Chapter 25

Sky

25

Staring death in the face can have a certain effect on a man's mind.

The fabric of time and space narrows, and everything moves slower and slower until it's just me and my rapidly firing thoughts. I'm standing in front of three men with weapons trained on us. Raylan is right beside me, and the two of us are about to die. But my mind keeps calculating, my eyes scanning everything. Even in what appears to be the final moments of our lives, I am still looking for a way out.

Raylan tries to talk some sense into Masterson. "You're going about this the wrong way. You can't sweep us under the rug, not anymore."

"You underestimate the Black Hand's reach," Masterson sighs. "Do you think I want to be here? I had a good thing going in the Seattle field office. I didn't choose this."

"What brought you here, then?" I ask.

He gives me a sour look. "Do I look like I have time to tell you my life story?"

"You've got all the time in the world," I reply. "You've got us, and you're about to kill us. But as a man with a badge, a man claiming to do this in service of his country, you owe us the truth, at least. We served this country, too. We might as well know what this is all about before we make our peace with the Lord."

The bodyguards remain quiet, but their eyes never leave us; their guns remain aimed at us. There's no escaping unless we distract them. I only need a split second, but in order to do anything—even the slightest hand movement—I have to knock Masterson off his game.

Nothing gets a sociopath unfocused better than an opportunity to talk about himself, and I can tell he is itching to do so, to tell us all about how much smarter he is than the rest of us.

The man is desperate to gloat.

"I had a bad shooting a few years back," the disgraced federal agent says. "I was injured in the line of duty, and they were going to bench me. The Black Hand got involved through one of their people. One phone call and I was reassigned to the New Hampshire Division. The Bureau didn't want the stain on their record, and I needed a place to retire before retirement, if you know what I mean. I was thankful, don't get me wrong. They saved my ass, but that meant I owed them a favor."

"What did they have you do?" I ask.

"None of your fucking business. But I did it. No questions asked. I thought that would be it, though."

Raylan chuckles dryly. "It never is."

"Precisely," Masterson sighs. "I got hooked on painkillers in the meantime. The stress of the job. The Black Hand constantly asking me to do this and that. At first, the tasks were manageable, but then they required me to start killing folks. I tried to draw a line there."

"You poor soul. They wouldn't let you," Raylan pouts.

"I do not appreciate the snark," Masterson replies and points his gun at me. "They don't give you a choice, okay? You fight them, and they'll squelch you like a fucking bug. So, what could I do? Quit the bureau? They would've just had me do something else. I am forever indebted to them, and I've stopped resisting. But here's the thing, gentlemen, once you stop resisting, it's different."

"Let me guess, champagne wishes and caviar dreams," I mutter.

"Close enough," he chuckles lightly. "Life does get better, I'll give them that. It gets to a point where you realize there is no real sense keeping things ethical anymore, in claiming the moral high ground. We're all dirty at the core. At least the Black Hand is doing all this filthy work to help clean the system altogether."

I raise a skeptical eyebrow at him while my hand is slowly preparing to grab the nearest object—a vase on the shelf closest to me—and smash it over his head. We only need a fraction of a second to duck their line of fire. Once they're flailing and frantically desperate to recover the lost ground, Raylan and I will be able to fight them, or at least get the fuck out of here with minimal damage. At least the plan sounds sharp in my head. But Raylan, Kendric, and I share a brain so I trust Raylan to be on board immediately.

"Let me guess, the Black Hand are the unsung heroes of New Hampshire," I say sarcastically to Masterson, wondering how much of his own Kool-Aid he's drunk. "They're doing things that the justice system can't do."

"Oh, no, they're definitely in it for themselves," Masterson laughs. "But they are reshaping the sociopolitical mapof the state. Soon, they will become powerful enough to reach out to the neighboring states. By the end of the decade, they'll have the whole US under their auspices, and when that happens, you'll see the difference. You have to fight fire with fire and corruption with corruption. Once we get that ultimate seat of power, however, that's when things will truly change."

"And you believe this bullshit?" I reply.

"I am actively participating in making this a better world," he says, downright insulted. "Yeah, I'm having to get my hands dirty, but you need to break a few eggs to make an omelet. And as long as the Hand remains hidden, they can keep doing their work, I can keep doing mine, and nobody will be the wiser."

