55. Rowan
FIFTY-FIVE
ROWAN
Someone had taken out a lot of people in a short amount of time. By the time we pulled up to the house, there wasn’t a guard in sight, and the alerts had gone radio silent. Whatever movement had tripped the alarms I’d set, it wasn’t moving anymore.
Which wasn’t the best of news.
Each of us armed with a blade, ready for anything, we slipped from the Torino and headed toward the guard shack, expecting some sort of resistance.
Instead, what we found was blood, and no bodies.
Strange.
Whoever had been through here was efficient. Fast. And very, very smart.
Surely she couldn’t be responsible . . .
I had this sinking suspicion that something terrible was about to happen, but with no time to make a stable, thought-out plan, I had to make split-second decisions based more on instinct and feeling than rational logic.
I didn’t like it. The chance of something going wildly off the rails was higher than ever. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been left with a choice.
"There’s a whole lot of blood with no bodies in sight," Nash remarked dryly, poking at a dead radio with the tip of his blade. "Why did we rush here again? It looks like whoever was involved in this cleaned house pretty well. Not much left to do."
"If they got through the guard station, the odds are they got inside, too." Angel’s frown deepened as he slipped from the building, scoping out the surroundings. "Who do you think did this?"
"I don’t know, but it’s not like Father lacks for enemies in this town."
Nash grinned wildly. "Wonder if whoever it was got inside and actually got to the old fuck. Maybe we won’t have to take care of him after all. "
"Would be nice if someone did our work for us," Angel lamented. "I’m so tired of cleaning up after others."
"Looks like this is gonna be a longer night than we planned, boys. Maybe we should let our girl know not to wait up for us."
I watched as Nash dialed Harper from his phone, turning it on speaker for the rest of us. I held my breath as it rang once, twice, three times, and then went to voicemail.
She never let it go to voicemail.
"Odd," he muttered, dialing it again. When he got the same response this time, Angel whipped out his own phone and dialed her, too.
"Maybe she’s mad at you," he suggested, his frown deepening as his call also went to voicemail.
"Maybe she’s doing something she shouldn’t be," I suggested. "Let’s just get this over with so we can go home."
Walking through the front door this time around took a lot less fanfare than our last visit. There was nobody to greet us at the front, no pat-down, not even a lone guard watching the door.
In fact, the house was too quiet.
Angel squatted next to a puddle of blood, grimacing as he dragged a finger through it. "Fresh. Whoever did this isn’t far ahead of us."
Nash licked his fucking lips in anticipation. "Let’s get to it, then. I don’t wanna miss out if they manage to get the old fucker."
"Bedroom? Or study?" Angel’s eyes fell on the hallway leading to the study, then moved to the staircase before us.
The gunshot that resounded down the hall made the decision easy.
Nash didn’t miss a beat, his feet flying down the hall, Angel close on his trail. I wasn’t as fast as either of them, but I wasn’t far behind.
Which is why when Nash put his hand on the door of the study and shoved it open, I couldn’t believe what happened next .
Thunk.
Nash turned in the doorway, his hand moving to his chest, where a familiar blade was now lodged in his body.
His eyes found someone in the room, and his words were laced with pain and shock, as well as . . . pride?
"I always knew you’d be the death of me, Harpie girl. I just didn’t think it’d be like this."
Harper’s blood-curdling scream would echo in my ears for years to come.
"Noooooooo!"
He fell to his knees just inside the study door, the three of us converging on him as he paled and blood poured from his chest.
Harper was like a vision in black; I almost didn’t recognize her at first. She’d painted up her face to match ours, the skeleton makeup mingling on her skin with dried blood.
I realized a little belatedly that she’d been the one to take out the guards. All of them.
Impressive.
There wasn't any time to register the astounding new revelations while Nash was bleeding out on the floor, but every step I took was like walking through half-solidified concrete. Every second played out in slow-motion, like someone was holding me back even as adrenaline slammed into my veins. I couldn’t think past getting to him, saving him.
"Don’t pull it out, you idiot!" I shouted as his hand curled around the hilt, the look in his eyes going far darker than I’d ever seen it.
His gaze lifted, meeting mine, and I’d never been more worried in my life that Nash would willingly end it.
And then Harper’s hand slipped over his, prying his fingers away, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I reached for the buttons on my shirt, fully intending to use it as a pressure bandage.
I’d never had to dial 911 for one of us before, but the realization that this would be a first today hit me like a ton of bricks. This was past what the Surgeon could handle at the Guild, and that was providing Nash made it back to the asylum alive. I could barely breathe, the anxiety for his survival was so heavy.
Perhaps this was what it felt like to be Harper in one of her anxiety attacks. Frozen and unable to do what you knew you had to in the moment. Helpless. Out of control.
