Chapter 19 Lane #2
“It is,” Ro agreed calmly. “Which is why I didn’t originally plan on bringing either of you. The clients were specific. They want him to feel safe right up until he doesn’t. No disappearance. No drawn-out missing person case. They want him found.”
A small chill slid down my spine at the way he said that.
Found.
“Oh,” I murmured. “So this is a message.”
Dori asked, “What kind of torture are we talking about?”
Ro’s fingers tapped once more against the steering wheel before going still. “Information extraction isn’t the goal,” he said. “This isn’t about getting answers.”
“Then what is it about?” I asked, softer now.
Ro’s eyes shifted back to the house, pale gaze going distant in that way that meant he’d already stepped ahead of us mentally, already inside, already finishing the job. “Pain,” he said simply.
“You said it won’t be like what Daddy and I do,” I reminded him, not seeing how this was any different.
“It won’t,” Ro said.
“But… that’s what we do. Get a guy, tie him up, then torture him to death. Is this not that?”
“I’d rather not be compared to serial killers,” Ronan stated.
“I see his point, though,” Dori commented.
At the same time, I asked a bit too loudly, “Killers? As in plural? Does that mean—”
“Yes, I’m including you in it.”
I leaned my head back against the seat, staring up at the dark interior of the car ceiling. “Wow…” I murmured.
“While he comes to terms with that or… whatever he’s doing… I would be curious to hear your explanation on how it differs, Ro,” Dorian said.
Ro exhaled slowly through his nose, like he’d been expecting that question and just hadn’t wanted to answer it. “Intent,” he said plainly.
Dori’s brows pulled together slightly. “That’s it? Intent?”
“That’s everything,” Ro corrected. “What you and Greyson do—” his gaze flicked to me briefly in the mirror “—it’s driven by compulsion. Enjoyment. Curiosity. You pick targets because you want to.”
I smiled a little at that. Accurate.
Ro continued, “This is work. We don’t choose people based on what we feel like doing that day. We’re hired. There are parameters. Limits. A goal.”
“So what do you call it when you kill not on a job? You can’t lie to us either. We’ve literally seen you do it,” I pointed out.
Ro grunted, “I choose people who deserve it.”
Dori leaned back a little, a skeptical look on his face. “Uh-huh. Based on what? Lane, would you say you kill people who don’t deserve it?”
“No, they definitely deserve it.”
Dorian raised an eyebrow at Ro.
Ro huffed in annoyance. “Well, at least I don’t fuck next to the bodies.”
“Damn,” Dorian muttered. “Okay.”
“Okay, I think I get it. Serial killers fuck,” I said sarcastically.
Ronan ignored me and sighed, “Let’s go,” before opening the driver’s side door.
I repressed a smile at his obvious frustration and pushed the back door open, cool night air hitting my face.
Dori moved around the other side of the car, already pulling his mask up as he scanned the perimeter, all loose laziness from earlier gone.
Ro didn’t waste time. “Stay low,” he murmured, already moving toward the hedges.
I followed immediately, crouching as we slipped into the shadows. The leaves brushed softly against my arms, and somewhere far in the distance, a dog barked once, then went silent.
Dori fell in behind us without a word, and we reached the back of the yard quickly, Ro pausing just before the sliding door. He held up a hand, and I froze automatically.
After a few seconds of dead silence, Ro tested the door, which slid open with barely a sound.
I had to bite back a laugh. “He really does want to be murdered,” I whispered.
Ro shot me a disapproving look over his shoulder.
We slipped inside one by one, the door sliding shut behind us.
The house was dark, lit only by the faint glow of something deeper inside—probably a TV left on or a hallway light.
Ro moved first, silent and precise. I stayed close to his side, matching his pace. Dori hung back just enough to cover us.
The kitchen and living room were devoid of life, so Ro turned and led us into a hallway.
I felt my pulse quicken, not from fear but from anticipation.
