Stepbrother Thief (47 page)

It's like a crack of thunder, ricocheting up the staircase and straight into my brain—nothing at all like the nearly silent click of Gill's gun at the hotel. My head screams in protest and my ears start to ring, loosening my grip on the revolver.

What the fuck am I doing? I know why Gill didn't teach me to shoot. Because I can't do it. This isn't me. It isn't. I can't.

I take a step back, away from the stairs when another shot goes off, scrambling my brain and making me grit my teeth.
Gilleon.
Gilleon is down there somewhere, and I'm standing here shaking like I'm helpless.

But I'm far from it, aren't I? I survived for ten years without Gill, birthed his kid, robbed a jewelry store. Me.

I can do this.

Never thought I'd be using self-talk to convince myself to join a shoot-out, but … well, there it is.

Another breath.

My fingers curl tighter around the grip and I ready myself to head down the stairs.

Just as I'm about to take the first step, I hear boots slamming against the wood and, out of some long forgotten instinct, scoot to the side, back towards Solène's room. I wedge my body half behind the partially open door and peek out. From my current view, I can see straight across the second floor, past the decorative arch and the small sitting area to the back staircase.

Gill appears, blood draining over his temple and his right eye, a gun locked in his hands and a grim set to his lips. His eyes flicker to the main staircase and back down—chased from both sides.

I watch in fascinated horror as he lifts his weapon and fires off a pair of shots down the steps at the same moment two heads appear, jogging up the main staircase, right in front of me. Neither of the people that appear are wearing suits or sunglasses nor they do look like goons.

I lift my arms out in front of me, elbows relaxed, pulse pounding in my skull, competing against the violent ringing in my ears.

I almost hesitate because … these people look so normal. And maybe they're like Gill? Trapped in a web not of their own making? Just a man and a woman, one with short dark hair, the other with a slicked back sandy ponytail. Just two people.

But then they point their weapons at my stepbrother. At my first love. At my new love. My
only
love.

Shit.

I want to squeeze my eyes closed and fire blindly, hide myself away from all of this. But I can't. And I won't. I said before that I wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger if someone was threatening my family.

I meant it.

I aim at the man first, at the wide expanse of his back, sliding my finger inside the trigger guard.

One, two, three.

Deep breath.

I fire, knocking him forward against the railing of the stairs as the recoil hits me in the web of my hand and I take a small step back. Unconsciously, my eyes flick up and find Gilleon's, watch them go wide as he notices me standing there in the shadows. We stare at each other for a split second, but that's long enough for the woman to turn towards me, her long ponytail swinging as she brings her own gun up and looks for the second shooter in the room.

I'm sure she's had hundreds of hours of practice with her gun, struggled through dozens of situations just like this, but she doesn't expect me to be there, really doesn't expect me to bring the muzzle of the revolver up and aim it at her shoulder. I'm not entirely certain
how
I manage to get the shot off. Maybe it's the daisy dress or the blonde hair or the little girl's room silhouetted in shadow and moonlight behind me.

I'm sorry.

The thought pops into my brain at the same instant I pull back on that trigger a second time and hit the woman in her right shoulder. She gets a shot off, too, but the momentum of the bullet entering her body throws it off just enough that the drywall explodes to the left of me, just outside Solène's bedroom.

I feel like I've gone deaf, like I'm standing in the bell tower of a church listening to the ringing of God. My mouth goes dry; my grip loosens; I lower my arms.

Gill's moving towards me now, backing away from the second staircase as he reloads his gun, dropping a magazine to the floor and sliding one out of his pocket. He drags his gaze away for the briefest of seconds, lowering the pistol on my two assailants. I open my mouth to tell him to stop, but it's too late. He takes aim and makes the fatal shots I could never bring myself to fire.

The revolver drops from my hands and hits the floor like a scene in a silent movie. I can't even remotely hear the sound of it hitting the wood, not through the massive headache burning in my brain, the constant ringing in my ears.

Gilleon turns toward me, sucking in a massive breath that expands his chest in slow motion. His blue eyes are dark, so dark I can hardly make out his pupils, and the whites of his eyes … they're stark with fear.
Feral.

