Ultimate Sins (45 page)

“How did you get in here?” she demanded, her voice still thick with tears, the sobs trapped in her throat still echoing in her voice. “Someone had to have helped you. If you could have accomplished it on your own you would have already done so.”

He smiled back at her benignly. “Darling daughter, just as you were unable to figure out how I slipped in and out of this house when the Slasher was having fun, you won't figure it out now. With that being said, kindly have a seat in that chair next to you so I can ensure I get away with no trouble.”

From his side he lifted the weapon Amelia hadn't seen. A handgun with a silencer attached at the end.

Oh God. Oh God.

She was barely aware of the whimpering sob that tore from her throat.

She had to stop him. She couldn't let him leave with her baby.
Oh God, please, please help me.

As the prayer whipped through her mind the bedroom door opened.

“Oh God, no.” Amelia reached out as though she could stop Wayne from pressing the barrel of the gun against Kimmy's head when Crowe stepped into the room.

Crowe didn't say a word. His gaze swiveled from Wayne, to Kimmy, then to Amelia.

His eyes were flat and hard, devoid of a single emotion for her to hold on to.

This was the man who'd killed Stoner, the one who'd tracked him, saved the two teenagers he would have raped, then shot him with no remorse whatsoever.

Whatever happened to Wayne tonight, Crowe would never lose so much as a moment's sleep over it.

She stared back at him in desperation. Wayne would take them both from her. She could see it in his eyes, in his smug smile. In the way that gun slowly turned on Crowe.

“Ah, how kind fate is being,” Wayne sighed, pleasure gleaming in his eyes as his gaze went over Crowe. “I keep thinking how much better it would have been had I killed your sorry ass when you were bawling at your mama's grave the night they buried her.”

“After you killed her,” Crowe reminded him, moving closer to Amelia as Wayne watched him with malevolent eyes.

“I put her out of her misery,” Wayne snapped.

“But she wasn't miserable, Wayne,” Crowe reminded him without any sense of gloating. “You killed her because of your jealousy, greed, and insanity.”

“I killed her because your father was a nosy fucking bastard,” Wayne snarled. “He just had to keep picking, just had to keep probing where he didn't belong. The day they signed those papers with the lawyer, he and his fucking brothers just had to take their wives to talk to that coroner about the bodies that were stolen from the morgue after I thought I'd killed that bitch wife of mine and her lover.” Wayne shook his head, regret flashing in his expression. “How I loved her, Crowe. And how she wanted to destroy me.”

“Why would she want to destroy you?” Crowe asked coolly. “You took her from me, Wayne. The least you could tell me is why rather than spouting pathetic excuses.”

What was he doing?

Amelia stared at her daughter as the gun remained trained on Crowe. Could Kimmy roll from the bed fast enough? She was awake, Amelia could
feel
it. Yet Kimmy lay there, quietly, to all appearances still sleeping.

“Pathetic excuses?” Wayne retorted furiously, his anger growing now that Crowe was in front of him. “I loved her. I loved her until I wanted to die when I learned she was screwing that damned Callahan bastard.”

“Would it have mattered who it was?” Crowe asked, sliding his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he tilted his head and watched Wayne the way a cat watched a mouse.

Wayne took a single step away from Kimmy, then stopped.

“It wouldn't have mattered who it was.” The gun trembled in his hand as his attention became focused solely on Crowe. “I still would have done everything I could to destroy it.”

“Even kill her?” Crowe said softly, musingly.

“Even kill her,” Wayne spat, enraged. “A thousand times over I would have killed her for daring to allow another man to touch her. Another man's brat to fucking invade her body. I'd kill her again if I could.”

“That isn't love.” Crowe shrugged carelessly as though what Wayne felt, or didn't feel, didn't really matter. “You can kill to protect the woman you love. You can die for her. But you can't hurt her. You can't take from her. And you would die before you see her hurt.”

“Like you love this little bitch?” Wayne sneered, waving his gun in Amelia's direction.

“Yes actually.” Crowe nodded slowly. “Just like that.”

“And if I killed her?” Wayne drawled, leveling the gun on Amelia's head.

