The White Knight & Black Valentine Series (Book 4): Kill Them All

by Brand, Kristen

  The arctic air returned to room temperature, and I basked in the warmth against my skin. My insides were still freezing, though, and it would take my body time to thaw. Still shivering, I checked that Dave was okay before going to Julio, who was sagging against the doorframe.

  “How bad?” I asked.

  He winced. “I think my ribs might be cracked.”

  I knew I shouldn’t have left him alone in the hallway with Ember. I helped him to a chair just as Bianca stumbled through the door. She pointed a shaky finger at Ember kneeling on the floor.

  “I think I hate her,” she said. “Can we kill her? Let’s kill her.”

  “No one’s killing anyone,” Julio growled. Then he turned accusing eyes on me. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about earlier.”

  I looked away.

  “She’s more useful alive,” I told Bianca. “Give me a second to find out what she knows, and we’ll get out of here.”

  I dove deeper into Ember’s mind. Her head was throbbing, which didn’t make my own aching skull feel any better, and she was still icy cold. I could feel the armor over her skin, which was a bizarre sensation. It was almost like a fingernail; a part of her body, but it muffled her sense of touch where it covered her skin. I skimmed through her recent memories, hoping to find a clue to Jean-Baptiste’s motives. She was his right-hand woman; if he told anyone, it would be Ember.

  Worry filled her, rising up her throat like bile, and when I traced the feeling back, it led me to a memory from this morning. Through her eyes, I saw my own limp body get loaded into the back of a van behind the bakery. She watched from the sidewalk where she stood beside Jean-Baptiste, a tightness behind her forehead that wasn’t quite a headache yet.

  “You should have told me what you were planning,” she said. Her voice was low and had a hint of an island accent, though a person’s voice never sounded the same in their head as it did to other people’s ears.

  “She read your mind on the way in,” Jean-Baptiste replied. “If I’d told you, we wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

  Ember grudgingly admitted the point, if only to herself. “I didn’t know you had anything against the Black Valentine.”

  “I don’t.” He twisted his ring. “Years ago, I might have, but not anymore.”

  Ember’s forehead grew tighter. “Then why?”

  The back doors of the van slammed closed, and the two men I’d later killed walked up to Jean-Baptiste. He gave them directions to the riverfront house, instructing them to hand me over to the people waiting there.

  “And, Peterson,” he said, stopping the driver as he walked back toward the van. The man turned, and Jean-Baptiste waited, making sure he had his full attention. “This is important. Don’t let anything get in your way.”

  “We’ll get it done,” Peterson said with a nod.

  Seeing the respect shining in Peterson’s eyes, Ember couldn’t stop a rush of her own esteem and gratitude toward Jean-Baptiste. I got the sense she didn’t have positive feelings like that for many people.

  Once the van drove off, she said, “You don’t have to tell me. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “Don’t start that, Amala. You know you’re allowed to ask questions.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, his voice turning solemn. “And you do need to know this.”

  He dialed his voicemail, and when the first message played, the sound of a child crying came over the speaker.

  “Talk,” a man snarled in the background.

  “D-Dad?” said a second child, the first still crying. “They got me and Farah. I don’t know where. We were in the car for hours. The license plate was—”

  A shout cut him off, and muffled sounds came over the speaker as the crying grew louder. Ember’s stomach turned to stone. She recognized that voice, and so did I. It belonged to Jean-Baptiste’s preteen son, Emmanuel.

  “Mr. Dupree,” said a deep voice over the phone as the background noises faded. “My name is Joey Giordano, and if you want to see your children alive, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

  Chapter 14

  I don’t know how long I stood there, staring ahead, part of my consciousness still in Ember’s mind. Eventually, I realized my mouth hung slightly open, so I snapped it shut and knocked out Ember. She crumpled to the floor.

  “Val!” Julio surged to his feet.

  “She’s just unconscious,” I said distractedly. I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I stumbled to the foot of Dave’s bed and sat down, resting my hand on his leg for support. Staring at the floor, I tried to wrap my head around what I’d just learned.

