But if they were vampires, why would they need all those medical supplies? Vampires were supposed to heal quickly. This didn’t make any damn sense.
A week had passed since their interrupted meal and Ethan’s visit from both Carl and Marcus. He was avoiding Carl as much as possible as he tried to figure out the best way to tell the man that he wasn’t going to do his dirty work anymore. He also hadn’t found a good way to come clean to Marcus about why he’d taken the job in the first place. The problem was that if he told Marcus, he’d definitely lose his job as well as any chance of discovering the truth about who killed his family. Fuck, it was all a mess, but at least he had something more pressing to worry about than his own problems.
With his heart pounding, he snatched up the list and his phone from the table on his way out the door. He rode the elevator down to the garage where Janice had stashed Marcus’s Mini Cooper in a parking spot for him. Since starting the job two weeks ago, he’d used the car only once to run and get supplies for packing up Marcus’s house. The rest of the stuff he ordered and had delivered directly to the town house.
He sped to the nearest all-night superstore, praying that the cops weren’t looking as he drove well above the speed limit. Finding the medical supplies wasn’t difficult. He grabbed everything Marcus listed and a few items he might not have thought of. Ethan had no idea what was wrong, but he wanted them to be prepared for anything since it was obvious that they weren’t going to the hospital.
The store didn’t have much selection in the way of whiskey, but he managed to locate a large, cheap bottle. If Marcus’s brothers were anything like him, they wouldn’t care for the taste, but Ethan knew that they didn’t want the alcohol for the taste. They were looking to numb. A trick Ethan had succumbed to more than once on the anniversary of his family’s murder.
On his way through the store, Ethan ran across a section that carried musical instruments and other equipment. He glanced at his phone to see that he still had a few minutes before he needed to race to Marcus’s town house. Walking briskly down the aisle, he looked over the various instruments, strings, tuning devices, rosin, pics, and reeds until he finally came to a small area displaying bows. There was only one marked for a cello and Ethan snatched it up. He knew that if this was Marcus’s brother, the man likely had something fancy, but this might help ease his pain until he could get something he was more accustomed to using.
He rushed out of the store, putting everything on the corporate credit card Janice had given him on his second day of work. When she’d said he’d need it for planning the move and running random errands for Marcus, he never thought he’d be using the card to pay for medical gauze, whiskey, and a cello bow.
Parking outside the town house with only two minutes to spare, Ethan rushed to the back door and used his key to let himself in. The door led straight into the kitchen. He flipped on the light and his heart stopped to see blood smeared across the black-and-white checkerboard floor. More was smeared across the center island as if someone had slid a blood-covered hand across it, using it for support as they moved through the room.
Swallowing the rising fear and all-too-familiar memories of that horrible night, Ethan forced himself to continue through the kitchen toward the heart of the house. It didn’t take him long to hear raised voices. He followed the noise.
At first, it seemed like none of the lights were on in the house, but he finally spotted light spilling across the hall floor from the library.
He picked up his pace, rushing toward the room, but his feet halted at the threshold. A tall, slender man was stretched out on the leather couch, his shirt soaked with blood. There were long scratches across his face, and his dark hair was matted with what looked to be sweat and blood. His skin looked too pale under the yellow light of the lamps.
Another man kneeled at his side, his hands pressing against his chest as he spoke softly to the injured man. From behind, Ethan thought that the kneeling man might be Rafe. Marcus hovered nearby, rubbing his hand through the man’s hair. More blood was smeared across his face and coated his hands.
“Marcus,” Ethan croaked. His hands shook. He’d not seen that much blood in years. Not since that night. His entire body seemed to lock up. Air refused to enter his lungs beyond a few tiny sips.