by Logan Fox
It’s not my problem they’re all at least a foot taller than me.
The lawyer comes back with an envelope.
She’s already handed me the keys to my old house, which is the only thing Gabriel left me in his will. Apparently, he only had a hundred dollars to his name. He didn’t own a car, or any shares or anything. No overseas bank accounts. Nothing.
Just the house which, according to the lawyer, had been transferred into his name less than a year ago by my parents’ estate.
“What’s this?” I ask her.
And for the first time today, despite my barrage of questions, she shrugs. “It was found among his things. It’s marked for your attention only.”
“Maybe it’s the password,” Apollo says.
I don’t have to look around to know his brothers are all glaring at him.
Best way to keep a secret? Don’t tell Apollo.
“Password?” the lawyer repeats.
I wave my hand, and then toss a curl over my shoulder as I stand. “Private joke,” I tell her. Then I stick out my hand, all formal like, and wait for her to shake.
She does, but reluctantly, as if she’s waiting for me to open the envelope.
Don’t hold your breath, lady.
I turn to leave, when Zachary says, “Did he leave a note?”
Freezing, I stare at the door. Only a few more steps, and we’d have been outside. Free.
But not yet.
“Um…yes. But I can’t disclose—”
I turn on my heel, my voice snippy with how desperate I want to be out of here. “I’m next of kin. You can disclose it to me.”
The woman looks at my men, then back at me. “I…have a copy.”
“That’s fine.” I cross my arms, giving my boobs a little perk that doesn’t go unnoticed. When I take the folded paper she hands me, and head for the door, my men follow me without a word.
Outside in the Range Rover, I’m nestled between Zachary and Reuben on the back seat, Cass driving and Apollo sitting shotgun.
Someone lights a joint, but I’m too busy staring at the envelope in my hands to see who it is.
They read Gabriel’s suicide note in the elevator on the way down, handing it silently to each other. Rube wanted to give it to me, but I ignored him.
I don’t want to know what Gabriel said.
Judging from their lack of conversation on the topic for the next five floors until we hit ground level, it wasn’t important anyway.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Cass asks.
I look up, catching sight of his iridescent blue eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
I slip the envelope into my purse, and tuck it between Zach and me. He looks over at the touch, and then grabs my wrist. He holds me for a beat, tight and fierce, and then smooths my hand over his thigh.
“Home then?” Cass asks.
“I’m hungry,” Apollo says.
“You ate like an hour ago,” Cass sighs.
“So?”
“Christ. Fine. And I’m guessing you want a fucking taco? Where’s the closest—”
“Take me to Maude Street,” I tell Cass.
Beside me, Rube shifts on his seat. I keep looking forward, willing him not to ask me if I’m okay.
Because I’m not.
But maybe I will be if I can finally burn my bridges.
I told the lawyer that I didn’t want the house. That she could sell it. I signed some papers setting it all up.
But I know what my men want.
And now, maybe, I can finally give it to them.
“The safe?” Apollo asks, turning in his seat and grabbing the headrest. “We’re going to look in the safe?”
“It’s probably empty by now,” Zachary says.
“Yeah, but maybe it’s not.” Apollo grins at me. “And we know the combination.”
“Do you still remember it?” Rube asks me.
Of course I do. It came back along with everything else that happened that horrific day.
4211.
The same combination that opens the basement apparently opens the safe in the study. At least, that’s what my men decided after deciphering what Gabriel said to Apollo.
I still can’t believe Apollo let him go. Then again…I still can’t believe a lot of the things that happened that day.
When we pull up to my old house on Maude Street, I almost wish I’d let Cass drive us to the nearest Mexican take-out instead. My stomach’s in knots, and I know it’ll only get worse when I’m inside.
I guess word got out about the shooting. Everyone who was home that day must have heard the gunshots. The screams. The ambulance arriving.
As we head for my house, I see a handful of For Lease and For Sale signs down the road. Even the one right across my house.
It’s sad. I lived in this house for close to a decade, and the only neighbor I knew was my babysitter, Miss Langley.
I take the house key out of my purse. I stare at it for a second before inhaling deep, putting down my purse, and turning to Rube.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’m ready.”
He climbs out of the car and helps me step off the Range Rover’s running board.
Then all the other doors open, my men pouring out of the car and circling me like a bunch of secret service agents.
I hold up my hand. “I got this.”
“You can’t—”
I turn on Zachary. “I can’t walk five yards without adult supervision?” I ask, sugar sweet.
His jaw bunches, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Can’t we just—” Rube says.
“Do you guys think it’s booby-trapped or something? Is the whole place going to explode the second I open the front door?” I walk ahead a foot and then turn on them, arms on my hips. “Seriously?”
They have the decency to look slightly embarrassed, but that doesn’t stop Cass from opening his mouth to argue.
“No.” I lift a finger. “No. I’ll be right over there.” I point at the house. “You’ll be close enough to hear me scream.”
Ooh, bad choice of words.