I didn’t like it.
My leather jacket hit the floor as I knelt at Nash’s side, finally reaching him after what felt like an eternity. "Here, hold onto this," I demanded as I thrust my shirt at him, knowing damn well the only way to keep him present in his own survival was to give him something to do.
He was too busy saving his own life to argue.
"Fuck, Ro, this one sucks," he muttered, staring down at his chest like a helpless child. "You think this is it? I’ve got so many things I didn’t get to say?—"
"You’re not dying on my watch, fuckwad," I grumbled, trying everything I could to keep him in the present. Beside me, Angel tore the edges of his shirt where the knife had ripped it, and Harper fell backward on her ass, her eyes welling with tears.
I didn’t have time right now to coddle her.
"If you can’t help, get the fuck out of the way," I shouted at her, a part of me dying as she stared up at me and visibly flinched. "Or get up and dial 911."
I saw her fingers fumble at her jacket, probably searching for a phone, but thankfully, Angel thrust his at her, his fingers bloody and slipping around on the screen. "Use mine," he said calmly, like the whole fucking world wasn’t falling apart around him. "Hurry."
She nodded and her fingers set to work, all of us forgetting for a moment that we were on the floor of my Father’s office, where he was well-armed and apparently aware that he was a target now.
If he got away, we’d have to hunt him down .
I glanced over in the direction of his desk to find the fucker with a hand over his throat, stemming the flow of his own blood with what looked like an old kerchief. His eyes met mine, and they burned with a white-hot hatred I’d long ago forgotten to fear.
Now, he was just an old man with a life-threatening wound of his own, bleeding out as his eldest son died on the floor of his study.
He didn’t spare Nash a second glance.
I almost glanced away, but just as my attention turned back to my eldest brother, I caught the flash of a muzzle out of the corner of my eye.
I couldn’t move fast enough from my position on the floor as he aimed the gun at Harper’s head, preparing to shoot her while her back was turned, a final act of retribution for embarrassing him, it appeared.
My hand shot out and attempted to shove her out of the way, but I wasn’t close enough.
Angel, though, was.
And he’d seen the move just like I had.
Something in my mind shut down. I knew what was about to happen, but I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t do a thing; I was helpless, frozen, weak.
No plan I could have put together accounted for any of us being shot.
And never in my wildest dreams had I thought I could lose so much in one place, at one time.
Angel sprang into action, his eyes wide as he grabbed Harper by the shoulders and slid his body around her to shield her. The end of Father’s gun muzzle flashed, the bang echoing like a death knoll around the room as it fired the kill shot.
Everything happened in a blur, but it was all so slow, it felt like a lifetime.
His body curled protectively around hers from behind, and before she could process what had happened, the bullet found a new target, driving itself into Angel’s back. He flinched against the intrusion, a grunt of pain the only sound he made before his whole body slumped sideways to the floor.
Blood blossomed like a bright red carnation on the front of his white shirt, and his eyes went glassy as fear like I’d never known before immobilized me.
For the second time tonight, all I could hear now was the shrill scream of Harper’s agonized wail, bouncing off the interior of my skull like a tattoo on my memory.
I didn’t think. Didn’t speak. I brought Nash’s hands up to hold pressure on his own wound, stood with intent, and moved across the room with a quickness.
Nothing held me back this time. Nothing slowed my steps. I was on a mission of vengeance.
I stalked my father like a predator stalks injured prey, towering over him like an avenging specter of hell. My foot lashed out as he fell from his chair and scrambled to flee on his ass, kicking the fucking gun from his hand in a move that was fit for the silver screen.
"Y-you can’t kill me, Rowan," he pleaded, masking it as an order. "Think about your brothers," he tried, the feral and desperate gleams in his eyes at war with each other.
I had no doubt he’d have shot me in the back, too, if he had the chance.
The blinders were off. This man, no matter what he was to me, was too dangerous to let continue living.
I slammed my knife into his thigh, knowing damn well he’d bleed out when I pulled it back.
I didn’t get a chance.
Harper stood up behind me, launched herself onto the top of his desk, and reached up to the ceiling for the matching opal revolvers her mother had hung there long ago. A wedding present, from her to her new husband .
And now his death sentence.
Harper pointed them both at his face, one over each of my shoulders, and fired them in unison. I don’t know how she knew there were bullets in them. I never suspected anyone would keep display pieces loaded.
"I hope the bugs feast on your corpse when the crocs are done with it," she spat, watching with a dead, thirty yard stare as he fell backward, two matching holes in his forehead, blood pouring out behind him on the marble floor.
"Uh, guys, not to be a spoilsport," Nash muttered from behind us, "but Angel and I are dying over here."