Heedless: The Hellbound Brotherhood Book Four

by Shannon McKenna

  Nate understood the impulse, and respected them for it, but still, a wedding? Of course they had cops all around, and a massive security apparatus in place, but still. A vicious killer hated your guts and had no conscience, so what do you do? Gather together all the people that you care about in one convenient place, and send out invitations saying where they’ll all be on a particular day? Go ahead, kill us all in one swift blow, expending a minimum of time, effort and resources! Come on down!

  But nobody listened to him. And at this point, he’d hung around long enough to attract the Prophet’s curse to himself, the way a magnet attracted metal filings.

  The photo shoot was winding down, but Demi and Eric were still wound around each other, her skirt whipping in the breeze around his legs, madly kissing. The beaming photographer kept snapping picture after picture, unable to stop. Those two were stupidly photogenic. A wedding photographer’s dream come true.

  Demi looked up at him, eyes dazed with happiness. “Nate!” she called to him. “Get over here! We didn’t get one with you!”

  Nate obligingly climbed up and perched on the rocks with them. After that, he had to wait until they reassembled the rest of the security crew, at least the ones not yet on duty, and configured them around Demi and Eric. Then the photographer had to do all the Trask brothers together with the bride, and that ensemble was also ridiculously photogenic, Mace and Anton being just as tall and good-looking as Eric.

  Eric finally put a stop to it, to everyone’s relief, and directed the guy to take his camera into the reception hall and take pictures of the guests as they came in.

  Demi gave Nate a big, tearful hug. Her body vibrated with bridal nerves.

  “You guys don’t even know what it means to us, helping to keep us safe,” she told him. “So this can finally happen. A dream come true. I’m so happy.”

  “It’s cool,” Nate assured her, gently extricating himself. “Hey, looks like your guests are arriving.”

  “Yeah, they are, and you need to fix your hair before your grand entrance, Demi.” It was Fiona’s voice, from behind them. “For that matter, so do I. This wind is insane.”

  They turned around. Fi was a vision in skin-tight silver gray slit up to the thigh and an elegant shoulder wrap of the same color. The sleek dress highlighted her flawless body and her mane of curly, dark red hair, which whipped wild and free in the wind from the mountains.

  Demi turned to Eric, wiping the tears delicately away from her eyes so as to not ruin her makeup. “Are you coming in now?” she asked him.

  “Soon,” Eric said. “We just need to talk for a minute, away from any of the listening devices. Nate just mapped the ones that are in Bluff House, so take a look at the chart before you go into the party, both of you.”

  Demi’s eyes had the same hard glint as Eric’s. “Okay. Don’t be long.”

  “Five minutes should do it. I’ll meet you, and we’ll come in the French doors from the patio together.”

  Eric gave her a passionate kiss that lasted so long, the other men started to fidget and look the other way, but finally they tore themselves apart and Demi and Fi took their leave. Demi hauled her white skirts up over her arm as they made their careful way over the velvety turf.

  Eric turned to Nate. “No compromised cell phones are out here, right?”

  “None,” Nate said. “As discussed. I told Chief Bristol about this plan earlier, before the wedding, and gave him a burner phone, so he’s clued in, too.”

  It was a small club of people in the know. Eric, Anton, Mace, Jim Wong, Mitch, Clint, himself, Fiona, Demi, and Chief Bristol. No one else. They were keeping it tight.

  “So everyone’s seen the chart I sent?” he asked.

  They all nodded assent, but Anton was frowning. “I don’t like it,” he muttered. “It’s dangerous. It would be so easy for one of us to slip up.”

  “We have to try,” Mace said. “We can be exactly as focused as he is.”

  “He’s nervous now,” Anton said. “Which makes him more dangerous.”

  “Damn right,” Eric said. “He sees us planning a wedding and thinks we’re getting arrogant—”

  “Yeah, because we are,” Anton pointed out. “Or you are, anyway.”

  “He’ll think we’re acting like he’s finished,” Eric went on stubbornly. “Like we’ve won.”

  “He is finished,” Mace growled. “I’m going to snap that fuckhead’s neck.”

