Splinter (The Machinists Book 2) (12 page)

“Head inside and help how you can,” Jaxon ordered his squad. They obeyed. “Mason.” The man stopped and turned to face Jaxon, who closed the distance between them. He leaned in, keeping his voice quiet and firm. “If you have something to say, say it now.”

Mason set his jaw and remained silent.

“Out with it.”

“We can’t trust them,” Mason said. “We have nowhere to house them, and our food stocks are already depleted. Even if they are as harmless as you believe, they’re looking for help that we can’t provide. We can’t even help ourselves.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jaxon said. “But housing and food are temporary problems. What’s more important is that the McCollum Family just nearly doubled in size.”

“With magi we can’t trust.”

“Trust has to begin somewhere,” Jaxon said. “These people ventured all the way from the Hyland Estate to find us. And as Allyn said, they weren’t involved in either conflict.”

Mason sniffed, shaking his head. “Why do you trust him, Jaxon?”

“Allyn?”

“He isn’t one of us. Neither is his sister. I don’t care what kind of abilities they have, they didn’t grow up as one of us. They don’t understand what it means to be a magi.”

“They understand more than you think.”

“Jaxon—”

“No,” Jaxon said. “We’re not going to single out members of this Family. Allyn and Kendyl gave up everything to be here. They are part of this Family. And in the future, if you wish to question my leadership or question my orders, you will do so privately. Do you understand?”

Mason clenched his jaw. “Yes.”

“Good,” Jaxon said
. Firm.
“Understand that I am open to discussing the intent of my orders, but I will not be questioned in front of the Family.”

“Understood.”

“Now,” Jaxon said, allowing his tone to soften.
But flexible
. “I have a task for you. I trust Allyn’s judgment, but in the event he’s wrong, I want you to select two or three magi and keep an eye on the Hyland refugees. If this is another of Darian’s ploys, I want to be prepared.”

The leader of the Hyland refugees was a magi by the name of Brandt Hyland. He was older than Allyn, perhaps in his late forties, with gray streaks at his temples and the beginnings of a beard. He scratched at it, likely unused to it, annoyed by the itchiness. Once inside, Allyn had worked quickly to get them dry clothes and something warm to drink, and already, Brandt looked like a new man—the color was returning to his face, and his hollow, deep-set eyes were more alert.

“Thank you,” Brandt said, taking a fresh cup of tea from Liam. Steam rose from the rim of the cup, but it didn’t stop Brandt from taking a sip. He licked his lips, grabbed two squares of sugar off the silver platter on the coffee table, and dropped them into the tea. “Thank you for taking us in. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t.”

Allyn gave Brandt a sympathetic smile. Brandt’s wife, Juniette, sat beside him and gave Allyn a sharp smile of her own. Shorter than her husband by half a head, she had fair skin and long auburn hair. She had thin pink lips, high cheekbones, and perfect posture—the latter likely an old-world formality. They looked like a couple who had fallen hard in recent times. The remaining refugees were showering, changing into fresh clothes, or lying down in one of the bedrooms.

Liam sat down next to Allyn. The fire crackled behind Brandt, shooting embers up the brick fireplace. Its warmth was the only heat source in the cabin, and Brandt couldn’t seem to get close enough.

“You said you came all the way from the Hyland Estate?” Allyn asked.

Brandt took a sip of his tea and nodded. “Yes. We left just after we received Jaxon’s offer.”

“That was yesterday,” Allyn said.

“We…” Brandt paused to look at his wife. “We had been looking for a way out. It’s a dangerous time to live among the Hyland Family. We didn’t know where to turn until…”

“Until Jaxon’s offer.”

Brandt nodded.

“So you walked?”

“And hitched,” Brandt said, the hollow look returning to his face. “Strangers can be compassionate when children are involved.” He looked over his shoulder to where a sandy-blond-haired kid sat at the table, drinking hot cocoa. His resemblance to his parents was unmistakable. “We had to get him away. Darian has become fixated on you, Allyn. It isn’t about Lukas’s movement any longer. It’s about exacting personal revenge. You humiliated him, and he’s driven by a singular sociopathic desire—killing you.”

