“There are things he needs to take care of,” I say. “He hopes I’ll understand.”
She blinks at me. “Oh, it’s startling when you do that. But yes, that was the message he left for you.”
Judging by the intensity of Tansy’s recollection of Striker’s voice when he spoke the message, Striker really does hope I’ll understand. His actions are not intended to be hurtful or dismissive, even if I’m a little confused by them.
“Okay, then,” I say, compelled to accept his choices because they’re his to make.
But as I leave Saber Lane, I’m quietly hit with the realization that my purpose is more than vengeance now.
I want more than that in my life.
38. STRIKER DRAVEN
Sunrise breaks across the horizon, and I take a moment to appreciate it.
It’s been a month since I last set foot on Saber Lane, three months since Peyton brought me out of the maze, and during this past month, I haven’t stopped, driven by a determination that I can put right every aspect of my life, or as right as those parts can be.
I have Zara and the assassins to thank for cleaning out Draven Industries, but putting a new board in place has taken time and care.
I wanted supernaturals who would be confident enough to challenge me when they should but who would also act ethically and with integrity. After multiple setbacks, I finally succeeded.
Zara is now like a shadow at my back, acting as my advisor, helping with the things I can’t ask anyone else to do. She’s adjusted to my routine, waking up at sunrise like I do.
Not that I’m going for a run yet.
I’m still using crutches to get about.
Typhon did a fucking number on my spine, and the sheer power Tansy Grey must have used to pull me back together fills me with awe every time I think about it. Which is often.
But more often, Peyton is in my thoughts, the driving force behind everything I do, making me as determined as she must have been when she pulled me, broken and bloody, out of the maze.
I want to contact her more than anything, but there are still things I need to set right, things I need to make better.
I need to have a clean slate when I next see her because I can’t bring any of my past problems into her life. None of it. She deserves that.
As I turn away from the window, reaching for the crutches I leaned against the chair behind me, I find my stepsister hovering in the doorway. Not that I didn’t sense she was there, but the happy buzz she’s giving off is new.
“I found her,” Zara says.
I still, waiting for my heart to catch up. It takes a moment. Connecting with my emotions is something I still have to consciously take time to achieve.
Luckily, I’ve discovered that when you have money, people are willing to wait as long as you want.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“Closer than expected. Do you want to see her?”
I give Zara a short nod. “Today. But only from a distance.”
She spins on her heel. “I’ll shift your meetings.”
I dress more casually than I have for the last month, choosing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I want to blend in, not stand out.
My driver takes us to the airport, where my private jet is waiting—the fact that I have a driver and a jet are both things I’m not sure I’ll get used to.
We touch down in Philadelphia by mid-morning.
I tread carefully here.
