Legacy of Destruction (Paperback)

Chapter One

She was gone. His anchor, all he had left in the world.
Stale air and the taint of neglect permeated the small cabin. A fine layer of dust coated the furniture. She would have hated that. She’d never had much in the way of material possessions, but what she did have, she’d kept tidy.
Justin straightened the patchwork quilt on the bed, drawing it over the pillow where the indent of his grandmother’s head still remained.
He hadn’t been there for her final breaths, to hold her hand or ease her pain.
His fingers trailed over the quilt’s soft, well-worn material. The framed photograph on the nightstand drew his gaze—a picture taken of him and his mother when he was a small child. It was the only photograph on display—the only one she’d kept. He’d tucked away a miniature copy in his wallet. He had only a vague recollection of when it had been taken. They’d spent the day at the beach playing in the surf and building sand forts—a rare day of carefree play.
A dog-eared copy of the Bible lay next to the frame. He’d asked her once why she still read it, why she still believed. After silently staring out the window for so long he’d thought she wouldn’t answer, she’d replied, “It comforts me and provides wisdom on the days I have none.”
His hands fisted at his sides. Did it give her solace at the end? Did she read the words once again, seeking answers? Was an old book all she had to turn to in her final moments?
Justin tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He hadn’t been there to say goodbye.
The tension in the air built. A soft rumbling echoed beneath his feet.
His eyes shot open. Raw power filled the room. The hairs on his arms stood on end. Like a live current, the room zapped with energy. He took deep, labored breaths, trying to rein in the power, to draw it back into his body.
It was no use. He’d lost control.
Windows rattled in their frames. The picture fell from the nightstand onto the floor. He stared at the frame’s cracked glass. A jagged line separated him from his mother.
Justin turned and strode from the bedroom into the main room of the one-bedroom cabin. A glass fell from the open shelving in the kitchen area and shattered. Dishes clattered against each other. One by one, glasses flew off the wooden ledges and joined their smashed brethren on the floor. The little bird salt and pepper shakers he’d given his grandmother as a belated birthday gift, bought with his first paycheck, lay broken on the red rug under the table.
The walls shook as the earth’s resonating growl echoed around him. He rushed to the door. The handle turned in his hand, but the door was stuck in its shifted frame. Justin leaned his shoulder against the wood and shoved with all his strength, then squeezed through the slight opening.
The bright Mexican sun beat down on him as he slid from the cabin. The ground split beneath his feet, and he ran. A shudder moved through the earth, knocking him to his knees. He scrambled to his feet and sought open ground away from the cabin and the towering cypress trees around it.
A crack rent the air, and he whirled. The Mexican cypress tree toppled, crashing into the roof of the old cabin and rendering a giant hole. Creaks and groans rose from the tree and cabin. The wall gave a last shuddering attempt to stand before crumbling beneath the tree’s weight.
Justin slid to the ground and rested his forearms on his drawn knees. Dirt and dust coated his skin and clothes. He coughed as his dry mouth and throat spasmed. It was like he’d drunk a dirt milkshake. He spat out the grime covering his tongue.
The quake ended after a few moments. The earth resumed its slumber, leaving him to stare at the aftermath.
His grandmother’s cabin was destroyed—lost to him, just as she was. Her meager belongings were ruined because he’d lost control of the power he’d had since birth. A power he certainly hadn’t asked for and didn’t want. It had only brought him destruction and despair.
It had taken his mother from him.
After his mother’s death, his grandmother had always kept them on the move. They’d never resided in one place for more than a few months. As a man, he’d continued the habit, but after a while, his grandmother had wanted a place to call home. She’d chosen the cabin and had lived there for the past five years. He’d visited, often at first, less and less as the years had passed. And he’d called to check in and make sure she had anything she needed, but he should have been there. She’d never said she was unwell, never hinted that her heart was giving out.
He hung his head. He was tired of running, tired of hiding.
Someone had murdered his mother because of the power that ran through their veins.
For generations, his family had been hunted. No more. Now he would do the hunting. He would find those responsible for killing his mother and finally make them pay.
He had nothing left to lose.