“Now that we’ve compared dicks, have a seat.” I waved a hand toward the couch like I owned the place, which technically I did.
“You don’t realize it, but you’re just like your uncle,” Redding said tightly, taking a seat.
It wasn’t a compliment, but if he thought I was as ruthless as Amos, I’d take it. “What do you want?”
Holding up a hand, Redding waited until a sheaf of papers was deposited in his palm, then shoved them across the coffee table in my direction. “I want you to sign these.”
I didn’t reach for them. “What do they say?”
“They sign over control of your shares in Hacr Tech to me.”
“Cutting Chadwick out of the deal, huh?” It hadn’t escaped my notice that the lawyer wasn’t present.
“I have you to thank for that,” Redding said. “I’ve been looking for a way to remove my partner for too many years. Now I can.”
“And what do I get out of it?”
“You get to live,” Redding said, pointing out the obvious.
I rolled my eyes.
“You and your family will be left in peace,” he reiterated. “You may even keep the trust your parents so cleverly devised. With Hacr, I’ll have no need of anyone else’s money.”
“Not with that top-secret communications system you’re on the verge of releasing.”
Redding actually looked impressed. “So you’re more than a hired gun. Something of your father must live on then.”
Not in me. I was who Amos Agozi had made me. My brothers had stood a fighting chance though; I’d sacrificed my own to be sure of it.
I considered the papers a moment, as if I would ever make a deal with this devil. “That’s a very generous offer.”
Redding grinned. “I thought so. Far more than what your uncle wanted to give you.”
My muscles tried to tense, but I forced the reaction back. I couldn’t afford to give Redding an inch. “My uncle?”
“Of course. You didn’t think he came up with the idea on his own, did you? He wasn’t happy to discover we had evidence of his participation in your parents’ murders, nor that we were willing to use it against him after already using him to kill them in the first place.” His smile went almost dreamy, as if a pleasant memory was coming back to him. “We had Amos by the balls back then—or he had us. It was a mutual vise, I’m sure, at least until his murder.”
Redding narrowed his eyes. “That was you, wasn’t it?” His gaze trailed over me, taking in the sight of a killer. “It was such a big mystery then, but I can see it now. Thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” I bit out. “I did it for them. Remember that.” He’d just confessed to being an accessory to my parents’ murders. Did he honestly believe I’d let him live?
“I really don’t think there’s anything you can do about it, is there?” he asked, glancing at the packed room.
“Not right this moment.” We had each other by the balls, as he’d put it earlier, but it wouldn’t stay that way.
“I don’t kill unless it’s necessary,” Redding said. “With this agreement, it won’t be necessary.”
I snorted at that bit of bullshit. “You don’t kill at all. You hire henchmen to do your dirty work and hope they’ll keep you and your kingdom safe. News flash—you don’t stand a chance against me.”
“We’ll see.” He heaved a deep sigh. “Just sign the paperwork, son. All of this will go away. You can keep living your vigilante life guilt-free while squandering your parents’ millions, if you so choose, and there will be zero threat against you and your brothers. If not for yourself, do it for them.”
They wouldn’t want that any more than I did. “Fuck you.”
Redding stared me down a moment longer before slapping his thighs and standing. “Our business for today is concluded, then. Call your brothers off. You are free to go.” He turned, hesitated. “Last chance, Agozi.”
I didn’t bother with an answer. We’d both known I was going to walk out of here from the get-go, and if he knew I was like Amos, then any hope he’d had that I would sign his agreement had been pure delusion. Let him have the final word if he wanted it.
It was the last concession I’d make, because I fully planned on having the last shot.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Remi and Eli met me at the drop point, and I took them to our new safe house before I went to get Abby. Ironically it was the same house Abby had run away from after I kidnapped her. I just hoped she didn’t try it again given her mood when I’d dropped her off. Mrs. Sanderson always had a soothing effect on her; maybe I’d get lucky.
It took me approximately ten seconds before I realized there would be no getting lucky this time.
Abby stood on the little front patio, her arms crossed over her chest like she needed to hold herself together. I wanted to take her in my arms and do the job for her, but the anger in her eyes shouted for me to stay away.
“Answer me, Levi. Where did you go?”
I glanced at Mrs. Sanderson with what I hoped were pleading eyes, but the old woman merely shook her head. Her message was clear: you’re on your own, kid.
Hiding my grimace, I admitted, “I had a meeting with Redding.”
Abby choked. At least I’m pretty sure that’s why her face was turning that awful shade of red, but maybe the death glare had something to do with it too.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
Obviously. I was just as hyped on adrenaline and the aftermath of the confrontation as Abby was on anger, but another glance at Mrs. Sanderson convinced me not to verbalize that. I took a minute to clear the sarcasm from my voice.
“Abby, I know you want to be a part of everything, but you are not always going to know what I’m doing. That’s the nature of my work, and a safety measure for you. It’s just the way it is. The sooner you try to understand that, the less stress there will be for you.” I dared a half step forward but didn’t touch her, not like I wanted to. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I’ll never get used to having you in danger.”
