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At the compound, I take the elevator down to the basement, where he is bound to a chair. I saunter to the wall to select a torture device. Picking up a heavy metal chain, I drag it around him. The weight and pressure will compress his organs every minute, increasing his pain.
I take my place in the armchair in front of him, crossing my legs, and swipe my palm through the air.
“You won’t get out of here alive. I can make you wish for death or grant you a less painful one. It’s up to you. Personally, I’m into torture.”
“I... I had to. You don’t say no to him.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you saw him?”
He offers a slight nod that has me breathing a sigh of relief. Finally, something useful.
I sway my chin to one of my men at the door. “Send Edward down.”
Our forensic sketch artist comes inside with his drawing kit.
“Tell him every little detail about that man,” I warn.
He babbles, but the moment he sees me standing up and adding another chain, he gets to the point. When he’s done, I grab my gun. The bullet ripples through his forehead, creating a Pollock painting of red on the wall.
Tucking the gun at my back, I look at the sketch, not recognizing the man. Blood chills in my veins when something else catches my attention—a tattoo of a raven on a scythe. I clutch the paper in my hands.
This can’t be. This can’t fucking be.
The door opens, and Kieran, Cato, and Hayden gather around. I slam the paper on the table. “It’s the Brotherhood.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
How the fuck is that possible? I thought they were long-defunct—the strongest and most elite organization in the United States. From one day to the next, they seemingly just vanished without a trace overnight. We built our syndicate with them as the model.
“This means they have ruled from the shadows for decades... that means...” Kieran says, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
“That means they are ready to take over,” Hayden adds.
“Fuck,” Cato says, cracking his neck.
I open a cabinet and take a bottle of whiskey and four glasses.
We slump in our chairs, each of us with a drink in hand. “This doesn’t change a thing. We won’t roll over and hand them the reins to our fucking kingdom,” Kieran says,
“We’re fighting with ghosts,” Hayden adds.
Cato looks intently at the drawing. “Not quite.”
“I want a global search and scan for anyone with that tattoo. The fight is over when we’re dead, but not sooner,” I say.
We touch the tattoos on our forearms. We adjusted the design after Hayden joined us. It’s a triangle in a circle with three symbols: a chain, a knife, and a cross. The three of us are united, with Hayden completing us as the circle. The insignia is Latin: brothers for life, sworn in blood, acting by oath. We will do whatever it takes to protect what we have built.
You came after the wrong kingdom.
***
Standing under the shower helps lift the weight of my worries a bit. At least now we know who the enemy is. My grandfather used to tell me that the enemy you see is not an enemy at all. It’s the ones who fly under the radar that you have to look out for.
I dry myself with the towel and change, getting ready for bed.
