I give myself a sharp nod.
The door opens again, and Crius steps inside, wearing a black jacket with an oversized black cravat. He walks with a limp and leans heavily on a cane, looking frail compared to the man I shot at the age of sixteen.
My stomach plummets, and I pause, wondering if I was the cause of his weakened condition.
When the door clicks shut behind Crius, leaving him making his way to Mother’s body, I take hold of the key I left in the lock, inhale a deep, fortifying breath, and remind myself to make a quick execution.
Gunshots sound from the hallway. My jaw clenches. Thor and his people already got started.
Crius stumbles to the side, holding onto the edge of Mother’s table for balance. “You two, go out there.”
Both men reach into their jackets and extract their guns. I unlock the door and burst out, shooting the smaller one first in the head and then his larger associate between the eyes.
Crius turns around, his eyes widening, his mouth slack. A heartbeat later, he smiles. Delight twinkles in his blue eyes, as though he isn’t trapped in a mortuary and facing down his worst enemy.
“It would seem that rumors of your demise were exaggerated, my boy.” His gaze softens. “I couldn’t believe you of all my sons would succumb to the Bestlassons. It’s why I risked everything to see for myself.”
Common sense growls at me to shoot him. Shoot him now, before he worms his way out of retribution. Now, before he pulls out his own gun.
I ignore the voice of reason and continue toward Crius.
“Why?” I snarl.
His brows pull together. “I don’t follow.”
“You killed Mother.”
All traces of his smile vanish. “I swear to you, son, I didn’t touch your mother these past weeks. Not once.”
The pulse between my ears pounds against my eardrums and fills my skull with the resonance of rage. I walk to Mother’s table and yank off the sheet. “What do you call this?”
Crius gazes down from Mother’s face to the deep slash on her throat.
“Monica always took my words so literally,” he says with a sigh. “When I said she was dead to me, it wasn’t an instruction for her to commit suicide.”
“What?” I raise my gun, aiming at the spot between his eyes.
“Ah.” Crius raises a slender palm. “I wouldn’t do that, my boy. Not when my men have your surrogate sister, Quinn.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. It’s impossible.
No, it’s probable.
Crius would never venture out where I could kill him without a contingency plan.
“When did you take her?” I ask.
“They confirmed Quinn’s capture moments before I stepped into the City Morgue,” he says with a gentle smile. “If anything happens to me, my men have instructions to auction her to one of my overseas associates.”
My jaw clenches.
“It will take months to track her down and by then, it will be too late.” Crius nods to emphasize his point.
The edges of my vision turn red, and my breath shallows. I couldn’t save Mother, and now I can’t save Quinn.
A voice in the back of my head screams at me to focus. Focus on everything I know about Quinn. About Crius Vanir. Focus on the fact that he is no longer the all-powerful, forward-thinking monster of my childhood, but a man who will say or do anything to stay alive.
“Prove it,” I say.