“I wouldn't suggest that.” Crowe sighed as though growing weary with the conversation.

“And why wouldn't you do that?” Wayne's gaze snapped back to him.

Crowe smiled. “Whoever's helping you forgot to mention that Thea didn't arrive at this house alone.”

Wayne's eyes narrowed.

“She arrived with that lover you thought you killed when you thought you killed her,” Crowe said softly. “Tell me, did you know he was a sniper?”

The second the words left Crowe's throat, the window behind Wayne shattered.

Amelia jumped for her daughter even as Kimmy was rolling off the side of the bed to the floor. The connecting door to Amelia's parents' room was thrown open, Ivan and Jack jumping forward, grabbing Amelia and Kimmy, and jerking them to safety.

“Crowe,” Amelia cried out, desperate to know if he was okay, to know what was happening.

Turning, she tried to jerk out of her uncle's grip and reach the bedroom door. She was hustled into the hall just as quickly.

“Don't you fucking distract him.” Ivan was suddenly in her face, snarling down at her. “Your father couldn't get into the proper position. At the most, Wayne has only been wounded and that makes him even more dangerous. Distract Crowe, and you could cause his death.”

Her arms wrapped automatically around her daughter as Kimmy threw herself into the embrace. Amelia felt herself begin to crumple.

“Hey there, Little Bit.” Her uncle caught her, his voice, his arms gentle as he steadied her on her feet. “Crowe's the best. Remember that.” Lifting her face, he stared down at her, confident, certain in what he was saying. “Remember that, Amelia. When he walks out that door, it's going to be over.”

 

CHAPTER 29

Wayne wasn't dead.

Crowe heard Ethan's report as he managed to get himself into the best position possible, more than a mile away, and set his sights on the window and Wayne.

“No mark,” he snarled into the link. “Get that bastard to move.”

Crowe had only managed a few inches away from Kimmy.

“I can distract him, possibly wound him,” Ethan snapped, fury rasping in his voice. “That fucker.”

“Take the shot,” Logan commanded, following the orders Crowe had given him before he stepped into the bedroom.

“It fucking doesn't work like that,” Ethan growled. “I could end up hitting Crowe.”

“Crowe said take the fucking shot,” Logan snapped into the link before he could second-guess the orders Crowe had given. “Take the goddamned shot or he said he'll kick all our fucking asses. Starting with yours.”

Crowe had been prepared.

He was aware of Kimmy rolling just as Jack had promised she would do, and Amelia jumping for her, just as she had been taught to do by her father and uncle. At the same time, the bedroom door had opened and Jack and Ivan had pulled them both to safety.

Leaving Crowe with Wayne, because he didn't want Amelia see who he was. What he was.

Crowe stared at the dead man in the middle of his uncle Sam's living room floor. He swallowed back the need to vomit. His dad didn't vomit, neither did Uncle Ben, and they were standing there, too, staring at the man with cold, hard eyes.

Crowe knew his eyes weren't cold and hard. He was only twelve and all he wanted to do was puke. But he managed to hold it back.

“Is he a monster, Dad?” he asked, embarrassed that his voice was shaking.

“God, Crowe.” His dad knelt beside him. “You okay, son? You sure you're okay?” His dad ran his hands over him quickly as Crowe stared back at him, seeing fear in his dad's eyes for the first time in his life.

“I'm okay, Dad.” He took in a deep breath. “Did I do okay?”

His dad had started teaching him how to fight monsters. His uncles helped by always jumping from behind doors or trees, trying to scare him.

When the man had moved from the sliding doors and tried to grab Crowe, he'd done what his father had taught him. He'd buried his fist in the guy's balls.

“Did I kill him, Dad?” he asked, his voice kind of funny sounding. Like it wasn't his voice at all.

“No, son, you didn't kill him.” His dad stared into his eyes. Holding his head still, making Crowe just stare at him. “Look at me, Crowe.” His dad's voice was soft now, firm. That kind of firm don't-you-dare-disobey voice. “Did you hear me? You didn't kill him. You understand me?”

Crowe's eyes moved to the side involuntarily as he detected movement.

