Raven (Kindred #1)

by Scarlett Finn

  “Zara,” Grant hissed. She whirled around to see him cowering beside Sutcliffe who was on the ground wearing a grimace and clutching his leg.

  It didn’t click to her what had happened until she looked back at the men sprawled on the ground behind the van. A dark, wet stain began to seep onto the floor beneath them and she got it. They were dead. Someone had shot them. A sniper. A sharpshooter…

  Spinning on the spot, she fixated upward to the empty space where the roof had once been and examined the buildings overlooking theirs.

  Brodie was out there.

  She couldn’t see him—couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary—but she didn’t need to. He was there. Somehow, he knew where they were, he was watching, and he’d mistaken her mishap for a signal, for the signal.

  Grant began to snap his fingers to get her attention and found more volume. “Zara! Get over here!” he insisted.

  “A sniper!” Sutcliffe wailed, rocking and rubbing his leg. “You double-crossing, good for nothing—“

  “No,” Grant said. The party was over and his delight was replaced by fear and anger. “No, this wasn’t us.”

  When their eyes locked, Zara knew he was thinking of his brother. But Grant’s annoyance seeped away as it was overtaken by an expression of shock. There in the doorway was another person, who moved around Sutcliffe’s van and into the open space of the warehouse with his hands up to show that he had no weapon. Though if Brodie was still on a nearby roof, this man didn’t need a weapon.

  “Art,” Grant exhaled.

  She remained in place, swinging in the wind between her faction’s shelter and the van containing the weapon. No one was paying her any attention and she had no fear that Brodie would put a bullet in her. If he’d wanted to, she’d have gone down after Sutcliffe’s men.

  In a cool, soothing tone, Art spoke clearly, almost like a professional negotiator. “We’re here to resolve this. We’re here to tell you no deal will be done today,” Art said, maintaining his focus on Grant.

  “You keep out of this! It’s nothing to do with you,” Grant barked. “You put him up there, didn’t you? This was your doing! You came to ruin this!”

  Unruffled, Art didn’t react to Grant’s anger, which was why he’d have come to make this connection as opposed to Brodie. Art knew how to keep his cool. Brodie was too volatile to make first contact in this kind of fraught scenario.

  “We came to make you see sense and we’re family, boy. Someone suggested talk might get through to you. You’re not alone. You’re one of us… you don’t have to do this. Whatever the problem is, we’ll figure it out as a family.”

  “One of you?” Grant said in a voice so dark she might almost have mistaken him for Brodie. “You came to talk me down because he could never bring himself to talk to me. I’m not one of you, he’d never let that happen.”

  “What the hell is this?” Sutcliffe asked, still sniveling.

  Sutcliffe hadn’t been hit, as far as she’d seen anyway, but his tone suggested that he was in pain. There was no time for her to speculate about his injuries and no one answered Sutcliffe’s question because another person materialized in the entrance, and the whole room went into suspended animation.

  Her shock wasn’t exclusive; Grant had to feel it too. This was the last person who she ever would have expected to show himself. It was Brodie, tall and merciless in his dark jeans and leather jacket. There was no weapon in his hand, and he didn’t spare her or the men he’d killed a glance.

  Without a flicker of emotion, he went to Art’s side, and then moved a few steps further, stopping only when he was about equidistance from her in relation to Grant. She was right in the middle of the two brothers, but Grant was the sole aim of Brodie’s focus.

  “You’re one dumb motherfucker, Saint,” Brodie said in that husky snarl that her body immediately reacted to as though they were alone in his dark bedroom. “You think this shit was what you needed to do to get my attention?”

  No one could mistake how mad he was, or how hard he was working to dampen and control the rage that radiated through him. The fury that vibrated his form could have seen them all dead. But he remained aloof and maintained his empty expression.

  “Is that—“

  “Can it, Sutcliffe,” Brodie snapped when Albert Sutcliffe thought to talk. “This is a family matter.”

  “The Raven,” Sutcliffe’s said in a distant tone, making it clear that her once-upon-a-time-lover had a reputation that preceded him or previous business with the Brit.

