Page 138 of The Dearly Departed

I watched him carefully as the blood trickled into my beard and off my jaw. He straightened his jacket lapels and sighed before retrieving a key from his pocket. Then he turned to reach up and unlock the chains binding Shawn's wrists, but then he realized he was too short.

Weak little fucker, I thought.

He chuckled to himself as he looked over his shoulder and said, "Abraham, would you mind doing the honors?"

In no way did I want to approach Shawn and look him in the eye, fully aware that he now knew he was in this situation because of me. But I knew that at some point, whether now or later, I'd have to face him like a man and let him say whatever he thought was necessary. Let him do whatever he wanted to me. Let him take his revenge, however he saw fit, because it was my fault he and Isaac were damned to live this life.

So, I stood from the chair and accepted the keys Gerald held out to me. Then I approached my closest, dearest friend—my chosen brother—and stood before him.

His eyes scanned my face, lingering on the gaping wound now marring my flesh. His throat worked heavily as his gaze flicked toward mine, but he said nothing while I fitted the key into the padlock … and his silence spoke volumes.

Maybe he just didn't want to talk to me in front of Gerald. It would be understandable. But there was more to it than that, and I was willing to bet he was going to lace into me once we were alone.

Once he was freed, he sighed with relief as he was let back onto his feet, and he gingerly rotated his wrists, rubbing them and bringing the circulation back to his arms and hands.

"Now, unchain your brother," Gerald ordered. "Same key."

Ike's jaw clenched, his eyes full of anger as I unlocked his wrists and let him loose. I thought he might unleash his rage on me once he was able, but he didn't. Instead, he rushed past me and barreled toward Gerald, who held up a hand to stop him.

"Don't do anything stupid, Isaac," he warned.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because if you kill me, you all die. Abraham understands this. That's the only reason you're all still alive. If you kill me, if you so much as touch one little hair on my head, the three of you are dead. And do you really want to be responsible for the deaths of your brother and best friend because you decided to act on impulse?"

Regardless of what a live wire Ike undoubtedly was, he stood back, and maybe … I hoped … he was beginning to understand the predicament I'd found myself in and why I had to do what I'd been doing for the past few years.

"Smart," Gerald praised, reaching out to pat his cheek once again, and this time, Ike didn't shake him off. "Now, I have to run. But the three of you will be here in the morning to discuss the terms of our new relationship. I think you'll be very pleased. Abraham will show you out. He knows the way."

And with that, he left the basement, and the three of us stood, beaten and broken, staring at each other and wondering what the hell was supposed to happen next.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The drive back to the funeral home was tense and awkward, as one would expect, with all three of us bloodied and battered, looking like we'd all gotten into a fight and lost miserably. The silence between us was so thick and heavy that I was afraid it might choke the life out of me.

Ike had chosen to lie in the back of the hearse, muttering something about having a headache and needing to close his eyes, but truthfully, I thought it had more to do with him not wanting to sit next to me and less to do with his health.

So, I sat in the driver's seat with Shawn at my side, just as it’d been for most of our lives, but not once had he ever been so quiet. Every now and then, I would shoot a sideways glance across the cab, trying to catch his eye, but he made a show of keeping his glare out the window.

Luckily, Seint Manor in Hollow Cove wasn't far from the funeral home, even if the time in that hearse seemed to drag on for an eternity, and once we arrived, we entered the house like war-wounded soldiers and went our separate ways without uttering a single word to each other.

I walked down the hallway, my head hung low as I absent-mindedly tossed my mask onto a console table holding a lamp and box of tissues. I was about to turn away to find our first aid kit when I stopped to stare at the black rubber, lying haphazardly against the base of the lamp, the cone of light glinting off the plastic lenses.

It felt so natural to leave it there in the moment, in the same way one might drop a set of keys or some loose change from a pocket. And although I understood that my brothers would unlikely ever be okay with what I'd spent the last few years of my life doing for Gerald Crowley, I couldn't ignore how easily I'd settled into this sense of ease and comfort just from knowing that they knew.

My gaze lingered for another moment, as I relished how good it felt to no longer have to hide and lie, and I actually smiled at the relief that swept over me like a calming wave against the shore.

But the moment was fleeting as the movement shot my face with a dose of pain from the cut I’d nearly allowed myself to forget, and I released the breath in my lungs before setting out to find that first aid kit, leaving the mask to lie on that table like it was nothing more than a set of keys or loose change.

***

The last time I’d needed stitches, Analise had done the honors with care.

We had talked. We flirted and danced along the line between what we were and shouldn't be. She touched me, and I pushed her away, and it occurred to me now that Gerald had likely known about that too.

I wished she were here to stitch me up now. In this house, away from Gerald's watchful eyes. Away from a life of crime and murder, to hide within this sanctuary of peaceful death.

I would've let her touch me here.