Allyn shifted in his seat. “Then Darian survived.” He’d been a distant threat, something in the back of Allyn’s mind while they dealt with the other issues. But this was confirmation. “How many still follow him?”

“Not many,” Brandt said. “Most died with Lukas. But those that do remain are the cruelest leftovers of Lukas’s movement, and their defeat has only soured their mood further. It became dangerous to remain at the Estate. There were… accidents.” Brandt patted his wife’s leg. Her face had grown haunted. “Darian allows his vile members to do as they wish. We were set to run when I overheard Darian mentioning Jaxon’s offer to another of his followers. It was what we needed—we had a place to go. And that’s when we left.”

“He knows where we are?” Liam asked, suddenly alarmed.

“I…” Brandt looked troubled. “I suppose.”

Allyn and Liam exchanged a look. Darian knew where they were, and he thirsted for Allyn’s blood. How long would it be before he made a move?

Allyn spotted Jaxon leaning against the wall beside the newly constructed bunks, a silent observer to their conversation. He showed so little expression that Allyn wasn’t sure if he’d heard the last bit. He would have to talk to him about increasing the number of sentries.

“Did you ever hear anything about a video?” Liam asked.

“A video?” Brandt scratched his beard. “What kind of video?”

“Something taken from the assault at the manor.”

Brandt looked to Juniette, who shook her head.

“No,” Brandt said. “I’m sorry. Why?”

“Are you sure?” Liam asked. “Anything at all?”

“Nothing.”

Liam nodded grimly. They were still as much in the dark as they had ever been.

“Is it true that you can help non-wielding magi learn to wield?” Juniette asked.

“Hmm?”

“In Jaxon’s offer,” Juniette said, “he mentioned helping those who can’t wield to learn. Is that true?”

“Uh…” Allyn said. He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure how much Jaxon had said in his invitation.
Best to keep it vague then.
“We have some ideas.”

“Oh.” Juniette’s posture slumped slightly.

Allyn gave Brandt a questioning look.

“It’s our son,” Brandt said. “He can’t…”

“We just want him to be normal,” Juniette said.

“There are others, too,” Brandt said.

“How many?”

“Half of us.”

“We’ll help you,” Liam said.

“But I thought…” Brandt said hesitantly, obviously afraid of offending Liam. “I thought, you couldn’t…”

“Couldn’t wield?” Liam asked with a grin. “We’ll get to that.”

This seemed to confuse Brandt and his wife even more.

Hope drove them here,
Allyn thought,
and we’re taking it away.

“Like I said,” Allyn said. “We have some ideas. We can’t guarantee anything, but”—he turned to look at Liam, hoping Brandt and Juniette would follow—“we do have something of a track record.”

Still confused, Brandt and Juniette seemed to sit a little straighter.

“If there’s anything you can do,” Brandt said, “we would appreciate it.”

“We’ll do everything we can,” Liam said. “Welcome to the McCollum Family.”

Chapter 13

M
addox felt as if his eyes had been bathed in battery acid. The LCD computer monitor six inches in front of his face didn’t help, nor did the pair of glasses sitting beside the keyboard. He’d taken those off an hour ago because the earpieces were too tight against the sides of his head, and it gave him a headache. Instead, he’d thought it better to move closer to the screen and squint. That had been a bad idea.

Maddox blinked, and his eyelids felt like sandpaper scraping across his corneas. He sat back with a frustrated sigh. He had reviewed the traffic videos supplied by the Oregon Department of Transportation. He didn’t distrust Nolan; he just didn’t trust him as much as he trusted himself. Part of him wanted to find an oversight, something he could use to place the blame of their fruitless investigation at the feet of the new agent, but Nolan had been right. There were too many cars over too large an area and not enough functioning cameras. If Nolan had missed something, Maddox hadn’t found it.

Nolan was reviewing the details of the investigation from the night the manor burned. He and Maddox hadn’t been involved then, and he wanted to be sure the investigators hadn’t overlooked anything, but so far, he hadn’t come up with anything new. There was only one thing to do when investigations reached this point.

