“Fine. Put him inside the hospital, but guard him. Personally.”
“That’s a big ask.”
“I’ll give you what you want. If your brother is in trouble, I’m the only one who can get him out, and you know it, or you wouldn’t have risked your reputation by coming to me. Don’t piss it away.”
“I can have him dug up, but if he’s dead, that’s not on me.”
“If he’s dead, we have no deal.”
“Dig him up yourself, then.” The agent disconnects.
I stare at my phone screen. Do you see why a professional hitman should never have a weakness? People attached to him? People other people could use against him? Do you see it? Do you see why I need to work alone? Not have my crazy brother pretending to be me to draw attention to himself just to expose anyone who might try to assassinate me.
I dial Agent Glass back, and at the sound of his smug chuckle, I say, “Just get him out of there.”
Chapter 34
Is he alive?
Declan
What I do next depends on whether Connor is alive. If I can’t confirm he’s alive, hell will reign for as long as I’m alive. And I’ll live for as long as possible just so hell can reign with me. It will be an extension of Massio’s reign. But worse.
My uncle can’t get here before nightfall. Endo might land outside the city where the cargo is, then drive into the city. Which means I could mobilize my relatives I met today. If they arrive, Ivan’s people will go after them. The police will be stuck in the middle of territorial wars, and since the chief isn’t a loyal person, he will flip and play into the hands of whoever is winning the war.
Which has to be me. Us. Con and I. Not Dina. Dina needs a normal life. I’m fucking broken over involving a good woman in my fucked-up life. But here we are. Or here I am.
Alone on the street, waiting for dogs to sniff out Connor’s cologne or whatever the heck dogs look for under the rubble.
When they dig him up, I need to see for myself that he’s alive because I can’t trust Glass to tell me. The only way to know for sure is to have every eyeball in the city looking at the excavation. I want to draw as much attention as possible.
A couple on a motorcycle pulls into an alley. I follow them. They get off, and she pulls the man toward me. As they pass, I bump into the guy and swipe his keys and phone.
“Sorry, Officer,” he says.
“Don’t mention it.”
Once the couple rounds the corner, I fire up the man’s bike. I ride a little way, then stop to use the phone. I have several phone calls to make.
A chipper-sounding man answers. “Selnoa’s Seven, how may I help you?”
“I have a tip you’re going to want to hear.”
“Currently, we’re taking tips about the ongoing situation at Selnoa General only.” It sounds like he’s chewing gum and blowing bubbles.
“Is the rescue team returning to the site?”
“Yeah, they are. Do you know why? Because they told us everyone is out. Is there someone under there?”
“There is.”
“How many people are we talking?” he asks.
“Just one Declan Crossbow.”
He pauses. No more chewing. I hope the man stopped breathing and died so I can get another person on the phone.
“I’m sorry, who?” he asks.
