Chapter 49 Silas
SILAS
My brothers still. Even the cleaners, busy wiping evidence and planting new ones, freeze.
Chunks of Jonathan’s brain arc behind him in scarlet spray, coating the lower half of the wall and floor as his lifeless body tumbles forward.
The faint wail of sirens breaks the haunted silence, bringing reality crashing down around us.
“Shit,” one of the cleaners says, springing into action. The others follow, mopping up Jonathan’s mess while dragging Jameson forward.
“I’ll take that,” Dominic says gently, plucking his gun from Evie’s trembling, outstretched hand.
“Time to go,” Bane calls.
Evie is still paralyzed, watching wide-eyed as one of the cleaners places a gun in Jameson’s limp hand while the other presses the barrel to the bullet hole in Jonathan’s skull, still trying to find the perfect angle for the bodies.
I catch her when her knees buckle, carrying her toward the exit after my brothers.
She looks so fragile curled into my chest, her lashes closed over damp cheeks splattered with blood.
Staring down at the swollen cuts across her perfect face, feeling the hitch in her breath that signals silent tears, and knowing what happened here today will only add to her nightmares—I wonder if I’ve done enough.
If you’d asked me a year ago, the answer would’ve been easy. Apart from sacrificing Tempest and my brothers, I would’ve let the world burn to save my sister—I have. I still would. But things don’t seem as clear as they once were.
I’ve been trapped in an endless cycle of punishing while still hurting. Plagued by the knowledge that for every few I save, there are thousands still out there. Suffering. My heart hammers against my ribs, spurred on by fear—and worst of all, hope—that this could be the day that changes everything.
Morana could be safe in just a few hours.
Returned home at last.
We reach the stairs when the shot rings out behind us, blending with the blare of nearby sirens. I glance over my shoulder, clutching Evie tighter as I catch the fresh spray of brain matter and blood, the mess cast in a perfect splatter to complete the story the cleaners have concocted.
And then they’re with us, bounding up the back of the church and into a waiting van as I position Evie between my thighs and start my engine. Our motorcycles peel out, slipping down a small service road just as the ambulance pulls through the main gates.
We’re miles down the highway when Evie speaks. “The smell will give it away. The cleaning supplies. And footprints. They’ll know Jameson didn’t kill him.”
I hate the hollowness in her tone, knowing it’s reflected in the depths of her eyes, shielded beneath the helmet. Maybe I should’ve killed the fucker for her. Or, better yet, insisted she leave the moment we found them.
“We have connections with the hospitals,” I say instead. “It helps when we need to get rid of a body. Or two.”
“And the cops?” she asks, her shoulders slumping. Seeing that small show of vulnerability has me wanting to scream.
“Father Michael was involved in this.” I do my best to keep my voice even, trying not to startle my little fox, but it sounds like a growl anyway.
“Noctis found plenty of evidence condemning many members of the church. It was easy once he knew where to look. Turns out a lot of them are tied to local police. Being that Noctis has already sent evidence to the FBI and the entire precinct is under investigation, I don’t think they’ll be bothering us anytime soon. ”
The reckless, headstrong part of me wants to ride with the others straight to Morana. To forget the recon part of this and burst in, guns blazing. But that’ll only get us killed. Or worse, cause Morana’s death.
I have to trust my brothers. They’ll contact me the moment they have answers. As soon as we have a real shot at getting my sister to safety. For now, my focus needs to be on Evie.
“It’ll be okay, little fox,” I murmur, pressing her against my chest.
Evie gives a tight nod, but tension clings to her body the rest of the drive. Sparing one last glance at the motorcycles ahead, I take the exit that will bring us back to the solitude of my studio.
“Let’s go home.”