Standing, Maddox grabbed his black suit jacket and stepped around his desk toward Nolan, who was hunched over his keyboard, chin resting in his hand, staring at a blinking cursor. He was on some kind of social media website. When he saw Maddox approaching, he sat up and quickly minimized the screen.

A flicker of frustration shot through Maddox. Young agents were easily distracted. A generation of kids who all thought they suffered from attention disorders.
As if there is such a thing.
Focus, discipline, and attention to detail had never been skills people came by naturally. Like all things, they had to be learned and practiced before perfected. But this lazy and undisciplined generation wasn’t willing to put in the work. Their absent parents hadn’t forced them. And anytime someone smacked them in the back of the head and told them to get to work, they played the victim card.

Maddox shuddered at the thought of what his father would have done to him if he’d tried that. He probably would have laughed before he proceeded to whip Maddox’s ass. His father hadn’t been a nice man. He hadn’t been a friend; he’d been a parent—just like his father before him. And that was something far more difficult and profoundly more important. To this day, there wasn’t another man in the world who terrified Maddox more than his own father, and every day, Maddox thanked him for it. His father had made him strong. Made him dependable. Made him a man.

“Calling it a night?” Nolan asked, glancing at the jacket slung over Maddox’s arm. He looked much like Maddox felt. His eyes were red and swollen. His baby face was peppered with the patchy beginnings of a beard, and his starched white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, his tie loosened.

“No,” Maddox said, checking is wristwatch. “It’s only nine thirty. Grab your jacket and come with me.”

Nolan lingered for a moment, as if he didn’t believe Maddox would keep him working later into the night. Then when Maddox leveled his expecting expression on Nolan, the younger agent stood and grabbed his jacket. “Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

Maddox pulled his arm through his jacket sleeve and buttoned the top button, making sure his black tie was tucked neatly inside as he and Nolan exited the field office. The wind whipped through downtown, howling through four-lane streets and alleyways alike. It was always windy in the city, perhaps a byproduct of following the river, though Maddox supposed an east wind could have been blowing in from the Gorge.

Mist hung heavy in the air. Rainwater dripped from rooflines and street signs and splashed from cars passing through puddles and over TriMet tracks. Shoppers and businessmen on the sidewalks shielded themselves or ducked their heads in an attempt to hide from the rain, but very few carried umbrellas. Rainy weather was a way of life in the Northwest. It was always wet, but it was also always green. Residents had to take the good with the bad. Beauty took work, just as success took tenacity.

Nolan pulled his jacket tight, letting his tie flap in the wind behind him. Maddox led him a few blocks to the north, into a nondescript building with a sign that the owner had forgotten to illuminate.

“What are we doing?” Nolan asked as they entered.

“Taking a break,” Maddox said. “And grabbing a drink.”

“I thought drinking on duty was against regulation.”

“It is.” Maddox left the confused agent behind and walked toward a vacant table near the back of the narrow building. He passed patrons sitting quietly at the bar, watching a muted TV that was bolted to the wall between shelves stocked with alcohol. The picture was fuzzy and overly saturated. This wasn’t the type of place people went to watch the game and socialize. It was a place for a quiet drink and collecting one’s thoughts.

Maddox sat down with his back to the wall, making sure he had a clear view of the entrance. The cracked-leather booth creaked under his weight. Nolan unbuttoned his jacket and sat across from Maddox.

“Fortunately for us,” Maddox continued, “we’re on break.”

“Aren’t you the one who told me that a good agent acts as though they’re always on duty?”

“Does everyone under twenty-five have to be a smartass?” Maddox asked. “Can’t a grown man buy his partner a drink without being called a hypocrite?”

“I’m twenty-six,” Nolan said. “But you’re right. I’m sorry. It feels good to get away.”

The bartender was a man in his middle years, with stringy black hair that hung down to his shoulders. He approached, carrying a menu. Pock marks and deep wrinkles covered his weathered face, likely a sign of years of smoking and repeated drug use. “Happy hour is from nine ’til close.” He dropped the menu on the table. “You guys know what you want to drink?”

