Mind-fucked. He was well and completely mind-fucked, and he was also absolutely insane for thinking he was ready to jump into this. He should have taken another day, at least.
Gone back to the hotel, dreamed about Dru. Solidified his shields. Dreamed about Dru . . .
Except if he’d done that, he wouldn’t have seen Sellers. Hennegan. Whatever the bastard wanted to call himself. This was his best chance.
“Maybe the only chance.” He rubbed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. Only chance to do it this way, and this way was the best way. He knew that in his gut.
Taking a deep breath, he went through one of the mental exercises he’d learned years ago. It wasn’t doing much, but it edged back the fury a little bit. Not a whole lot, but a little. Once he had the fury under control, it was easier to shore up his shields more.
As strange a life as he led, as bizarre a gift as he had, control was vital. It was vital to psychics in general, but most of them—hell, ninety-eight percent of the people Joss worked with—could establish a working rhythm and that led to a natural control.
Joss’s gift didn’t allow for a rhythm because he never had the same gift type. It was constantly being readjusted, and even if he synced to the same person, their gifts changed and grew over time and he wasn’t using those gifts as they changed, which meant he didn’t have that built-in adjustment period.
He managed through rock-hard control, and it was never more crucial than when he was pissed.
And damn, shit, and fuck, was he pissed.
It ate at his brain like hungry, bloodthirsty little ants.
But the fury couldn’t be in control. Down that road lay madness. Down that road lay failure.
Failure wasn’t an option.
He knew how he had to play this, knew he could. It had been an inkling in his brain from the time Jillian had first placed her small hands in his. Because she’d seen this coming. Then he’d seen Hennegan/Sellers and the idea had bloomed just a bit.
Now it was slowly solidifying, and he knew what he was going to do.
He had to be careful, though, or he was fucked, and so were those girls.
So . . . control.
A good thirty minutes passed before he thought he could function the way he needed to. He took a minute to go to the bedroom and check on his “guest.” Still out of it. A hand on the guy’s head took him a little deeper into a screwed-up psyche than he wanted to go, but it also told him the guy wasn’t going to emerge anytime soon. That psychic jab had a little too much power, especially on top of Joss’s less-than-gentle probe. He’d be out for hours.
Back in the main part of the cabin, he had another drink, started dissecting bits and pieces of that screwed-up psyche.
A taker. A user. Entitled son of a bitch. He wanted, so he took. He liked things . . . liked having them, owning them. Breaking them, if he so chose. Girls were things. He also liked the hunt, as he saw it. Liked finding the perfect specimen—a particular sort of girl for a particular sort of buyer. Finding her, stalking her, kidnapping her. It was one of his passions, and he loved it.
So far, all contact with this new person had been via text. No phone calls, no direct meets.
That was good.
He wasn’t happy about being here, and this ludicrous cabin had him irritated. He’d hidden it, during the few phone calls, even hidden it inside the cabin, in case it was bugged.
That was a worry, one Joss hadn’t considered and should have—
But the place wasn’t bugged.
Not yet . . .
That strange little buzz in his mind had him hunching his shoulders, almost like somebody had whispered that in his ear. But he knew better. It was just another facet of Jillian’s gift. The cabin wasn’t bugged, but it would be. Soon. Great. Just great. Now Joss also had to worry about getting Hennegan out of here before that happened. Wasn’t that just awesome?
Okay, so he’d get ahold of Jones. Put his new friend in the trunk of a car.
Step into those size thirteen shoes and bring this entire house of cards crashing down. And heaven help anybody who got in his way.
Dru’s face drifted through his mind, and he seized on it. Thinking about her was one definite way to chill