Chapter 3 Who killed my brother, you or him?

Raven

I held the phone out like it was a live wire.

"Explain this."

Jace glanced at the screen. The color left his face so fast it was almost impressive. "Where did you get that?"

"Someone sent it. Right now. While you were whispering in my ear." My voice cracked, and I hated it. "That's you. That's a bridge. That's a man bleeding on his knees, and you're holding the gun."

"Raven."

"Were you there the night my brother died? Yes or no."

"It's not that simple."

"It's a yes or no question!"

Jace's jaw worked. He looked at Damon, and Damon gave the smallest shake of his head. Don't. I saw it, and something in me went cold and clear.

"You're protecting the same secret," I said. "Both of you."

"Raven, sit down," Damon said.

"No."

"You're upset."

"I'm done being upset. I'm informed now." I backed toward the door and kept the phone raised. "Here's what happens next. You tell me what happened on that bridge, or I walk out of here and send this photo and the one of my brother to every reporter and cop in the city. I'll start with the ones you don't own."

"You do that," Damon said quietly, "and people die."

"People already died."

"More people. Innocent ones. The men who sent that picture want a war, and you'd be handing them the first shot. Your name will be the first one on their list. Then the rest of the city's."

"Then give me a reason not to."

"I just did."

"That's not a reason. That's a leash." I stared him down. "Four years I've grieved a brother I thought some stranger killed over nothing. I'm not letting another powerful man decide how much of my own life I'm allowed to know."

The silence stretched until it hurt.

"I was there," Jace said.

Damon closed his eyes.

Jace sank onto the edge of the dresser like his legs had given up. All the swagger had left him. He rubbed his palm over his mouth and stared at the floor.

"It was raining. Your brother called me at midnight and said meet me at the bridge, and the way he said it, I knew something was wrong. By the time I got there, there was blood on the railing. A lot of it. I heard shots from the east side. Two, then three." His voice thinned. "I found Cole against the guardrail. He grabbed my jacket with both hands, and he was begging me. He kept saying protect her. Protect her. Don't let them find her."

My knees nearly went. "Protect who?"

"I don't know. I swear to God, I don't know. He passed out before he said a name."

"Then who's the man in the photo?"

"I need to tell you about that, but not..."

The alarm hit us like a slap.

A shrill electronic scream ripped through the walls, and red light flooded the hallway beneath the door. Somewhere below, men started shouting.

"Breach," Damon said. He was already moving. He threw the door open, and a biker skidded to a stop in front of him, wild-eyed.

"Somebody's in the system, boss. The private servers. They're downloading the vault files."

"How?"

"No idea. It's coming from inside."

"Lock it down." Damon's voice turned to iron. "Every door, every window. Nobody in or out. Jace, with me."

"Wait." I grabbed Jace's sleeve before he could pass. "The message, the shot at the window, and now this? It's all connected. Somebody wants me here, in this building, tonight. They want me to find something."

Damon turned. For one second, I saw the thought land on his face the same way it landed on mine.

"Then stay in this room," he said.

"No."

"Raven..."

"I'm not hiding while someone rips apart the answers to my brother's death." I shoved past him. "Move or come with me."

I didn't wait to see which one he chose.

Jace caught up on the stairs. "You're stubborn as a mule with a grudge."

"And you're a liar."

"I'm evasive. There's a difference."

"There really isn't."

We hit the ground floor, and chaos swallowed us. Men sprinted past with shotguns and radios. Someone shouted that the garage cameras had gone dead. Jace and I locked eyes, and neither of us said a word. We just ran...

~

The garage smelled of oil and rubber and something sharp I couldn't name. A row of bikes sat in the dark like sleeping animals. Jace flicked on his flashlight, swept the beam along the chrome, and stopped.

"That's mine," he said slowly.

A black Harley at the far end, its seat slightly crooked. Wires hung from the engine like loose veins.

"Somebody's been in it," I said.

"Somebody's been under it."

I crouched before he could stop me. Something white poked from beneath the lip of the leather seat, a corner of paper no bigger than my thumb. I pulled, and an envelope slid free. Cream colored. Slightly damp.

My name was written across the front.

Raven.

My heart stopped.

I knew that handwriting. I knew the way he looped the R and made the v too sharp. I'd spent four years rereading old birthday cards just to see it.

"Jace," I whispered. "It's from Cole."

He didn't answer. His flashlight had dropped to the engine, where a tiny red light blinked once, twice, three times, faster each time.

"Raven." His voice went flat. "Don't move."

"What is..."

He tackled me.

The world turned white and loud. The blast threw us across the concrete, and I felt heat roll over my back like an open oven. Jace's arms locked around my head. Metal screamed. Glass rained down. Something heavy hit the floor beside us, and the whole garage rocked.

Then silence, the kind that rings in your ears.

"Raven." His hands were on my face, my shoulders, my arms, checking everything. "Say something. Are you hit? Raven."

"I'm okay." My voice came out as a croak. "I'm okay."

"You're bleeding."

"It's not mine."

He looked down at his own forearm, where a long gash glistened, and laughed once, short and shaky. But his eyes weren't laughing. They were wide and wet and terrified, and not for himself. He was looking at me like I was the one thing he could not afford to lose.

"You scared me," he said hoarsely.

I didn't know what to do with that. So I held on to his jacket and said nothing.

Boots pounded across the garage. Damon appeared through the smoke, gun drawn, his face a mask of cold fury. He took in the wreckage, the blood, the two of us tangled on the floor, and his gaze locked on Jace.

"You went in without backup."

"There wasn't time."

"You're the vice president. You don't get to be stupid."

"She was reaching for it."

"Then you call me!" Damon's voice cracked like a whip. "You don't throw your life away on a bomb because you couldn't wait ten seconds."

"Ten seconds was all we had."

"Since when do you decide that alone?"

"Since you started deciding everything alone!"

They stood chest to chest, breathing hard, years of something unspoken trembling between them. A muscle jumped in Damon's cheek. Jace's hand curled into a fist. And I understood, with a slow, sick drop, that whatever was breaking apart in this clubhouse was not only about me.

I looked down.

The envelope was still in my hand, creased but unburned. I tore it open. A photograph slid out and landed face down on the concrete. Beneath it was a single folded sheet.

Cole's handwriting. Six lines. I read the last one first.

Raven, if you're reading this, one of the men you trust is lying. The other one killed me.

The paper trembled in my fingers. I looked up at Damon. Then at Jace.

Both men stood frozen, staring at the page as if they had seen a ghost…