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TWO
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Dimitri asks for the hundredth time.
Nico, who sits in the passenger seat of the big 4X4, just sighs and rolls his eyes. Turning in the driver’s seat, I meet Isaac’s, Dimitri’s, and Jonas’s eyes. They are all crammed in the back. Luckily, Nico was too big to fit back there, but those three aren’t exactly small. In fact, Jonas is squashed up against the window looking uncomfortable. Nico faces them also, and when he sees them shiver, he turns away, his fists clenching on his thighs. I check him over to ensure he isn’t going to flip out at the thought that it could have been him being touched, being near people, but he seems to have it under control at the moment.
“We have to,” I remind them.
“What if she doesn’t even turn up?” Isaac queries, always the logical one. His slight French accent is still fading after years of living there.
“She will,” Nico confirms, and those two strong words are all he has to say on the matter.
“I wouldn’t.” Jonas snorts. “I’d be sunning myself somewhere with some hot girls and drinking to celebrate.”
“She isn’t like you.” I grin, but it soon fades as I remember everything I read and saw on her. “She needs to be sure. She has to know it’s true, that he’s really dead.”
“Not to mention her sister,” Dimitri points out. “She will want to see her.”
“Do you think she’ll make contact?” I question. I might be the leader of this ragtag band of assholes, but I know when to trust their instincts and intellect. Isaac has a way of seeing people and getting emotional with them, but Dimitri? He can read them, know their thoughts and actions, and put himself into their shoes.
“I’m not sure. It depends on how safe she feels.”
“But if you were her?” I press.
“If I were her?” He meets my eyes then, his expression stern. “I’d make contact. Ten years is a long time to be alone and on the run.”
Jonas swears, knowing he’s right. We all know the effects of extended isolation, anger, and hopelessness associated with being alone for so long. It affects your mental capacity, the way you think, and the actions you take. You become reckless, which he knows better than anyone after spending the most time locked up out of all of us.
“Then it’s settled. We go. We keep a low profile and remember our mission.”
“Her.” Jonas nods, his gaze focusing on the still quiet church we are parked near. It won’t be quiet for long. “The bastard who did this to his daughter,” he snarls, looking back at us.
“She is like us,” Nico states in his low growl.
Jonas nods but grinds his teeth before looking away. Any reminder of the man who changed us sours his mood and makes him unpredictable. His emotions are the very reason he was deemed a failure, after all.
In particular, his hatred towards the man currently awaiting burial in that church.
“She’s not the enemy. We need her to finish this once and for all,” I remind them, searching their eyes.
THREE
The drive to the church located on the outskirts of the small city only takes another hour. It’s about thirty minutes from the manor I grew up in, and it’s also the church where I was baptised, against my father’s beliefs. He didn’t believe in God or any deity, only in what he could see, but having unbaptised children made him stand out in such a tight-knit community, and he wanted to blend in. Thus, we were forced to have it done, and now he’s forced to have a service and be buried in the very same hallowed grounds he disparaged.
My bike rumbles loudly as I pull into the uneven attached car park, and I make sure to choose a spot near the exit out of habit. Taking off my helmet, I see some older ladies and gentlemen in full military dress staring at me—probably due to the bike’s engine—before they turn to greet the vicar waiting at the open double doors. The bells are silent, and huge stained-glass windows allow light to stream into what I know is a vast one-room church with big arched ceilings, old stone pillars with dates and names etched into them, and hard, uncomfortable wooden pews with colourful kneeling cushions tied to them.
Sighing, I turn off the bike before scanning the area and car park, searching for Anabel, my sister. I don’t see her, though, and I wonder if she is inside already or if she didn’t come.
I think she still likes Father, completely unaware of his monstrous actions, but I can’t be sure. She stayed in contact with him and even lived there until about two years ago to save on medical school costs—after all, Father believed in making your own way. He wouldn’t have paid a penny for it, no doubt teaching her to fend for herself. More than likely, he was disappointed she never went into research science like him.
She had the brains and the drive. So why didn’t she?
I guess I’ll find out. I just need to gather my courage, walk my ass into the church, and hope I don’t set it on fire. The thought makes me grin before it fades. It’s more likely that I’ll be recaptured, seen, or stalked—hell, even killed. He could have left orders, and the friends he had could be on the lookout for me.
I don’t look like the sweet, willing to obey Novaleen who ran away, however, and that works in my favour.
Hooking my helmet on my bike, I grab my shades and put them on as I swing my leg over, using the excuse to turn and check out the cars behind me. There are a few BMWs, some Audis, a Rolls Royce, a couple of Mercedes . . . and a black 4x4 that sticks out at the end of the row, but I shrug and decide to stop being a pussy and head to the church. If they want me, they’ll have to kill me first.
Ducking through the wrought iron gate, which squeaks as I wander down the cobbled path, I join the end of the queue of mourners. When it’s my time to enter, I nod at the vicar as he hands me a little booklet and then I flick it open with a snort.
