Page 167 of Secondhand Smoke

No answer, which meant yes.

“Tell me: when you were hurting my boy, did you get off on that? Did it give you pleasure to make him scream?”

Bill’s eyes came to his face, and something was glittering through the flat professional façade. Fear. Desperation. “I was doing my job. Don’t pretend you don’t know how it works.”

“Oh, I won’t. I got a guy downstairs with your job. And Iknowhe likes it, the big sick fuck.” Ghost pulled his gun off his hip. “Just like I know I’m gonna enjoy this.”

He stood, and put a round through Bill the Torturer’s head.

“Rottie,” he said into his radio. “We got one more up here, then have the guys bring the kerosene in.”

“Got it,” the tracker said back.

He looked at the two English brothers before him. “I want every computer in his house. Every flash drive you can find.”

“Yeah,” Walsh said.

~*~

“You know,” Mercy said as he dragged one of the corpses across the tiled poolside toward the house, “that’s what sucks about being the big ones. You gotta do all the heavy lifting.”

Colin grunted beside him, equally burdened. “Yeah, that damn Fox. Little bastard,” he said, dryly. “Never has to do the dirty work.”

Mercy laughed. Both of them had been shocked and delighted by the destruction Walsh’s little brother had wrought before their arrival. You didn’t mess with Charlie Fox. You just didn’t.

They reached the door that led into the kitchen and paused to catch their breath. Mercy reached for the door handle and glanced over at his brother. He was tired, sure, like all of them, but he was holding up alright. And he’d thrown his whole weight into the swing of the hammer, when they’d entered the fray.

“Hey,” Mercy said, and the seriousness of his voice drew Colin’s gaze. “You did good tonight. I’m proud of you.”

Colin’s grin was more of a grimace. “Oh, you’re proud?”

Mercy shrugged. “That’s what big brothers do.” Before Colin could respond, he opened the door and said, “Come on. We gotta build this funeral pyre.”

~*~

They laid Kev out in the backseat of one of the trucks. By the time they’d settled him and covered him up with jackets, he’d passed out.

“Better for him to sleep,” Sam said, easing the truck door shut. “He probably ought to be drugged, truth be told.”

Aidan shook his head. “He doesn’t like to take anything like that. He used to be a heroin junkie.”

Sam looked at him, gleam of her eyes in the shadows evidencing surprise.

“He was?” Whitney asked. She was crouched on the ground beside the rear tire, leaning back against it, small and curled up like some kind of woodland creature.

“Yeah,” Aidan said, and then he did what he’d needed to do since all of this had started. He snatched Sam into his arms and crushed her against his chest, face buried in the loose pale waves of her hair. “Sam. Jesus.”

She hugged him back, her arms tight around his neck. She shivered.

The wind stirred around them, rustling leaves, tugging at their clothes. Jazz was sobbing quietly somewhere behind them, Carter murmuring to her. It was the adrenaline bleeding out, Aidan knew. He wanted to sob himself; but his eyes were dry, and his breathing came easy as he held his girl and inhaled the sweet floral scent of her shampoo.

“You told Ava,” he said after a while, pulling back a little.

It was hard to tell, but it looked like she blushed. There was no mistaking the firm tone of her voice, though. “It was the right thing to do. We needed backup.”

“We did?” He grinned.

“Yeah. And correct me if I’m wrong, but Kev was taken because of some decision your dad made. Your dad’s mess, not yours. You’re learning to clean up yours,” she added, softly, “it’s time he learned the same thing.”

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