I hung up before she could question me further.
The Sinclair Manor House appeared below us, the oak trees dusted with snow, the gardens painstakingly swept from the light fall overnight. The pond had ice crystals glittering around the perimeter, and the sight of the stone mansion made my hair stand on end.
The pilots swooped low, scooping out the gardens and choosing a landing site not far from the sweeping deck that’d been added on before my parents bought the place. I’d eaten many a breakfast on that terrace and smuggled titbits from the kitchen for the birds and wildlife.
The second the skids hit earth, the closest mercenary to the door ripped open the fuselage and leaped to the grass. The rest of the men spilled out, waiting for me as I grabbed the cane one of the mercenaries had given me when we’d landed in Geneva.
A walking stick instead of a helpless crutch.
I’d loathed the thought of a crutch. Just the sight of it made sickness and weakness come to mind. I was neither of those things. I was deadly, determined.
Seemed a mercenary had felt the same way as he’d presented me with a simple black cane when we’d disembarked the plane. Where the fuck he got it from, I didn’t know or care, but I’d accepted it and left the crutch behind.
With my hand wrapped around the smooth ball at the top, I commanded, “Sweep the house, shoot the men, leave the staff. If you can’t tell the difference, shoot first then ask questions. I expect cold-bloodedness, gentlemen. My brother is out of lives. If he doesn’t die today, you will. I fucking guarantee it.”
They nodded, unholstering their weapons.
“Three of you, follow me.” Sweeping my gaze over my black-clad audience, I added, “When the other team arrives, have them bring me the package.”
The men fanned out—faster than me, more able-bodied than me, and that was why I’d hired them. They could do the dirty work. I only had one life to steal today.
As I climbed the steps to the deck, my cane slipped on ice. My leg bellowed, sneaking past Tritec’s defences as I put more weight on my broken bones than I wanted. The bite of cold air was foreign after years in the tropics, but at least the colder weather matched the arctic chill inside me.
Sweat from pain just froze instead of rolled.
Flushes from agony had no place as I limped toward the many glass doors offering the weak winter sun to enter the family room and kitchen. The mercenaries had already run inside. Shots fired. Voices raised before being cut off quickly.
I was almost too late to witness the takeover as I stepped into the immaculate Regency home just in time to see the last man drop.
Three guards? That was all Drake had?
Bullshit.
Marching with a goddamn limp, I used my cane to point at the locked doors to blau lounge. German for blue, it’d been decorated by my father who had a love of dark spaces after working in bright labs. He and Drake had spent many a summer holed up in gloominess while I’d run wild in the sunny gardens.
“Shoot the lock,” I snarled.
The mercenary closest did as I requested, blowing apart the intricately carved door. Wood shards flew like shrapnel, and the doors swung inward thanks to his powerful kick.
A gun fired from within, lodging a bullet right into his forehead.
He fell to the floor just as my team let fire, shooting at the enemy who’d killed one of my men, completely eradicating the remaining guards inside the lounge protecting my brother.
“Don’t hurt the girl!” I yelled.
Two heavy thuds of corpses.
No returning fire.
Another few bullet volleys from my eager men.
“Enough!” The click of my cane on the grey flagstones echoed as I limped into the lounge, stepping over carcasses as if they were nothing more than roadkill.
And there.
In the centre of the room, tied to a couch and deep in the grips of Euphoria was Eleanor.
Eleanor.
Her hands were bound, the yellow shirt I’d dressed her in from a guest villa dangling off her elbows. Her skin glistened from oil and her eyes were wide, seeing things I couldn’t.
Fuck.
My hand curled around my cane. My teeth clenched. And my heart managed a painful thrum before Tritec took control again.
I allowed the iciness to drag me back.
Cricking my neck, I peered at Drake.
Equally as naked as Eleanor, they were both no longer in Geneva but whatever fantasy he’d shoved them into.
Which one?
What hallucination would become my brother’s casket?
Everything seemed to slow. I stayed cold and unscrupulous.
I limped toward them, taking in the scene, noticing the fatigue shadowing Eleanor and the whiteness of her skin.
A small moan escaped her parted lips as Drake reached for her. Tethered to the couch, she had nowhere to go. She fought him off with bound hands even as her skin flushed and lust made her shudder.
I shoved him away.
He crashed over the coffee table, an empty vial rolling from where he stepped on it. He grunted in pain but even flipping over a piece of furniture couldn’t stop his attention from locking entirely on Eleanor, his eyes glazed with a different reality, his mind somewhere I couldn’t touch.
The vial crashed against my shoe.
I swallowed a growl, unable to control the flush of raw fury.
Fucking bastard.
He’d given her elixir.
Again.
She’ll die.
How ill-fated our love story had turned out to be. We both might die today. We might be buried side by side before we’d even lived.
I’m ending this.
Now.
A mercenary on my payroll sidled up to me as I snatched my cell phone lying on the floor. The same phone Drake had stolen.
“Want me to shoot him?” He raised his gun, aiming it at Drake’s head.
It would be so easy.
So fucking tempting.
But they shared the same fantasy.
Kill Drake and kill Eleanor.
I can’t.
“He’s mine to deal with,” I growled. “Sweep the house. Kill any other intruders. I wish to be alone with my brother.”
The man nodded without question. “Call if