“Scream?” Apollo says, practically going to his toes. Rube’s hands curls into fists. Zachary’s eyes narrow. And Cass isn’t lounging against the side of the car anymore. He’s standing at the ready.
“Just…” I let out an exasperated growl. “Just stay in the car, would you? I’ll be out in a minute.”
I turn and head for the house, not bothering to find out if they’ll grant me my wish.
I get that they’re concerned about my safety, but Gabriel’s dead. There’s no bogeyman ready to snatch me anymore.
But when will they realize that?
My hand shakes when I try and put the key in the lock, so I take a few long breaths before letting myself in.
I leave the door open, turn around, and give my boys a wave.
Only Apollo waves back.
Why do I have a feeling I’m going to pay for this when we get home?
A faint smile toys around my lips.
I should do this more often.
The air inside my house smells stale. There’s still blood on the carpet where Zachary was shot. The furniture is still out of place.
But Gabriel must have come back at least once, perhaps after the investigation grew cold, because there’s a hint of cigarette smoke in the air.
I pause at the foot of the stairs, and then hurry up them to my room.
It’s still in the catastrophic state Gabriel left it in. I turn and take the framed drawing of the awsum unicorn from the wall, stare around at the place I called home, and head downstairs with a knot in my throat.
My heart starts beating a little faster when I lift a hand to open the study door.
It’s unlocked, but that’s no surprise. I heard Gabriel moving around in the study when I was creeping out of the basement, and then he came running. Guessing there was no time for him to lock the door again.
I step inside my father’s study and sta
re around. It’s a mess. All the furniture’s been shifted around. Books—mostly theological encyclopedias and leather-bound bibles—have been tossed off the bookshelf and lay scattered over the floor.
How the hell am I supposed to find anything in this mess?
And then I see it. It stands out like a beacon, and I don’t understand how he couldn’t have noticed it.
There’s a large leather-bound bible still on the shelf, snuggled between two thick books. It’s white, and I already know the letters on front will be embossed in shiny gold.
My mother’s bible.
Except…it can’t be. Because I took it from her reading corner the night I left my home forever. But when I pick it up, it has the same weight. The same gold-trimmed pages.
I open the cover. There’s a letter-sized safe inside, perhaps two inches thick.
4-2-1-1
There’s a soft beep.
I go to my knees, laying the book on the carpet so I can open the little safe’s door so I can look inside.
A floorboard out in the hallway creaks.
I spin around, my heart climbing up my throat, and stare at the study door. But no one emerges from the hallway after a few ridiculously long seconds.
Jumping at ghosts. Or is it shadows?
I swear, if one of my men come in here because they think I can’t look after myself for one second…
There will be hell to pay.
I shake my head and go back to the safe. Open the door.
A stack of hundred-dollar bills. Three sturdy envelopes.
The first envelope has a small thumb drive in it. I take it out, tuck it between my breasts.
Should have brought my purse, but I guess my bra will do for now.
The second envelope has a passport and some folded papers inside.
I open the passport.
Frederick Dalton.
I frown at the passport photo.
Who the hell is—
There’s another creak, louder, right behind me. I whirl around, a hand to my chest. My cheeks flush with anger. “I told you to wait in the…”
But it’s not Reuben. It’s not Cass. It’s not Zach, or Apollo.
It’s a middle-aged woman I’ve never seen before, and she’s smiling at me.
Which is fucked up, because there’s nothing friendly about the gun she’s pointing at my face.
Chapter Thirty-One
Trinity
Scream, Trinity, scream!
But my lungs are frozen with shock. I’ve never had a gun pointed at me before—not one I was aware of anyway. It’s more chilling than I’d ever imagined. So malicious. So…impersonal.
The fact that it’s a woman holding it doesn’t matter. Her eyes are as cold and heartless as the gun’s gleaming exterior.
She’s dressed in jeans and a faded suede jacket, boots up to her knees. With her auburn hair pulled into a tight ponytail and a large handbag hanging from her shoulder, she could have been just another person walking past on the street.
Instantly forgettable.
When my lungs thaw enough for me to consider yelling out for the Brotherhood, three men walk into the study.
One has his gun aimed at me. The other two have theirs tucked in their belts.
“Get up,” the woman says.
I obey reluctantly, my mind churning with useless options. No way I can run past them. And the study only has one window—and it’s closed. Maybe if there’d been a gun in the safe…
“Shoes.” The woman holds out her free hand and clicks her fingers.
“You…want my shoes?”
It’s like there’s a swarm of bees droning in my head. The woman tilts her head, as if daring me to say no, and I quickly slip off my shoes.
“Toss them.”
I’m so fucking confused, but I throw them in front of the man wearing a black hoody. The other two are wearing dark sweaters, one with the collar of a polo shirt neatly arranged around the neckline.
Hoody picks up my shoes and tucks them under his arm. The man with the polo shirt sticking out of his sweater walks up to me.
I stiffen, my hands going into fists. But he walks right past, crouches, and picks up everything I’ve left on the floor—the passport, the money, the bible-safe. Then he goes over to the woman and puts everything inside her handbag while she holds it open, her eyes not leaving mine for a second.
