Page 183 of The Wild Charge

Once again, they arrived at a landing without knowing what to expect.

“Last floor,” Devin whispered. “Unless they’re on the roof.” He went in first, low, rifle against his cheek, with Tenny poised over him; ready to shoot on two levels.

It was dark, here, save the city light that pooled through the windows, faint puddles on the floor. In the center of the room, a section cordoned off with pale, plastic sheeting, cool light glowing on the other side.

A silhouette: a hanging figure, dark and still.

~*~

On the other side of the window, Ian could hear the quietpiff piffof suppressed gunfire as Albie, Pongo, and John dealt with the other security guards in the antechamber.

Nikola Howard made a distressed sound through the fingertips that trembled at her lips.

Matt Moretti surged to his feet. “What the fuck? What–”

“Easy, easy,” Ian sang, digging the tip of his sword cane deeper into the roll of fat at Waverly’s neck. “I’d prefer not to run him through just yet.”

Sal Moretti was a heavier, jowlier version of his son. He huffed like a bull, face flushed dark. “Jesus Christ. Who the hell are you? What is this?”

“I’m so very glad you’ve asked. Do sit down, Matthew, you’re out of your depth, darling.”

Slowly, expression thunderstruck, Matt eased back down to his chair.

Bruce cracked the door open, and Albie stepped through, stowing his gun. He nodded, once.All done.

“Right, then.” Ian extended his hand, and Bruce tossed him his mask like a frisbee. He caught it in his free hand and ducked into its strap; pulled the bit of plastic down over his face. It was matte black, a simple demon façade, complete with curving horns. “I’m Shaman. You may have heard of me.” Beneath the lower edge of his mask, he flashed Waverly a toothy smile, one made terrifying by the disguise, he knew. “And you’re all going to help me put on a show.”

~*~

The plastic shifted, crackled, and then came loose from the ceiling and folded slowly down to the floor, floating and wavering like a leaf. Tenny was dimly aware of Marshall Hunter, the gun he held in his hand, his badly-masked furious expression. His attention instead went to Reese: hands bound overhead, chained to the ceiling, dangling like a side of beef. They’d stripped him down to his boxers. A knife was sunk in one thigh; blood from several long lacerations dripped down the other. His whole torso was livid with the shadows of newly-forming bruises, skin patchy and red from a beating. Greasy hair shielded his face, but he stirred, as the plastic fell; lifted his head a fraction. One eye was swollen shut, the other hazy and unfocused as it skipped past Devin, and landed on Tenny. His abs flexed as he sucked in a breath – and then that brief tension bled out of him, as quick as it had appeared, and his eye closed again.

Tenny started forward.

And collided with Devin’s outflung arm.

“Wait,” Devin said, calm and commanding.

It took every ounce of self-control not to strike him. To hold still, and gather his wits, and focus on the last threat that stood between him and Reese.

Hunter’s gun was trained onhim, he saw. Right at his face.

Just as Devin’s gun was trained on Hunter’s face. “How are you wanting to do this?” he asked. “You shoot him, then I shoot you? Doesn’t leave you many options, now, does it?”

“Where are my boys?” Hunter asked.

“Bit tied up at the moment. But why don’t you and me make this more interesting, yeah?”

Blood dripped off Reese’s toes.Plink. Plink. Plink.

Tenny ground his teeth. Everything in him screamed to charge forward – but he couldn’t get Reese down from the ceiling if he was dead, head caved in from a bullet like Jax’s.

“You’re the father, right?” Devin went on. “The patriarch? Well, so am I. It’s really our faults these boys – all of these boys – have suffered, isn’t it? So why don’t we leave them be, and let’s you and me hash it out. Man to man. Father to father. And leave the kids out of it.”

The muzzle of the gun shifted over, so it was pointed at Devin. Sweat had turned Hunter’s brow slick and greasy-looking. “Or I could just shoot you.”

“I don’t think you will.”

Scowling, jaw clenched, furious, Hunter advanced three steps toward them, gun unwavering on Devin’s face.

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