The Brothers (22 page)

I nod. “Lucky for us this is only a two-story building.”

Gabe points forward with his crowbar. “We passed a stairwell.”

“Good,” I say. “Let’s move.”

We walk back through darkened hallways. I’m on edge, but at least I have both boys next to me this time.

“Through here.” Gabe points with the crowbar at the doorframe, into another dark hallway. When he angles his headlamp, I see a set of stairs.

Tommy steps toward the door and inspects what remains of the tripwire and the old explosive. Then he examines the floor and walls.

“Janine said we should be fast,” Gabe complains.

With a finger to his lips, Tommy starts up the stairs.

Gabe makes a face at Tommy and then looks back at me to see if I’m with him on the joke. I smile. Gabe’s hand brushes my arm and then he begins tromping up the stairs far too loudly.

I think about our kiss and what it meant. I can’t help it. What would Sabrina say if she were here? God, I miss her.

The door between us and the top floor is shut. Everyone tenses. Is it booby-trapped? What will we do if we can’t open it?

Tommy peers at the floor, the door handle, and through the little glass window. He waves for us to go back down the stairwell and slowly begins to turn the handle.

“Should you do that?” Gabe asks.

Tommy stiffens. “Can you please be quiet? I need to concentrate.”

“Sorry,” Gabe says, not sounding sorry.

Tommy starts to turn the knob again.

“But what if it’s rigged?” Gabe asks.

“Jesus!” Tommy says. “I almost want there to be a bomb, so I don’t have to hear your mouth run anymore.”

We watch in tense silence as Tommy slowly turns the knob.

The door clicks open, but Tommy doesn’t pull. He waits, with the door cracked, listening. He peers into the crack. Then slowly, he draws it open.

“Nothing,” he says as he cracks the door wide.

I blow out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Gabe strides up the stairs and toward the door.

But something catches the light at the base of the open doorway.

“Stop!” I scream. “A wire!”

Gabe tries to stop but with his momentum, he’s already gone too far. His body crosses the threshold, but it’s his leg that will trip the bomb. My eyes are frozen on the thin wire. I watch the scene in slow motion—Gabe’s body falling forward, his arms going wide, Tommy reaching, but not being able to catch him, Gabe’s face as the horror flashes on it.

At the last second, he kicks up his legs and dives.

He clears the wire!

“Whoo!” Gabe shouts, through a fist into the air. “We’re alive!”

Tommy, who’s got a hand on his heaving chest, shakes his head. “So much for quiet and careful.”

But I can tell he’s glad Gabe didn’t blow himself up even if he is mad at him for nearly killing us all.

Tommy steps carefully over the wire and examines the explosive. “I could cut it, but I have no idea how trigger happy it is.” He stands up and holds a hand out to me.

I take it and step delicately over the wire. We head down the long hallway as fast as we can.

Room after torn-apart room goes by on each side—medical beds with stained mattresses, and shredded privacy curtains with awful, spray-painted messages make this place look like a horror house. In one room, there’s a decayed husk of a body. I grab Gabe’s arm. He pats my hand, but more like I’m a frightened little sister than a girl he wants to kiss.

Tommy stalks into each room, gun at the ready, and rifles through open drawers, but doesn’t open anything. He checks the floor for trip wires and the door casings for traps before he enters.

In a room full of trash, Tommy finds some blister packs on a counter and brings them to me.

“Antacids, I think. We need a locked room or cabinet. It wouldn’t be booby-trapped because they wouldn’t want to blow up their supply, but there might be something near the door.”

Gabe gives a whistle. He points inside a room a few doors down. When we get there, I see a small, nondescript office, but inside is the treasure. A large, locked cabinet takes up most of the space. Gabe starts to walk in, but Tommy grabs his shirt.

“Hold your horses,” Tommy says, adjusting his headlamp. He begins an exhaustive search around the doorframe, the outer walls, and anywhere else a wire could be. He examines the floor tiles, making sure none look disturbed. When he’s satisfied, he takes the first careful step into the room. We hold our breath.

When we don’t all die, Gabe and I follow.