  “Take a number and get in line,” Anton said.

  “You had your shot,” Mace told him. “It’s not my fault you fumbled it. And Fiona got to stab him in the balls. It’s my turn to take a swing at him.”

  Anton gave his brother a look. “This is not a fucking amusement park ride.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Mace said.

  A tense silence followed. Both of the older Trask brothers and their respective fiancées had come incredibly close to death at Kimball’s hand. The scars he’d inflicted on their lives went back decades. They were marked by that bastard for life. And the worst could be still to come. From the info they had pieced together, Kimball had been developing some kind of virus thirteen years ago, when he faked his own death. He’d burned GodsAcre and its people to cover his tracks so he could proceed with his plan, using the underground medical lab to develop his viral potion.

  The Trask brothers had blown up the cave where the GodsAcre lab was located. The explosion had brought a big chunk of mountain down on top of it.

  They hadn’t figured out the details of Kimball’s scheme yet. Their best plan so far was to draw out Kimball, destroy him, and figure out the virus mess later. They could spend the rest of their lives analyzing the damage, trying to fix it.

  But first things first. Keep it simple. Cut the head off the fucking snake.

  Kimball wanted his virus back. He’d been secretly excavating up at GodsAcre for years, but now he was blocked, while various branches of law enforcement, plus the CDC, poked around up there. They’d found nothing useful yet, and were losing hope that they’d ever find anything at all. All they knew for sure was that exposure to this virus that Kimball had spread thirteen years ago rendered a person vulnerable to a weapon that Kimball and his goons had in their possession, one that Eric had named a “death-pen.” If it was pointed at a person who’d been exposed to the virus, they dropped dead, of a stroke, a heart attack, something like that. It was different for everyone.

  Kimball had been using this thing at will. He’d murdered Otis, the Trask brothers’ foster father, with it. Both of Demi’s parents, too. He had to be stopped.

  He was getting impatient. Maybe even desperate.

  With Nate’s strategy, perhaps they could lull him into a false sense of control, feed him information, and flush him out, choosing their time and ground.

  “I’ve got a set of burners for the sensitive intel,” Nate said. “Use your regular cell for normal daily business. Always assume its mic is on and Kimball is listening, no matter where you are or what you’re doing.”

  “My team at Erebus is working on plugging the security breach. In the meantime, we turn his hack against him,” Eric said. “Stay in the open if you have to talk about our business. Don’t talk in cars, or indoors, or near your smartphones.”

  Nate reached into his bag, pulled out labeled burner phones and passed them out. “I’ve programmed our numbers into each one. We’ll get fresh ones in a few days.” He handed two each to Anton and Eric. “Make sure Demi and Fi know the drill. I’m going to give one to Elisa, too.”

  Mace’s eyes sharpened. “Elisa? Why?”

  Nate felt self-conscious. “She should be in the loop. She’s Demi’s confidante. She works at Demi’s restaurant, which is compromised. She put me on the spot while I was mapping bugs in Bluff House. She didn’t know what I was up to, and I couldn’t explain. It was awkward.”

  Mace grunted. “Fine, as long as she knows the drill.”

  “I’ll see that she does,” Nate assured them. “We’re safer
with her on board.”

  Eric, Anton and Mace exchanged knowing glances. Eric cleared his throat. “So, about Elisa,” he said carefully. “Are you two, ah…”

  “No,” Nate broke in. “I’m nowhere with that. Don’t rub salt in the wound.”

  “Sorry you feel that way,” Mace said. “But I think your conclusion is flawed.”

  “Mind your business,” Nate said. “I’ll give her a burner after the reception.”

  “Let’s bait the trap tonight.” Mace’s eyes had a glow of wild eagerness. “Let’s get him going right away. It would be fun. Why wait?”

  “Because I’m leaving for my honeymoon,” Eric said harshly. “We wait.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Right,” Mace said sourly. “The honeymoon you absolutely could not delay.”

  “I’m done delaying,” Eric said. “We’ll start when I get back. You only get a honeymoon once. If you put it off, it’ll never be the same.”

  “Jesus,” Mace muttered. “Who knew you were such a sentimentalist.”

