Chapter 15

The minutethe trapdoor closed above Vince’s head, Zander took a second to ensure it was secure. He hadn’t known the tunnel was there when he’d bought the place; it was only by chance that he’d discovered it. He raced over to where he had his cache of weapons hidden in a compartment in the couch’s wooden frame. Vince would be pissed that he’d been sitting atop Zander’s weapons the entire time. The thought brought a ghost of a smile to his lips, which then disintegrated quickly.

Everything inside him rebelled at the idea of Vince and Scotty out there alone, but he did what needed to be done. It was up to him to deal with his uncle. Zander was the only one who could. It would be his privilege. He screwed on the noise suppressor to his gun, shoving another Glock into his waistband and a knife into each of his ankle holsters. Next, he left the room with quick but quiet strides. Outside the office, he found the breaker box and pressed a switch, plunging the building into darkness.

Then he pulled a pair of night-vision goggles over his eyes.

Melting into the shadows, guns at the ready, he waited. Not a moment too soon, either, because he heard the door creak open. Heard their breaths.

He couldn’t recall if Derri had mentioned how many men his uncle was traveling with, but it didn’t matter. Zander knew how his uncle worked. And this suited Zander perfectly. Murray would wait for the dirty work to be done before he made his entrance.

So, Zander gave his uncle what he expected…dirty work.

The men passed by his position in a single file.

He smiled.

“Fuck, why is it so dark in here?” one of them murmured.

“Shut the hell up,” someone else responded in a harsh whisper. “Everybody spread out, search this place top to bottom. That marshal guy has to be in here somewhere. And find me some goddamn light!”

Each man—seven in total—went off in a different direction, and Zander waited patiently. He was used to waiting. Been a while since he’d been back in this head space, but it was as easy as slipping on a familiar and comfortable pair of socks.

Heartbeat steady. Breaths even. Feet planted.

One of the men sidled up to his hiding spot, a hand swiping against the wall…in search of a light switch, maybe? His hand swept over Zander’s chest.

The guy froze.

Zander didn’t. He grabbed him by the face, palm over his mouth to muffle any sound as he brought the hand holding the gun up and double-tapped the trigger. Two bullets to the forehead. The guy’s body jerked backward, but Zander grabbed him by the front of his shirt, keeping his body from falling and making a sound.

A surefire way to give away his position and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

He lowered the dead man to the floor at his feet, dragging his body into the alcove Zander had been hiding in, away from view.

Then he moved.

One down, six more to go.

He tracked each man on silent feet. Lucky for him those fuckers kept bumping into each other and the other obstacles in their way, giving away their positions. With each kill, he dragged the body into a corner and moved on to the next.

“Where’s Phil?” someone asked. “Phil, where the fuck you at? Gary?”

Zander grinned, sidling up to the speaker’s back. “Right here,” he whispered in the guy’s ear, and when the idiot spun around, Zander gave him the same special treatment he’d given the others before him.

Double tap to the forehead.

Six down, one more to go.

The last one was inside the office, and he only knew that because there was the faintest light bobbing around in there. Appeared as if he’d found light after all.

He crossed the room, standing at the open office door, listening to the guy curse up a blue streak. “Place is fucking empty,” he muttered to himself. “Somebody gave the boss faulty intel. Goddamn it.”

The news would send Murray into a rage. He didn’t like being played and more often than not, it would be his men who’d bear the brunt of his anger and frustration.

“Alright, let’s get the hell outta here.” The guy walked out of the office then stopped abruptly. “Where the fuck is everyone?”

“Dead,” Zander helpfully supplied from the shadows. He spun the other man around with a hand on the back of his neck and put two bullets in him. This time, Zander stepped back and allowed the body to crash to the floor. Wasn’t anyone around to hear the noise anyway.

Then he took a deep breath.

He’d left the life, but not because he’d fallen out of love or disillusioned with it. He’d actually liked what he did until he’d found himself questioning how he’d ended up there in the first place. But he was fucking good at killing, always had been. And tonight, he’d use that to find out the truth about his family’s death.

And protect the men he was…

Not the time to think about that.

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?

“Nobody betrays me and lives,” Murray said softly. “Nobody.” He lunged and the force of their collision had Zander losing his balance. He crashed to the ground, taking his uncle with him as one of the guns fell from his grasp.

