Rouse (Revenge Book 7)

by Trevion Burns

  Slapping his hands on the glass of the window above the bathtub, aware that the sound of bullets flying had ceased, a wave of terror ebbed across his body. Whoever had been firing that machine gun had stopped, which meant they were surely on their way to the door of his hotel room to get visible confirmation that the job had been done.

  A hotel room door he’d left hanging wide open.

  The thought nearly caused him to fall to pieces, barely able to hold himself together as he pushed the window upward, opening it just enough to squeeze his body through. The morning breeze floated in and encircled him as he heaved his body into the open window, headfirst. Wiggling as fast as he could, knowing any second the shooter could walk in that room and see him, Gage wasn’t worried when he went falling, headfirst, into the concrete ground of the alley at the back of the motel. He paid no mind to the pain that shot down his spine when he landed right on his neck, too busy scuffling up to his feet to pay attention to the sting.

  Then, he was running. As quickly as his shuddering legs would allow. He didn’t look back as he raced down the long alleyway, his suit jacket flying behind him as he went, too terrified of what he might find behind him.

  Seconds later, he was on the side of a desert road of Adeline, Kansas. A street that was nearly empty early that morning, with nothing but dry land and a few scattered fast-food joints littering the road in either direction.

  Gage’s wide eyes scanned his surroundings desperately, and he considered it nothing short of a miracle when he caught sight of a lone cab traveling down the road at full speed, toward him, with a bored looking driver behind the wheel.

  Gage raced into the middle of the street, causing the cab driver to slam on his breaks when he jumped directly into his path, stopping just a few inches shy of hitting Gage square in the knees. The driver gave Gage a horrified look, and Gage held both hands out in front of him, showing his palms in both an apology and as a silent request for a ride.

  Looking irritated at the insane man who’d just run into the middle of the street, the driver rolled his eyes but still waved for Gage to get in, clearly not prepared to miss out on a few extra dollars just because the man before him was clearly unhinged.

  This time—as Gage circled the cab frantically and ripped open the back door, trembling knees seconds from giving out underneath him—he did look back.

  But there was no one behind him. The alley he’d just raced through was still empty. The bullets that had been meant for him had found their final resting place in the chest of some innocent kid. A kid who’d simply been going above and beyond in hopes of a good tip.

  Before Gage could dwell on that heartbreaking fact, he jumped into the back of the cab, handed the cabbie two hundred dollars, and instructed him to drive until they were anywhere but there.

  ——

  Linc’s breathing grew heavy in the long hallway, which would’ve been pitch black if not for the small window that had been built into the door beside him, allowing a faint light to creep in from the clear skies outside. The sunlight’s soft hum wasn’t strong enough to kill the darkness, however, allowing deep shadows to remain, looming across the hardwood floors like a dying spotlight, hinting at the subtle imperfections on the hallway walls, which were lined with white brick. The white paint was peeling away at the corners of the brick, revealing the true adobe tone living underneath.

  Nestled into the corner next to the door, the long shadows in the tight space hiding him from view, Linc adjusted the black beanie pulled low on his head. It shadowed his eyes as they shifted to the door, and he tightened his fingers—clammy with sweat under the leather gloves he wore—around the handle of the razor sharp knife in his hand. A hand that begged to shake when the click of high heels became audible on the other side of the door. Maintaining composure, he managed to keep a steady grip. Even when she stopped in front of the door, and her silhouette invaded the sunlight creeping in through the small window. Even when her silhouette loomed across the hardwood floors and the jingle of her keys rang in. Even as her key entered the lock and turned, followed by the handle, Linc kept his cool.

  Only when the door creaked open, and Madame Nikki stepped inside, the click of her high heels even louder on the wood floors, did Linc allow a strangled gasp to leave his burning lungs as he stepped out of the shadows, put her in a chokehold from behind—eliciting her own stunned gasp—and pulled her, tripping over her heels, back into the dark corner. Then the knife in his hand was against her throat, it’s razor sharp edge flirting with her esophagus, one false move away from drawing fatal blood.

