Chapter 32
Conor
The row of townhouses sits in the middle of a quiet suburban neighborhood.
Every small yard is neatly maintained. Freshly cut grass, trimmed hedges, flowerbeds bursting with color.
Children’s toys litter the front lawns. Bicycles lay abandoned in driveways.
The sidewalks are covered in colorful chalk drawings that have long since blurred at the edges from foot traffic and rain.
Signs of ordinary lives. Of families. Of people who spend their evenings grilling in their backyards and waving to their neighbors. I don’t understand the appeal. Why anyone would willingly choose to live practically on top of another person has always confused me.
I’ve always preferred space and privacy. The isolation my property provides. No curious neighbors, no one looking over a fence.
We find Henry’s car and park a short distance away. Then we wait. Most people in Henry’s line of work are nocturnal creatures. Bad things thrive under the cover of darkness. Deals are made. Threats are delivered. People disappear.
We arrive just as the sun is dipping below the horizon, painting the neighborhood in shades of orange and gold before surrendering to the coming night.
The sedan settles into silence. Outside, porch lights flicker on one by one.
A dog barks somewhere in the distance. The last of the neighborhood children are called inside for dinner.
Normal life continues around us. Unaware of what waits in the dark.
I reach up and check that the interior light is disabled. Satisfied, I crack my door open a few inches. Cool evening air slips into the car. I settle back into my seat and keep my eyes on Henry’s vehicle. Waiting for the night to begin.
“He’s coming out.” Uncle Duncan’s voice cuts through the silence.
I look up. Henry steps out of the townhouse building and heads toward his car.
The son of a bitch is whistling, off-key.
Loud enough that I can hear it from across the parking lot.
Like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Like he hasn’t spent months making Jaxon’s life a living hell. My jaw tightens.
I slip out of the car and crouch low between the parked vehicles.
The evening air is cool against my skin.
Around me, the neighborhood carries on as normal.
Porch lights glow. A television flickers through a nearby window.
Henry notices none of it. He tosses his keys into the air and catches them with an easy grin.
He’s completely relaxed, completely unaware. I watch him approach. Watch him stroll through the parking lot without checking his surroundings once. It’s careless and arrogant. He’s certain he’s untouchable. The realization would almost be amusing if it wasn’t so pathetic.
He passes within arm’s reach. Then keeps walking. Never seeing me. Never realizing the danger until it’s far too late.
I stand and slip my arm around his neck. His surprise lasts only a fraction of a second. It’s too late as I slip the needle into his neck. Then his body goes slack. The keys slip from his fingers and clatter against the pavement. The sound seems unnaturally loud in the quiet evening.
For the first time since Jaxon received those messages, I feel something settle inside me. Henry is no longer the one in control.
Uncle Duncan pulls the car alongside me, and the trunk pops open. I haul Henry up and dump him inside. His shoulder slams into the side with a dull thud. I don’t bother being careful. He certainly wasn’t careful with Jaxon. Henry remains unconscious, oblivious to the rough treatment.
I slam the trunk shut. The sound echoes through the quiet parking lot before being swallowed by the night. A moment later, I’m back in the passenger seat.
Uncle Duncan pulls away from the curb without a word. Within seconds, we’re merging into traffic. To anyone watching, we’re just another car heading home for the evening.
Beside me, Duncan keeps his eyes on the road. Behind us, Henry rides in the trunk.
“Why were you asking about Jaxon?” I ask. “You could have asked the same question to Declan.”
“I’m curious as to why all of a sudden you claimed him.” Uncle Duncan smirks. “It seems to be a pattern with this family.”
My attention catches on the wording. This family. Not you boys. This family. I turn my head slightly and study his profile. Something feels off. Not wrong, exactly just different. I just can’t put my finger on why.
The problem with trying to read Duncan is that there isn’t much to read. Outward displays of emotion were never encouraged in our family. The men in this car learned from an early age to recognize emotions in other people while not being able to show it themselves.
Duncan perfected that skill long before I was born. His expression is neutral. His posture relaxed. His hands steady on the steering wheel. Yet something is there.
A thought occurs to me. “Is there someone you plan on claiming?”
Duncan shoots me a look. “Don’t be ridiculous.” The answer is immediate. I raise an eyebrow.