  Joey. I’d first met him when he was sixteen years old, a lowly errand boy working for the family in hopes of someday becoming a made man. He’d been big and brawny even at that age, awkward in his recent growth spurt and alone in the world. I’d flirted with him mainly because I’d known it would piss off my father.

  And it did, at first. But as we grew older, my father saw the advantages of having his rebellious teenage daughter attached to someone who was utterly loyal to him. And Joey was devoted to my father, forever grateful to the first man to give him opportunity and purpose. But having my father’s approval made me lose all interest in Joey, and I’d called things off.

  It had been cruel of me, I suppose. I was often cruel when I didn’t think.

  “Val,” Bianca snapped. She must have been calling my name for a while.

  “Sorry,” I said softly.

  “What’d you find out?” she asked. “If you’re not going to tell me, you should’ve left Ember conscious, so I could read her mind myself.”

  “I—” I didn’t know where to start. “It’s not Jean-Baptiste. It’s Joey.”

  “What?”

  “Joey. He’s got Jean-Baptiste’s kids. That’s the only reason Jean-Baptiste is doing any of this.”

  “Just to be clear, we’re talking about Joey Giordano, current head of the Belmonte crime family?” Julio asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, and told them everything I’d seen in Ember’s memory.

  “Bastard,” Bianca hissed. “Why’s he doing this?”

  “Who knows?” I rubbed my face tiredly. “Maybe he thought I was a threat to his position. Or Dave was his target, and he thought he’d have a chance with me again with him out of the way. Hell, maybe Dad put instructions in his will to screw with me.”

  “And you’re sure it’s him?” Julio asked.

  I stopped myself before automatically saying yes. “Ember believes it’s him.” I glanced at her fallen form with new eyes. She genuinely cared about Jean-Baptiste and his children. “I’m sure that wasn’t a false memory she’s tricking me with. But it is possible Jean-Baptiste manufactured the whole event, knowing I’d read her mind later and wanting to throw me off the scent.”

  “You think that’s likely?” Julio asked.

  I hung my head. “I have no idea.”

  “What does your gut say?”

  I ran a hand through my damp, cold hair. “It’s Joey.”

  “Right.” He hauled himself up carefully, wincing in pain. “I need to let everyone know the building is clear. We’ll bring in Ember and question her more when she wakes up.”

  “Then it’s time for us to leave.” I stood and looked at Dave, thinking about the logistics of getting him out of here. It would be tricky, but between Bianca’s telepathy and mine, we should be able to stop people from noticing us pushing his bed.

  “No,” Julio said. “You’re staying.”

  I turned to face him. To my left, Bianca tensed.

  You want me to take him out? she asked telepathically.

  No, I replied. Not yet.

  “I need to get Dave out of here,” I argued.

  “You need to let us take your statement,” he shot back. “I know you’re used to running when the cops show up, but we’ve got an evacuated hospital and unconscious gangsters everywhere. I can tell my superiors you were only here to help Dave, and I can swear up and down that Joey Gio
rdano is behind it all, but it won’t mean shi—it won’t mean anything if you flee the scene of the crime. You know how that’ll look, right?”

  “I don’t care how it looks.”

  “What do you care about?” he snapped. “Because at the rate you’re going, you’ll be locked away in the Inferno even if Dave wakes up. Are you really that eager to take away the only parent Elisa has left?”

  A hush fell over the room.

  “Damn,” Bianca said softly.

  “Shut up,” I told her. Then I jabbed my finger at Julio. “You have no right—”

  “I’m doing my job—and trying to keep you out of prison. Why do you make it so damn difficult?”

  I took a deep breath and counted backward from ten, only making it to six before blurting, “I didn’t kill him.”

  “No,” Julio said softly, knowing exactly whom I was talking about. “So, I guess there’s no reason to mention it—or how you were about to psy-assault me.”

