Chapter 7

Six monthsago - Age 34

Almost a year ago, Lionel McGivern's head hit the ground. I dug through the office looking for all the evidence I could find on the other members o" the Order o' Death, and I'm still nowhere near finding the answer to that question. Nae am I any closer to finding my sister.

I've been hunting the Order for ages. I've found no one else in the UK since Lionel. It's as if they all just vanished into the mist like ghosts.

Sighing, I swipe my hand down my face and over my beard. All o" this would be a lot easier if I had someone I could trust to help me, but since Simon's murder, I've gone it alone. I've considered looking for someone, but I've nae been able to bring myself to bring someone in.

How do you go about hiring that out?

Looking for computer investigator to find information on people for an assassin.

How do you broach the subject with someone once you hire them?

I need the names o" all these people so I can murder them.

That will go over well, especially in the press when constables arrest me. I can see the headlines now.

Lord o' the Realm arrested for murder.

Yet another thing that cannae happen. I already have them on their heels because o' my appearance. Big, bearded, and a partially shaved head with skull tattoos weren't something the peerage was used to.

Anyway, having someone help me track these fuckstains down, well, that's a level o' trust I've only ever had with Simon. Paying for help disnae ensure trust or loyalty. Both are a must in the line o" work I've taken on.

Someone is helping.

I dinnae know who, though. But someone sent me information on Maeve last year, right after I murdered Lionel and Rupert. The information I got led me to the States. Back to this place.

Documents I'd found in the warehouse before I torched it told a very different story than the one Simon and I believed all those years ago. The information from the warehouse, and then the information about Maeve, gave me the true story.

The mansion didnae belong to that bastard Graeme Buchanan. Nae. It was the headquarters o' the Order o' Death. All those years ago, I assumed the house I killed Graeme in was his and that he was running the Order out o" it. Now, I know better.

Thanks to whoever sent me that paperwork last year.

With the new information in hand, I moved to America to be closer to the Order's headquarters. I would've thought being back here would be strange, but it isnae. I killed Graeme Buchanan years ago inside the big house. I wish I'd known then what I do now because iffn I had, I would've killed as many men as I could the night I offed Buchanan.

This time I know what's what. This time I have a plan. Now, I want the head o" the snake and a then I will go after all the rest o" them. Every last one o' them will pay with their lives.

I stand in the treeline that surrounds the property watching the house, yet again. I've watched this house for hours and days and weeks. The only people I've been able to put names to are a man named Owen Black, and another named Samuel Nicholson. Samuel is the man who met with Lionel the night I killed him.

I've nae seen the little guy who was with Samuel at all. Given the nature o" the Order's business, that's nae surprising. They probably rotate boys like him in and out like the rotating earth does the sun and moon.

Owen Black storms out o' the house. Something has him in a rage. He shoves the kid who brought his car around out o" the way as Owen steps into the vehicle. The tires squeal before he ever gets the door closed. This isnae an unusual occurrence. Lately, Owen seems to be verra outta sorts.

His wife died several months ago, and his stepdaughter went missing shortly after. The asshole disnae seem to give a fuck at all. Then all o' a sudden like, his behavior grew erratic, and now the man is volatile where before he was the picture o" cold and calm.

Owen disnae seem to live in the house. Neither does Samuel Nicholson, but they both come and go regularly. As do multiple others, but those others, I dinnae ken. I've taken photos o' them all, hoping I'll be able to find out who they are at some point in time, but I don't hold out much hope.

I've tried using facial recognition, but nothing has popped up for me. Simon was the tech guru in the family. He would've been able to find their names with little effort.

As daylight gives way to darkness, I spot a shadow on the other side o" the clearing where the manor sits. Whoever it is, they're doing the same thing I am.

Waiting.

Watching.

I hold steady. My focus on the newcomer instead o" the house. He's joined by several others as the glow o" the moon completely usurps the sun. I'm nae sure what is going on or who has joined me in my scrutiny.

Just when I think they are only going to watch, two o" them embrace and then one o" them turns to embrace what appears to be a woman. Who I dinnae ken, but she's surrounded by the others and, judging by the size and look o' them, it's three men.

