Blood Brothers (Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2)

by C. D. Hersh

  “You turned me in?”

  “I was hoping you’d do that on your own.” Roc stonewalled him, and Rhys continued, “I know you didn’t have anything to do with putting Lila in the casket, but I know you know something about how she died. If you work with me I could get your plea down to accessory to the fact. We can nail the SOB who killed the woman you love.”

  Agony rippled over Roc’s face and he laughed. “You know something about that, don’t you, bro? Funny how our lives have been so much in line. You lost the woman you loved, that detective Alexi Jordan, and I lost my Lila.”

  “How did you know about her?” Rhys asked, startled.

  “I have many sources at my disposal. Did she die because of you, bro?” He paused, watching intently.

  Rhys scrambled for his most noncommittal game face. “It was a heart attack. But I should have been there protecting her.”

  “You can’t stop a heart attack. Don’t blame yourself. Me, on the other hand.”

  Rhys held his breath waiting for the confession he needed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he finally said. “Whatever I say isn’t going to bring her back.” He leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hands between his knees. “I talked to my dad.”

  “Which one?”

  “Cecil Decker. He warned me away from Falhman.”

  “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard. Did he say why?”

  “Doesn’t want me going down with him. As if anyone could take down Falhman,” Roc said with a scoff. “You know, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. Dad always thought getting close to Falhman was a big deal. But since Lila’s death, he’s been different.”

  “He knew Lila?”

  “No,” Roc said a little too quickly. “I meant in the time frame since she disappeared he’s been different.”

  Rhys’ cop alarms went off. Cecil Decker is tied to Lila’s death. Maybe Roc is innocent. He studied his brother, and his heart sank. Guilt poured from Roc, the emotion running through their blood bond. What was he guilty of? Killing Lila? Letting her down?

  Rhys couldn’t discern which from the guilt rushing between them. But if Cecil put the body in the casket, that might be a clue which would lead to something.

  “I think we should do what your dad suggested and keep away from Falhman.”

  “But if he’s our real father?”

  “He’s an evil man, Roc.”

  “What makes you think I’m not? I am the rogue Promised One.”

  “You are also part McCraigen. The bloodline of good Turning Stone members. Falhman said so himself.”

  “To draw you into his scheme, not to make me a better man,” Roc said, scoffing.

  “Well, it makes you a better man than him.”

  “But not as good as you.”

  “We can work on that, if you want to come to my side.”

  “There it is,” Roc said flatly as he straightened in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “The real reason you’ve been hanging out with me and Sylvia. You want me to defect.”

  “Isn’t that why you wanted to get to know me, you and Sylvia? By the way, I’ve never been here because of her. It’s always been because of you.” Rhys rose to leave. “Think about it, Roc. Let the McCraigen blood lead you for a change.”

  He strode to the door then stopped and swiveled on his boot heel. “I’ve been a cop for a while, Roc, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s the bad guy always pays in the end. Might take a while, but good will triumph. The universe will right itself in the favor of integrity and truth and justice. You’re at a crossroads, brother. Which way are you going to go?”

  As Rhys opened the door, Roc asked, “What should I tell Falhman when he summons me about us?”

  The door stopped halfway open. “Tell him I’m taking your adopted father’s advice and staying the hell away from him.” He pinned Roc with a pointed stare. “I hope you do, too, because I don’t want to lose you right after finding you.”

  Roc wasted no time in responding to Falhman’s summons. When he got there he discovered Sylvia was already ensconced in the wood paneled office.

  “Making plans without me?” he whispered as he took a seat next to her across from Falhman’s impressive mahogany desk.

  “Rogueman’s Bar business,” she replied. “After all, I do have my own interests. Mine and Owen’s.” She gave him a look he could only interpret as sly.

  Feeling uncomfortable under her stare, he said, “You didn’t mention my, or rather I should say, our, interests at all. Am I slipping lower on your radar?”

  “Depends on you, Roc. You certainly missed the mark the other night when you ran out on me. Frankly, I’m having trouble figuring out where you are, where we are, in the larger scheme of things.”

  Falhman entered and their conversation stopped.

  “You’re alone?” he asked. “I expected to see both my sons.”

  “Rhys sent a message. He wasn’t able to make it.”

  “A message is unacceptable.” He eyed Roc in a surly, pompous fashion. “I don’t even allow second hand messages from my underlings. I expect my family to be the example. Be certain you let him know how disappointed I am in this sort of behavior.”

  The vehemence he showed surprised Roc. At least Cecil Decker had been more lenient with him than he had with his underlings. Perhaps Dad’s advice should be heeded.

  “I’ll give Rhys your message, but I doubt it will matter. He’s rejecting your parentage and the offer to join you.”