  “Yes, I suppose I should make the introductions,” Grant said. “Zara this is my younger brother and my uncle. These are the men responsible for the destruction of our Quebec plant and the men working there. The men responsible for delaying our business, Albert.”

  Art might have looked at her but Brodie didn’t. His laser precise focus stuck on Grant and Sutcliffe who were the principal threats in the room. She knew Brodie was working, but she wanted him to look at her so she could read, or at least try to read his intentions.

  Was he here because it was her suggestion? Had their last couple of encounters been masks for his true feelings? Had he meant to protect her against getting involved with his darkness and way of life? Or was this him trying in a last ditch attempt to obstruct a deal that would otherwise force him to kill his own brother?

  “If you do this, I’ll have to act,” Brodie said, offering no apology or explanation. This wasn’t exactly what she’d meant by saying the brothers should talk. Making threats wouldn’t soften Grant. It would make him push back, daring Brodie to follow through, which if he was pushed hard enough, he would.

  “You’re too late,” Grant said, his voice full of triumph. “It’s done, the device, the virus; it’s all right there in the van. The money has been transferred. The deal is done.”

  “No, it’s not,” Brodie said. “Me and my crew are gonna drive that van right out of here. We’ve been waiting for this. You loaded it all up for the taking.”

  “No, I’m taking it out of there, Sutcliffe will load it into his van and then he’ll be gone and you’ll have failed.”

  Brodie began to move and when she glanced back, she saw that Grant was on a similar trajectory toward the van. Tightening her fist, jagged metal dug into her palm, reminding her that she had possession of the vehicle key.

  So dashing forth, Zara made a beeline to get there first. Leaping over the dead men, she slammed the doors then turned her back on the vehicle while fumbling to find the lock button. Once she did, the lights flashed and she spread her arms out on the back doors she’d just locked.

  Brodie and Grant had stopped less than eight feet from her, Grant to the left, Brodie to the right.

  “Zar, what are you doing?” Grant asked. “Give me the key and we’ll load up Sutcliffe’s truck. We don’t need anyone’s help. We’ll do it ourselves. We’re an amazing team.”

  After his address, she looked at Brodie with a heavy heart expecting a similar appeal. But as her breathing slowed and her soul screamed for avowal, he said nothing.

  She’d run over here before considering how she wanted this situation to play out. Glancing from one brother to the other, she tried to think of a way out that would make them all happy. She wanted them to talk, to bond, to put their differences aside and move forward together. But as she examined them now, she was struck by their stark differences.

  Brodie was aware, muscular, and lithe. Grant was shorter, polished, and less weathered. They had a different expression set on their features, which marked their different life experiences. The darkness made Brodie cynical, harsh, and angry. While Grant’s privilege made him feel entitled, eminent, and optimistic.

  “Give me the keys, Zara,” Grant said with a more stern edge and raised a hand when he stepped toward her.

  “You go one inch closer to her and I’ll snap your neck on principle,” Brodie said and his anger had become aggravated in a way that made her look twice at him.

  Brodie pinned t
he evil eye on his brother for more than a few seconds, but eventually his attention drew around to her and he lifted his palm.

  Grant glanced back and scoffed. “She’s not going to give you the keys. She thinks that she’s protecting me, she doesn’t understand that you won’t hurt me.”

  With his eyes locked on her, Brodie spoke to his brother. “She knows what I’m capable of. She watched me kill these men here, watched me kill that bastard’s nephew too, and she knows priority one.”

  That the Kindred always watched each other’s backs, she guessed that meant even if they were in a fight. But this was more than that, she wasn’t one of them anymore at least she hadn’t thought she was. Losing herself in Brodie’s gaze, she begged for direction, for answers, for some kind of assurance.

  “What are you talking about?” Grant griped. “She doesn’t know your damn priorities. I don’t know your damned priorities. Why don’t you stay the hell out of what doesn’t concern you!”

  Brodie didn’t respond to Grant’s fit, he just moved forward until he was in line with his brother, though they remained eight feet apart.