The first to show up along with the woman and two others, turn and leave from back the way they came. Confusion colors my vision and thoughts, everything skewing and shifting as all the questions try to puzzle themselves together.

What the fuck is going on?

While I'm still trying to puzzle out what is happening, a car rolls up to the house and Owen Black gets out. The valet moves the car away as Owen charges into the house. The sound o' the door opening and slamming echoes throughout the clearing.

Moments later, three men, similar size and look o" the ones who had left the tree line not long ago with the girl, step out o' another car. The driver speaks to the lad who parks the vehicles. The lad scurries away and the men enter the house.

Questions flit through my head, bouncing around like balls in a pinball machine.

Are they members?

If so, why are they lurking about, spying on the manor from the trees if they can just walk right in?

What about the girl? Where is she?

Those last two plague me the most. Women arenae members. They are chattel. Merchandise to be bought, sold, and traded. Granted, some o' the members are married, but the ones who are treat their wives and daughters nae much better than the women they traffic.

Could she be Owen's stepdaughter?

It's too dark, and she's too far away for me to get a good look. There are rumors she has been in hiding, having fled Owen's house after her mother passed to escape the man's clutches. But then why is she here, iffn it is she? She has to know the members o' the Order are loyal to the man and iffn he's searching for her, and they catch her, they will hand her over to him.

I stand here, still waiting and watching, mulling over what could be happening, when the front door opens and the two o' the three guys walk out. And to my surprise, the girl is with them. They get in the car and drive away.

Now I'm even more confused.

Where's the other guy?

Why did they leave the third guy behind?

How did the girl get into the building? I didn't see her with them when they first arrived.

It disnae take long for the guy who drove away from the house to appear in the tree line again. They are all still standing there, watching the house.

What the fuck are they waiting for?

Nearly an hour later, I get my answer.

Two figures shrouded in black emerge from the side o" the mansion. Bent over, racing toward the trees where the others stand. I watch them until they disappear into the trees, but instead o' leaving, the group stays put looking back at the mansion.

Another what the fuck filters through my head. I look back at the house just as all the sounds in the world disappear. It feels as if someone has sucked in all the sounds in the world, like taking a deep breath and holding it.

I'm knocked off my feet as the sound detonates, blasting out o" the house, carrying stone and glass with it. I roll to my stomach, pulling my chin to my chest and covering my head with my arms. The debris showers down over me, pummeling my body where it lies on the ground.

Sucking in a breath when the hailstorm ends, I stand, groaning in pain. The trees block some o' the carnage, but nae all o' it. I stumble towards the tree I'd been hiding behind before the blast, and I push my weight against it.

In the clearing where the headquarters o' the Order o' Death stands decimated, are the people who'd also been spying on the house. They've walked out o" the trees and the glow o' the fire from the explosion lights up their faces.

Shock and awe blast through me just as the explosion did minutes ago. There stand four men I've photographed over the last few months coming and going from the Order, but their presence isnae what surprises me. It's the girl and boy standing with them.

Tears bathe their faces, with the light glistening off the wetness like diamonds. Contrary to the tears, their mouths arenae sad or depressed. Nae, their mouths stretch wide, wreathed in happiness, the emotion is so evident it's almost palpable, even from a distance.

Fucking hell!

I stand there, thoughts and possibilities swirling, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. The group in the clearing watching the building burn blew it up. I have no doubt. But I also have no clue why.

Some o' the group move away, back through the trees, leaving two guys behind. Although the smaller guy's face is blocked, he appears familiar to me. The bigger guy moves to stand in front o" the smaller guy and that's when it hits me.

It's the boy from the warehouse. The boy from the warehouse stirs something inside me that I have nae felt since Simon was taken from me, and I cannae fathom why. Looking at him now, safe and away from the clutches o" that foppish prick Samuel Nicholson, I sag against the tree. Gratitude that he is alive and seeming well comes at me from some unknown place.

Shaking my head at the ridiculousness o' my fascination with the guy, I try to come up with a plan now that the only one I had just blew up in front o' my eyes.