“Regina.” I can see Gill's mouth moving to form the word, but the actual sound remains distant, like an echo underwater. The blood on his face drips down, reminding me of the cuts on my fingers. I lift my hand up and examine the red droplets at the same time I marvel at my luck. I managed not to blow my thumb off, not to get shot. Nothing short of a miracle.

A miracle that two people are lying dead in front of me?

No, no, a miracle that
we're
not lying dead in front of them.

I blink stupidly and try to shake away the shock, putting my hands over my ears.

Gilleon's there in an instant, wrapping his fingers around my wrists and gently pulling my arms down.

“Regi,” he says, voice cracking. I can barely hear him, but the worry in his voice is clear. “
Mon cœur.
”
My heart.
I glance up at Gill, unable to suppress a shiver at the feel of his fingertips pressing into my skin. That sort of thing shouldn't matter at a time like this, so why does it suddenly seem to matter so damn much?

“
Je vais bien
,” I say—
I'm fine—
even though I'm not a hundred percent sure that's true. A quick glance down at my bare feet, at the drops of red on my toes and the drywall dust sticking to my skin like powdered sugar, is enough to make my head spin. “Cops,” I say, because that's suddenly all I can think about. I have no idea how long it's been since I left Cliff and Solène, but if they haven't already called the police, then one of the neighbors most certainly will. “Cops,” I repeat, but I can hardly hear the sound leaving my lips.
All that goddamn ringing.

A second later, Ewan, the expressionless guy that spent a few days as our acting bodyguard, appears at the top of the steps, moving over the bodies like they're piles of old laundry instead of cooling corpses. I pull my arm from Gill's grip, clamp a hand over my mouth, and close my eyes.
I
didn't kill them, but I
did
shoot them. And hell, it doesn't make it any easier to know that my
lover
shot them dead.

I open my eyes as Gill murmurs something to Ewan and then returns his attention to me, laying the fingers of his tattooed hand against my cheek. His skin is warm and comforting against my face, even if his black T-shirt is wet with blood. I lean into the touch and meet that sharp, penetrating gaze of his.

“Solène?” he asks me as I flick my eyes to his mouth and read his lips. “Dad?”

“In the attic,” I whisper and Gilleon nods, his expression softening as he takes a step closer to me, sliding his fingers under my chin and tilting my face up to his. “Regina …” he begins again, but I shake my head, the pounding in my brain very quickly becoming a migraine. Right now, I think I'm in shock. Seems to be my go-to method for dealing with scary shit.

“I'm okay,” I promise, looking into Gill's face. There's so much there—guilt, love, fear, anger. “I am, really. I just … need a minute.” I take a deep breath and start to ask about the police again when Gilleon leans down and closes his mouth around mine, diving deep, tasting me.
He could've died just now. If I'd hesitated, he'd have been shot.

My hands lift up of their own accord and curl in Gill's T-shirt, blood smearing across my fingertips as it drips down the side of his face and onto my curled fists. I raise myself up onto my toes to deepen the kiss, relief and fear ricocheting through me like that bullet would've done if I'd been hit with it.
I could've died, too. I almost did.

Gill pulls back, gazing down at me with such a tender expression on his face that for a moment, my eyes blur with tears. I blink them away and my ears pop, making me grit my teeth as the ringing seemingly rises in pitch. My hearing returns just enough for me to hear Ewan say something about Aveline.

Oh God.

“Is she okay?” I ask Gill, my heart racing for a million different reasons. He nods at me, but the grim look on his face tells me that it's bad. Or that this isn't over. Maybe both.

“She will be,” he says, a strange note in his voice as he watches Ewan check the pulses on the bodies in both stairwells. “And Regina,” he begins again. I try to cut him off, but he says it anyway. “Thank you.” A small, sad smile. “I think you might've just saved my life.”

Gill leans close and presses another kiss against my mouth. With a last lingering look and a brush of fingers against the nape of my neck, he moves by me and into Solène's room. I can tell he wants to say something else about my involvement in all of this, but … I guess I really did save his life. Well, maybe. Knowing Gill, he'd have probably finagled his way out of the whole situation. Still, he knows better than to think he can chastise me, even if my being involved scares the ever living crap out of him.