“Motherfucker!” Murray bared his teeth and something hot and sharp burned in Zander’s side.

Fuck. He gritted his teeth at the pain, rearing back and then slamming his head into his uncle’s. Murray cried out and toppled off him. Zander scrambled for the gun and brought it up as Murray lifted a hand, something glittering in the light.

Pfft pfft.

Two shots under that motherfucker’s chin and Zander rolled away, sitting back on his haunches, chest heaving. He eyed his uncle, who was sprawled out on his back, eyes open and unseeing at the sky, the bloodied knife he’d used on Zander lying inches away. Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and stood over Murray. And just for good measure, because it was what his uncle had taught him, he put another bullet between that bastard’s eyes.

“That’s for my family. And for Vince. Bitch.”

Warm, sticky blood soaked his t-shirt and slid down into the waistband of his jeans. He ignored it, ignored the searing pain, too, that had his vision swimming every time he moved.

Or breathed.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a number he hadn’t used in longer than he cared to remember. A number he’d memorized.

“Who the fuck is this?” a female voice, hoarse with sleep, answered.

Zander frowned, holding the phone up to his eyes to ensure he’d dialed the correct number. He had. “I need Toro.” It shouldn’t hurt to speak, but it did. He closed his eyes briefly, pressing his free hand to the wound in his side.

There was a rustle and a murmur of voices. “Who is this?” Toro asked.

Zander blew out a breath at the familiar voice. “It’s Kian.” Toro didn’t yet know he’d changed his name, and now wasn’t the time for that.

“Kian? What. The. Fuck? Where?—”

“I’m gonna text you an address.” Zander didn’t give him time to voice all the questions he knew his friend had. “I need a thorough cleanup. A-fucking-SAP.” He sent Toro the info with trembling fingers turned slippery with blood. “And I need it so that nobody around that location asks any questions.” And by nobody, he meant the authorities.

“Alright, got it.” Toro didn’t miss a beat. “My people will be there in half an hour. I’ll make sure it’s handled.”

Toro was the nephew of the former head of a Mexican cartel. They’d become friends by chance; Zander had shown up to kill someone on orders from his uncle and found Toro already there, doing the same. They could’ve turned on each other, he’d been prepared for it, but Toro had simply smiled and slit the man’s throat as Zander watched. While blood had dripped onto Zander’s pants leg, Toro had offered him a beer. They’d been friends ever since.

He’d told Toro his plans about faking his death, but this was their first contact since Zander left his old life behind. Toro had always been someone he could rely on, and he was so fucking grateful for the trust they had in each other.

With Toro’s help, that was at least one thing off Zander’s plate. Now, he had to find Vince and Scotty. “Thank you, Toro. I owe you one.”

“I think you know by now that you don’t.” His friend hesitated, then asked, “Do you need anything else?”

He needed Scotty and Vince. “Nah, I’m good.” He hung up and sent a text to his employees, telling them he was closing up shop due to an emergency and didn’t know when he’d reopen. Done with that, he dropped the phone to the ground and stepped on it with his heel, crushing it. Then he made his way back inside the building, though it took longer than he would have liked.

Walking was… It hurt. His feet dragged, but he made it. Swallowing the pain, he bit his tongue, tasting blood as he climbed down the trapdoor and made his way through the tunnel. Part of him hoped Vince and Scotty were long gone.

Another selfish part of him hoped they’d waited for him.

His movements were slow, as if he were walking through molasses, and blood dripped to the ground with every step he took. He sweated, mouth dry, vision going in and out. He stopped long enough to tear off part of his t-shirt and tie it around the wound, though he knew that didn’t really help much.

By the time he exited the tunnel into the silent parking lot, he was shaking so badly he could barely stand. He blinked sweat from his eyes as he glanced around, searching for the two men he shouldn’t have found in the first place.

He didn’t see them.

And he couldn’t deny the disappointment, as sharp as that blade his uncle had shoved into his gut. He’d told them to go. Why had he expected them to stay? At least they were safe and?—

“Zander!”

His body jerked. He turned to the right and there they were, Scotty racing toward him, Vince a few paces behind.

There they were.He took a step toward them but his knees gave out, and he was unconscious before his body hit the ground.