“Look at me, Crowe.” His dad's voice got a snap to it, and Crowe didn't dare not look at him.

“I am, Dad.” He tried not to, but his father was holding his head. “I see you.”

“Good boy,” his dad approved. “When I let you go, I want you to forget about this, you hear me.” His dad kept staring into his eyes. “You can't ever let Mom know, Crowe. Not ever. You're going to have to be a real man this time, son. You can't ever tell Mom. You can't tell anyone. Ever. Promise me.”

He wouldn't dare tell Mom. She might cry or something. He'd hate it if he made her cry.

His eyes widened. “No way, Dad.” His voice cracked as he made the promise. “No way will I tell.”

“Swear it, Crowe,” his dad urged, his eyes filled with so much pain and sorrow that Crowe swallowed tightly.

“I swear it, Dad.”

“Good boy.” His dad nodded, slowly releasing his head as he straightened. “You're going to be a fine man, Crowe. A good man.”

Crowe nodded and looked around.

He frowned.

There was no body. There was no blood.

His head swung back to where his father watched him sadly.

“Dad?” His voice trembled.

“It was a bad dream, son,” his dad whispered. “Remember that, it was just a bad dream. You okay?”

A bad dream?

He narrowed his gaze on his father, seeing the desperation in the other man's eyes, and he nodded slowly. He didn't believe it, but he knew his dad.

His dad said it was his job to protect his family, and he would feel like he wasn't protecting Crowe if he thought Crowe didn't believe him.

“It was a really bad dream, Dad,” Crowe whispered, a little scared now, but knowing his dad needed him to believe it. “A really bad dream.”

Relief filled David Callahan's gaze as he reach to ruffle Crowe's hair, then stopped. His hand fell on his shoulder instead, like he did with Crowe's uncles. He gripped it briefly. That was a “man hug,” his dad had told him once.

Did that make him a man now?

Keeping a secret not just from his mom, but from his dad as well? The secret that he knew, to the soles of his feet: His dad had killed a man that night. And his dad would never forgive himself if he thought Crowe would never forget the sight of it.

“Come on, son.” David guided him toward the stairs. “I'll go upstairs with you. Maybe tonight we'll talk about those monsters you have to watch out for.”

Crowe leveled his own weapon on Wayne's head, staring down at him icily.

“You can't do it,” the other man sneered. “You're as weak as your old man.”

Crowe grinned. “Remember the night your father disappeared, Wayne?” he asked softly, all too aware of the other two men who stepped into the room behind him.

Wayne's nostrils flared, his gaze going to Logan and Rafe as they came to Crowe's side.

“That man you're calling weak,” Crowe stated softly. “He killed that bastard with his bare hands. Ripped his head half off his neck when he broke it. I thought I was going to puke at the sight of his head torn like that, blood going everywhere. Then I remembered.” He aimed the gun right between Wayne's eyes as they widened and feral, cunning fear filled them. “I remembered, Wayne, monsters don't count.”

He pulled the trigger.

Staring down at Wayne's body, his eyes wide and glazed, the scent of death beginning to fill the air, he bent, cleaned his prints from the weapon, placed it in Wayne's hand, ensured his prints were in place, then let the gun fall to the floor.

Rising, he turned to his cousins, his gaze narrowed on them, knowing the men they were, and knowing that even though either one of them would have pulled that trigger if he had to, still, it would have kept them awake at night.

Just as he accepted that he wouldn't lose a second's sleep over it.

“He killed himself,” he stated.

His cousins stared back at him.

They were men.

The type of men who knew monsters existed and knew they had to be destroyed to save the innocent lives they fed on.

Both nodded.

“He sure did,” Rafe murmured, placing his hand on Crowe's shoulder and giving it a brief, hard squeeze. “Thank God.”

“He saved me the trouble.” Logan did likewise, placing his hand on Crowe's shoulder and squeezing.

A man hug.

“Do you think they know?” It was Rafe who spoke the question, his voice soft, filled with regret that the parents who had fought so desperately to ensure their safety when they were younger hadn't lived to see the day that their sons had avenged them.