And I guess I could understand that on some level. Military spouses, I was sure, never stopped worrying. Cops, Feds—some occupations wouldn’t allow you not to worry. But what I did was dangerous; there was no way to stop that.
“Abby—”
She threw a hand up. “Not now.” And shoved past me.
I turned to watch her walk toward the SUV, and wished I was someone else, somehow who came without all the complications that this life had wrapped me in. But I wasn’t.
You knew that going in. Don’t let one setback stop you. Make it work.
“She does get it, you know.”
I faced Mrs. Sanderson. Abby called her Geneva, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that. I respected her too much. Her kind brown eyes had faded some in the couple of years I’d known her, but they were still full of wisdom. “Does she?”
The older woman reached a wizened hand to grab my wrist. Touching was something I had never allowed before Abby came into my life. I’d gone years without any more personal a touch than a quick screw in a back alley. My wild redhead had taught me the value of physical connection, and somehow over the past few months, that connection had extended to Geneva Sanderson. She had become like a grandmother to Abby and, by association, to me. At least what I imagined a grandmother would be like.
A smile deepened the wrinkles on each side of her mouth. “She does. She just has no way to get out her worry. Fear always sharpens the tongue.”
I glanced down at my wrist and laid my palm over hers. No words came to mind, but Mrs. Sanderson didn’t need any. She just held tight and let me absorb her understanding.
Finally I stepped back. “Thank you.”
“Bring her back soon, honey. That’s thanks enough,” she said, passing me Abby’s coat.
I brushed a kiss along her cheek and turned to go. I could barely see the edge of Abby’s red hair around the headrest, the color glinting in the sun pass
ing through the windshield, and something about the vibrant color settled the emotion clogging my chest as I crossed the lawn. We needed to get back to the safe house, talk, work things out. Hell, if she needed to yell at me, I’d let her. Whatever it took, I’d—
Between one step and the next, my world exploded around me.
Hitting the ground flat on my back drove every bit of air from my lungs. I gasped, choked. Where was Mrs. Sanderson? She’d been behind me, near the front door. What—
I couldn’t hear anything. It was like I’d been stuffed into a balloon, echoing with my heaving breath and the thoughts in my head, but no sound. Nothing. And my skin. It cringed away from what I finally realized was a fireball of silent heat directly in front of me, searing me, cooking me in my clothes.
It was only then that the pieces came together.
The blast.
The car.
Abby.
“Abby!” Her name was ripped from my lungs, faint in my ears. I screamed it again as I rolled to my side, fighting my bruised and uncooperative body to get up, get to her. Harsh flames blocked my view, but I crawled, then stumbled to the other side of the inferno, only to find it fully consumed. That didn’t stop me. Lost in the numb silence that had taken over my world, I had only one thought: Get to Abby.
Get her out.
Get her out, goddamn it!
I was reaching for the passenger-side door when rough hands jerked me back. Even with my skin blistering, I fought them, desperate to get inside. More hands joined the first, ripping at me, forcing me away from the car. They were yelling, I could hear that, but nothing registered. Nothing but the heat and the flames and the agony. Not until two words finally, finally penetrated the fog.
“She’s gone!”
The fight went out of me. Rough hands dragged me back to a safe distance, and I let them, because all I could see, all I could comprehend was the roaring fire that consumed the small body in the front seat. My Abby.
Gone.
A roar came from out of nowhere, breaking the silence in my head, shattering the barrier that protected me from reality. It was only when my lungs ran out of air and I was forced to inhale that I realized the man screaming was me. That agony was me. That savage pain…me. They tried to get me up, tried to make me look away, but I fought them. And I watched. And I screamed.
Abby. Gone.
It was the faintest sound that broke through the chaos in my head. A cry. Not close, but… Someone hurt. Who?
Abby. Gone.
The cry came again, fragile, devastating. It needed to stop, to go away, leave me alone in the darkness and let me die. But it didn’t. It rose again and again, a long, keening wail that I couldn’t ignore. In increments so slow they were barely noticeable, I turned my head—and realized exactly who I was hearing.
Geneva Sanderson.
Her fragile body was crumpled on the lawn just past her front patio, a small bundle of cotton and bones that rocked back and forth as she cried out her grief. I stared at her, uncomprehending, wondering why Abby didn’t come hold her, take care of her. Why she left the woman she loved like a mother alone.
When I looked back at the car, the dying funeral pyre, I knew.
Because Abby was gone.
Somehow I managed to get my feet under me, to get my body to cooperate. The sound of sirens barely registered as I stumbled across the yard. My skin felt too small for my body; my lungs hurt. My desert-dry eyes refused to tear despite the gut-wrenching need to cry. None of it mattered.
All that mattered was reaching the woman on the ground, and when I did, I dropped down beside her like my bones had turned to water, put my arms around her shaking shoulders, and pulled her tearstained face to my chest. And let her cry for both of us.
I have no idea how long we sat there. The fire department came, pushing back the crowds, and put out the fire. A thick blanket of some sort was draped over the area where the windshield would be, protecting the victim from prying eyes.
