Chapter 21
Viper
Three days. That’s how long Rune has had him. Three days is too long to be alone with your enemy. An enemy known for his viciousness and cruelty. Hunter is strong, but I’m not sure he’s strong enough to endure what Rune is capable of.
Someone fucking betrayed us.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I rub my temple, pressing my eyes closed as I take a deep breath to calm the chaos in my head.
The dripping faucet in the bathroom is making it impossible to relax.
I fucking hate that sound. It carries me back to that room, and that fucking clearing, and my thoughts are already too dark and full of nightmares for me to venture there.
“Will you fucking shut that off?” I snap, pointing to the closed bathroom door. My head feels like someone is splitting it in half, and my vision keeps blurring, like a migraine is going to set in. “I can’t fucking take it anymore.”
Breaker drops the remote and looks over at me from his spot on the bed. “Shut what off? The TV?”
I gesture to the bathroom, and his brows knit.
He came in here about thirty minutes ago when I didn’t answer his text, and made himself at home in my hotel room, flicking through the movie channels and ordering us lunch.
I didn’t touch it. Eating is impossible.
I’m on edge, my nerves a bundle of frayed wires.
I can’t imagine how Reaper must feel. He’s with Striker now, who’s still in the ICU at the regional hospital a few miles away, so that at least keeps him busy.
After we landed in the heli, Fallon had him taken there for surgery.
On the chopper, we packed his wound and got him stable enough to take the flight.
The dumbass is lucky. Unlucky that the bullet even hit him at such a fucked angle.
Lucky he didn’t bleed out, and the bullet didn’t shatter bone when it lodged itself in his body.
Breaker’s injury was clean. Mine too. We both got stitched up, a doctor handed us antibiotics, and Fallon sent us away.
Here, at this hotel on the edge of town, to wait.
Drip, drip, drip.
“Fuck, man. If you’re going to be in here, taking up space, and being all around annoying, then at least have the courtesy to shut the valve all the way,” I yell at Breaker, bolting up from the chair I’ve been sitting in for the last hour and march toward the bathroom.
“It’s a five-star hotel. You’d think they’d have good plumbing. ”
I shove the bathroom door open and head for the sinks, but stop when I near them. My eyes scan the counter and the double basins, then to the large tub behind me, then over to the walk-in shower, looking for the source, but every faucet is dry.
Fuck.
I rub my temple again; the pain moving from the sides of my head to behind my eyes.
“Are you okay?” Breaker says from behind me.
I catch his eye in the mirror, but say nothing.
“It’s the stress, I’m sure—”
I turn around and stab a finger into his chest, cutting off the words before they can leave his mouth. “Don’t fucking say it,” I hiss. “I’m not fucking crazy.”
“I never said you were,” Breaker says, but the sympathy in his eyes makes my hands ball into a fist, the urge to punch the expression off his stupid, beautiful face making my teeth grind. “I’m just saying—”
I shove past him, not wanting to hear it.
That’s why he’s here. He’s worried about me.
Yeah, well, I’m worried about Hunter. Breaker didn’t see what I saw all those years ago.
He saw the man in the woods that day, tied to a tree and gutted.
He saw the level of depravity that is Rune Gavin, but he didn’t see it. Didn’t smell it.
Didn’t hear it.
Not like I did.
Like Hunter did.
We were the unfortunate ones to stumble upon that place soaked in evil.
“Have you heard from Father?” I ask, my voice too sharp as I settle back in my chair.
“No,” Breaker says. I don’t look his way as he sits back on the bed and mutes the TV, but I think that may be worse because now the noise in my head is louder. “He said he’d contact us if he heard anything.”
I nod, returning my gaze to the parking lot outside the window.
The low mountain range provides a picturesque backdrop for the small city nestled in the foothills.
Our hotel rests on the edge of town, near the national park.
The landscape here reminds me of my home county.
Lush and green, but not as vibrant. Maybe it’s because whatever evil Rune unleashed in those woods all those years ago seeped into the earth and stained the soil, dulling it.