  Linc sealed the back of her heaving body to his chest, the curve of her ass to his jeans, and kicked the door closed, drowning the hallway in darkness once more. Drowning it in a silence that was only filled with the stunned pants that made her breasts heave, appearing seconds from spilling out of the low cut blue maxi dress she wore over her curvy body.

  Once the door was closed, Linc pulled the knife deeper into her throat, stealing another gasp from her.

  “What do you want?” she begged, her voice echoing, strangled, knowing one false move would mean her life.

  Linc didn’t answer.

  Not in words, anyway.

  Knife still ready at her neck, he released the hold he had around her body and lifted his hand in the air in front of her.

  Her gasps moved to soft cries as he showed her the pictures he’d been clutching in his hand.

  The first picture? Her house in midtown Shadow Rock.

  At the sight of that photo, of the home she retired to every day, her gasping stopped. She was holding her breath.

  With a sharp flick of his thumb, Linc dropped the image of her house and showed her the next picture.

  A picture of her only son. A gap-toothed six-year-old dressed in a Spiderman sweatshirt.

  “No!” Nikki cried. “If you lay a single—”

  Linc pulled the knife deeper into her throat, reminding her who was in charge, reveling in the soft stream of blood he’d drawn as it trickled down the glove of his knife clad hand. Not enough blood to kill her, but enough to get his point across.

  Nikki didn’t dare speak another word, but her cries returned with a vengeance. Her body, already shaking wildly against his, moved from a level one earthquake to a level nine in an instant.

  Linc allowed her to look at the picture of her son while feeling that blade at her throat, long enough for her to understand. To understand the reason he was there. To understand the stakes if she didn’t do exactly as he said.

  Then, he swiped his thumb again, letting that picture fall to the floor and revealing the next one. The photo of Gleb. The man who’d been in the background of Emma’s picture, zoomed in close enough to remove Emma from the photo completely and focus on his face. A face that was blurry in the mirror’s reflection, but still recognizable to anyone who knew him.

  “Who is this and where is he?” Linc’s deep, gravelly voice floated in and filled the hallway for the first time.

  Silence.

  From the sound of her strangled breathing, he could tell Nikki was trying to speak but stopping herself. Hesitating.

  So he swiped his thumb again, already having considered the possibility that she would forget what was at stake, and showed her the next picture. Another picture of her son—this time at school. He swiped his thumb again. Her son climbing off the school bus, alone. He swiped again. Her son walking home, alone. Again. Her son skipping out of the house, alone, with a soccer ball cradled under his arm.

  He gave her another moment to understand.

  Then he swiped his thumb again, showing her a photo of the man in the background of Emma’s picture once more.

  “They call him the Crusher,” Nikki squealed, apparently finally having found her voice—and her sense.

  “What’s his real name?” Linc spat.

  She drew in another haggard breath, then a sob, but apparently, the thought of her son was still fresh in her mind because she answered, so low Li
nc barely heard.

  But he heard.

  “Gleb Smirnov,” she breathed, still speaking in a diminutive way only someone with a knife to their throat could. “He lives in London—”

  “Where in London? You’ve sent your girls to him. You know the exact address.”

  “His spotters meet the girls at the airport and transport them to the final location. I don’t know the exact address, but I know it’s somewhere in Kensington and it has a yellow door. He’s a big fish in the Russian Mob. God as my witness, that’s all I know. Please. My son has nothing to do with this.”

  Heart on fire at the new information, Linc swallowed back the lump in his own throat, tilting his head to whisper in her ear. “If anyone finds out about this conversation, remember…” He pressed the knife deeper into her throat, eliciting a wheeze. “I know where you live. I know where you both live.”