“Interesting.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
I let it go and turn my attention back to the road. The city slowly gives way to stretches of highway and scattered lights. I watch the landscape blur past the window.
My thoughts drift back to Jaxon. I wonder how he’s doing. Whether Xavier has talked his ear off yet. Whether Colton remembered to make him eat. Not that I need to wonder about that one. Colton had promised, and he takes promises seriously. Especially when they involve people he cares about.
It’ll be late by the time I get home. Assuming everything goes according to plan.
I glance at the clock on the dash. Then back at the darkening road.
Will he still be awake? The thought catches me off guard.
I can’t remember ever wondering that about another person.
Will he be curled up in the window seat with one of his books?
Knitting in his lap? Will he be asleep in our bed?
Waiting for me to walk through the door?
Home. The word surfaces unbidden. Followed immediately by the image of Jaxon looking up when I enter the room. An unfamiliar sense of anticipation settles in my chest.
My thoughts of Jaxon are interrupted as we pass through the gates of the compound. The familiar sight greets me. High fences. Security lights. Layers of protection separating this place from the rest of the world. Our safe haven. The place where monsters are brought when justice fails.
Declan is already waiting for us. He pushes away from the wall he’d been leaning against as the car rolls to a stop.
“I hope this asshole doesn’t put up too much of a fight.” He circles toward the back of the car. I climb out and stretch my cramped legs.
“Thought you liked it when they put up resistance to your charm.” A grin tugs at my mouth.
Declan snorts. “That was before I had Xavier.” The smile on his face is immediate. The kind that only appears when he’s thinking about his husband. “Now it just pisses me off.”
I huff out a laugh. But the words stay with me.
Because I understand them now, before Jaxon, I wouldn’t have.
I would have assumed Declan was exaggerating.
Being dramatic. Yet lately I find myself becoming impatient with things that never used to bother me.
Anything that keeps me from getting back to Jaxon.
The realization should be unsettling, not because I dislike it, but because I don’t.
Henry groans as Declan hauls him from the trunk. He’s conscious enough to make noise but still too drugged up to stand on his own. His legs buckle the second they hit the ground.
“Useless,” Declan mutters.
With no more effort than if he were lifting a sack of concrete, he throws Henry over his shoulder and starts toward the building. Henry lets out another groan. Declan ignores him.
“Do you think just throwing him down the stairs would kill him?” he grumbles. “This fucker needs to go on a diet.”
I snort. “Complaining already?”
“He’s heavier than he looks.”
“You complain every time.”
“Because people keep getting heavier.”
Uncle Duncan shakes his head and continues walking. Declan shifts Henry higher on his shoulder with an irritated grunt.
“I’m serious. If this guy had eaten one less cheeseburger, my night would be significantly better.”
“In a little while,” I say, following them inside, “he won’t have a reason to go on a diet.”
Declan barks out a laugh.
“Fair point.”
We enter the cold, sterile interrogation room. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast everything in stark white. There are no windows. No decorations. Nothing to soften the room’s purpose. Just steel, concrete, and silence.
Declan carries Henry to the metal chair bolted to the center of the floor and dumps him into it.
The impact earns a pained groan. His head lolls forward.
He’s still not fully awake. Uncle Duncan and I move without speaking.
The familiar click of metal echoes through the room as we secure the cuffs around Henry’s wrists and ankles.
He gives a weak tug against them. Pointless. The restraints aren’t going anywhere.
“Here.” Declan holds out an ammonia ampule.
I take it and snap it between my fingers.
The sharp chemical scent immediately fills the air.
Stepping closer, I wave it beneath Henry’s nose.
His reaction is instant. His head jerks back, and a strangled cough tears from his throat.
His eyes squeeze shut before snapping open.
Confusion clouds his expression as he blinks against the bright lights.
Then awareness slowly begins to settle in.
He looks around the room. At the restraints. At Declan. At Uncle Duncan. Finally, his gaze lands on me. And for the first time since this started, I see the beginnings of fear.
“What the fuck! Do you—” Henry’s words are cut off abruptly. His head snaps to the side, and he sputters in shock more than pain. Declan doesn’t give him time to recover.