Ghostwalker 05 - Deadly Game

good idea. Whitney seems really angry with him. Freeman isn't enhanced in any way."
    "But his wife is."
    "Yes. Whitney and the senator's father, Andrew Freeman, go way back. Andrew Freeman is in shipping. Violet told us she was being groomed to a be a senator's wife – that Whitney wanted Senator Freeman to run for vice president and that they would have a man in office they could control."
    "So Violet is one of Whitney's GhostWalkers. He has a small army of them."
    "No!" Mari pulled back her head to look at him. "Violet would never betray us, no matter what Whitney offered. I think she genuinely loves her husband, but she still wouldn't sell us out. Whitney has access to a team of genuine GhostWalkers. Violet was part of that group and so was I. Whitney has another unit comprised of supersoldiers. They're not quite the same. They're enhanced, but their psychic abilities aren't as strong and most of them are very violent. I know Violet isn't a part of that; she wouldn't betray us."
    "Sean did."
    There was a silence and he cursed himself for hurting her. His arms tightened even more, as if by crushing her to him and nuzzling the top of her head he could somehow make up for his blunder.
    "Yes, he did," Mari said. "He blamed it on me."
    "That's bullshit and you know it. He made his choices; we all do. He can take his own responsibility. If I screw up with you, Mari, it's on me."
    She reached up to trace his lips with the pad of her finger, hearing the ache in his voice.
    "Why do you persist in thinking you're some kind of monster?"
    "I don't want you getting the wrong idea about me." His voice sounded raw even to his own ears.
    She smiled in the darkness. "I've been in your mind. I know you're bossy and you like everything your own way. You think you're jealous…"
    "I am jealous. The thought of another man touching you makes me crazy." He squeezed his eyes shut. "My father was so jealous, Mari, he couldn't stand my mother talking and laughing with her own sons. He beat her every time a man glanced her way, which was often. She was a beautiful woman. I feel very possessive of you already. The idea of some man holding you in his arms, kissing you, sharing your body, just the thought alone, makes me feel violent. I don't honestly know what I'd do."
    Ashamed, he wrapped his arm around her head, pressing her face into his chest so she couldn't look at him. He couldn't look her in the eye. "I could feel your emotions when Sean was fighting Brett. It sickened you to be the cause of that. I could do much worse, Mari, I know I'm capable. I was hoping I could hold you at arm's length and I wouldn't feel so strongly, but it happened and I can't stop it."
    "You're not your father, Ken. You've led a completely different life. You've been shaped by your own experiences."
    He gave a small, humorless laugh. "Exactly, Mari. Wonderful experiences. Witnessing my father kill my mother. Trying to do the old man in myself – hell, I wasn't even in my teens. I plotted a thousand ways to murder him. I beat the hell out of two of my foster dads and I have no idea how many boys and men growing up. I chose special ops, Mari, I chose to be enhanced both physically and psychically; after all, it would make me a much more efficient killer. Those are the things that shaped my life." He kept his tone absolutely emotionless, separating himself from the reality of his childhood the way he always did –
    the way he had to in order to survive.
    Tears burned all over again. Hadn't she cried enough this night? This time the tears weren't for her, but for him, that little boy, the teenager abandoned by adults. Her life might have been stark and cold, but she hadn't known any different. She had nothing to compare it to. In some ways it had been fun even, all the physical and psychic training. She'd felt special and eventually respected. But Ken had known love. His mother had loved him; Mari could feel the echo of that long-ago love in his mind.
    He hurt so bad inside and he didn't even know it. He wasn't aware of it, only of the fire of rage or the ice cold of his lack of emotions. It was all or nothing with Ken. Fury or ice.
    "Ken…"
    "Don't!" he said sharply, because if she cried for him, it would be the end. No one had ever cried for him. His mother had been dead, and the rest of the world looked at Ken and Jack as if they were already the monsters their father created. Even back then, people had been right to be afraid.
    His thumbs brushed at her