Mason.
He wasn’t laughing. He looked sick. He waved off the offer of a ride in the limo.
“I’m going to walk a bit, clear my head,” I heard him say.
“Suit yourself, baby brother,” Dominic cheered. “Don’t have nightmares!”
The limo pulled away. Mason stood alone on the sidewalk. He lit a cigarette, his hand shaking so badly he dropped the lighter twice. He started walking down Fourth Street, heading toward the quieter part of town.
Perfect.
I moved out of the shadows, walking with a silent, rolling gait that made no sound on the pavement. I closed the distance. Fifty yards. Thirty. Ten.
He stopped at a corner, waiting for the light to change. There were no cars. Just him and the ghosts he was trying to drink away. I stepped up right behind him. I could smell the scotch sweating out of his pores. I leaned in close, my lips almost touching his ear.
“Thirty-one,” I whispered.
Mason froze. He went rigid as a statue. The cigarette fell from his fingers. He slowly turned his head, his eyes wide, bloodshot, filled with primal terror. He recognized me instantly.
“Hunter,” he stammered. “I… I didn’t…”
I grabbed his wrist. I didn’t squeeze hard—just enough to hit the pressure point. I twisted. He gasped, dropping to one knee.
“We need to talk about your sister,” I said softly. “And you’re going to tell me everything, or I’m going to start counting.”
I pulled him into the darkness of the alley. The hunt had officially begun.
I pushed him against the brick wall. “Please,” Mason whimpered. “Hunter, you don’t understand. I had to. He made me.”
“Who made you? Your father?”
“Yes! Victor. If I didn’t hold her legs, he would have done the same to me!”
I looked at him. He was twenty-two years old, wearing a watch that cost more than my truck. He had never worked a day in his life, never fought for anything. And he thought fear was an excuse for monstrosity.
“You held her legs,” I repeated. “You felt her fighting. You heard her begging you. ‘Mason, help me.’ That’s what she said, right?”
Mason flinched. “I… I tried to look away.”
“That doesn’t matter. You were part of the equation.”
I zip-tied his hands in front of him. “Where is the warehouse?”
“What warehouse?” He played dumb. A reflex.
I took the hammer out of my belt loop. I didn’t raise it. I just let the heavy steel head rest in my palm. Mason’s eyes locked onto it. He knew exactly what this hammer meant.
“Warehouse 4!” he blurted out. “At the docks, the South Terminal. That’s where the shipment is.”
“What’s in the shipment?”
“Guns. Modified ARs, military surplus. They’re shipping out to a buyer in Sudan on Tuesday.”
“And the others?”
“They went to Dominic’s penthouse. They’re continuing the party.”
Information acquired. I dragged him to my truck and drove him twenty miles out of town to an abandoned grain silo I knew. It was isolated, soundproof, and terrifying at night. I zip-tied him to a support beam.
“You’re leaving me here?” he cried. “I’ll freeze!”
“It’s fifty degrees,” I said. “You’ll be uncomfortable, but you’ll live. Tessa might not. So you sit here and pray she wakes up. Because if she dies, I come back. And I won’t bring water next time.”
I left him screaming into the darkness.