  He took her around her neck and threw her to the floor, yanking the door open just as she crumpled into a wailing heap on the hardwood. The afternoon light spilled into the hallway as the door opened, illuminating the sight of her trembling body, curled into a ball on the floor, face buried in her hands as she exploded into a fit of sobs.

  As Linc barreled out of the building, her cries grew softer with each step he took until the door slammed closed behind him and he could no longer hear her at all.

  On his way back to his truck, parked on the edge of the street at the foggiest, highest peak of the hill—Shadow Rock’s poorest area—the burner phone in his pocket started to ring. Linc fished out the cheap flip phone as he climbed into his pickup truck, starting it while keeping an eye on the door of Nikki’s building, making sure she wasn’t peeking out of the window to get a look at his car.

  Knowing only one person could be calling his burner phone, Linc answered in kind. “You good?”

  When Gage’s voice fluttered through the phone, sounding just as fragmented with white hot fear as Nikki’s had a moment earlier, proving he was far from “good”, Linc’s blood ran cold. With each word Gage said—each more disturbing than the last—a little more color drained from Linc’s face, bit by bit, until he was ghost white.

  For the first time, Linc realized it.

  He loved him.

  He loved his brother.

  It was a realization so immediate, so debilitating, that he found himself unable to respond, but only listen. Letting every word Gage said—motel, room service, machine gun—added more fuel to the fire that had been burning inside him since the moment he’d lost Lisa. Since the moment he’d gained Emma. Since the moment he’d gained a brother.

  A brother he’d never known.

  A daughter he’d never known.

  Two worlds, stolen from him.

  Two worlds he had every intention of stealing back.

  Even if it killed him.

  19

  Later that day, Veda watched as Linc leaned on the door of his apartment, holding it open for her. She stepped inside, her shoulder brushing his chest as she passed him.

  “Can you get me up to speed on why this is necessary, Linc?” Entering the foyer, she only let her eyes dance across his nineteenth-floor apartment for a moment before looking over her shoulder.

  Their eyes locked as Linc closed and locked the bright red door. He wore his usual black jeans and long sleeved black t-shirt.

  She couldn’t help a smile when she realized they matched, sneaking a peek at her black skinny jeans and baby t-shirt. Her eyes rose to his hand on the door handle, noticing he was wearing leather gloves, even though summer was creeping in on the island and it was one of the hottest days of the month.

  She adjusted the strap of the—hastily packed—duffle back on her shoulder, waiting for an answer to her question.

  Linc left the door and moved into the bright kitchen. “Everything’s fine.”

  Veda watched him empty his pockets onto the island’s glossy black countertop. His keys, his wallet, and a large pocket knife. The pocket knife popped open when it hit the countertop a little too forcefully, revealing its stainless steel blade. It caught the glare of the kitchen’s sunken lights, sending sharp gleams across its body.

  It wasn’t the gleaming steel of the knife that stole Veda’s breath, however, but instead, the sharp speckles of red flirting with the edge of the blade. Speckles that looked curiously like blood.

  Who’s blood?

  “Right,” she whispered, wide eyes locked to the knife. “Everything’s fine. Because men always burst into their female friend’s apartments, in the middle of the day, spitting fire, demanding she pack an overnight bag as quickly as possible, when ‘everything’s fine.’ ” She clutched the strap of her bag in both clammy hands as she recalled the frantic state Linc had been in when he’d knocked on her door less than an hour earlier. How he’d demanded she pack a bag as quickly as possible because she was staying with him. How he hadn’t been able to get them across town to his apartment fast enough, breaking every traffic law on the way, all while refusing to explain the situation. “Everything’s not fine, Linc. Please talk to me. Is it Gage? Has something…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Has something happened to him? Please, just tell me…”

  The moment she said the words, her eyes narrowed, realizing she’d never be ready to handle it. She’d never be ready to handle the news that Gage had been hurt. Her skin felt seconds from melting away from the bone just thinking about it.