Outside the window, families pack up their cars, preparing to travel the roads that line the reserve, or set off for a day of adventure on the trails snaking through the forests outside of town.
Little do they know that miles and miles beyond, nestled up to the edges of the state park, lies a haunted place, littered with dead bodies and ruined lives.
The place where Hunter is right now.
“He’s working on a plan,” Breaker says, and I sense him moving. He sits across the table from me, but I don’t look his way.
I can’t. He’ll see how terrified I am.
“It’s been three days,” I remind him, though he doesn’t need it.
We’ve sat in this hotel room, ready to move in again at a moment’s notice, but have been given no order to get Hunter back.
Father says it’s too risky right now. Even when Reaper screamed and raged, and nearly got us kicked out of this hotel, threatening to go alone, Father told him he would not risk all his sons again.
That he and Rune will reach a deal and Hunter will be returned to us.
He just needs time.
But Father never saw what I did. And I never told him.
Hunter doesn’t have time.
“Where do you think they came from?” I ask.
Breaker takes a deep breath. “No clue.”
“There were a lot of soldiers.” I catch his brows lifting and his nod. “Who would have that many? And who would have told Rune we were coming?”
“No fucking clue,” Breaker says.
Behind me, a beeping sound rings through the quiet room, indicating the lock has been disengaged.
My gaze collides with Breaker’s, then we’re both moving.
I lunge for my gun on the bedside table, and Breaker stands, reaching for his in the holster behind his back.
The second the door opens, we’re both ready and aiming, fingers on the trigger.
“Fuck,” I grate when I see Reaper entering the room. He briefly looks at our drawn weapons as he shuts the door, his face devoid of all emotion. “You’re supposed to text me before you come in.”
Reaper glances at my phone on the nightstand and shrugs.
“How is Striker?” Breaker asks. “Has there been a change?”
“He’s stable enough to move,” Reaper says. “The surgeon Father flew in said Striker will be fine.”
“Thank fuck,” Breaker murmurs, returning his gun to its holster and sitting back down. “When do we move him?”
Reaper shrugs, sitting down at the end of the bed. He rubs his jaw, then runs a hand through his hair. He looks strained, far more than I feel, like his skin is stretched too thin. The deep circles under his eyes mean he’s not sleeping. Not that any of us are.
Sitting here and waiting is frustrating. We’re used to waiting for orders, but this is Hunter. This is us.
“Father wants him at home,” Reaper says, rubbing a thumb across the tattoos on his fingers.
“Striker will be pissed,” Breaker says. “He’ll want to be here when Hunter comes home.”
Reaper’s jaw works, but he says nothing. He doesn’t need to. We have no idea when or if Hunter will come home.
“I’ll go back later and sit with Strike,” Breaker says to Reaper. “You need to sleep.”
Reap shakes his head, rubbing his eyes. “He’s sleeping now. I’m going back later so I’m there when he wakes up. I just needed…” He doesn’t say it, but he needed a break.
Breaker glances at me, a worried expression pulling his lips down. We both saw what happened. We both heard. Reaper will not rest until he knows Striker is in the clear, and Hunter is back with us.
“Is Father still at the hospital?” I ask. “Or did he return home?”
Home. If it can be called that. His opulent mansion on the coast was never our home.
We were raised in the darkness of that old jail, hundreds of miles from prying eyes, nestled in a cold barren landscape designed to keep secrets, only ever seeing his home on the rare occasion we were invited to stay before a mission.
After we all left the school, we just moved from place to place, city to city, staying in lavish hotels, or hole in the wall places in the middle of nowhere if we needed to lie low after a high-stakes mission.
It’s been like that since Breaker turned of age.
The only reprieve we have are the dive bars we sometimes stop in, or the large cities where we can pretend to be other people as we pass through.
Men who gamble and drink and stay up late partying.
Men who take pretty women back to our rooms and fuck until the horrors we committed that day are just faint memories that bleed together until it’s one big nightmare we pretend never happened.
