PROLOGUE
FLYNN
It’s the silence that sickens me. Enfolding me, choking me, threatening to end my life and free me from this madness. I can almost count every beat of my heart as I wait for it. The sense of a storm building that many will not survive. It’s always there, a twisted promise of damnation because of him.
The scream shatters the silence as it always does. Piercing, terror filled and tortured.
Logan raises his eyes to the heavens as if there is any help there.
There is no one to help the poor unfortunate woman who has captured Wesley’s attention tonight.
My nails pierce the skin on the palm of my hand as I try desperately to focus my mind on anything other than the horror unfolding behind the closed door.
I wish I could help her. I want to set her free, but that is out of my control for now.
A gunshot carries through the stone walls and Logan looks to the floor. My own eyes raise to the heavens in a silent prayer for her soul. She’s at peace now. I must be grateful for that, at least.
Before I can catch my breath, a slight movement in the corridor catches me off-guard and on autopilot I draw my weapon.
Logan is still looking at the floor and doesn’t react quickly enough, and as the shot rings out, I dive for cover as it hits the stone beside my head.
More gunshots follow as I roll to the side and take aim.
I can’t be certain how many gunmen there are and fire at will, covering Logan, who is flat on the floor. Has he been hit? Is he dead? I almost pray for that myself, but the will to survive kicks in and my bullets find their mark.
As the gun smokes in my steely grasp, I pause and wait for more to follow. Nothing. Endless silence where death enters the room and admires a good day’s work.
I crawl across to Logan and spin him on his back. The gaping wound in his chest tells me he doesn’t have long.
The door remains closed as usual and as he gasps for air, I put pressure on the wound and whisper, “I’ve got you, Logan. Stay with me.”
His hand reaches out and grasps my jacket in a surprisingly strong move and he pulls me down to his rasping lips.
“Promise me you will find Vivian Clark and Iris Young.”
“What are you talking about?” I whisper my confusion and his eyes are wide and frantic as he gasps, “They will set you free.”
“I’m sorry man, who are they?”
I’m confused and wonder if he’s delirious and as he drags his final breath he whispers, “Your mother.”
As his vacant eyes stare at me no more and he faces his sins, I am left with more questions than answers.
My mother, he said.
I never knew I had one.
For a moment I stare at my uncle’s consigliere as if I’m dreaming. Then I glance past him and see the gunman on the floor, who appears to be fresh out of high school. Carefully, I lower Logan to the ground and close his eyes, whispering a prayer for God to have mercy on his soul. Despite everything, he was a good man and one of the few I admired. Then my attention reverts to the gunman and as I peer closer, my heart twists when I see the youthful face of a kid who was sent to do a man’s work.
The door opens behind me and my uncle shouts, “What the fuck is going on? Is that Logan?” He sounds more angry than grieving and I snap, “The kid shot him.”
Wesley heads across and kicks the corpse of the young man so it rolls on its back and spits in his face, saying cruelly, “Fucking amateur.”
“I don’t think Logan would agree with that.”
I glare at my uncle, who doesn’t even have the decency to pay his respects to his loyal consigliere, and he snaps, “Looks to be the girl’s boyfriend. I was warned she had one.”
I stare at the dead body and my heart breaks for him. He tried to save her, not knowing it was a fool’s errand.