  Still facing the island, Linc angled his head up toward the pots and pans hanging from the rack above it, cracking his neck. “Gage is fine. I just spoke to him this morning.”

  “And obviously he said something that spooked you enough to move me back into your apartment…”

  He circled the island but slowed halfway, turning his back to her before leaning against the granite and dropping his head. “The less you know—”

  “The safer I am,” she finished, dryly, dropping her duffle bag from her shoulder and onto the floor. She looked toward the living area, toward the wall-to-wall windows across the room, where she knew a breathtaking view of Shadow Rock Island awaited her. Sunlight blared in and danced off his brown leather sofa and sitting chairs, their fabric rumpled and used. It gleamed across the abstract paintings he’d hung all over the room, none of which showcased his friends or family.

  Her gaze flew back to Linc. Back to that bloody knife. The gloves on his hands. His head, which still hung, his chest heaving harder every second.

  “Linc, I’m worried about you.” Her admission prompted him to turn his head and peer at her over his shoulder. She waited for him to face her completely, give her more than his backside, but he didn’t. “I feel like… like you’re slipping away. Not just from me… but from this…” She motioned to the “world” around them with her arms out wide. “From everything.”

  A long pause fell, his eyes darkening by the moment.

  “You wanna talk about it?” she asked.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Nothing to talk about? How about Lisa? Emma? Those kids? The Blackwaters? Your job? You drinking again? Probably not even in school anymore?”

  He hissed, and his eyes left her once more.

  She knew they wouldn’t return, not when she was being so motherly, borderline condescending, but she spoke to the back of his head anyway. “It’s a lot, Linc. And I swear I can see the boulders piling themselves onto your shoulders in real time. Right this instant. Wearing you down. Pulling you down. Closer to the ground every second. Let me…” She shrugged. “Let me shoulder some of it. Hell, for ten years you’ve been shouldering my crap, even if you didn’t know it.” She smiled wistfully. “You know… From the moment you saved my life? I’ve thought about you every day.”

  His gaze slowly crept back over his shoulder and met hers, softer than it was before.

  “But whenever I thought of you, it was always in connection to the nightmare I endured that night. So, my thoughts of you were always poisoned with the hurt, the fury,
the resentment I felt about my attackers. All the way from Colorado, when my parents sent me to live with my grandma after I started to break down after the attack. All the way from Chapel Hill, when I finally declared my major—pre-med—with a very specific goal in mind.”

  He smirked.

  Veda took in the sight. “All the way from med school, I thought of you every day, sending all my angry, karmic vibes your way. I believe in that kind of stuff, Linc. I believe that I took you with me to that angry, ugly place, even when we were hundreds of miles apart. Even when we’d never even properly met. And you shouldered it all. You’re still shouldering it. So… let me shoulder something for you. I know you’ve never been a talker, but… you can talk to me.”

  His eyes searched hers.

  Silence.

  Veda narrowed her gaze to the counter behind him. “Why don’t we start with that bloody knife?”

  He pushed away from the island and moved passed her, his stomps shaking the floors as he entered the living room.

  Veda didn’t pursue him, letting him run, abandoning her bag on the floor while she moved to one of the wooden stools that flanked the island. She clutched the back of it and watched him plop down on the living room couch, his face dark with the words he wouldn’t speak, jaw bone rotating like a rolling pin. He pulled off his gloves, one at a time, dropping them both on the coffee table.

  Veda pushed her curls out of her face. “Why don’t we start with why you’re wearing leather gloves in 70-degree weather?”

  She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer. Sighing, she strode into the living room, breaking her attention away from his sullen face as her gaze flittered all over the room. When she caught sight of a large black suitcase propped up against the living room wall, next to the TV stand, she approached it slowly, touching it with the tips of her trembling fingers.

  “Looks like I’m not the only one with a few bags packed…” She looked toward the living room couch, raising her eyebrows. “Going somewhere?”