Page 6 of Vengeful Reign

“Johnny, do you know all the men we lost today? I only saw about six men. We need to notify all of their families,” I say, wanting to give him something to do while I keep our discussion private.

“Yes, Boss. I’ve already started making a list, and Mickey went in the ambulance with Mr. MacNamara.”

“Is there anyone else at the hospital?”

“No, just the cops,” Johnny says.

“Send one of my father’s men to look over him, or better yet, after you get a list together, I’d like you to watch over him. I can’t trust anyone at the moment. Especially anyone that might work for him.”

“Yes, Boss.” He nods and disappears from the kitchen, leaving Connor and me alone again.

I continued our previous conversation and answered his question. “No, the attack was happening while I was working on the deal. I hadn’t even signed the contracts, but I’m not putting it past those assholes.”

“I’m glad Johnny is going over to monitor Dad. We need to have someone watching his ass.” I roll my fucking eyes and scoff as he tapes up my hand after applying some butterfly stitches.

“Personally, I don’t give a fuck, but if he has information, I don’t want anyone finishing the job they started.”

“I don’t think they wanted to kill him. If they did, he would have been shot in the head.”

“True, like they did Sammy. Either way, I want answers, and I want these fucks dead and my little brother back,” I snarl, slamming my good hand on the cold countertop.

“‘Our’ little brother, and we will, Jack. We will,” he says, pressing his hand to my shoulder. “Now let’s get back to your office so we can see anything else we missed before you lost your shit.”

“I was just the one to do it first. Don’t tell me my other glass isn’t fucking cracked.”

“Well, I sure as fuck wouldn’t trust pouring that high-quality liquor in it right now.” He chuckles, shaking his head and walking back to my office. I follow, feeling heavy hearted. My little brother must be frightened as fuck right now. John isn’t your typical five-year-old, and it scares me even more because they could kill him because of it.

John was born with brain damage, according to my father. My mother had a traumatic delivery, and she never recovered. He never mentally developed properly and was proneto fits of hysterics. The risk of his kidnappers killing him because of it was more than likely. Every minute he is in their hands is a minute too long. I’m grateful he has his nanny with him. She is one of the few who can at least calm him down. The only one who can get through sometimes.

Connor and I watch the video again, focusing on the vans, and each one is unmarked and indistinguishable. It’s the movement toward the van that catches my interest and then my brother’s. “Is she helping them?”

“No, she wouldn’t,” I mutter. She cares for my little brother and wouldn’t harm him.

“Maybe she’s only cooperating enough to stay alive,” Connor adds. It makes sense because there are bodies strewn about, and if Joanne wants to protect John, she’ll need to stay alive.

“We need to find them, and soon,” I respond, focusing on the now paused screen, staring at the final images of my little brother before he’s tossed into a van. “We’ll find you, buddy, and we’ll destroy all those who took you.”

The door to my office swings open, and my gun is trained on the bastard. “Fucking hell, Ian,” Connor roars at our younger brother, who looks like shit.

“I got here as fast as a plane can go.” He’s saying so much with so little, which scares me when it comes to Ian. The motherfucker is a different level of crazy. Connor and I kill people with pleasure and straightforward necessity. Ian will look for creative methods before finding something fun to do right after. One time, he offed eight people before going to a carnival, winning John eight stuffed animals—one for each of the people he killed.

“Did you fly one yourself?” Connor asks, staring at my wild-eyed brother.

“Yes.”

I cock my brow, wondering if he stole the motherfucker or if he borrowed it because our private jet has a pilot and as far as I’m aware is still in the hangar at O’Hare.

“Don’t tell me you stole one,” I challenge.

“No, I borrowed a friend’s. Now what the fuck is going on?” We give my brother the details as he polishes off three glasses of my whiskey like it’s water.

“Could you at least savor it?” Connor complains, glaring at our younger brother.

“Fuck off. We need to find him. This is all my fault. There’s no way I should have left this morning. I felt like something was wrong.”

“And you might be dead or in the hospital. It was a straight-up ambush, bodies lying everywhere. We lost a total of ten men, Dad is in the hospital, and John and Joanne have been nabbed.”

“I would have killed anyone who dared come for him.”

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