“I’ll take a Bud,” Maddox said.

“Same here,” Nolan added.

“Two Buds,” the bartender said before returning to the bar.

“Why this place?” Nolan asked. “Why not the Gathering Place? That’s where the other agents go.”

“Nobody bothers me here.”

“You’re an interesting man, Agent Maddox.” Amusement sparkled in Nolan’s eyes. “You go to a public place to be alone.”

Maddox shrugged.

“A guarded man, too, I’ve noticed,” Nolan added. “You don’t like it when people make observations about you.”

“My father taught me never to call attention to myself.”

“He must have been a hard man.”

“He was.”

“Military?”

“Career,” Maddox said. “Like his father before him.”

Nolan smiled.

“What?” Maddox asked, growing defensive.

“It’s just all beginning to make sense now. That’s all.”

The bartender returned with their drinks. Maddox nodded his appreciation and took a sip. The beer had a skunky taste, as if the keg had gotten too warm or the tap needed cleaned. Maddox loved it. It was the kind of flavor that only a true dive bar could provide.

Nolan frowned, holding the beer up to the dim light fixture hanging over the table. He didn’t appear to appreciate the flavor the same way Maddox did. He took another tentative sip.

“Why not you then?” Nolan asked, biting back a grimace from the spoiled beer. “Why not follow in your family’s footsteps? I assume it was some kind of tradition.”

Maddox took another drink, stalling.
He’s waiting for me to dodge the question.
He had a reputation for being callous and aloof, bordering on unapproachable. Sure, his superiors and the other agents respected him—that came with success—but that didn’t stop the whispers or the nicknames. They might respect him, but they didn’t like him. They didn’t understand him.

But Nolan wasn’t just another agent.
He was the longest tenured partner Maddox had had in years
.
So he deserved answers. The realization struck Maddox like a fatherly slap to the back of his head. When had he started thinking of Nolan as his partner and not just another fresh Quantico graduate who would wilt under his pressure?

“I grew up without a home,” Maddox said simply. “I lived on a lot of bases, in a lot of houses, but never in a
home
.” Maddox rubbed the condensation off the side of his glass with his thumb. “Every time we moved, I had to say goodbye to my school and my friends. At first, it was fun. I got to see the country and meet a lot of new people. But by the time I was in middle school, I stopped trying. Why build new friendships when I knew I’d have to say goodbye? I promised myself then that I would never put my family through that. My children would have friends. They would have a home. So I decided that my father’s life wasn’t for me.”

“I didn’t know you had kids.”

“I don’t.”

“But you’re married?”

“Divorced,” Maddox said. He held up two fingers. “Twice.”

“What happened?”

“It didn’t work out.”

“Obviously,” Nolan said. “It must be frustrating to forsake the family tradition in the name of a family you never had.”

“I’ve never thought about it like that.”

Nolan gave him a skeptical look but didn’t press the issue. “How’d your father take the news?”

“He never forgave me,” Maddox said. He took another drink to quell the building emotion in his chest. His father’s anger had never subsided, not even during his final days.

“That’s unfortunate.”

Maddox shrugged. “That’s the way of it. There’s nothing I can do about it.”

“You might say that, but I know you don’t believe it. I can hear the pain in your voice.”

Maddox snorted. “Pain? I don’t know about that.”

“It’s okay,” Nolan said. “I know you’re a guarded man, Maddox, and I don’t mean to pry, but it’s okay to be regretful. You still are, I think, a human being.”

The conversation was quickly turning into one Maddox didn’t want to have. Talking about the past, even his father, was okay. But talking about
feelings?
Men just didn’t do that.

Fortunately, before Maddox had to answer, the door opened, and two boisterous men stepped into the bar. They were laughing and yelling obscenities at someone outside. Once they turned their attention inside, they froze. The few patrons sitting at the bar irritably eyed the two men who had invaded their peace and quiet. The bartender watched from behind the bar, scrubbing the inside of a pilsner glass with a dirty rag.

