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If the cops are looking this way, I don’t want to give them any cause to suspect we were a part of freeing our brother.
“Is this what today has been about? The Kings giving us an alibi while they take care of Pope?” Leo murmurs, not taking his eyes of the video replay.
“If it is, then why haven’t we heard anything?” I wonder out loud.
I’m getting tired of these British assholes keeping me in the dark. The deal we have with them is too good to pass over, but I’m not feeling like an equal at the moment.
“Hold on, another email just came through from the same sender.”
I lean out of Slade’s way, and he taps a few keys until a second video pops up.
Pope’s on his knees with a blindfold on. Nothing in the background gives his location away, it’s just a plain white backdrop.
“I can’t keep up,” Slade murmurs.
Four figures file onto the screen, lining up behind Pope. They’re all dressed in black, their faces hidden.
“Fuck your fed. This is our time to avenge Mr. Rathbone.”
What the fuck is this? Who the fuck is Mr. Rathbone? I stand, and that’s as far as I get. I can’t take my eyes off the screen.
One by one, they lift their arms, each of them holding a gun and aiming toward Pope.
“What are they doing?” Mason starts to panic, moving closer to Myles.
“Who the fuck is sending you these videos?” Sparky barks out at Slade.
Not a word is said by anyone. The sound of the masked men opening fire is louder, sharper, every shot singular rather than blurring together.
Pope’s body jerks as each bullet hits him in the back. He slumps forward, facedown, and out of the camera shot.
Three of the men remain standing as still as me, but the fourth heads for the camera and picks it up. The others disappear from view, and the camera moves down to Pope. His back is riddled with bullet holes, blood trickling out of him like water from a sponge, but his eyes… they’re wide open, blank—lifeless.
The video cuts out, and the part of me that broke after Oak died fractures once again. Ice creeps down my body, the world blurring around me. Sparky wobbles on his feet beside me, while Slade stares blankly at the laptop. A tear rolls down Ricky’s cheek. But it’s the twins—fuck!—it’s their souls being ripped from their bodies that brings clarity back to the moment.
Shoving through the crowd of brothers, I stalk heavily toward the gate, barking for the prospect to open them as I approach. He makes quick work of pulling one open so I don’t have to stop. One of the cops is stretching his back out as he leans against the car.One cop behind the wheel, and two more in the car behind them.
I wonder how much overtime they’re being paid? I’m guessing not enough to deal with me right now.
The cop straightens when he takes in my appearance, and I waste no time in grabbing his shirt and pulling him forward before slamming him back against the car door.
“Why weren’t we told he was taken?” I scream in his face. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying his best to shy away from me.
The other cops warily climb out and draw their weapons. They could all shoot me, and I wouldn’t feel a fucking thing, not under this pain from having to watch my brother being shot to death like a dog.
“Who got to him? Who else knew he was being transported out of town?”
I refrain from smashing my head against the cop’s face. They were all fucking untouchable when they had us facedown on the ground and their guns on us, but not so much now when their boss isn’t around.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whines.
Yanking him forward, I keep hold of him while throwing open his door. Shoving him into the car, I point to the radio.
“Call in to your boss and find out what happened!”
His hands shake as he calls in, nearly dropping the radio as he waits for a reply.
“We have no idea. We’re looking into it now. FBI’s all over it.”
