Ford lunges forward to grab me, but Dex moves faster. His arms lock around my waist, pulling me out of the chair, dragging me out of the room before I can lash out. Before I can make this worse.
I’m dragged into the hallway and then thrown into one of the estate's many wet closets. One of the many tiny nooks in the estate that’s stocked with fresh ice and liquor. The sharp scent of citrus fills the air, the warmth radiating off of Dex’s body as we’re tucked in so closely, a stark contrast to the cold in my chest.
Ford storms in behind us, muttering a string of curses, his hands shaking as he reaches for the vodka bottle on the counter. He pours three glasses, shoving one into my hand.
“Drink.”
I take it, knocking it back with more ease than I feel. The burn is immediate, trailing down my throat like liquid fire, but it does nothing to dull the pain clawing at my insides.
Tears roll down my cheeks, hot and wet as I fight down the urge to vomit all over polished shoes.
Dex leans against the counter, watching me, as Ford lights a cigarette. “Leave it all up to us to sort, little Mar-tini.”
Yes, of course, let’s leave it to the men as usual.
Chapter four
Hayden Herron
1996
Idon’t trust Archibald Franklin and I’m certain he doesn’t trust me. But tonight, trust doesn’t matter. Only results do.
Whitmore paired us up for assignments immediately after the ceremony. New Bonesmen worked in pairs while they established themselves in the Brotherhood. The twins were paired together, and Hudson with an upperclassman, obviously leaving me to the chatty, spoiled Archie.
Truthfully, Franklin has proven himself more than once, enough that I'd probably trust him with my life, though I'd die before admitting it. He’s arrogant, irritating as hell, but damn if he isn't occasionally funny. Not that I'd ever tell him that.
The Brotherhood never assigns easy tasks; if they did, it wouldn’t mean shit. Meaning is everything, and there's a bigger reason behind every small one, and they quicklybecome massive responsibilities as they stack up. Every word, every move, every single body that hits the floor is a bloody investment in the world we’re building.
This is the essence of it. We’re given assignments with the clear expectation that they’ll be completed by the set deadline. That’s the price of being untouchable. Everyone's hands must be covered in blood if you expect to reap the resources and protection of the Brotherhood. Failure isn’t an option. You either complete the task or offer yourself in penance for falling short.
Franklin lounges in the passenger seat of the black sedan like he owns the space, flicking his cigarette into the darkness of the night outside of the rolled-down window. Burning embers swirl through the cold D.C. air. Arrogance and smoke hang heavy in the car between us.
“You look tense, Herron,” his tone is smooth yet barbed. Archie always seems to be probing for weakness.
“I’d be relaxed if I wasn’t saddled with a walking fucking liability.”
He snorts. “Likewise.”
I glide the sedan silently through empty streets. At this hour, D.C. is a lifeless, rotting corpse, full of secrets hidden in plain sight. The perfect hunting grounds.
I glance at my watch. 1:32 AM. The target should already be home, oblivious.
“You remember the plan?” I ask mostly to irritate him.
“My memory’s sharper than yours.”
“Doubtful.”
But Archie is sharp. It's why he's unbearable and exactly why we were paired. Two predators forced to hunt as one.
I’m not sure if the Brotherhood is just waiting to see who fails first, or if pairs truly are the only way to complete an assignment successfully. I do know, they’ll never tell us.
Tonight's target was a Bonesman, now rogue. He became greedy, stealing from the Brotherhood, mistakenly believing he had the right to choose his own fate. The problem with that is the Brotherhood doesn't forgive betrayal. Instead, it sends other members to gut traitors and hang their carcasses as warnings.
I stop the car outside an unassuming yet expensive townhouse. Archie is already moving.
“I’ll take the front.”