The two—more boys than men—gave each other a disapproving laugh. Neither could have been a year or two over twenty-one. Both wore oversized button-down shirts tucked loosely into a pair of baggy jeans, unbuttoned to show their bare chests. Large diamond earrings, matching necklaces, and gold wristwatches filled out their attire.

“Bro,” the first man said with a thick, wannabe-urban accent, “I thought this was gonna be a titty bar. Let’s bounce.”

“Nah, bro,” the other said, talking out of the side of his mouth. “It’s legit.” He made for a booth near the entrance, walking with his legs wide, one hand holding the front of his pants so that they didn’t fall down around his ankles.

“Really, dawg? There ain’t even no bitches here.”

The second man sat down, his back to Maddox. A series of designs had been shaved into his dark cropped hair near the neckline. The first man, who could have been his brother, groaned and cursed under his breath before reluctantly sitting down. The bartender shuffled to their table, hesitant, obviously not wanting to help his new patrons.

Maddox ground his teeth. He came to bars like this specifically to avoid people like them. Young, dumb, and with a supposed chip on their shoulder, these kinds of kids were dangerous, if only because of their sheer stupidity. Their
hardness
was likely an act, but their boisterous attitudes were bound to rub somebody the wrong way.

Nolan looked uncomfortable. It was hard to believe that the two kids were only a few years younger than he was.
I don’t give him enough credit
, Maddox thought. Compared to others of his generation, Nolan was an adult among children.

“You ready?” Maddox asked.

Nolan nodded, taking a final drink of his beer with another amusing grimace.

Maddox downed his and pulled out his wallet. After throwing a twenty onto the table, he stood and buttoned his jacket. The bartender had returned with the new patrons’ drinks. He glanced at Maddox and rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t be happy about losing business to the obtrusive customers. Maddox nodded at him, his silent way of saying, “I understand, but I’ll be back.”
He and Nolan made for the front of the bar, passing the booth where the young men sat.

“Yo, this beer tastes like shit, homie.”

Maddox stopped at the door, turning to watch the situation play out.

“What are you doing?” Nolan asked quietly.

Maddox ignored him.

“It’s a fresh keg,” the bartender said from behind the bar.

“I ain’t drinking this piss.”

“Would you like a bottle instead?”

“I want my damn money back.”

“You haven’t paid for anything yet.”

The man’s lips turned into a crooked smile. “Damn right. Come on, Travis. We’re bailing.”

“Really, Anthony?” Travis said. “Sit down, homie.”

“I’m bouncing.”

Anthony stood and strode for the door. Travis shook his head but followed. The two men approached Maddox, confident, probably expecting him to move out of their way. Maddox caught the bartender’s eye.

“Let them go,” the bartender said.

“They didn’t pay,” Maddox said.

“It’s fine.”

The more boisterous of the two, Anthony, strode up to Maddox, stopping when their faces were only inches apart. He smelled like a mixture of alcohol and smoke, masked by too much cologne. Nearly as tall as Maddox but not nearly as filled out, he wore an exaggerated scowl that was likely meant to intimidate.

“You heard him, old man.” He talked out of the corner of his mouth.

“You didn’t pay.”

Anthony sneered, wiping the edge of his nose with his thumb. “What are you gonna do, old man?”

“Let ’em go,” the bartender said again.

Anthony’s hand went to his waistband.

“Maddox,” Nolan said. He’d positioned himself between Maddox and the second man.

Maddox glanced at Nolan. The younger agent stood in a defensive posture, hesitant but firm. He’d unbuttoned his suit jacket in case he needed to go for his weapon.

Maddox turned to the man in front of him. “You think the thug act intimidates me?” Maddox asked quietly. “I’m not afraid of your costume jewelry or that small piece you inevitably have tucked inside your pants.”

“You wanna go—”

Maddox drove his forehead into the man’s face. Anthony’s nose crunched, and he stumbled backward, hands to his face, blood spewing between his fingers. Grabbing him by his shirt, Maddox threw him through the doorway onto the sidewalk. Someone screamed, and the bartender shouted for them to take the fight outside. Maddox stepped outside, appeasing the bartender.