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And then Rafe and Tyler flank him, Asher and myself falling in step behind them. It’s a battle, and we’re with him.
One team. One Brotherhood. Whatever comes next.
It’s Zane who climbs up the steps and knocks the brass lion’s head. The sound booms in the quiet. It’s the hush of all of us holding our breaths, waiting.
After a moment, the lock turns and the door opens.
Boards creak under an old man’s slippers. He gazes back at us through thick glasses. His beard is white, his hair a faded gray, and his clothes are shabby. On a scale from one to ten where one is harmless and ten is a serial killer, this guy is a minus two.
He squints at Zane. “What d’ya want?”
Zane grunts.
“Is this Kenneth Shaw?” Rafe asks.
“That’s not him,” Zane grinds out.
“Damn right it’s not me.” The old guy lifts a trembling hand, pointing at Rafe. “D’you know him?”
“I do,” Zane says, his voice hoarse.
The old man turns toward him. “He doesn’t live here anymore. Moved away a few years ago.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“Some place or other. Madison I think it was.”
“Oh fuck,” Zane breathes, and Rafe makes a grab for his arm, steadying him.
Holy shit. I move around Tyler, catch a glimpse of a white-faced Zane, and get a good look at the old man. He seems mildly annoyed, and curious.
“This your house?” I ask.
“I’m a tenant, like he was. Matter of fact, there was another tenant came after him, Lindy Brooks, and then myself. But the owner, Ms. Evans, told me about him. Ms. Evans, she likes to talk.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Told me about the state the house was in when that guy left. The floors were rotten. The kitchen crusted with trash. Heaps of trash everywhere. And the attic…”
“What about the attic?” Tyler asks, sounding
deceptively calm.
“Blood. Blood stains everywhere, and old mattresses. God knows what he’d used them for. Filth. Stench like he kept animals up there. Had to bring in a cleaning team to scrub the floors. Burned the mattresses. Sometimes I think the stench lingers.”
Zane groans. He pushes off Rafe and stumbles down the steps, heading toward the car.
Halfway there, he falls to his knees and pukes.
Son of a bitch. My fists are curling into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. Dimly I watch Asher hurry down the steps and lift Zane up.
If ever there was evidence of anything wrong happening in that attic, it’s now long gone.
“Could we talk to Ms. Evans?” Tyler pulls out his phone. “This is an important matter. We need to locate this Kenneth Shaw.”
The old man gives us a suspicious look. “I shouldn’t just hand out her phone number to strangers.”
“That blood in the attic? It might have been human,” Tyler says, his voice cold. “We think he’s a dangerous man, walking the streets free and maybe hurting more people as we speak. Wanna have that on your conscience?”
