Page 160 of The Thief
"Keep talking," I say. "Every word makes killing you easier."
Trace slides along the floor, and I know that he’s trying to find a weapon. I raise the knife, letting him see the steel.
"What are you going to do? Cut me? We both know you don't have the stomach for real violence."
"You murdered my grandfather. The man who gave me a family. You think I don't have the stomach for avenging him?"
"I think you're all talk and no action. Just like your father."
The mention of Dad sends rage shooting through my veins. "Don't you dare?—"
"Killian was weak. Soft. He chose love over power, chose family over strength. That's why he's dead."
"He's dead because psychopaths like you can't stand the thought of people being happy."
"He's dead because he made enemies he couldn't handle."
The sound of engines outside cuts through our conversation. Multiple vehicles approaching fast, tires screeching on gravel. Trace's eyes go wide. He thought he’d kill me and Henry and be gone before Freddie came back.
Car doors slam. Footsteps run toward the house. Then Freddie's voice sounds, sharp with panic and rage.
"Tríona!"
Relief floods through me so intensely I almost drop the knife. He's here. He's alive. He came back.
"In here!" I call out.
The front door explodes inward, splinters flying as Freddie kicks it off its hinges. He bursts through with his gun drawn, Maverick and Stephen flanking him, Emmanuel and the others close behind.
Freddie takes in the scene in seconds. Henry's body, me sitting beside it with a knife, Trace bleeding on the floor. His face goes through several emotions at once: relief that I'm alive, grief at seeing Henry dead, murderous rage at finding Trace here.
"Jesus Christ," Stephen breathes.
"Are you hurt?" Freddie asks me, his voice tight with barely controlled emotion.
"No. But Henry..." My voice breaks on his name.
"I know. I can see."
Maverick and Emmanuel move toward Trace, weapons ready. He raises his hands slowly, smart enough to know that any sudden movement will get him shot.
"Well, well," Trace says. "The cavalry arrives. Little late, though."
"Shut the fuck up," Maverick snarls.
Denis pushes past the others and drops to his knees beside Henry's body. His face crumples when he sees the wound, when he realizes his grandfather is really gone.
"Fuck, Henry," he whispers.
Malcolm and Danny appear in the doorway, take one look at the scene, and their expressions harden into something dangerous. Their great-grandfather is dead, murdered by the man we've been hunting for months.
"Get him out of here," Freddie says, nodding toward Trace. "Before I do something we'll all regret."
"Where do you want him?" Emmanuel asks.
"Alive. For now. We've all got questions. Once we have answers, then we’ll kill him slowly."
"Freddie." My voice is smaller than I want it to be, but saying his name grounds me, reminds me I'm not alone anymore.