  Eric and Anton exchanged glances. “He doesn’t get it,” Anton said to Eric. “He can’t get it. So there’s no point in trying to explain it to him.”

  “Damn right,” Eric agreed. “His time will come. He’ll eat his words.”

  “I fucking hope not, at least while all this shit is happening,” Mace grumbled. “And I hope it never does, if it fries my brain like it has for you two bozos.”

  Eric shrugged. “Be that as it may. I have to go make our grand entrance to the party with Demi. Who’s covering the approaches?”

  “Kamal’s in the trailer covering the monitors,” Jim Wong said. “We’ve got two men patrolling outside, and two inside.”

  “Good, then,” Anton said, his voice resolute. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Eric gave him an ironic glance. “We’re not going into battle,” he said. “It’s just my wedding reception, okay? Lighten the fuck up.”

  Anton just looked at him. “I still have a bullet hole healing in my shoulder. Fiona had to shop all over town before she could find a dress that didn’t show the stitches on her back. And you’re telling me to lighten up?”

  Eric looked defensive. “I couldn’t wait for this one second longer,” he said. “Kimball is never running my life again.”

  “Let’s skip this conversation,” Mace suggested. “We’ve got good people covering us. Let them do their job. Let’s get drunk and dance the night away.”

  Eric strode away, shaking his head. Tension radiated from his broad back.

  Mace turned to Anton. “Was that necessary today?” he asked. “It’s too late to change his mind about this. The guests are here, the food is prepped, the champagne’s poured. Why second-guess him now?”

  Anton blew out a frustrated breath. “It’s fucking self-indulgent,” he said. “They could have just gone to City Hall rather than this big production. We could have toasted them with tequila shots at the roadhouse and called it good. But no, we have to do a big party, with embossed invitations and a notice in the paper. For fuck’s sake, Kimball is probably reading our lips right now via satellite linkup.”

  “Let him sweat,” Mace said. “That’s what we want, right? It’s part of the plan.”

  Anton rubbed his shoulder. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  “Me neither,” Mace said. “So we need to go on the offensive. Draw that motherfucker out. Make him think we’re getting cocky. He’ll panic, and make a dumb move, and we crush him. Then we’re free, and the Prophet’s curse will be broken.”

  “I know,” Anton growled. “Don’t lecture me.”

  “And at this point, it’s not just for us,” Mace pressed on. “It’s this whole fucking town, even though most of them don’t deserve it. It’s Otis, and Demi’s folks, and Terry Cattrall. And all the other people who were killed by this thing. And who knows? There might be more at stake that we don’t even understand yet. Maybe more people. Maybe all people. We don’t know how infectious it is yet, how it spreads.”

  “I know,” Anton repeated. “I know all that. I’m just fucking tense, that’s all.”

  Mace nudged his shoulder. “So go relax. Get a drink. Chill.”

  “I can’t, and neither can Fiona,” Anton said. “She won’t relax until she sees Kimball’s corpse on the ground at her feet. And I don’t fucking blame her.”

  “Oh, fine,” Mace snapped. “Go be miserable together, then. Go hover over Fiona in the ballroom and spit nails at the wedding guests, if that’s your jam.”

  “Stop breaking my balls,” Anton retorted. “You haven’t seen the woman you love stabbed in the back in front of you. It changes your perspective. Trust me.”

  “I know! I just want to make all that go away!” Mace protested. “So you can live your best lives. True love, picket fences, the pitter-patter of little feet—”

  “Is this just a joke to you?” Anton demanded.

  “I am dead serious,” Mace snarled. “And I’m also right! Hiding and cowering and trying to play it safe will just prolong the agony.”

  Fiona came out onto the patio, her hair catching the light as it blew in the wind. She beckoned to them imperiously.

  “There’s your cue, big brother.” A hint of amusement crept into Mace’s voice. “Your ladyship calls. Jump to it if you know what’s good for you.”

  Anton turned and strode away without another word.

  “Oh, come on! Don’t be mad. You’ll spoil the party!” Mace called after him.

  Anton raised his middle finger without turning.

