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But if it’s a choice between them and Mercy, I’ll end them with a pull of my trigger, no questions asked.
First though, I need to fully consider my options and to do that, I need to have a sober conversation with my brother, who’s currently coked out. “Are you a fucking idiot?” I stare at Caleb before pointedly looking around the room. I shouldn’t have to elaborate.
“Actually, I’m pretty damn smart, if I do say so myself.” He reaches for his rocks glass and takes a big swig. It’s whiskey tonight instead of his usual vodka. “No one’s gonna wonder why the room is pristinely clean, almost like a professional was in here.”
He means a forensics team. Maybe my brother isn’t a complete moron. Despite the relatively small mess made last night, the cleaner was in here for hours and was confident by the end of it that every trace of blood and brain matter was gone. At least now if the feds find a reason to search this place, they’ll discover plenty of bodily fluid, but none of it criminal.
Still. The cocaine residue, the bevy of young female strangers who are probably in Vegas with fake IDs…, all we need is to get busted on a technicality, and Agent Lewis sounds like she’d be the type to play that game.
Caleb slaps the table in front of him. “What happened in Fulcort? You didn’t call to update me.”
It’s going to be a long night. “Come get me when they’ve thoroughly swept for bugs and you’ve sobered up. We have shit to discuss.” With that, I head for my room.
The city below us bustles with life on this scorching August night, but up here on our terrace, the air is stagnant and mood somber.
“I’ve really gotta stop drinking.” Caleb rubs his hands over his face. “For a second there, I thought you said Dad blew up our plane.”
“That’s because that’s what I said.”
Caleb stares at me in disbelief. “So, you’re saying our father tried to kill us.”
“No, he just wanted to teach us a lesson.” I suck back a gulp of whatever Farley handed me in an attempt to cut some of the tension from my spine. An impossible task.
“A lesson. He wanted to teach us a lesson. He fucking murdered our best friends.”
“And the crew,” I remind him.
Caleb paces the length of the bar, his palm dragging along the smooth surface as he processes this news. But all I can think about is Mercy perched on that stool yesterday in her slinky electric-blue dress, its hem barely covering her thigh. I first laid eyes on her like that, right before I slipped her graduation gift on her finger—the diamond ring that’s now sitting on the nightstand where she left it for the night, along with a silver bracelet and her phone.
The towel on the hook is bone-dry, but one of the robes is missing.
Bane was probably waiting for her when she stepped out of the bathroom. He didn’t even let her get dressed.
“Exactly what lesson were we supposed to learn from this?” Caleb asks through gritted teeth. As I expected, he’s seething.
“To watch our backs. We’re too complacent.”
He continues his route around the bar, whatever cocaine-induced high he was floating on earlier evaporated. “And Stanley told you this morning, but I’m only hearing about this now.” His voice rises with irritation.
“We had a lot going on this morning,” I remind him evenly. “What’s the latest news on that, by the way?” The AM radio was buzzing the entire drive back. The reporters are speculating that the FBI presence at the murder scene suggests a connection to organized crime, but no names have been released yet. According to Stanley, the police have traced the SUV to Miles Perri and every faction of law enforcement presumes the charred, dismembered bodies are the infamous Perris in some sort of territorial war.
I turn to Merrick and Vince, lounging on the nearby couch. “No one’s paid you a visit yet?” Considering these two are here playing “get the girls naked,” I assume they have nowhere more important they need to be.
“They have. We told them we’re not our brothers’ keepers, we didn’t travel here together, we’re not in the same hotel, and we haven’t seen or talked to them since yesterday afternoon.” Merrick slides a pack of Marlboros from his jacket pocket and tucks a cigarette between his lips. “And we asked them to let us know when they’ve ID’d the bodies.” He seems to have digested the fact that he shot his own father. I can’t say I blame him for doing it. Camillo ordered Miles to murder the guy Merrick was in love with. I can relate. If any harm comes to Mercy while in Bane’s care, I’ll walk into Fulcort, aim the gun at Vlad’s skull, and pull the trigger, audience or not.
