Read Online Out of the Dark (The Brethren Series) by Sara Reinke - Free Book Online
Authors: Sara Reinke
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from the realization that Lamar couldn’t hurt them anymore, either of them; that Augustus’ ascension to dominance over the clans had meant that at long last, Lamar had died, that Aaron had been free. She’d tried to imagine happiness for him, wives and children, a quiet, comfortable and happy sort of life. It had been childlike of her, she’d known; idealistic and naïve, but she’d held on to that hope for him all of that while.
But it was a lie.
“He’s escaped,” Augustus said from behind her, and she didn’t need to who he meant. “He attacked Rene, then climbed out the window.”
“ Is Rene alive?” she asked, her voice little more than a croak.
“ Yes, but barely.”
Oh, God, Naima thought in dismay. To Augustus, she said, “Go back to the clinic. He might make another try at Tristan. I’ll try to track him in the woods.”
“He’s armed,” Augustus said. “He took Mason’s gun.”
“He won’t shoot me,” Naima said.
Augustus studied her for a moment. “How do you know that?”
Her brows narrowed as she m et his gaze evenly, defiantly. Because I know Aaron, she thought, keeping her mind closed, preventing Augustus from overhearing . And you don’t. That’s eating you up right now, isn’t it, Augustus?
Karen had been right; if anyone among the Kentucky Brethren should have recognized Aaron on sight, it was Augustus. But he hadn’t—and he still didn’t have a clue.
“Tell me his name, child,” Augustus said softly, his brows lifting with implore, his voice a gentle plea. She might have found something paternal in that expression, something endearing and trustworthy—if only she didn’t remember how he’d left her behind in Lamar’s library, naked and cowed, no better than a dog.
“ Go fuck yourself, Augustus.” Naima stalked past him, shoving him aside as she stomped back into the forest.
***
She found Aaron's car outside of the compound perimeter. He’d driven it off the access road and a short distance into the woods, just enough to conceal the Infiniti coupe from easy view from the road, but not far enough to risk getting mired or stuck in soft loam. It had California plates, and when she telekinetically popped the locks and leaned inside, she caught the distinctive, pleasant, nearly Plasticine whiff of new-car smell: a rental. The interior seats were upholstered in charcoal grey leather, the outside of the car a brushed-steel shade. There were little, if any, personal effects visible in the cabin upon initial inspection: a crumpled receipt from a gas station in South Lake Tahoe where Aaron had apparently stopped and paid cash for a bottle of iced tea, and said bottle, half-empty, in the center console cup holder compartment.
Naima settled herself into the front seat, listening to the soft groan of the slick leather beneath her. He would head straight for the car; of that she had no doubt. Even though she’d sent Augustus back to the clinic under the pretense of precaution, she didn’t believe for a moment he’d go anywhere near Tristan—or any other of the Morin clan—again that night.
He’s hurt, needs to heal. He’s going to go somewhere to lay low in the meantime. And he’s going to need to drive to get there.
She let the door fall closed with a soft click, extinguishing the overhead light and plunging the cab in darkness. Leaning across the dash, she opened the glove box, and golden glow from a miniature bulb inside spilled across the contents and floor board. Inside, she found a carbon copy from a rental agreement, neatly folded lengthwise, made out and signed in the name of Aaron Broughman. Beneath this, she found a man’s leather billfold that contained four crisp, like-new one hundred dollar bills, four fifties and a pair of twenties tucked in the money compartment. The only other things in the wallet were a platinum Visa card in the name of Aaron Broughman, and a New York driver’s license issued in that same name, with Aaron’s photo.
Why
But it was a lie.
“He’s escaped,” Augustus said from behind her, and she didn’t need to who he meant. “He attacked Rene, then climbed out the window.”
“ Is Rene alive?” she asked, her voice little more than a croak.
“ Yes, but barely.”
Oh, God, Naima thought in dismay. To Augustus, she said, “Go back to the clinic. He might make another try at Tristan. I’ll try to track him in the woods.”
“He’s armed,” Augustus said. “He took Mason’s gun.”
“He won’t shoot me,” Naima said.
Augustus studied her for a moment. “How do you know that?”
Her brows narrowed as she m et his gaze evenly, defiantly. Because I know Aaron, she thought, keeping her mind closed, preventing Augustus from overhearing . And you don’t. That’s eating you up right now, isn’t it, Augustus?
Karen had been right; if anyone among the Kentucky Brethren should have recognized Aaron on sight, it was Augustus. But he hadn’t—and he still didn’t have a clue.
“Tell me his name, child,” Augustus said softly, his brows lifting with implore, his voice a gentle plea. She might have found something paternal in that expression, something endearing and trustworthy—if only she didn’t remember how he’d left her behind in Lamar’s library, naked and cowed, no better than a dog.
“ Go fuck yourself, Augustus.” Naima stalked past him, shoving him aside as she stomped back into the forest.
***
She found Aaron's car outside of the compound perimeter. He’d driven it off the access road and a short distance into the woods, just enough to conceal the Infiniti coupe from easy view from the road, but not far enough to risk getting mired or stuck in soft loam. It had California plates, and when she telekinetically popped the locks and leaned inside, she caught the distinctive, pleasant, nearly Plasticine whiff of new-car smell: a rental. The interior seats were upholstered in charcoal grey leather, the outside of the car a brushed-steel shade. There were little, if any, personal effects visible in the cabin upon initial inspection: a crumpled receipt from a gas station in South Lake Tahoe where Aaron had apparently stopped and paid cash for a bottle of iced tea, and said bottle, half-empty, in the center console cup holder compartment.
Naima settled herself into the front seat, listening to the soft groan of the slick leather beneath her. He would head straight for the car; of that she had no doubt. Even though she’d sent Augustus back to the clinic under the pretense of precaution, she didn’t believe for a moment he’d go anywhere near Tristan—or any other of the Morin clan—again that night.
He’s hurt, needs to heal. He’s going to go somewhere to lay low in the meantime. And he’s going to need to drive to get there.
She let the door fall closed with a soft click, extinguishing the overhead light and plunging the cab in darkness. Leaning across the dash, she opened the glove box, and golden glow from a miniature bulb inside spilled across the contents and floor board. Inside, she found a carbon copy from a rental agreement, neatly folded lengthwise, made out and signed in the name of Aaron Broughman. Beneath this, she found a man’s leather billfold that contained four crisp, like-new one hundred dollar bills, four fifties and a pair of twenties tucked in the money compartment. The only other things in the wallet were a platinum Visa card in the name of Aaron Broughman, and a New York driver’s license issued in that same name, with Aaron’s photo.
Why
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