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Chapter Thirty-Seven

Jacob

I have to get my shit together.

When approaching a hit, time usually seems to slow down. I go into a calm space where I can focus and make the right choices.

Today, with my family and Quinn’s sister at risk, my stomach is roiling, and every noise sounds too loud. I’m working hard to focus my thoughts, but they’re spinning in all directions.

Grandad is safe, but the hospital is still at risk. If I can’t take Kelly out quickly and cleanly, she could still detonate the second bomb. And she’s my sister. A crazy bitch, but my bloody sister. What if I freeze? What if dozens of people die because I don’t have the bollocks to do what needs to be done?

Three Gilda soldiers flank me as we stand in the shadows, just close enough to have eyes on the neat little townhouse. It looks like something an old lady would own—window boxes full of flowers, door covered in faded yellow paint.

Candice speaks into my earpiece.

“She’s in the front living area. This place is an Airbnb, and she’s only been here two weeks. I’m not finding any advanced detection equipment, just cameras surrounding the perimeter, which I’ve looped, and an alarm, which I’ve disabled. I can’t see everything, though. There could be physical booby traps. Locks are the old-fashioned kind.”

“Roger that.”

I consider my options. If she’s relying on the cameras and alarm, she should be easy to surprise from the back. I address my three guards. “She’s in the front room. You two, cover the front entrance. You, the back entrance. I’ll enter from the back. Set off a siren on my signal.”

They nod and follow my lead.

The moon is bright as all fuck, bathing everything in cold light. A bomber's moon, Grandad calls it. An old expression from his army days. Is it supposed to be lucky? It will be for either Kelly or me. Not both of us.

My remaining guard tails me as we work our way around to the back of the house. He’s young but sharp, and he moves almost as quietly as I do. Impressive. A small alley runs along the back of the house, and a rickety wooden fence stands to shoulder height. It’s the sort that’s easy to climb over, a wooden beam along the middle providing a perfect foothold.

I speak to the team in a clear whisper. “Are you in position?”

“Yes, sir.”

I vault over the fence. landing in a dark corner at the furthest point from the door. My blood races, and now, finally, the perfect clarity I’ve been missing kicks in. I take in the simple backyard with its decorative ornaments and small pond, the washing line and the back door I need to enter through.

Keeping to the shadows, I edge forward, scanning the dark for traps. Tripwires, underground pressure switches… I don’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there. Fingers wrapped tightly around the grip, I draw my weapon.

I finally breathe when I reach the back door. Crouching, I press the pistol to the lock. All the Gilda guns come equipped with true silencers, not the sort you can buy retail. They actually take the sound down to Hollywood-movie level. Even so, she’ll hear what the bullet does to the door unless we can give her something else to worry about.

I whisper into my mouthpiece, “Now.”

Sound splits the air, the wail of a police car, jarring on this quiet suburban street. I fire. The bullet rips through the lock, and I kick the door in. I’ve only got seconds until she realizes what’s happening.

I race in, braced to hit the deck if she’s waiting for me. She isn’t. I get a brief flash of a neat kitchen decorated in beachy white and blue, then I’m racing down the hall, into the front living room.

A desk. Three monitors and a stacked PC. For a second, I freeze. It’s so similar to my stark setup at home that a shudder runs up my spine. Worse, though, she’s not there. Where the fuck is she?

Upstairs. She has to be. If I’m wrong and she tries to bolt, the Gilda will shoot her down. Gun at the ready, I edge up the narrow staircase. It’s steep, and the real wood planks creak under my weight as I step on them. Upstairs is pitch-black. This is bad. She’s gained the upper ground and could have a weapon trained on me right now.

“It’s over, Kelly. The house is surrounded, and you’ve nowhere to go. You don’t have to die, though. The Brotherhood can find a place for you.”

I’m talking shit. We both know it, but desperate people believe all sorts of crap. I’ve seen people grasp at straws a million times over.

Her voice has a sharp, nasty edge to it. “Does this take you back? Remember the cupboard under the stairs back home? The fun we had in there?”

My few memories of Mum’s house flicker through my mind. A laundry room filled with piles of filthy clothes. Ruth screaming in her cot. And, all at once, the looming black mouth of the cupboard.

In my four-year-old self’s memory, it stands as tall and wide as two men, the door a black pit of horrors.

Come in, Jacob. It’ll be fun.

