“Then why ask?”
“Self-Warrant is a onetime get-out-of-jail-free card that a Breed can use for his mate, or child, should one of them break Breed Law seriously enough that the sentence they face is more than the Breed believes is bearable. It can also be used in other situations. Such as a mate’s parents facing an enraged director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs who’s considering using the fullest extent of Breed Law against them for the crimes they’ve committed.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, but she was very much afraid she did. “What does this have to do with me?”
His brow lifted lazily. “Listen and you’ll know what it has to do with you. To ensure that the human doesn’t suffer the full effects of Mating Heat, she would be taken to her Breed monthly. It would be enough to keep both of them sane, barely—though the female has options with the hormonal treatments our scientists and doctors have come up with that the male does not. Other than that, the Breed is locked in a cell similar to that of the labs he was created in, because the need for freedom would soon make him enraged. As long as he is calm, he can have his mate once a month. But for the rest of his life, other than those few short hours, he speaks to no one. No letters from home. No television, no weight room, library or computer privileges,” he sneered. “Breeds don’t suffer idiocy well. And if another Breed willingly gives up his life for the protection of his mate, to serve such a sentence for parents who obviously have no love for his mate to begin with, then why should we show him mercy? It would teach others that came after him the foolhardiness of such a decision.”
“What are you trying to say, damn you?” She snapped, tired of this game. “What has Rule done?”
Oh God, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t sacrifice himself in such a way, would he?
“It’s what your parents have done, Ms. McQuade,” he snarled. “And what that Breed is willing to do to save you the pain of their judgment and punishment. Under Breed Law, any human or Breed attempting to bring a nano-nit device into any area marked as Breed Secure invites punishment by death under Breed Law. What would Rule do to save you the pain of watching your parents die for attempting to threaten the infant child of the director of Breed Affairs when they brought in a nit programmed to activate, and record, upon the sound of a child’s innocent voice?”
No. No, her parents would not do that.
But they had. She knew her mother, and she knew her mother would do anything if Kandy were threatened, to protect her. And everyone knew Kandy was her parents’ weakness.
What would Rule do?
She stared up at the Breed in horror, watching his green eyes go from frozen to fiery in a heartbeat before they once again iced over as though the heated fire of rage had never touched them.
“What would your parents do, if they believed you would face that punishment rather than your mate?” he asked then.
The elevator doors slid open into a conference room filled with Breeds. Across from her, Rule stood as a wide flat screen monitor showed her parents, amplified her mother’s voice and the pain-filled accusation that opened Gypsy’s soul like a scalpel and left her emotions, the anger, fear and self-rapacious guilt, to flood her system like a tidal wave that destroyed everything in its wake.
“Mrs. McQuade, did you not admit to bringing a stealth device into—”
“I did,” Greta cried out painfully. “I told you I did.”
“And if I told you that your daughter will be punished—for the rest of her days, she will know a hell unlike anything you could imagine in payment for your crimes unless you divulge the name of the person or persons who aided you in this—would you then give us the information we require to prosecute them instead?”
“What? What are you saying?” Hansel shook his head, obviously fighting to understand the implications of what Jonas was saying.
“I am saying, Mr. McQuade, that should your daughter accept a statute of Breed Law that allows her to bear your punishment for your crimes, would you willingly allow her to do so? Would you allow her to suffer, in pain, in isolation, for the rest of her life to protect whoever set you on this course of action? Or would you give us the answers to the questions that were submitted to you when you were first detained for attempting to bring that damnable device into what is effectively my damned home and risking not just my life, but my wife’s and my child’s?” he demanded, the rage building in his voice with each word.
“No . . . you can’t do that,” Hansel whispered in horror and disbelief.
“She hasn’t been our daughter since the night she helped those bastards kill my son,” Greta sobbed, her expression twisting in agony as each Breed watched her in shell-shocked silence. “My daughter died with him that night.”
“No, Greta.” Hansel stared at his wife in horror as she voiced the rage she carried toward a child who had played no part in the horror she had suffered as well.
“You know it’s the truth,” Greta sobbed, all but hysterical. “All that mattered then was the next party, and that’s all that matters to her now. The next party, the next wild drunken night and trampy two-bit Breed she can f**k. That’s how she honors the brother who died because of her stupidity.” Her eyes suddenly shot past Jonas, horror filling her face as Hansel McQuade’s followed. Her father’s eyes suddenly filled with tears as they met Gypsy’s through the two-way video monitor.
She felt frozen. Locked into place as all eyes turned to her, staring at her in varying degrees of pity.
“Fuck!” someone whispered, a male voice, low, a hiss of raw fury a second before Rule roared out in rage, lifted an object from the conference table in front of him and hurled it at the screen.
It shattered, throwing shards of glass outward as Jonas ducked, and those nearest turned their heads quickly to avoid the sharp projectiles.
Something stung her forehead, her cheek, but she wasn’t certain what.
The sickening realization that her parents believed the act didn’t surprise her; she had been damned good at her job over the years. But to have them voice it to these men who respected her enough to see through her party-girl act destroyed her. To know that they might suspect or even privately blame her was one thing, but to have her mother accuse her so virulently with such disgust and lack of warmth, she had to admit, laid her soul bare.
That was her mother.
The woman who had raised her . . .
No, her parents hadn’t raised her, she finally admitted.