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He made his way to the door and peered out. As he’d expected, his uncle stood out there in front of a large SUV, his back to the building as he spoke to the two men with him. He’d only brought a handful of his guys, so confident he’d be able to get Vince with no issues.
Just the thought had Zander gritting his teeth, his grip tightening around the gun in his hand. Nobody was allowed to harm Vince or Scotty, not one fucking body. He didn’t care what it said about him that twenty-four hours ago, he would have likely done to Vince what he’d just done to his uncle’s men.
Vince was his.
Scotty was his.
He hadn’t been able to protect his parents and siblings from his uncle, but he wouldn’t fail in doing whatever was necessary to ensure Vince’s and Scotty’s safety. He peeled off the goggles and tossed them aside, then retrieved his second gun from his waistband. That one he held in his left hand, pointing it at the back of his uncle’s head as he inched closer to where the three men stood, deep in conversation.
When he was close enough, he spoke. “What’s up, Unc?” he said while simultaneously squeezing the trigger of the gun in his right hand. The one with the suppressor. He shot the guy to his uncle’s right, not even taking the time to watch him fall before shooting the guy reaching for his weapon to his uncle’s left.
And then it was just the two of them.
Murray hadn’t flinched at all once Zander started shooting. Zander held both guns on his uncle now as the older man turned around, facing him slowly, an eyebrow raised.
“Nephew, you’re alive! This is a surprise.” The calm words didn’t hide his confusion or that shimmer of fear in his eyes.
Zander grinned at him. The old man hadn’t changed. He remained short and round, bald, and dressed in a dark three-piece suit. The only things that gave away their connection as family were their identical shade of brown skin, same colored eyes, and the last name Zander had discarded the moment he’d left his uncle’s organization. He’d always been the one Murray couldn’t control, couldn’t threaten. He’d always known the old man feared him a little and it had worked out just fine for Zander…until it didn’t. “It’s not a surprise for me,” he told the other man. “I’ve been waiting for you. What took you so long?”
Murray’s gaze flicked over to the building and then back to Zander. “My men?”
Zander snorted. “Do you even have to ask?”
“I thought you were dead,” Murray said. “I mourned you.”
“Yeah?” Zander cocked his head. “Like you mourned my parents, my siblings?”
“Of course.” A smarmy smile curved Murray’s lips. “If you’ve been waiting for me then you know why I’m here. I want the marshal.”
“The marshal is mine.”
Murray’s eyes narrowed.
“But I might consider giving him to you if you tell me why you had my family assassinated.” Though it was night out, he was close enough to his uncle to see the color drain from his face. He took no small amount of pleasure in that. “Didn’t think I’d figure it out, did you?”
“I don’t know what?—”
Zander shot him in the shoulder. Murray staggered backward, grabbing his arm as blood poured through his fingers.
“We’re not playing this game,” Zander told him. He didn’t know how he managed to keep his voice so calm and even, when inside him the rage he’d struggled with for so long—ever since he’d put the puzzle pieces together—flared hot and all-consuming, demanding he spill blood to feed it. “Tell me.”
Murray shook his head with a shaky laugh. “After everything I’ve done for you.” His voice rose. “You stab me in the back like this? I raised you, boy. Fed you. Clothed you. I’m your family, Kian, your last remaining relative.”
“Don’t you ever call me by that name.” Zander gritted his teeth, fingers twitching at the urge to shoot that blustering motherfucker between the eyes. His parents had christened him Kian Alessandre DuBois, but he’d given up that name and identity when he’d walked away from his uncle and his lies.
“You’re my nephew,” Murray said. “You can’t kill me.”
“And maybe I won’t, Uncle. Maybe I won’t. If you tell me what really happened to my family.”
Murray glanced down at his bleeding arm, sweat beading on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and upper lip. He was out of options, but Murray had never been one to simply accept his lot. Zander kept those guns pointed at him and waited.
“Your father. He no longer wanted to be my partner.” True hatred glittered in his eyes and twisted his features into a harsh grimace. How had Zander not seen the hatred that darkened his uncle’s eyes whenever he’d mentioned his brother, Zander’s dad? “He was talking to the feds.”
An immediate denial came to Zander’s lips, but he swallowed it and kept on listening.
“Said he wanted out of the business, wanted to protect his family. But what about me?” Murray roared. “I was his family! His own fucking blood before your bitch of a mother came along and turned him against me, saying that life wasn’t safe or healthy for the children.” He snorted. “Showed her, didn’t I? Turned her precious baby boy into a world-class killer.”
Zander wanted to choke the life out of that man with his bare hands, peel his flesh from his bones, and bathe in his blood. Still, he kept his composure despite the triumph that flashed in Murray’s eyes. The pride. He’d slaughtered his brother and his family. For what?
