Page 18 of Breaking the Code

Lionel McGivern.

The patriarch o' the McGivern family and the head o’ the Order in the UK. Old money made honestly by several o' his ancestors until Lionel and his day and grandda dirtied it up. Their businesses grew seedier and seedier as they passed from one generation to the next. From bootlegging to drugs to flesh. I don’t think they could get any closer to the bottom o' the barrel.

Lionel turns, facing me. For a moment, I think he’s spotted me, but he turns back to Rupert. They speak quietly, glancing around the area for threats and prying eyes.

Lionel turns and walks into the building. It had once been a factory, but like many factories, it closed for cheaper labor in foreign countries. Now, it’s a shell o’ what it once was.

At least on the outside.

Inside, it’s rumored to be a holding site for the Order o' Death. An appropriate name considering the devastation the Order has brought to so many lives. They are the evil I hunt, and Lionel is only one o' many.

The Order is a procurer. If a wealthy man or woman wants something, the Order finds it for them. Art, jewels, cars, drugs, guns, military-grade weapons, information. Humans. Ye name it, and the Order deals in it.

Everything has a price, and the Order sets it.

The door clangs shut behind Lionel, and Rupert Fisher leans against the crumbling brick wall next to the door his boss disappeared through. I watch him survey the area again as he pulls out a pack o' cigarettes.

The flame from his lighter lights up his face as Fisher takes a drag from the cigarette between his fingers. Distracted by his nicotine addiction and the phone he’s pulled from his pocket, he doesn’t notice me creep forward, making my way to him. Just as he raises the cigarette into his mouth, I step into view.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks, snarling at me. The cigarette in his hand hovering in front o’ his lips.

“Rupert Fisher?” I ask, staring him in the eye.

“I asked who the fuck you are? How do you know my name?”

He’s getting pissed. Good. I want him pissed. I will kill unprovoked if it’s an Order member, and while Rupert is technically a member o’ the Order, he’s a hanger-on. He doesn’t make any decisions or do anything other than protect Lionel and chauffeur him around.

“Who I am doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He steps toward me, dropping the cigarette on the ground. The smell o’ tobacco swirls in the air, tickling my nose and making it burn. I cannae stand the smell o’ the wretched things. They remind me o’ the priest at the orphanage. The man always smelled o’ smoke and whiskey.

“But ye see, Rupert. Ye willnae get the chance to judge anything or anybody,” I say.

Rupert snatches my hoodie in his fist, pulling me toward him. He may be big and broad, but I am bigger and broader. I grab his face, shoving him back against the wall. The thud his head makes brings a smile to my face.

“I am the judge and jury this time, Rupert. But first, what do ye know about Maeve Helvig?” I ask.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“My sister, ye daft fuck. The Order took her, and I want her back,” I respond.

He laughs despite the hand I have wrapped around his worthless neck. Arching my brow, I squeeze, cutting off all sound until he’s gasping. He slaps at my arm and pushes at my chest, but I’ve got him by three stone, at least. Not to mention the nearly nine inches in height.

“Answer my question, Rupert,” I order, my voice low and calm. Now that I’ve got my hands on the man, I can barely contain my anger.

He shakes his head as much as he can.

“Yer gonna die, Rupert. It can be the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to ye. Just tell me about Maeve.”

He stares at me, his eyes watering. They overflow and tears run down his face. I wait, and finally, he nods. I loosen my grip. He sucks in a deep breath. The rasp o’ air through his throat is loud as he gasps.

“Well?” I ask.

“It’s been twenty years,” he says.

Does he think I dinnae know how long it’s been since I’ve seen my sister?

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