“Don't worry about the police,” Gill adds, finally answering my question as I follow behind him, his voice already wrapped up in his thoughts again, plotting, planning, calculating. That's Gilleon. “Max has an in with the police chief. They'll write this off as illegal target practice in the backyard.”

“He … holy shit.” I run my fingers through my hair and studiously avoid looking at the stairwell. Like at the hotel, I imagine that these bodies, too, will disappear. I don't want to know about it. I don't. One quick flick of the eyes and I see splatters of blood that I hope to Christ I'll be able to
un-see.

I shiver and focus on Gilleon's broad back instead, on the muscles that always feel so good beneath my fingertips. After our date, I knew I wanted to live with Gill, love Gill, but now? Holy crap. I want to marry him and have fucking babies. Okay, maybe one baby. Maybe. Anyway, I want a dog and a cat and a studio downstairs. I want to sleep next to Gill every night and let him smile at my mussy hair every morning. If I'd have lost him,
really
lost him this time … I can't even think about it.

I take another deep breath to calm down as Gill calls up to Cliff and waits for him to unlock the attic door. When Gilleon does open it, he just barely cracks it and speaks quietly with Cliff. I can't hear what they're saying, but I'm grateful when Gill pushes the hatch back in place. The last thing I'd ever want is for Solène to witness the gruesome aftermath in the stairwell.

“I have to go, Regina,” Gill says suddenly, turning to look at me and laying a hand on my shoulder. He leans in close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. “I need to see this through.”

“What happened down there?” I ask as Gilleon presses his forehead against mine. “What happened to Aveline?” Gill's lips purse, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes and breathes deep. The air smell likes blood and gunpowder now though. I think we could both use a break outside.

In the distance, I hear sirens and my body stiffens.

“Ewan will take care of it, don't worry.”

Gill stands up straight and reaches out for my hands, frowning at the blood on the backs of my knuckles. After a moment, he makes the connection and reaches up to touch his own head. I raise an eyebrow, hoping I don't have to pry an explanation out of him.

“Aveline used our contact and went in without me.” Gill's pursed lips turn into a frown and his blue eyes shift away from my face and over to the staircase. “It didn't go well.”

I lift my hand up, unable to keep my fingers away from his dark hair.

“I should've let you go,” I say.

It's not a question.

Gilleon looks back at me and shakes his head.

“We'll never know what might've happened if I'd gone. Maybe I'd be lying down there bleeding? Maybe I'd be dead?”

“Maybe Karl would be,” I whisper, dropping my hand to my side. “Now what?”

“He sent eight people here to deal with me.” Gill smiles, but it's a grim expression on his blood splattered face. “When they don't come back, there'll be hell to pay.” He sighs and the stiff smile disappears as his tattooed hand runs over his face. “I should never have dragged you into this. Regina,” Gill turns back to me, eyes flickering with anger, “you should never have had to step in like that. I think I owe you another apology.” He tries to make a joke out of that last bit, but it falls flat in the copper tinged air.
In the scent of blood.

“Love is selfish, Gilleon. You said it yourself. But it's also self
less.
” I take another breath, but the smells are starting to get to me and all it does is make my stomach roil. Still, I don't drop my gaze from Gill's. “You were willing to leave me to keep me safe, to suffocate in isolation. Well, I'm willing to die for you.” I hold up a hand before he can protest. I realize it's still shaking and drop my fingers to my mother's pendant.
Mom, I'm sorry. Sorry you got dragged into this, that you paid the ultimate price. But I still love him. I do. I really, really do.
“What do we do now?”

“
We
don't do anything.
You
head up into the attic with Dad and Solène while I deal with this. Once the house is cleaned up, I'll have someone take you guys to a hotel.”

“No.” I cross my arms over my chest and then glance down at the floor until I locate my revolver. “This is my house now, Gill. This is my life. And you … you're mine. It's
us
now, or it's nothing at all. You promised to give me that.” I move over and pick up the gun, cradling it in my fingers like it's made of glass. When I turn back to him, I hope he can see how fucking serious I am. “So I'll ask you again:
qu'est-ce qu'on fait maintenant
?”