  “I’m right there with you, baby,” Brodie murmured in the same tone he’d used in the earpiece the night of the Grand incident.

  Taking a tiny sharp breath, she didn’t exhale before she spoke. “How do I know that?” she whispered.

  “You know it,” Brodie soothed. “You were right about everything.”

  She wanted him to mean it, wanted him to want her, but she couldn’t trust him in this perilous setup. “You’re telling me that because it’s what I want to hear,” she said, more aware of his tactics now and less inclined to be gullible.

  “Maybe I am,” he said. “But how do you want this to end?”

  She didn’t want it to end with Sutcliffe getting the device, which was what Grant wanted. The Kindred were here to stop this, meaning she wasn’t alone in her quest to subvert the deal anymore. Brodie could topple this. He’d already killed two men for the cause. He was more capable than she was and whatever the state of their personal relationship, he had the ability to achieve their united ends.

  “Why do you think I’m here now?” he asked and the sound of his voice reminded her to breathe. “This is what you wanted.”

  Brodie could have shot Grant and Sutcliffe. If he’d wanted to get rid of her, he could have put a bullet in her as well. But he was here, talking to his brother, at her request, because she had told him he could break through to Grant. Brodie had chosen to do things her way rather than to take the easier option and kill all the players.

  Exasperated, Grant was losing his cool. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded. “Give me the damn keys, Zara, now.”

  Brodie didn’t ask for them but did elevate his hand further. She had to make a choice. Grant: her boss and constant. Or, Brodie: her brooding ex with trust issues. Glancing her apology at Grant, she closed her eyes and tossed the key to Brodie. Betraying Grant broke her heart and his dismay was evident in his features, making her feel even more villainous.

  “Atta girl,” Brodie said and winked at her before he twisted and tossed the keys across the room to Art.

  He took a step in her direction. A gunshot razed the air, forcing everyone into a crouch. Seeking out the shooter, they settled on Sutcliffe who was hobbling out of the shadows, dragging an injured leg as he hopped on the other. She couldn’t see blood anywhere on him, but he could have injured his limb as he leapt to the floor out of Brodie’s visual field.

  Terrified about the possibilities now that a firearm was part of the equation, she returned to her state of panic. Seeking a way out, she noticed that while everyone fixated on Sutcliffe, Brodie was slowly moving, not toward the shooter as she might have expected him to, but toward her.

  “This has been a setup,” Sutcliffe exclaimed and fired off to the side again. “I want what I came for.” Zara assumed Sutcliffe must have stashed the gun here before arriving or secreted it on his person because she hadn’t seen it before.

  Switching the gun between his hands, Sutcliffe kept it outstretched in their direction as he shuffled toward his van. Art crossed to get in his way and Sutcliffe swung the gun around to point it at the man in his path.

  With Sutcliffe distracted, Grant took his chance to rush over to the back of the van beside her. Brodie maintained his concentration on the action, but was close enough to whisper over his shoulder. “Where’s the Sig?” he asked.

  Her thoughts pounced to the gun he had given her for protection. “In my purse, in the cab,” she said, wincing against the growl he flashed back at her.

  “Next lesson, readiness,” he hissed.

  “You brought a gun?” Grant asked, but she was given no chance to reply. “Where did you get a gun?”

  “Shut up, Saint,” Brodie snapped at his brother. “What the fuck were you thinking bringing her here?”

  It was nice that Brodie was being protective, but she wanted to point out that at least she’d brought a weapon. Grant was defenseless. Based upon that, she was more suited to this kind of gig than her boss was.

  Grant’s frown betrayed that he was definitely not pleased to have his brother passing judgement on him. “What’s it to you? How do you two even know each other?”

  “Biblically.”

  “Oh my God,” she exhaled, rolling her eyes to the heavens, but couldn’t deny it was the truth.

  Brodie grabbed her arm and shoved her. “Get to the front, stay behind the wheels,” he said, tussling her.

