Chapter 62
Lincoln/Killian
Wind rushes against my ears and the driving rain blurs my vision, but I gun the throttle anyway, pushing the Kawasaki to its
limits. Adrenaline and fear race like lightning through my veins.
When I get to the place I lost his signal, my tires screech to a halt and I jump off the motorcycle, letting it topple to
the ground. The door to the safe house is ajar, hanging from one hinge. A gust of wind causes it to smash violently against
the interior wall.
And already I know I’m too late.
My racing heart tries to clamor out of my throat while my blood thunders loudly in my ears. I run down the hallway, my wet
boots slipping on the linoleum floor. There’s a body in the hallway, his eye protruding from his socket and half his head
blown off—another one with a knife in his neck.
Pawns no doubt, sent to kill a Rook. They failed, but I have a sinking feeling that whoever else was with them didn’t.
Another body is slumped against the basement door, blood oozing from his eye sockets. I make my way to the kitchen and my racing heart stops beating. More bodies, and in the midst of them all, the man responsible for killing them all—the man I call my brother.
Luca DeMotta is sitting up against a cupboard. Deep red blood streaked across the floor and white plywood doors paints the
macabre picture of his effort to get to the medicine cabinet. Bandages and rubbing alcohol are strewn around him, bloody handprints
marring all the packets although none are open.
He holds his hand to his throat, thick ribbons of blood trickling through his fingers.
I crouch down beside him. “Luca!”
He opens his mouth to speak but chokes on his own blood.
“We need to get you out of here.”
“No!” He croaks out the word and then coughs up a clot of blood, spitting it onto the floor beside him. “It’s too late for
me.”
An intense wave of guilt almost knocks me off my feet. Guilt and despair. I know he speaks the truth. His carotid artery has
been severed, and he likely has only a few minutes left. There’s no way to stop the bleeding. No way to save him. I push down
the overwhelming tornado of feelings because they don’t help us here. Logic and quick thinking are our only recourse now.
“Where are Carmen and Imogen?” I ask, praying they’re not in this house. If they’ve met the same fate as him, then I might
as well just sit on the floor beside him and stick a knife in my own throat.
“They’re . . . Vermont safe house. She’s not . . . I need you to . . .” He coughs up another mass of blood as he grasps for
my hand, struggling to find a grip.
I slide my palm against his and squeeze reassuringly. “I’ll protect them, Luca.”
He screws his eyes closed. “P-please, Kill. Take care of . . .”
Tears leak from my eyes and I’m powerless to stop them. I rest my forehead against his. This is all because of me, because
of what I learned and told him. He’s dead because I chose to leave the Brotherhood, and he wouldn’t let me leave without him.
“I’m sorry, Luca. If I hadn’t—”
“No!” He sucks in a breath. “Couldn’t let her . . .” Every word from his mouth sounds pained. “Protect my baby.”
I give his hand another squeeze. “I promise I’ll protect her, Luca. Always. No matter what the cost.”
He doesn’t reply. He’s already gone.
My brother and best friend.