  So he’d noticed. I took another deep breath. I didn’t have time to waste sitting in a police interrogation room. Jean-Baptiste would be getting more desperate. His kids had been gone for almost a whole day now, and he was no closer to killing Dave or kidnapping me like Joey wanted. And Joey. I had to come up with a plan to deal with Joey. I needed to brainstorm with Irma, check on Eddy and Elisa. There was too much to do, and rehashing what I already knew with a DSA grunt wouldn’t get me anywhere.

  But if I left now, Julio would never forgive me. I’d have to fight my way out through him, and… I cared about him. We weren’t as close as he was with Dave, but I’d come a long way with him over the past year. I didn’t want to hurt him and throw all that away.

  That was why I hadn’t killed the man who’d fired the rocket launcher. It had nothing to do with morality; I’d simply weighed the pros and cons.

  “Two conditions,” I said.

  “I’m listening,” he replied.

  “Bianca gets to leave and take Dave to a safehouse.” That was non-negotiable. I had to get him out of here before Jean-Baptiste sent more men. “And I’ve already been dosed with exatrin once today. I’m not taking another hit. If I’m going to be interrogated, I want someone who doesn’t have to drug me to make sure I’m not mind-controlling them.”

  I could see the moment when it dawned on Julio who I was talking about, and I smirked.

  “I want Lagarde.”

  • • •

  I honestly couldn’t tell if I’d been in this interrogation room before. When you’ve been playing the game as long as I have, they all start to blur together. I should’ve started keeping track years ago, maybe put a big map on the wall and stick a tack in every city I’d been arrested in. Or maybe the DSA could issue commemorative stamps for each room, and I could collect them in a book. Anyway, I wasn’t handcuffed or drugged, and I was still wearing all my clothes, which meant I was already doing loads better than other times I’d been interrogated.

  Sitting and waiting, I finally realized how exhausted I was. My limbs felt heavy, and bruises that I didn’t remember getting throbbed dully. The blood on my split knuckles was dried and crusted, and I rubbed at them absently. Longing for a stiff drink and soft bed nearly made me weep. I kept nodding off, and after a while, I said screw it and put my head down on the table. Maybe the DSA would see it as a power move, that I was so blasé about their interrogation I fell asleep. Yeah, that sounded good.

  It turned out to be a bad idea, because the next thing I knew, a huge bang startled me awake. I shot up with a gasp, seeing Agent Lagarde sitting calmly across from me. She must have slammed her fist on the table.

  Trying to hide how my heart was racing, I groaned and rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” she said in flat tone.

  “Nice to see you, too.” I yawned. “So, on a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you right now?”

  Lagarde sill wore that ungainly brace on her torso, but now it went over a crisp white blouse. Her hair was pulled back in a clip, and she surveyed me with an expression of professional detachment from behind her blue lenses. Her crutches rested against the table.

  “Let’s start by you walking me through the last hour before you arrived at the hospital,” she said.

  “Sure, might as well get this over with.” I stretched and stifled another yawn, not feeling any more well-rested than I had before I’d dozed off. “I had some things to take care of.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Things like ensuring the rest of my family is safe and hidden from the bastards who tried to blow us all up.”

  Lagarde observed me silently for a few seconds. “You came to see me at approximately 12:10 this afternoon asking for help finding your family’s attackers.”

  “Did I? Asking you for help sounds like a terrible idea. Are you sure that was me?”

  “Your movements are unaccounted for between the time you left me and your arrival at Jackson Memorial Hospital five hours later.”

  “Like I said, I had things to do, which is why I asked my sister to stay with Dave.”

  Agent Lagarde didn’t blink. She closed her eyes slowly and deliberately as she took a deep breath through her nose. “That would be Lady Nightmare?”

  “When she’s in costume.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “With Dave and Elisa.”

  “And where are they?”

  I leaned back my head, huffing as I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Lagarde. You know I’m not going to answer that. If the address leaks, they’re dead.”

  Lagarde’s face stayed blank as she digested that answer. “What happened before you went to the hospital?”