Suddenly, a door at the end of the hall cracked open, spilling light out into the darkness, and a man stepped out.
Shit.
Not our target.
From the side, he looked similar, but something was off.
When the guy inevitably looked to the left and saw us, his eyes got big, and he reached for his side.
Ro closed the distance in a blink, grabbing the man’s wrist and driving him back into the wall.
“Who the fuck are you?!” the guy shouted, his voice raspy from either sleep or cigarettes. “Jackson!”
“Shut up,” Ro snapped under his breath, feeling around the man’s waist until he found what the guy had been reaching for. “Dori, gun.”
Dorian surged forward without hesitation and pulled the weapon from the guy’s waistband while Ro continued to restrain him.
“Jackson, wake up!” the man yelled as he struggled in Ro’s hold.
Ro’s hand tightened in the man’s shirt, slamming him harder against the wall, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.
“Shut. Up,” he hissed, low and sharp.
But the guy didn’t stop.
“Jackson!” he shouted again, louder this time, panic cracking through his voice. “There’s—”
Dorian moved.
He stepped in close, one hand catching the man’s jaw, fingers digging in to force his head back. “Sorry,” Dori muttered before driving a knife up under the man’s ribs.
A choked sound tore from the guy’s throat, his body jerking violently. His hands clawed at Dorian’s arm, at Ro’s shirt, at anything he could reach.
The man tried to scream again, but Dorian didn’t give him the chance.
He pulled the knife free and drove it in again, higher this time, angling for something vital. The second hit stole whatever fight the guy had left. His body sagged, breath stuttering out in a broken wheeze.
“Fuck,” Ro muttered under his breath. “Reminder that there are other ways of shutting someone up besides killing them.” He slowly lowered the body to the floor, blood now splattered all over the front of him. “I think that was his brother.”
“Well,” I said quietly, glancing down at the blood spreading across the guy’s shirt. “I see the resemblance from the photo.”
Dorian stepped back, chest rising and falling a little heavier now, eyes flicking between the body and Ro. “Sorry. You had it under control. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s fine,” Ro replied immediately. There was no anger in it, just tension. “Just… learn as you go.”
From down the hall, there was a heavy thud followed by the sound of floorboards creaking.
Ronan’s gaze snapped toward the end of the hallway, where a faint line of light cut across the floor beneath a closed door.
“He’s up,” Dori murmured.
“Yeah,” Ro confirmed. “Hard not to be after that.”
Dori winced, a very faint reddish hue blooming across his cheeks.
“Come on,” Ro ordered quietly.
We stepped over the body—Dorian last, pausing to nudge it out of the middle of the hallway with his foot so it wouldn’t trip us on the way back.
Then we advanced.
Ro reached the master bedroom door first, positioning himself just to the side of the frame. He held up three fingers, glancing back at us once to make sure we were ready.
I nodded, excitement buzzing under my skin.
Dorian gave a single, sharp dip of his chin.
Three.
Two.
One—
Ro shoved the door open and pivoted in just as a gunshot cracked through the room.
I flinched instinctively as the bullet slammed into the wall just behind where Ro had been a fraction of a second earlier.
Jackson Neil stood on the other side of the room, both hands gripping the gun, arms locked straight, eyes wide and wild.
“I fucking knew it!” he shouted, voice shaking but loud, manic with adrenaline. “I knew one of you would come!”
“Drop it,” Ronan said calmly, eyes on the gun aimed our way.
Jackson laughed. “You think I’m stupid?” he snapped, backing up a step, the gun tracking between the three of us. “I’ve been getting threats for months. Months. You think I wouldn’t be ready?!”
His gaze flicked past us—toward the hallway.
Toward where his brother was.
“Where’s Matt..?”
No one answered.
They didn’t have to.
His face drained of color. “You—” His voice broke, then came back louder, sharper, splintering into rage. “You killed him?!”
Ro didn’t lie. “Yes.”
The word landed like a trigger.
Jackson roared and fired again.