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“When Alastair said he was leaving you behind.” He was talking to me like he would a child. A very stupid child. “Obviously.”
“Obviously.” I tried to reflect his condescending tone back to me, which only seemed to please him.
Chapter 40
Alastair
Overtakingthebratvaportswasn’t as difficult as we’d thought.
Jericho had a team, and his sister, the giant woman, led his men with the ferocity of a banshee, and the tactical knowledge of Boudica. At his call, a company of men had emerged from the woodwork. Many of them weren’t Russian, but were ex-military, sporting for another fight. Slowly, men of the bratva were breaking ranks from Anton Vasiliev, and pledging themselves to Jericho and joining his ranks.
I didn’t comment on their lack of loyalty. I didn’t mention that many of those men would be fair weather soldiers, globbing themselves to the biggest and strongest leader as dictated by the changing breeze. But that wasn’t any of my business.
“He won’t leave his bloody compound,” Eoghan said, wiping his hands over his face as he barged into his mansion with exhausted men, some of them bleeding, around him. “And we’re limited on what bombs we can use without getting terrorism charges from the feds.”
Jericho limped in, his suit was covered in dirt and plaster from another urban firefight.
“I can pull strings so we don’t get charged for small arms fire,” he said, taking the clip out of his Glock, and then clearing the chamber. “But explosives are a little dicier.”
“I can’t believe we’re allied with a man with ties to the government.” Eoghan groused.
“He’s not British, so that should be okay with you.” I chuckled.
“It still doesn’t make me like it.”
We passed the famous painting in his foyer. The enormous painting was over ten feet tall and four feet wide. The Angel of Death surrounded by his conquered and slain, and his dark demons around him, menacing and beautiful. The Angel of Death, when I finally examined it, resembled us. Our blue eyes, our blond hair, the divet in our chins and thin lips. He had drawn our family as the angels of destruction, victorious in a red glow. At the feet of the angel, with his jagged wings, was the face of a man with a rounded face. His oblong body and rounded midsection bore a striking resemblance to Anton Vasiliev.
It wasn’t a painting, but a prophecy made of blood.
“So, how do we lure him out?” I asked Eoghan, hoping he had some great ideas.
“The way I see it,” Eoghan said, “We divide our forces, and hit all their warehouses, their strip clubs, their laundromats. Kill all of his goons until he has to come out himself.”
“We can’t lure him out?” I asked, hoping to end this war faster. Not just to limit casualties, but to get Rose in my arms just a little bit sooner. I was already missing her. The image of her in my bed still haunted me when my mind drifted. She was beautiful, peaceful. I wanted to watch her sleep. Maybe that made me a creep, but if she was comfortable enough to close her eyes and be vulnerable with me, then I would stand vigilant, chasing her demons away.
“I don’t know. Jericho, he’s your brother,” Eoghan said, deferring to the Russian.
“If he has not come out after I announced myself, then I don’t know how else to lure him.” Jericho lay on his thick Russian accent, probably for the benefit of the bratva men who had answered his call.
“I’ll never get used to that voice.” His sister grumbled.
“Silence,” Jericho said softly as the four of us went into Eoghan’s secure office.
I touched the blade on my hip. The one that was personalized, my old faithful silver, handle-less blade, was still with Rose. That gave me comfort, knowing that a part of me might be on her skin. I closed my eyes and remembered her, in the woods beneath me, the blade at her throat as she lay very still…
“We’re from Schenectady.” Brett’s sister rolled her eyes and interrupted my wandering thoughts.
My phone dinged in my pocket. I flipped it out to see the Caledonia App, a message waiting for me. When it opened up, my heart sank to my feet, and I ran my hand through my hair, tugging on the roots until I felt the pain.
“Fuck,” I hissed, suddenly feeling the need to pace.
“What is it?” Eoghan asked, his head popping up, the cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Jericho,” I said, ignoring my cousin. The man took his time answering my call, but I knew he’d regret that instantly. “She’s coming here.”
“Who?” He said, his eyes narrowing.
“Rose.” I shook my head. “She put a gun to Hugo’s head and escaped the House.” I put the cell phone to the space between my eyebrows, trying to fight off a headache. “They think she’s on her way here.”