“We’re going for a walk. If you make a sound, I guarantee you’ll need years of therapy to get over what they’ll do to you.” She cocks her head to the three men standing behind her. “Got it?”
My skin slowly starts crawling off my body. I nod, swallow hard.
I could still scream, of course. My men would be here in seconds. But they’d be walking into a gunfight with nothing but their fists. There’s no way in hell I’m letting any of them take another bullet for me. Not when it was my decision to come in here alone.
And I’d joked the front door was booby trapped? Lord, the irony.
The woman makes a show of sliding her gun inside her handbag, still pointing it at me but circumspect about it now.
Hoody moves behind me and grabs the back of my neck. Pushes me forward.
I don’t know what horrifies me more—the fact that his hand is cool and dry, or the considering look in his eyes when he passed me.
This can’t be happening.
Who the hell are these people?
They’re obviously here on a mission—they didn’t act surprised to see me here, or at the stack of money. And judging from their weapons, they came prepared.
Did Gabriel send them to search for the safe? Does that mean he’s not actually dead?
The thought sends an internal shiver through me.
I need to find out what’s going on.
“Who are—”
Polo Shirt moves so fast, I don’t have time to get my hands up to defend myself.
If Hoody hadn’t still had a grip on the back of my neck, I’d be sprawled on the floor from the brutal backhand Polo gives me.
My eyes water from the pain, and I lift an icy hand to my cheek, trying to soothe the heat.
The woman is smiling now.
Finally, something I recognize.
It’s the same smile Zachary wore the morning he told me to leave Saint Amos. When he had a knife up my skirt ready to slice and stab.
Enjoying my misery.
Just like she is.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Zach
“She’s taking too long,” I tell Reuben. “She should have been out already.”
“I think she’s just saying goodbye,” Apollo says. He looks like one of those birds who prance around in front of the mirrors their owners hang in their cages. Constantly ducking down and then lifting his head as if he’s trying to check out his own reflection.
He’s trying to spot movement in one of the windows, just like us. Trying to stare through that dark slit of the front door Trinity left ajar, down into the passage.
We’re playing a game: the first one to spot Trinity wins.
“I’m going in.” I grab the door handle, but all it takes is a sigh from Rube to stop me.
“We should give her space.”
“Last time we did that, she got herself kidnapped,” Cass mutters.
“No, last time Zach chased her away with a knife, she went crying to Gabriel, and then he kidnapped her,” Apollo says. “Get your facts straight.”
My eyebrows aren’t the only ones to quirk up at that statement. Apollo’s usually the last to challenge any of us, but I guess he’s just as concerned.
“Time?”
“Five minutes, thirty-nine seconds since she set foot inside,” Cass says, twisting in his seat and giving me a long-suffering stare. “Forty…Forty-one…”
I grimace at him, and he straightens with a faint grin on his face, but I see it slide off in the rear-view mirror a second later.
“So…I have to use the bathroom,” Apollo announces. “I mean, when natu
re calls…?”
We’re silent for all of a second before we pile out the car like a bunch of clowns exiting a VW bug. Except we’re driving an SUV, none of us have a big red nose, and I doubt any clown has ever looked as grim as us.
I’m through the door first, expecting a whole shit show of things…but not the sudden paralysis that hits me.
My body grows heavy. Time slows. I’m filled with the visceral sensation of my heart pounding in my chest.
Rube grabs my elbow, steers me inside with him. But my eyes have already locked onto the stain on the living room carpet.
Blood.
Not something I’m ever affected by, not like Apollo. I’m not squeamish in the slightest. But this is different.
It’s my blood.
And Christ, there’s so much of it. How did I survive? But I almost didn’t, and that’s what’s rooting my feet in place. I’m dimly aware of Cass and Apollo streaming past me, heading down a side passage that leads deeper into the house.
“No. Shit! She’s gone!” comes Cass’s voice from down the hall. “I fucking knew we shouldn’t have let her come in alone.”
“Check upstairs,” Rube says, his voice tight, too loud.
All while my mind slowly disintegrates into white noise. Rube shakes me, and then I’m up against the wall. He grabs my shoulders, his thumbs forcing my head up.
“No time for this,” he tells me, and for once his words are fast, close together. “Need you to focus. Need you here. Not in the past. Got it?”
His voice centers me. Reigns me in. It gathers what’s left of my mind and somehow contains it.
I lick my lips. Squeeze closed my eyes. “I’m here,” I manage.
The pat he gives my cheek is more like a slap. Then he grabs the front of my shirt and hauls me after him. “We’re checking the back!” he yells, aiming his voice up the stairs where I assume Cass and Apollo disappeared to.
Then he drags me after him.
The back door is standing open. We run through it. There’s a wooden fence behind Trinity’s house, but a section of it is gone. We go through it. We cut across someone’s yard, dodging unruly bushes and low hanging tree branches, some of which are still swaying as if disturbed seconds before we arrived.