The victim. Abby. My Abby.
The police came, asked questions. I have no idea what I told them. I didn’t care. Maybe they knew that, because they finally left us alone.
Neighbors came and took Mrs. Sanderson inside.
And still I sat and stared at the charred remains of my car. Holding vigil for the woman I loved more than my own life.
“Sir?”
I blinked.
“Sir?” A dark form crouched in front of me—the cop I’d spoken to earlier. His kind eyes and careful voice made me want to punch his pristine teeth out. “Sir, is there someone I should call for you?”
“Call?” I choked out. The word clicked in my brain. My brothers. I needed to call my brothers, but I couldn’t even fathom saying the words I’d need to say out loud. Abby was gone. How did I tell them I had failed to protect the most important person in my life? How?
“Sir, do you have a cell phone?”
I found myself fishing in my pocket, pulling out my phone. The screen lit up, and by rote I entered the security code with blackened, blistered fingers. The home screen was so bright it burned my aching retinas.
“Let me help you.” The cop reached for the cell, but before he could grasp it, an incoming text pinged.
The message preview flashed on the screen for no more than a couple of seconds, but what I saw will forever be burned in my memory. One little sentence that smashed the rubble that was all that was left of my world. One sentence, that was all it took.
You had your chance to stop this.
Nothing more. Nothing else was needed. I squeezed the case in my hand, imagining Redding’s neck, imagining that the moment the plastic crumpled into pieces, I was crushing his spine. The cop watched in confusion as I dropped the phone to the ground and stomped it, pulverized every last piece until all that was left was a pile of plastic shards and metal. My fingers dripped blood from various cuts and broken blisters, but I didn’t register the pain. The agony inside was all I could handle. Nothing more.
Not until I really did have my hands around Warren Redding’s throat. Repentance might be good for the soul, but not Redding’s. He would die with his sins, and if I had my way, I’d follow him to the depths of hell and kill him all over again.
Abby was gone. Nothing would bring her back. And as I sat on the grass, numb to all but my rage, and watched the crowds disappear, the officials go back to their vehicles—watched the world slowly try to return to normal—I knew without a doubt that I didn’t want to live without her. Not even my brothers could make me stay.
Redding would die, and then, God help me, so would I.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’m not sure how he knew, but Detective Bryant arrived on the scene at some point. One minute I was pounding my phone into the ground, and the next, his weary eyes were right in front of me. He’s the one that got me to my feet. He’s the one that called my brothers. He’s the one who forced me inside Mrs. Sanderson’s duplex when officials arrived to remove the body.
The body. That’s how they referred to her. As if she were just a thing, not the very breath in my lungs.
Mrs. Sanderson had sequestered herself in her bedroom, away from friends and family. Away from me. Which was as it should be. I was the monster who’d brought this horror into her life. Into Abby’s life. And yet I found myself outside her door, palm and forehead laid against it, trying to soak up the love and energy and joy Abby had radiated around the older woman, as if she was still here. As if she wasn’t…
I couldn’t say dead. She was simply gone, but we would only be apart for a little while. I had to believe that. It was the only way to bear the pain long enough to do what had to be done.
“Come in here, honey,” Mrs. Sanderson called through the door. She always called me honey, but this time it didn’t make me laugh. I didn’t question how she knew it was me either. She just did, and I opened the door like it was the gateway to the only hope I would ever have.
And closed it behind me. This was priva
te. No one else should see.
Mrs. Sanderson’s huddled frame was shrouded in an afghan where she sat in an old wooden rocking chair. All of her was still but her fingers, which plucked restlessly at the threads of the blanket. Bloodshot eyes rose to meet mine. She reached for me. “Come here.”
So I came. I knelt at the old woman’s feet and laid my palms in her lap. She covered them with her own.
“Mrs. Sanderson—”
“No more of that,” she said sharply, but tears brought a glossy sheen to her brown eyes. “My girl is gone. Who else is going to call me Geneva like she did, like she was my own granddaughter?” She nodded slowly as if considering. “You will. Just like you’re my own as well.”
I squeezed my eyes shut at the grief in her voice and, to my horror, felt a single drop of moisture dripping down the side of my nose. A tear. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t give in. It would make me soft when I needed to be hard. Needed to be sharp.
But I opened my eyes to find the slightest smile on Geneva’s lips, the barest tilting of the corners. The expression wasn’t happy, more like…approval. “That’s right, my boy. It hurts something powerful, and we all need time to grieve.”
My grief was best spent behind a weapon, but I couldn’t tell her that. Instead I followed the urging of her hand at the back of my head and rested a cheek on her knee. There I absorbed the generosity of a woman who barely knew me, and felt my rage grow as I soaked up her pain.
A faint knock came at the door. “Levi, your brothers are here.”
My gut went tight. I glanced up at Geneva. “I have to go.”
She patted my cheek. Not in that condescending way some old people use; no, I’d seen her pat Abby the same way, a gentle brushing that somehow signaled care and understanding all in one touch. I even found myself leaning into her fingers as if I could siphon off some of her strength, when really I should be the one who was strong.
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