Because of Christopher and his death. Because of Eden and what she was. “You say that I saved you. That after Christopher died, I—I filled a hole. But I almost killed you.”
“Eden.” Mom took her shoulders and turned her around so they were no longer looking at one another in the mirror, but face-to-face. Eye-to-eye. “I need you to listen to me, and listen well, daughter of mine.”
But Eden didn’t want to listen.
She knew what her mother was going to say.
The same thing Dr. Norton said after she saw the footage on Cassian’s phone. After she saw the horrible thing she had done to them.
That wasn’t you.
But it was her.
Her hands had done the squeezing.
Only, that wasn’t what her mother said.
“It was never your job to make your father and I happy.” She spoke in a gentle voice that shook with strength and conviction. “I am so sorry I ever made you feel it was.”
“But—”
Mom shook her head, like that was enough—no buts allowed. Then she cupped Eden’s chin. “And if it is forgiveness you need, I will forgive you a hundred times over.”
Eden’s chin trembled.
“I love you. To the moon and back. Nothing you could ever do will change that. Do you hear me?”
A tear pooled.
Mom brushed it away with her thumb. “Now we need to stop this, or your mascara is going to run.”
A laugh tumbled up Eden’s throat.
Mom’s, too.
She gave Eden’s shoulder a squeeze, then resumed her work, sliding one last pin into place and picking up the can of hairspray.
Eden held her breath.
Mom pressed the nozzle. The spray hissed from the can, falling like mist over Eden’s hair. When she finished, she waved the air clean. “What do you think?”
Eden turned her head from one side to the other. “I’m impressed.”
“So am I.” Mom winked, then picked up the cosmetic bag. “Now for some eye shadow.”
Eden closed her eyes, enjoying the soft sweep of brush against her eyelids. And yet, she couldn’t ignore the slight tremble—the subtle unsteadiness—in her mother’s touch that made it impossible to forget why they were here. With her eyes closed, it was also harder to block out the conversation between Jack and her father in the next room.
A knock sounded on the suite door.
Eden’s nerves quadrupled.
“I’ve got it,” Jack said, probably stopping her father from trying to stand.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Eden pictured Cass on the other side in his tuxedo and swallowed the jumble of nerves in her throat.
“Any sign of him?” Cass asked, his footsteps padding across the carpet.
“Not yet,” Jack said. “But it’s early.”
“Think he’ll show?”
“We’ve made her pretty easy to find. And he must be searching.”
“He’s going to know we’re up to something,” Dad said.
“Hopefully, he will assume he can outsmart us.” Clacking computer keys followed Jack’s words. “This should be ready for you.”
There was a pause.
And then, “Testing, testing. 1, 2, 3 …”
“It works.”
Someone took a deep breath.
“I’m putting a lot of faith in you,” Dad said.
“I know,” Cassian replied.
Mom finished Eden’s left eye and moved on to her right.
Brush, brush, brush …
“You care about her,” Dad continued.
“Yes,” Cassian said.
“Then make sure this ends. If he shows his face, take him out.”
“Without hesitation.”
“There!” Mom, oblivious to the conversation Eden couldn’t help but overhear, stepped back to survey her handiwork. She nodded approvingly, then pulled Eden’s dress off the hook, where it hung on the back of the bathroom door. Eden slipped off the white terrycloth robe and stepped inside. The dress slid up her body like a glove—black, floor length, strapless.
Then her mother opened a black velvet box. Inside, a breathtaking choker sparkled. A piece of jewelry that rivaled Marie Antoinette’s infamous diamond necklace and that—many argued—had been so valuable, it led to the unfortunate loss of the queen’s head.
“Beverly said you needed to look the part.” Mom fastened the choker in place.
Eden touched it lightly with her fingertips. She’d never in her life looked so expensive—her flawlessness accentuated by the make-up, the dress, the accoutrements.
Her mother put on a brave face. “All ready?”
Eden nodded, and together, they walked out of the bathroom.
Dad and Jack were bent together over the surveillance equipment. Beyond them, next to the floor-to-ceiling windows that boasted a brilliant view of downtown Chicago at night, Cass stood, dressed in a sleek, perfectly tailored tuxedo that highlighted his broad shoulders and lean torso. He turned, as if sensing her presence, and the way he stared made her skin hot and tingly.
Dad cleared his throat.
He was sitting in a chair next to the empty one Jack had been using, wearing the giant brace he cursed several times a day, looking unsettled and tense. Eden couldn’t blame him. He was sending his daughter off with a twenty-two-year-old boy to hunt down a man with mysterious ties to Karik Volkova. Dad hadn’t made it a secret that he didn’t want Eden to go. But Eden was eighteen. She could make her own decisions, and even if he wanted to lock her up, no lock could hold her. She was going to that ball, and while perhaps in his prime—at the height of his days in the CIA—her father would be an asset at her side, he’d finally come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t now.
Cass, on the other hand, was strong, resourceful, highly trained, unafraid, and familiar with a gun. He was also four years older, experienced in the ways of the world, with an obvious appeal that spelled danger for fathers everywhere. While he may have been the perfect escort given these particular circumstances, Eden’s dad was far from comfortable with the arrangement.
“You look handsome,” Mom said.
Cassian responded with the same guarded politeness he’d been using whenever her mother tried interacting with him.
Dad picked up the gun strap resting by Jack’s laptop.
