Emory shook his head. It loosened a bead of sweat that rolled down his temple. Hadn’t he known, though? How could he not? The same blood coursed through Emory’s veins as his brother. Maybe that meant something in a primal sense because Emory discerned Ivan’s existence in the ineffable; the shape of the night and the horrors that it hid.
“He asked me to pass along a message,” Viktor said. “He promised you something the last time you saw him. He’s ready to deliver.”
“We’re done here, Em,” Jack broke in and reached for his sidearm, but Emory stopped him with a raised hand.
“You tracking?” Viktor asked.
Emory didn’t respond. The room pulsed in a funhouse distortion where the mirrored wall seemed to creep closer, and his chest tightened, each breath more labored than the last.I can’t fucking breathe.
Four years ago, he took the helm of the Moriartys, and Ivan slithered from the shadows to congratulate him. On a cold winter’s night in Northern California, Emory walked to his car, but a presence followed. He led that presence beneath a lamppost to force it out of the darkness. Ivan had slipped into the light but hardly looked human. His remaining eye was black and soulless, a killer’s stare.
“Little brother,”he’d whispered.“Don’t assume your place at the top means you and Mirabelle are safe. I will destroy everything you love. Piece by bloody piece, I will take it apart then I’ll take you.”
Emory never saw him again. Word came his body had been discovered in a burned-out car at the bottom of a ravine. No oneclaimed that dead man, so they called him Ivan Holt and rendered him to ashes. In Emory’s dreams, Ivan’s rotten corpse was ripped limb from limb with maggots in his mouth and one goopy eyeball oozing down mottled skin. Rest in torment. What a fitting fucking end.
In death, there’d been paltry relief, so Ivan’s ghost remained. Better to be haunted than hunted, though. Emory couldn’t live with that affliction again, didn’t know how to anymore. He’d lost the skill in these years of fragile peace.This has to end.
Emory flew to his feet and sent the chair tumbling to the floor. He racked the slide of his gun and aimed it at Viktor.
“Where is he?”
“You won’t find him. He’ll find you.” Viktor clicked his tongue and added with a wicked grin, “And your pretty things too.”
Emory rounded the table in a few pounding strides. Fury blackened the edges of his vision. He seized Viktor by the front of his shirt and hurled him to the floor.
“On your knees!”
Still smiling, Viktor clambered across the floor as the room stirred. Everyone scrambled from their seat. Someone entreated him to stop. Emory didn’t know who. He didn’t take commands from others. He’d earned this. Viktor huddled against the wall. Kindling to the rage, Emory relished the sight.Make him beg for his life.
“Get on yourfuckingknees!”
Viktor tried but not quick enough. Emory yanked him up by a fistful of hair. It loosened in clumps from his scalp. With one hard kick, he stomped Viktor’s jaw to wipe that fucking smile clean. Viktor’s head snapped back. On hands and knees, he spit up blood before collapsing to the floor.
“Where is he?” Emory bellowed and straddled Viktor.
His fist smashed into the man’s jaw; once, then twice, three times, four, until he lost count; until bones broke and Viktor’s face was a mess of shredded tissue and gold teeth glinted on thefloor. In the mayhem, a body landed on top of Emory, a voice screaming in his ear.
“Em!” Jack shouted. “Em! Stop!”
Emory tossed Jack off of him. His blood-slicked hands cinched Viktor’s neck. He squeezed until bones popped against his palms. With another dump of adrenaline, he slammed Viktor’s head against the floor.
“Where thefuckis he? Answer me!”
Viktor’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and mouth gaped open. Out poured more blood and broken bits of teeth. Emory let go. Viktor gulped down hard breaths and rolled to his side. His cheek rested in a shallow pool of blood. Hands shaking, Emory pressed his gun to Viktor’s temple, and his voice trembled just the same.
“Tell me where he is.”
Viktor pointed to the ceiling. Up above, the music had stopped. Amelia and Mirabelle didn’t laugh. Gio didn’t sing. In their place were muffled shouts. A single gunshot. Mirabelle’s scream. The storefront window shattering.
Viktor lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. Please. I?—”
Emory pulled the trigger. Blood, bone, and brain exploded out the back of Viktor’s head as mayhem unfolded outside the door.
TWENTY-ONE
EMORY
Gunfire shredded the basement’s hollow-core door. Emory ducked as the mirrored wall shattered and rained down shards around him. Outside the room, the walls veritably shook with screams and shouts.