  “I got a phone call from Bianca. She said they were under attack. I drove there as fast as I could, rushed inside, and ran into Freezefire before I saw anyone else. He can tell you the rest.”

  Lagarde reached up, and for a split-second, I thought she was going to pull off her glasses and try to take the information from my mind, but she just massaged the side of her head like it ached. Probably still hungover.

  “Freezefire said you think Joey Giordano is behind the attack.”

  “No,” I said. “That’s what Ember remembers being told—which I found out when I read her mind through perfectly legal and justifiable self-defense.”

  “You don’t believe it?”

  “I’m just saying I’d like to have more evidence.”

  I regretted telling Julio about Joey. Now, when Joey went missing after I murdered him, the DSA would bring me in for questioning as a person of interest. I’d have to make extra sure the body was dumped somewhere they’d never find it.

  “And what evidence did your investigation uncover?” Lagarde asked.

  “What investigation?”

  “The one you asked for my help with.”

  “Oh.” I shook my head sorrowfully. “Without your help, it was hopeless. I didn’t find out a thing.”

  Lagarde’s face clearly said she wasn’t buying it, which was a shame, because I thought my performance was suitably dramatic. I had to at least pretend to cooperate, or they’d lock me up overnight out of spite, but giving them more information was like handing them rope to hang me with. So as Lagarde fixed me with the most piercing stare she could manage with her glasses still on, I met her gaze serenely and didn’t crack. I’d already made a mistake by asking for Lagarde’s help, and I couldn’t afford any more.

  “If that’s all you have to say, we’re done here.” Lagarde braced her hands on the table and couldn’t completely hide a wince as she painstakingly stood. Grabbing her crutches, she made for the door. “You can go back to sleep. You’re gonna be here for a while.”

  She was bluffing, but I didn’t mind. She was the bad cop here, and that was her job. Come to think of it, they hadn’t sent a good cop, had they? I should lodge a complaint.

  “Happy to be back at work?” I asked lightly.

  She stopped, turned, and her mouth twitched as
she fought back a snarl. “What—do you think you did me a favor?”

  I thought back to her drinking at 12:00 p.m. in her sweatpants. “Pretty much, yeah. You were wallowing.”

  “I’ve earned the right to wallow. You think I wanted to parade myself in front of my coworkers and see the pitying looks in all their eyes?” Her hands clenched around her crutches. “Next time you want to do me a favor, Belmonte, don’t.”

  She couldn’t storm out and slam the door behind her, but the way she limped and struggled to open the door was an even stronger statement. Alone in the room, I slumped in my chair.

  Damn.

  So much for my good deed of the day. Shit like this is why I became a supervillain.

  Chapter 15

  Eventually, the DSA let me go, since they weren’t going to charge me with anything. (See? I knew Lagarde had been bluffing.) Irma picked me up, and as soon as I’d closed the passenger-side door so that nobody could hear us, I asked, “How’s Eddy?”

  “Dr. Quevedo patched him up before he lost too much blood. He should be fine.” Irma glanced left and right before pulling out onto the street. “Grumbling like hell, though. You know getting shot makes him crotchety.”

  I did, and I also knew he’d grown too old to recover as quickly as he used to. Guilt spread through me like a fast-acting drug for getting him involved, but he’d have shot himself in the leg before he let me go alone.

  “Elisa and Rosa?” I asked.

  “Went straight back to the safehouse like you instructed. Rosa’s shaken up and not happy I wouldn’t let her leave, but I thought it best she lay low until we’ve dealt with things.”

  “Good call,” I said. “Did—”

  “Bianca brought Dave to the safehouse. I had Dr. Quevedo set up everything Dave needs and made it clear he’ll be staying to take care of him for the foreseeable future.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mm.”

  Satisfied that everyone I cared about was taken care of, I pulled out my phone from the purse that the DSA had graciously returned when they released me. It was late, but I called him, anyway, and he picked up after the first ring.