Hunter is the best at that. Picking up women.
They trip over themselves to be near him.
His dark eyes and alluring smile that could bring an entire nation to its knees make it easy for him.
Reaper has the same qualities, though he rarely uses it.
Also, he’s such an asshole that women are drawn to him for the wrong reasons.
“—I didn’t order anything,” Breaker says, and I realize I’ve been staring out the window, not even seeing the family with two kids tossing suitcases in their car.
I look over at Breaker, who’s pressed against the door, gun drawn, Reaper at his side, his gun aimed at the door as he watches Breaker talk to whoever is on the other side.
“It says room 546,” a male says, his voice muffled by the closed door. After a second, he says, “Hold on, there’s an envelope.”
“For who?” Breaker asks, shifting to place his hand on the doorknob. I catch his eye as I slowly stand, unlocking the safety on my gun and moving to the far wall, peering around the corner to watch.
“The card says it’s for Fallon?” the man says, but it’s a question. “Do you want me to open it?”
“No,” Breaker barks out. He glances at Reaper, who nods, signaling for him to open the door.
I move my finger to the trigger and wait.
The door opens, and Breaker pulls the cart in, thanks the guy, and slams the door in his face. He checks under the cart, then nods when he finds it clear.
I lower my gun, lock the safety, and then gesture to the cart. “What is it?”
Reaper shoves his gun back in its holster, adjusts his leather jacket, eyeing the cart like it’s about to explode.
Fuck, for all we know, it may.
“Fallon’s name isn’t attached to these rooms,” I say, though there is no need.
Rune has resources just like Fallon. It doesn’t matter that we’re using aliases.
He knows we’d stay close. He has Hunter.
He’s probably been watching us this entire time, though we’ve been careful to keep our faces covered, and Breaker messed with the hotel’s security cameras just in case.
“Harlow,” Reaper says. “I thought I spotted Clyde this morning.”
Breaker nods. “Yeah. Me too, last night.”
I gesture again to the cart. “What does the card say?”
We all stand around the cart, looking down at the silver tray with the ornate cover and the white card with black lettering on the front, spelling out Fallon Byrns in a neat calligraphy.
After a minute, Reaper snatches the white envelope and rips it open.
He reads it, then curses, tossing the card down so violently it bounces off the cart and hits the floor.
Breaker picks it up, reads it, then hands it to me, but Reaper is suddenly all movement, pulling the lid off the tray, and when we see what’s underneath, Breaker gasps, and I stumble back.
Reaper freezes, hand midair like he was reaching toward it, staring down at the tray.
“What the fuck,” Breaker breathes.
Noise pulses in my head.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The scent of wet earth fills my nose, then the rancid smell of death stained with the metallic stench of blood. Then it’s gone.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
At first I think it’s me, cursing over and over, but I realize it’s Reaper.
The cover of the tray drops to the carpet with a heavy thud. Reaper’s fingers flex, all ten stretching outward, then curling into a fist.
Noise, like rumbling voices, cut through the thumping in my head, and I see Breaker pacing, talking on the phone, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. It’s all garbled, and the only word I can hear is Hunter.
I rip my eyes from the platter and look down at the card in my hand. My hand trembles, making it hard to read, but the words burn through the haze and embed themselves into my brain.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Reaper says. His hands hover above the cart, shaking as he reaches to grab the pieces on the tray, but stops, turning as rigid as ice. The shaking in his hands ceases; his shoulders square. His features seem to harden, and he looks at me.
“I’m going to kill him,” he says, deadly calm. “Rune will fucking pay for this.”
I dare a look down at the tray. My stomach roils.
Fingers, ten of them, line the tray, all bearing the same tattoos as Reaper.
Hunter’s fingers.
My vision blurs as I read the card again.
“An eye for an eye. Blood for blood.”
Rune wants blood, and nothing but destruction will appease a man obsessed with vengeance.
But he doesn’t know he now has to contend with Reaper.