Once they passed through security, it would hold a 9mm Hellcat. A black pistol easily concealed. Cassian stashed two of them inside one of the bathrooms early this morning.
Yesterday, Dad taught her how to shoot. She feigned ignorance, like she didn’t already know. Like Cassian hadn’t already taught her. She pretended she didn’t have a better shot than he did. Her father needed to feel like he was contributing to her safety. She played along.
Mom looked away with an anxious bob in her throat while Dad handed the strap to Eden. She sat down on the bed, secured it around her calf and slipped on her shoes while Dad reviewed the plan. All the while, Eden tried regulating her temperature, but Cassian’s stare was generating way too much heat. When her father finished, Mom gave Eden a hug, embracing her for a moment longer than comfortable. Then Dad moved like he was going to do the same.
Eden objected.
He stood anyway.
Foregoing the walker, he wrapped Eden up tight, completely enveloping her like he did at the police station in San Diego. Eden had been awaiting his arrival, convinced her father would be furious. Instead, he hugged her with a fierceness she knew she didn’t deserve. He hugged her with that same fierceness now, his healing ribs be damned.
When it was over, Jack checked the doppelgänger signal one last time.
And Cassian opened the door.
“You okay?” he asked as she stepped past him out into the hallway.
It wasn’t a compliment.
But a simple, perfect question.
One that grounded her as her hand moved to Beverly’s diamond choker.
“I will be,” she said.
Oswin Brahm was determined to turn the country’s mourning into celebration. According to him, the bad guys only won if America let them. This was his motto, and tonight, it would become Eden’s, too.
She would not let Mordecai win.
This was going to end.
She couldn’t consider any other alternative.
Cassian held out his arm and led her away from the safety of home base.
11
Cass fought his first fight when he was thirteen. Vick put him in the ring way too early—only six months into training—against a kid three years older, and three years stronger. Within a year, he was beaten to a pulp twice. First by his father. Then by a sixteen-year-old fighter nicknamed The Bull. A lot of people thought Vick foolish. It was a big risk to take with a kid so full of potential. But Vick was no fool. If he was going to invest as much time and energy as he planned on investing into Cassian Gray, he wanted to see his young prospect in action. He wanted to make sure Cass was a sure bet.
Vick got his wish in spades.
Never had a crowd seen anyone lose so relentlessly. The boy would not stay down. He got up again, and again, and again—filled with grit and tenacity—fueled by a dogged, unyielding anger that raged like a fire in his belly. It was a quality Vick could not teach. Some fighters had it. Some didn’t. Cass had it. He was pulverized that first fight, beaten to the point of death. And instead of slinking away in humiliation or fear, the loss became more fuel for the fire. He only trained harder.
It was the first and last fight Cass would ever lose.
Fans of the sport called him fearless. And he was. Because what did he have to fear? The worst had already happened. His father had found them. His mother was dead. Cass had been powerless to save her. Pain was a relief. Death would be welcome. He had nothing to lose.
Until now.
Until her.
This girl he was hired to find. He said yes, hoping to pay off his debt and start a new life. Somewhere new. Somewhere without memories, without ghosts. Instead, his target caught him off guard—because she wasn’t a typical target. Then she captivated his attention—because she wasn’t a typical high school girl. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she would do something that would force him to reconsider. And that was only watching from afar.
Now he was up close, and the past several weeks had been a brand of torture to which he wasn’t accustomed. Every day with Eden awakened feelings better left dormant. And now here he was, not walking into a ring, but zeroed in with the same laser-like focus he had before every fight. His body wound tight—his muscles coiled and ready to spring. But without that fearless edge. For the first time in a long time, there was a cautiousness that tempered the hungry lion. A concern that dug like a burr under his skin. Cassian couldn’t protect his mother from his father when he was a kid. What if he couldn’t protect Eden now?
As they reached the elevators, an entourage approached from the opposite end of the hallway. A man and a woman walked toward them, flanked by three bodyguards. Cass couldn’t tell who the star of the show was—the tanned, comically muscled Fabio with short hair or the woman gliding beside him in a black dress like Eden’s, only much more revealing. With a neckline that plunged in a deep V all the way to her navel and slits so high on each side they might as well have reached her navel, too. When they stopped, she pinned her attention on Cass—her eyes roaming up his body, then back down—making Fabio shift uncomfortably beside her.
The woman stared—boldly, openly. “How do we know each other?”
“We don’t,” Cass replied.
“I’m positive we’ve met.”
Upon closer inspection, there was something vaguely familiar about her face, but he had neither the patience nor the inclination to place her. Perhaps she was a fan of Underground Fighting. If that was the case, she’d have a difficult time placing him. “If we have, I don’t remember.”
Her eyes flashed, like a person who wasn’t used to being forgotten.
The woman’s attention flitted to Eden.
So did Fabio’s.
Cass shifted closer, wanting to shield Eden from their perusal. Instead, the scent of her perfume distracted him from the entourage. Eden smelled like heaven—so good he could drown in the scent and die a happy man.
The elevator doors slid open and a sprightly, white-haired gentleman dressed like a bellhop greeted them with a funny little bow. The woman sauntered into the elevator with her chin raised. Fabio followed, and the three bodyguards as well.
Cass placed his hand on the small of Eden’s back, and they stepped inside, too.
“Don’t stop until we reach the ballroom floor,” the woman said.