“We used to play a game, remember? I’d put something in there you really wanted. Like that stupid dinosaur you loved. What was his name?”

Rex.

I’d forgotten about him, too. I don’t want to remember, but I can’t help it. His smiling green head, torn off, and all his stuffing pulled out. Such a small thing, but my body remembers the agony of it. Of losing the only thing that gave me comfort in that house. Physical pain stabs my chest, and I freeze.

“Once I lured you in there, I got to have my fun before I let you out. Do you remember that?”

The rational part of me tries to pinpoint where Kelly's voice is coming from, but I’m drowning in memories. Something sharp stabbing into my foot as I sobbed and clutched what used to be Rex. Her laughter. Her fucking…

“Jacob. She’s in the bedroom to the left. I can see her on the internal cameras. She’s using some sort of speaker system to throw her voice. She’s got a gun.”

Thank fuck for Candice. Her voice snaps me back into reality, and I force it all down. The pain, the terror. It can wait. The bedroom to the left. She’s got a gun. These are real, tangible problems. Things I can deal with.

I pull out my phone and tap a silent message to my team as I speak, “Grandad should have fucking killed you instead of giving you up. He should have taken you, then drowned you in the river. Called it an accident. It would still have been better than you deserve.”

“Oh, and you deserve so much better? The golden boy given everything when inside, you’re just as fucked up as me. How many people have you killed? Bet it’s more than me.”

I send the message.

“I’m sure it is.” I brace, waiting.

As soon as the first gunshot hits her window, I move. In three strides, I’m at the door. I kick it open just as glass explodes into the room. I drop, avoiding the gunfire, and see Kelly. She’s flat on the floor, eyes wide in the moonlight. She must have dived when the bullets hit.

The gun is still in her hand. She twitches it toward me, but I’m quicker. I shoot it out of her hand, and she screams, clutching her bloody wrist to her chest.

I should feel pity. I should, but the memories she brought back are right there, and they’re blotting everything else out. The gunfire from outside cuts off, and I stand over her, gun pointed at her head.

Blood gushes from her wrist, soaking the front of her gray T-shirt. I force myself to study her. She’s got my green eyes and Ruth’s dark blond hair. My sister. No doubt about it.

I raise the gun. She shakes her head. “No. Please, I can be useful. I can—”

“This is for Rex.” I pull the trigger.

***

There’s a lot to be done over the next few hours, but I’m doing fucking none of it. I leave the Gilda in charge of cleanup and call for extraction. I’m numb through the chopper ride, and no one tries to talk to me. I must look exactly like I feel. Do not fucking disturb.

As the helicopter lands in the Compound, a huge rush of relief washes over me. For the first time, the walls don’t feel constricting. Instead, they feel safe, and just that lets me know how shaken I really am. Confronting Kelly was a nightmare of my childhood made real, like discovering the bogeyman really exists and had been hiding under my bed for years.

I’m glad she’s dead.

It’s a rough thought, considering how damaged she was, but it’s true. There was something malignant about her, and I don’t think it all came from her childhood. I’ve met a lot of people who do evil things for power or profit, but very few who do them for fun. Kelly was a bad fruit, rotten at the core.

I don’t know how I’ll feel about this later. Right now, my walls are up as high as they go, and as I climb from the chopper, all I can think about is the next step. Then the next. There are only two people I want to see right now—Grandad and Quinn. And anyone who gets between us is taking their bloody life in their hands.

Kendrick greets me at the entrance to the main street. He’s somber, tactful as ever, and doesn’t offer me congratulations on a successful mission. Instead, he quietly informs me that everything will be taken care of and I have nothing to worry about.

I ask the only question that matters. “Where are Quinn and my grandad?”

“In your temporary accommodation. I had some food sent up, so you can head right there once you clean up.”

Once I what? Only then do I register the red splatters on my jeans. Shit. Turning up looking like this would have freaked the pair of them right out.

Kendrick walks me to the initiates’ quarters in silence. Before I head inside, he says, “You’ve got your Quinn to thank for the CI’s assistance. She’s sharper than I gave her credit for. I’m not often wrong about these things, but I have to admit, she’s working out a lot better than I thought she would.”

“You’re right. She is. Thanks for the help with this.”

“You’re a Brother. Your safety is as important to me as my own.”

I thank Kendrick, make a quick stop at my real flat to shower and change, then make a beeline toward Grandad and Quinn.