Raylan shakes his head slowly. "You still don't get it. The people of Everton already know about the Black Hand."

"Mad folks off their medication. Poor and desperate for attention, unwilling to take accountability for their failures," Masterson promptly retorts. "There's a thousand ways for us to spin this. It's not going to work."

"I think you underestimate the power of the people, my friend," Raylan says.

"And I think it's time we bring this unfortunate affair to a conclusion," Masterson responds, briefly checking his watch. "Our guys should be done with Henry's side of the business by now."

"You had him followed," I can barely breathe as the implications quickly sink in.

A gruesome scene unfolds in the back of my head, one of blood, terror, and death. It ends with Ariana's glassy eyes staring up at the night sky and with Kendric lying face down on the ground, pale as a sheet of paper, both gone from this world. It ends with Henry David walking away from everything and going on to win that state senate seat. The rage that fills me to the brim is too much to bear.

"Of course we did," Masterson said. "We've been tapping this guy's phones for months now. We knew what he was going to do and where he was going. I'll admit, I was offended to hear he thought so little of me, but hey, all's fair in love and war. I won't hold a grudge. The poor fellow will have to bury his daughter tomorrow, so, in a way, I feel avenged." He points the gun at me again. "Time to go."

POP.

Glass breaks and I instinctively duck.

"Argh!" one of the security men cries out.

Bullets dart across the room, and all Raylan and I can do is crawl away from the sudden burst of violence. Masterson tries to fire back, but he catches one in the throat. The blood sprays over Henry's impeccable plush carpet, followed by the heavy thud of Masterson's dead body hitting the floor.

My heart is racing. I'm holding my breath, watching the bodyguards fail to shoot whoever it is that's firing at them. Within minutes, they both join Masterson in the next world.

A second passes. Then another.

Boots thud into the room. I grab one of the guns off the floor and jump to my feet, ready to fire if I have to, but the sight before me softens my hand. I drop the pistol and laugh with genuine relief as Spike comes in, clad in black and heavily armed. Sniper rifle on his shoulder and two Berettas on his belt.

"Wow, I thought I'd be late for the party," Spike says with a wry smile.

"You son of a bitch," Raylan springs out of the shadows and throws his arms around our friend and trusted partner.

"Damn, those lawyers are ridiculously good," Spike chuckles, welcoming our affection. "Are you two okay?"

"Yeah. How'd you know we were here?" I ask.

"As soon as I got back, I started asking around," Spike says, a frown pulling his brows together. "I saw Shiloh first, though. I had to."

"Of course," I reply, looking around.

"She's going to be okay, but she's pissed off and then some," Spike replies. "She wanted me to help, and honestly, I wanted to. I had a bad feeling about all this."

"There are two more at the front of the house," I tell him.

Spike nods once. "Already taken care of. I didn't come alone. Once the kid told us you never came out after he gave you the exit signal, I knew something was wrong."

"And you were right. It's even worse on Kendric's side," Raylan says. "We need to get to them. Right now."

Spike takes his phone out and starts making calls. "We'll need the whole club for this. They're all waiting for an order, anyway. Might as well put them to good use."

"Tell them we're headed to the mausoleum."

A sense of urgency takes over. We're going to need a solution for this mess that we're leaving behind. A dead federal agent and two dead bodyguards won't be something our lawyers will be able to clean up easily. And given that Spike has just come out on bail, I worry it will cost him dearly.

We rush out of the house and back to our truck. Raylan keeps trying to call Kendric, then Ariana. He texts them. Nothing. Radio silence. Every call and text that doesn't get answered feels like a nail in my stomach, dread unfurling in the back of my throat as I struggle to keep my eyes on the road. I'm flooring it. The pickup is racing madly toward a finish line I'm not sure I'm ready for.

I don't know what we'll find when we get there.

The thought of losing Kendric, of losing Ariana, is making my insides squirm, causing a devastating fire in my chest. We've lost so much already. Our clubhouse, our work, our livelihoods. It will take a long time to recover from what the cabal has done to us. It will take a long time to repair our reputation, as well. We've been dragged through the mud. We've been shot at and threatened. Yet we have remained strong and steadfast.

I'm terrified that it won't end the way I had hoped.

"Hang in there, Ariana, Kendric," I hear myself whisper, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly that my knuckles have turned white.

Hang in there.