  Nate studied his friend. “You were begging for that,” he observed. “From both of them. You know that, right?”

  “Their asses are so tight,” Mace complained. “No sense of humor at all.”

  “Yeah. Getting shot does that to you,” Nate said.

  “Yes, I know, from bitter experience. The difference is, I always get it back eventually. Not those guys. They have no discernible sense of humor at all. Their dour GodsAcre upbringing burned it all out of them. What a fucking bore.”

  “It didn’t seem to work on you, though,” Nate observed.

  “Yeah, funny thing,” Mace said. “The more hard-assed the people around me get, the more of a smart-ass I become. I imagine it’ll get me killed someday. But whatever. So be it. I can’t change it now. It’s baked in.”

  “Don’t bug them at the reception,” Nate said. “They’re primed to explode, so don’t light the fuse. It’ll ruin the party, and too much has been ruined already.”

  Mace lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. “Since when did you get invested in how well my brother’s wedding reception goes?”

  “Elisa worked really hard on this,” Nate said, feeling self-conscious. “She wants Demi to be happy with the party, the catering. So ease up. Don’t spoil it for them.”

  “Ah, the fair Elisa again. What’s good for her is good for you, eh?”

  “Don’t bug me,” Nate growled. “My sense of humor isn’t in the greatest shape right now either.”

  Mace rolled his eyes. “You guys are all hopeless. Fine. If we can’t tease my brothers, we can tease Kimball. Let’s make the guy shit a brick. We can mutter about finding a chunk of an old centrifuge machine in the wreckage. That’ll get him going.”

  “Don’t rouse him while Eric is gone,” Nate warned. “Anton isn’t up to speed, and Fiona’s back is still healing. We’re stronger together. Eric pounded Kimball’s first team by himself. If Kimball comes at us, you’ll want Eric to help.”

  Mace’s face was unusually serious. “Do I? I almost lost my brothers. That doesn’t make me feel strong. To be honest, I’d rather face that son of a bitch alone.”

  “Tough shit,” Nate said. “That’s the price you pay for caring about people.”

  Mace cursed under his breath. “Fine. If we can’t go in there and declare war, we can at least go in there and get shitfaced. And ogle the catering crew while they trot around in those skin-tight black pants. Mmmm. Sweet.”


  Nate slung the gear bag over his shoulder without replying. So Mace had also noticed how good Elisa looked in her catering outfit. And so? Mace had as much a right as anyone to notice. Certainly as much right as Nate.

  Rising to the bait would just open him up to more ridicule.

  4

  Elisa wished she had a few spare seconds here and there to stare at Nate. Tonight was her last chance. These memories had to last her. For the rest of time.

  Besides, Nate was so gorgeous tonight. Looking away from him felt like a tragic waste. He filled out that classy, well-cut gray suit so perfectly. Those thick, broad shoulders, tapered waist and strong legs. But then, he looked good in everything she’d seen him wear. And he’d look especially good in nothing at all.

  Good thing she was too busy to dwell on that extremely dangerous thought.

  She circled the room like a shark, nudging and hustling her crew along. Nate was always there, in the corner of her eye, which made her resolve to appear serene and confident. Not sweaty, wild-eyed and desperate.

  A locally famous group from Seattle, the Vicious Rumors, was playing the music. They’d just recently broken out on the national scene and hardly ever did weddings anymore, but Anton knew everyone in the music scene from his high-profile career as a famous DJ. He’d pulled strings and called in favors. As a result, the music and dancing were great.

  Demi came over to hug her at one point, flushed and radiant from dancing and champagne. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done,” she said. “You guys were amazing. The food, the decorations, the catering. It’s my ultimate wedding reception.”

  Elisa thought about the bus ticket in the pocket of her jacket, and tears welled into her eyes. “I’m so glad you liked it,” she said. “The whole staff loves you and wishes you well. We all think you deserve the best.”

  “Well, I got it. And I’m so lucky to have you.” Demi hugged her again, even more tightly. “And this is probably the wrong time to ask you this, but I will anyway, because I’ve drunk too much champagne and I just want to put it out there. I’ve been wondering if you’d consider going into partnership with me.”