  Falhman steepled his fingers, tapping the middle of his chin with them. Roc’s heart raced in double time to the motion. The clock ticking behind him seemed loud, too loud, and he wondered if Sylvia and Falhman could hear his heart as clearly as he heard the clock.

  After a long, pregnant pause Falhman said, “Did he reject you?”

  The question puzzled Roc. He’d expected an explosion of anger, not a question about his relationship to Rhys. When he didn’t answer immediately, Falhman’s eyes narrowed and he repeated the question.

  “No,” Roc said.

  “Did he try to dissuade you from accepting me?”

  “Yes.” Falhman had the power to read him. He might as well be truthful.

  “He’s a threat to us,” Falhman said. “We’re going to have to eliminate him.”

  “Why? I’m as strong as he is. There’s no need to hurt him. I can lead us to victory as easily as he can, maybe even better with your backing.”

  “Ah, but there is a need. If you don’t kill the enemy they keep coming for you. He’s a cop, Roc. A shape-shifting, ‘Promised One’ cop. People who believe in justice don’t stop coming after the bad guys. But the scales are in our favor, because they won’t go to any lengths to get what they want. I will, however, and so should you.”

  “He’s your son. How can you kill your son?”

  “I’m not going to kill him. You are.”

  “What!” Roc exclaimed. “How can you even suggest such a horrific thing?”

  “Horrific is such a harsh word, don’t you think? I prefer to think of it as proving your loyalty to me.”

  “People have to kill in order to prove their loyalty to you?”

  “I find it helps to cement the relationship. Don’t you think so, Sylvia?”

  Roc swiveled and stared at her. “You’ve done this for him?”

  Without answering, she shot Falhman a hateful glare, then looked away from Roc’s accusatory stare.

  “Come now, dear, don’t be shy,” Falhman said. “Help Roc see the wisdom in this practice.” When she did not speak, he said, “She killed Rhys’ girlfriend, Alexi Jordan.” He gave a short laugh and continued, “But I suspect it had more to do with her own motives than mine.”

 
Roc’s stomach rebelled at the thought of killing his brother. For a second he wondered at the sour taste rising in his throat. Before he’d met Rhys the thought of killing someone would not have fazed him. He knew his dad had eliminated plenty of problems this way. He’d been raised to understand as a Promised One he’d have to do the same, indirectly he’d always supposed. Not this way. Not by his own hand. As much as it had been ingrained into him, now it seemed wrong. He blamed his brother for that, or thanked him. He wasn’t quite sure which one was winning at the moment.

  Falhman’s expectant expression slowly changed into an angry mask. Without a doubt, the man was scanning him, seeing his indecision, his disgust for the whole plan.

  “Sylvia,” Falhman said. “Roc needs some persuading.”

  She withdrew a bundle of papers from her handbag and gave them to Roc. “We know about Lila Ramsey,” she said. “We know you killed her.”

  His heart thundered at her statement. There is no way they could know. It’s a bluff. He shuffled through the pages. Dated street-cam photos showing him and Lila coming out of her apartment building, including one of him alone on the night he killed her. His DNA test results. The baby’s DNA test results.

  “This doesn’t prove anything.” He shoved the papers at her.

  “You forgot one.” She thumbed the bottom paper from the stack and gave it to him, whispering, “I’m sorry, Roc.”

  He took the page and stared at it. A signed confession from his father that he, Roc, had killed Lila and Cecil had disposed of the body in an already-occupied casket.

  “How did you get this?” Roc demanded.

  “I guess your father loves his wife more than you,” Falhman said. “I, however, would never give my son to the authorities to save anyone.”

  No, you kill them to get them out of the way if they don’t agree with you.

  “Such a stupid move on Cecil’s part to stuff Lila’s body in my uncle’s casket, don’t you think? Did he really believe he was going to get to me that way?”

  “Where’s my mother?” Roc demanded.

  “Home, safe, and under my protection.”

  “Don’t you mean under guard? If you hurt her-”

  “Relax, Roc. I only needed her to force Cecil’s confession.”

  Growling, Roc crumpled the document and rose, fists clenched as he started toward Falhman.

  Sylvia yanked him onto the chair. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she hissed.

  “I can see you’re angry,” Falhman said with a predatory smile. “But you should direct your anger not at me, but at Rhys who caused this by rejecting me. I’m merely providing a solution for all of us. Are you going to take care of him, or do I have to solve this problem myself?”

  “I’ll do it, but my way. I won’t have him cut down by your goons in an ambush. He deserves to die like a man, face-to-face with me. Agreed?”

  “Excellent. I love an integrity slant to a killing.”

  An integrity slant? Was the man nuts? There was no integrity in murder. Roc’s thought struck him in the gut. He was a murderer. He’d killed Lila. In self-defense. Or was it? Mentally, he shook himself. He was starting to sound like his brother.