  “No.” Trying to push back, she put up poor resistance against his strength. “Beau—“

  “No,” he said, his eyes flared and he was already shaking his head. “This is not a fucking debate. Go.”

  She didn’t want to, but glanced over to see that Sutcliffe was getting closer to Art. The standoff wouldn’t last much longer. Slipping between the vans, she peeped out when Brodie moved in Art’s direction. Grant came into the space with her, moving deeper into safety.

  Sutcliffe was upon Art now, but Art didn’t blink or move away. “Drop the gun and we’ll let you go, Albert,” Art said.

  “I’m taking what’s mine,” Sutcliffe declared. “You can’t stop me.”

  “You know I can,” Art said, displaying nothing but ease. Brodie was edging closer, but his proximity was making Sutcliffe twitchy. “You don’t want to get into it with me and mine.”

  “You stay back!” Sutcliffe called out and shook the gun at Brodie a couple of times before aiming at Art again. “You get any closer and I’ll put a bullet in him!”

  Brodie ceased and there was a tense pause. Zara sidestepped, trying to get a better view of what was going on. The triangle of men was locked in a stalemate. Art and Sutcliffe were only about a foot apart. Brodie was still at least ten feet away. Art’s hands were up, Brodie was poised to move, and Albert Sutcliffe had no way out.

  “Put down the gun and we’ll let you go,” Art said. “That’s all you have to do.”

  “Give me the keys!” Sutcliffe insisted.

  Brodie exhaled a laugh. “You think we’re gonna let you do that? You’ll have to shoot us all before you get out of here with that shipment.”

  Sutcliffe’s scowl seemed to be considering his limited options. But his expression became panicked when Art swayed forward. Steadying his aim, Sutcliffe clenched his jaw and hopped on his good leg. He would never get the keys to the van carrying the device. Fighting his way through Art and Brodie was impossible given his injury.

  Making a run for it wasn’t an option either. There was no way he’d get between the two men and he would never be able to jump the vehicle anyway. It was on the inside, so he’d have to reverse through everyone and pass his own vehicle, which was currently blocking the way. That was a lot of variables for a man who might not even be able to drive at all given his infirmity.

  “Think about it,” Art said, still using his soft voice. “Be smart. You don’t want to fight with us.”

  “You’re right, I
don’t,” Sutcliffe said, shambling back on his one functioning leg. He glanced around, probably considering the allegiances of those left alive. Brodie moved to the side, obstructing some of her view.

  “Put the gun down,” Art murmured.

  But when Sutcliffe spoke again, he seemed to be talking to himself. “I only have one choice,” Sutcliffe mumbled. “I need a clean getaway.”

  The gun popped again and the startling noise made her jump. But her fear became terror when the sound of a body hitting the concrete turned her to ice.

  Brodie was still on his feet. Sutcliffe was limping away in the direction of his own van. She pounced forward to see Brodie rushing toward his uncle. Art. He was on the ground, and didn’t appear to be moving.

  “I won’t be taken down, you bastards!” Sutcliffe called out. “I’ll be back for my money, McCormack!”

  She didn’t care about him. Her wide eyes were fixated on Brodie who fell to his knees beside his bleeding uncle. Casting off her shock, she heaved in a breath, and ran across to Art’s sprawled form.

  Sutcliffe’s van started and screeched backwards in a haphazard curve then belted off into the distance. No one hindered his getaway because Art’s welfare had become their main concern. Brodie was in a crouch, ripping open his uncle’s shirt to reveal a spurting wound on his chest that made her shriek.

  “I got it, baby, don’t worry,” Brodie said to her, examining the wound as she collapsed onto her knees on Art’s other side.

  Brodie reached over to rip the sleeve off her top, and then pressed the balled fabric onto Art’s wound. Hot orbs of moisture hung on her lashes, but she grabbed Art’s hand and clutched it to her chest. She had never seen so much blood, but Brodie wasn’t worried. If Brodie said he had this then she trusted that.

  “Swift is on his way,” Brodie said to Art, jerking off his own jacket to bundle it under Art’s head. “We’re gonna have you out of here in a minute.”