“Where are you?” I ask as I open the medicine cabinet and reach for my toothbrush. I know that my tone is harsh and demanding, but I don’t know how else to be right now.
I have to save Bentlee, and while I never thought I would sacrifice a brother to do it, I don’t have any other choice that I can make.
“Um, why?” he asks quickly.
I squeeze a generous amount of toothpaste onto the bristles, run it under the cool tap, then begin to scrub my teeth furiously.
“Because I need to see you, man,” I tell him after I spit into the sink. “Are you alone? Is Queenie with you?”
“Gareth, are you okay?”
Tristan sounds genuinely concerned for me and it makes me feel like shit.
“I’ll be fine once you tell me where you are,” I tell him with a forced laugh as I turn off the faucet. Grabbing one of the small hand towels in the linen closet, I wipe my face clean, then toss it into the hamper and lean against the sink. “Are you gonna tell me or do I have to find you? Because if I have to go searching for you, I’m gonna be in a bad mood when I get there, brother.”
Tristan clears his throat. I can hear the shuffle of him covering the receiver with his hand, and mumbled conversation. I smile despite myself, because the only person he’d be talking to face to face besides me or one of us that isn’t Arthur, is Queenie.
“Still in Vegas,” he finally says.
“Where in Vegas?” I press. I’m trying to keep my head on straight, but the faster I get rid of him, the faster I can get Bentlee back from wherever the hell it is she disappeared to.
Tristan sighs into the receiver loudly. I understand his sudden caution right now. I’ve never been this pushy with him before and he probably can feel the danger on the horizon.
“I’ll meet you at The Warehouse.”
The line clicks dead and I find myself wondering if I can really do this. I swore an oath to protect him and now I’m finding a reason to justify that I’m going to do him harm.
It doesn’t matter.
Nothing does.
Until I get Bentlee back in my arms, everyone is a fucking mark and I’ll kill them all to get her back.
Chapter 13
My heart is heavy.
I’m walking into The Warehouse, my favorite abandoned building to work in, to take a life I have no right laying claim to.
I understand Arthur’s reasoning, and I know it’s my job to do as I’m told, but I don’t foresee forgiving myself for this for a long time to come.
Shifting the backpack off my shoulder, I reach in for my gloves and let the bag fall onto the dusty ground. Nothing inside of me will want to be in this fucking organization after this so I won’t need anything to carry these in anymore. I shrug my jacket off and kick it to hell. I don’t care where it goes and I won’t look for it when I know I won’t be able to even look at myself in the mirror anymore.
Materialistic things never mattered to me before and besides—the very man that gave me that jacket as a gift is the same man that’s going to add another layer of blood to my gloves.
I crack my neck as I pull on the left one, pulling the strap into place, before I pull on the other and use my teeth to pull the strap tightly enough that I know it won’t fall off.
“Tristan?” I call out into the darkness. I flex my fingers inside of the gloves as I walk down the empty, desolate hallway that feels as empty as I do, and call for him again. “Tristan?”
“In here!”
His voice is wrought with nerves and fear, but at the end of the hallway on the right, I can see a dim light emanating from one of the many empty rooms and I take a deep breath.
I’m sorry.
Epilogue
“What … what the fuck’s going on?” I ask when I enter the room.