  “Do I have your word, for what it’s worth, on this matter?” he said to Falhman.

  “You wound me, son,” Falhman said with mock sincerity as he clutched his chest.

  “Considering what you pulled on me, Dad, I’d be an idiot if I thought any differently.”

  “I am nothing, if not a man of my word.”

  Roc frowned. That was, he supposed, as close to a promise as the slippery Falhman would ever get. He rose and strode out of the room. When he reached the hallway, Sylvia grabbed his arm from behind, yanking him to a stop.

  “I’m sorry about this, Roc, really I am, but I had no choice.”

  “You always have a choice, Sylvia. You made your stand with him, not me.” He jerked free of her. “We’re done. Don’t come crying to me when he screws you later. I won’t help you.”

  Sylvia watched Roc stride down the hall. As the front door slammed shut, she gripped her waist, forcing her sobs inward. Survival. I have to survive, no matter the costs. For me and for Owen. Squaring her shoulders, she returned to Falhman’s office.

  “Will he do it?” he asked.

  “You threatened his parents. What do you think?” she replied, her voice dripping ice.

  “That I need to hedge my bets. Gather your people. I want to be sure Rhys Temple, and whoever might be with him, except for Roc of course, will go down if Roc can’t complete the job. Take Owen, too.”

  “Owen’s not a shifter. He doesn’t need to be there.”

  “My dear, weren’t you listening?”

  Oh, she was listening all right. Stifling the urge to jump over the desk and throttle the man to death, she took a deep breath to calm herself. Patience. He’ll get what’s coming to him. I need to wait for the right time. It’s not now.

  “Do it, Sylvia,” he commanded in a voice as hard as granite. “You don’t want me to have to take matters into my own hands.” He stroked his neck with long, white fingers and then squeezed, sending a message she understood implicitly.

  She wheeled on her heel to leave, and his voice stopped her.

  “Make sure you take care of my still-devoted-to-me son, Roc, my dear. After all, our children are important to us, aren’t they?”

  His not-so-veiled threat against Owen poured down her spine like acid eating flesh. “Don’t worry,” she said in a saccharine tone. “I’ll take care of him.”

  Chapter 43

  Rhys came down to breakfast wearing a big smile. “Roc phoned,” he announced to Alexi and Eli. “He wants to meet tonight.”

  “About what?” she asked.

  Rhys sat. “Seems he’s had a change of heart about Falhman and wants to defect. He’s asking for immunity from his involvement with Lila’s death in exchange for information about the criminal dealings of his father and Falhman.”

  “He’s ratting on his dad? Both of them?” Alexi set a plate of eggs and toast in front of Rhys.

  Eli harrumphed. “’Tis a fine day when the fox turns preacher, laddie, but I dinna think ’tis today. He’s playing ye like a fiddle. From yer pleased countenance, I’d say yer liking his tune mair than ye should.”

  “His adoptive father, Cecil, did warn him off Falhman,” Rhys said as he slathered butter on his toast.

  “Then why rat on Cecil?” Alexi asked.

  “I’m sure he’ll say when we meet tonight. Alone,” he said, with a pointed stare at Alexi.

  “Over my dead body. You’re not meeting anyone alone.”

  “The lassie ’tis right. You shouldnae go alone. We’ll make a plan.”

  “I trust him,” Rhys said.

  “’Tis nae yer brother I’m worried aboot. Alone ye can take his verra life away with a touch. ’Tis Falhman and The Daughter o’ the Moonless Night that worry me. The two o’ them would sooner put the earth on yer eye, laddie, than see ye take another breath. I dinna trust them and neither should you.”

  “Where are you supposed to meet him?” Alexi asked.

  “Dew Drop Inn Bar and Grill. At 10:00 p.m.”

  “We’ll be ready at nine,” Eli said. “I’ll ring Delaney. She can bring a few o’ our side tae even oot the battle.”

  “There won’t be a battle,” Rhys insisted. “Only brothers talking.”

  “Don’t you mean a cop and a criminal? You can’t forget who he is, Rhys. He’s been a rogue longer than he’s been your brother.”

  The muscle in his jaw ticked as anger raced through him at her stubbornness. “I got through to him, Alexi. Can’t you understand? He doesn’t want to be a rogue anymore.”

  She started to protest, and Eli interrupt
ed. “Mayhap yer right. We must pity the man whose birthright ’tis tae eat dust. Roc ’tis from bad blood, but mayhap we should give the laddie a chance.”

  Alexi’s mouth dropped open at Eli’s comment.

  “Thanks, Eli. I did remind him of his McCraigen blood. He’s not all bad. He simply needs to find the good.”