Page 29 of Brother's Keeper

Down the hall, the sight of someone exiting the bathroom reminded me of what I had come to do. I rushed forward and ducked inside, setting the lock on the door before dumping the suit jacket in the sink.

The basin was wet from its last use, speckling the fabric as I rifled through it. Within moments, I found the interior pocket where I had stashed the guestbook pages. Empty.

Swearing, I dug into the other pockets and turned them out one at a time. They came up empty, as well.

The evidence was out there. Brought into this building and practically handed to the investigators by yours truly. My goal of staying out of their crosshairs was not off to a great start.

I spent the restof the day with Briggs’s odd speech and the missing guestbook pages competing for the top spot in my brain. After revisiting the interrogation room and scouring the Investigative Department as inconspicuously as possible, I’d exhausted all I could do at the Capitol. So, I shifted my focus to Briggs and his claims about Maximus working with criminals before I came along. Did he mean the Bloody Hex? Or some other notorious felons I couldn’t call to mind?

When Nash picked me up, I declined his offer to return me to the houseboat. We’d heard nothing from Donovan, and I interpreted no news as good news. He took me to Bitters instead, where I hoped to find the answers to a growing list of questions.

Upon arriving, Nash and I parted ways. He had to help Pippa get the bar up and running for the night, and I had my own businessto attend to.

I walked the perimeter of the old house, dragging my fingers along the whitewashed siding as I rounded the back corner. Against the foundation, a pair of double doors were set in a cement frame in the ground. The chain looped through the handles was secured with a padlock. I didn’t have the key, but recent practice with handcuff locks made this one a cinch.

Crouching, I wove a thought through the mechanism and popped it open. I grabbed the padlock and pulled it free, then pocketed it. The chain fell loose, and I pulled one door open, like a mouth yawning into the dark, dank underground.

The sun beamed from behind me, forcing me to squint into the shadows ahead. Sucking a final breath of fresh air, I descended into the depths.

The Bitters’ End cellar was the kind of place I would have been afraid to go as a kid. Raw wood steps led down to a low-ceilinged space cluttered with pipes and support beams. It smelled like rust and mildew and, as soon as I set foot on the packed dirt floor, I wanted nothing more than to go back outside.

It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust, identifying metal shelves cluttered with dusty, glass bottles, wooden crates stacked floor to ceiling and, in the corner, a man sitting on the edge of an iron-framed bed.

He rose to my approach, rattling the chain attached to his ankle. His gray hair was flat and caked with the same grit that lined the wrinkles on his face, but he remained unmistakable.

Maximus Lyle stood before me, alive and well enough, all things considered.

Three weeks earlier…

“I came to kill you.”

The older man was really flexing when he stared straight into my eyes, blinked once, then asked, “Why?”

Because Grimm told me to,I thought and immediately realized how pathetic that sounded.

I had the leader of the Bloody Hex dead to rights. Gripped in my mental fist and dangling like a ragdoll. How many times over the past twelve years had I dreamed about killing him? I’d never come so close. And then Donovan ruined it with some therapy-worthy daddy issues that unfortunately resonated with me.

That, coupled with a murder warrant signed by Maximus Lyle’s own hand, sent me speeding across town to save my own life. And follow orders. Like always.

Standing on Maximus’s front porch, I had no good answer for his question, so he filled the silence for me.

“Do you wonder what it feels like for the people you kill?” he asked. “Not death. Death is serene. A welcome release. A reward.”

He chose an interesting time to wax poetic. Maximus knew fully well what I could do. I could end his life with a targeted thought or flick of my wrist, yet no fear broke his mask of apathy.

“Have you ever considered the moments before death?” he continued. “The shock and terror, thinking ofeveryone and thing soon to be left behind?”

Shock and terror had transformed me from the willful teenager Maximus once knew into the practiced assassin facing him now. I would have reminded him of that fact if I hadn’t been abruptly gripped by the cold hand of fear.

It sent shivers through me, prompting a sharp suck of breath and stirring my heart to a rapid rhythm. What little mental control I had went straight to Maximus’s feet and fixed him in place. I held him with a shred of thought, squeezing my hand into a fist as creeping dread slowly overtook me. Cold and sweating, I glanced all around from the cover of the shady porch.

“Cut it out.” I aimed a venomous glare at Maximus. He was to blame for the emotional assault. Teaching a lesson he thought I should learn. Too little, too late.

The internal storm continued to brew, rising into my throat and choking me. I shook, and my muscles quivered like plucked bow strings.

My lungs felt compressed, wrenching out gasps that left me swaying. I stumbled forward and caught myself against the doorframe while Maximus remained mired in place.

My fingers scrabbled at the white-painted wood, seeking something real to dispel the imaginary terror. If Maximus wanted to save himself, scaring me straight was not the best tactic.

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