Page 8 of His For The Keeping

“I was invited. This was my brother’s wedding brunch.”

The officer got on his radio and asked for the police chief.

“We need you to come with us, Mr. O’Brien.”

He wasn’t sure his legs would work, but like a robot, he walked with the officers down the hill toward the scene. The closer he got to the building, the more he choked on the heavy smoke, stinging his eyes and making them water.

“Shane.” Police Chief O’Malley nodded at him. He had known him his entire life. “Tell me it isn’t your…” His voice choked with emotion. “Son, tell me.”

“Today was Patrick’s wedding brunch.”

Chief O’Malley fell to his knees.

Shane knew the chief had been invited to the wedding. He and his father had been good friends their entire lives. The officers around them went silent, staring at the scene. Nothing had ever felled Chief O’Malley.

“What is going on?”

“It’s the O’Briens and the Lombardos.”

“Fuck.”

Shane heard the whispers going through the crowd of first responders.

“Son, you need to get out of here.” Chief O’Malley rose and gathered his composure, nodding to the crowd that was gathering. The media was closing in, setting up cameras around the scene as close to the yellow tape as they could get. They had no shame.

“Yeah.” Shane nodded his agreement.

The big man engulfed Shane in a tight hug. Leaning into his ear, he spoke so only Shane could hear, “I won’t call you. I’ll wait for you to call me. You have my number. Contact me when you’re safe. I’ll let you know what we find out. Be careful who you trust.”

Shane nodded.

Breaking the embrace, he turned back to where his truck sat on the hill. Sitting behind the wheel, he knew he needed to go, get the fuck out of here. They could be watching. It would be best if they thought they had finished the job, completely eradicate both families.

Logically, Shane understood all of that.

Emotionally, Shane couldn’t get himself to leave, not yet. He wasn’t ready to say his goodbyes. He drove his truck down to The Barn. Leaving the truck door open for a quick getaway, he walked over to the bodies.

No one said a word.

No one dared to stop him.

The officers fell in line behind him, forming a wall between him and the media’s intrusive cameras, giving him this moment.

He looked over the bodies laying out on the lawn. Each had been covered respectfully. As he walked among the dead, he reread the texts from his family, which had all come within the same minute. Everything had to have happened fast. There should have been peace in knowing they died quickly.

There wasn’t a shred of peace.

Standing over four bodies of the same size, he knew they were his brothers. A quick glance down the line deduced which ones.

Patrick was laid out next to his fiancée.

Anger filled him.

Intense.

Overwhelming.

His short nails dug into the palms of his hands, piercing the skin, his fists tightly clenched at his sides. He needed to punch something, pummel the life out of someone. The bastard who did this would be a great start.

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