Carson's crew scrambles, suddenly realizing they're not fighting two wounded men and one stubborn asshole anymore. They're fighting the Rook. The silent killer.
The monster even other monsters are afraid of.
I use the distraction to drop three more, my bullets finding good, loving homes in chests and throats.
One of Carson's guys gets brave.Stupidbrave. He rushes Tank from behind while my brother's reloading, tackles him around the waist. They go down in a tangle of limbs, and the guy's hand scrabbles at Tank's face, trying to gouge his eyes, anything to get an advantage.
His fingers catch the edge of Tank's bandana.
I see it happening in slow motion. The fabric tearing, coming loose, sliding down my brother's face like a curtain being ripped away.
Fuck.
I don't look. I don't need to. I've known what's under that bandana since we were kids. It doesn't register for me anymore. To me, it's just Tank's face.
To everyone else, it's a nightmare.
"What the fuck—" The guy closest to Tank—the one who tackled him—scrambles backward so fast he trips over a body. His voice pitches up as a dark stain spreads across the front of his jeans. He's pissing himself. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING?"
Tank's shoulders curl inward and his hands fly up to cover his face. His whole massive frame tries to shrink, to disappear. He can take bullets without stopping, shatter skulls and bones with his bare hands.
But this—assholes looking at him like he's not even human—thisis what breaks him. This is the rare-as-fuck freeze response born from getting his ass beat every time someone saw his face from age six on.
Every. Fucking. Time.
I take advantage of the dumbasses' shock and start putting bullets in heads, starting with the asshole that pissed himself. The pop of bullets from the brief firefight that breaks out jars Tank out of his trance, and by the time I reach him, he's tied his bandana back on and is caving in heads with his bare hands. He's shaking too bad to aim straight.
When I join him and he turns to face me, his eyes are pitch black and dead above the edge of his bandana. His hands come up, signs quick and clipped.Carson. Now.
I nod once, and we move.
The rest of Carson's crew has figured out they're fucked. Half of them are already dead, the other half trying to retreat to their vehicles. We pick off the stragglers, working our way to Carson.
He tries to run, abandoning his crew like the coward he is. Tank catches him before he makes it five feet, massive hand wrapping around his throat and lifting him off the ground like he weighs nothing.
The struggling is pathetic. Carson claws at Tank's wrist, feet kicking uselessly in the air, and I can see the moment he realizes he's going to die here.
"Please," he gurgles. "I'll give it back. All of it. Please?—"
Tank's hand closes tighter, and I know what's coming.
The wet crack of a neck snapping echoes across the dock.
Then silence.
I look around, taking in the carnage. My precious bullet-riddled Lambo. Bodies everywhere. The sour smell of gunpowder mixing with the copper smell of fresh blood and the brine of the ocean. Matt is still alive, clutching his leg but conscious. Tony's shoulder is bleeding but he's already on his phone, probably calling for cleanup.
And Tank stands in the center of it all, Carson's corpse at his feet, his chest heaving beneath that black tactical vest. The torn bandana is spotted with blood—not his—the black fabric turned darker.
"Didn't think you gave a shit," I say, my voice raw from the smoke and chaos. The adrenaline's wearing off, leaving behind the shakes and the realization of how close I came to dying.
Tank's hands move, sharp and angry.Still my brother. Even if you're a fucking idiot.
"Yeah, well." I reload my gun with hands that won't stop shaking. "You've been AWOL lately. Wasn't sure. But I guess that's more about her than me."
His whole body goes rigid, and for a second I think he might actually punch me right after saving my ass. His hands curl intofists, and those dark eyes burn with something that might be rage or hurt or both.
Then he signs, slower this time. More deliberate.Not avoiding her. Avoiding THIS.