We stare at the tarnished but tough-looking metal padlock that separates us from what we need. The bolt cutters won’t put a dent in that steel, and there’s no way we’ll be able to find the key. The gang leader who ran this place probably died with it around his neck. I gently brush the hair back from the burned half of my face and sigh. “All this way for nothing.”

Tommy shakes his head, swings off his pack, and pulls out a canvas bag. Inside are at least a dozen slender metal rods. He selects a few, looks them over, and stares into the keyhole.

“Our dah wasn’t an honest man,” Gabe says as he watches his brother work. “He made his living any way he could. Stealing. Gambling. He passed down his trade to us, peach that he was.”

“Not that we had any choice.” Tommy slides one pick into the lock and reaches for another. “Only way we could bring home enough scratch was to steal. Bastard knew we’d have to learn his trade.”

Gabe snorts. “It was that or whore ourselves out. But Tommy had an affinity for picking locks. Thank God.”

I watch Tommy’s careful fingers twist different picks. His face contorts in concentration until a click sounds and the padlock falls open. Only then does he break into a smile.

“Nice!” Gabe says, patting him on the back. “Crack it open.”

Carefully, Tommy inspects the cabinet again and slowly pulls on the door. Inside is a treasure trove. Orange bottles line the top shelves. Blister packs and vials are stacked by the floor. And they look fairly new. Probably stolen from the Breeders.

I gaze at the bounty. “What do we take?”

Gabe chuckles. “My dear, we take everything.”

Tommy fills his backpack to bursting and produces another bag for Gabe. They stuff their pockets next. I stuff myself with orange pill bottles until I sound like a maraca at every move. When we’re stuffed and the cabinet is mostly empty, Tommy shoulders his pack. “Let’s go.”

We’re alive and have more than enough to pay off Prentice and free Gabe and Tommy from his clutches. I’m sure that something in this massive pile of drugs helps with seizures. And the rest will make them filthy rich. It’s amazing how luck can turn, just like that.

We head toward the door, Tommy in the lead, Gabe, and then me. Tommy passes through, but Gabe pauses just before the doorway to stare at a painting on the wall. It’s a landscape, trees beside a bridge. The texture and use of color makes it seem like a photograph. It’s not your typical hospital art in its gilded frame. But it hangs askew. Gabe reaches up and straightens the painting.

“Gabe, should you touch tha—?”

An explosion sends me flying.

I’m dead.

The blast flashes before my eyes, so white I can’t see. So loud, I can’t hear. The force lifts me like a giant hand and slams me into the cabinet.

The world dims, and then gradually comes back. I blink into the smoky haze. My ears ring.

The blast.

Gabe.

As I push up, pain explodes from places on my body I barely can name. I shake my head and crawl through rubble. Gabe’s headlamp shines straight up, smoke drifting through the beam, on the other side of the room. I hope he’s still attached to it.

Let him be alive. Please let him be alive.

I find a foot. My mind goes to a dark place, and I wonder if it’s still attached to the whole.

“Gabe,” I manage, though my voice sticks in my throat.

Nothing.

“Gabe.”

A hand on my back startles me.

Tommy stands over me, his face flooded with concern. His mouth moves with words I can’t hear over the ringing in my ears.

“We have to see if Gabe’s okay,” I say, though I don’t know if any of us can hear. I continue my crawl up Gabe’s body.

His torso is attached to both legs. I find his chest, his arm. Tommy aims his headlamp on Gabe’s body, and I recoil. His shirt is in tatters. The skin beneath is
so
bloody. How deep are the wounds? How will we stop them from bleeding?

Oh God.

Tommy steps over me, scoops him up, and strides to the door. As he’s about to leave, he looks back. “Can you walk?”

I realize I can hear him over the droning in my ears. I nod, though I’m not sure if it’s true. As I stand, I find it is.

“Can you carry a pack?” He points his headlamp at one of the backpacks filled with precious medicine.

I grab it and heft it on my back. It’s heavy and my legs are wet paper, but I’ll have to carry it. We have to make it out.

Tommy carries Gabe down the hall so fast that I have to jog to keep up. The urge to throw up is back, and I’m so dizzy I have to run with one hand on the wall just to keep from falling, but I somehow run. We get to the stairs, step over the tripwire, and hurry down. Then it’s another jog down a long hallway until we reach fresh air.

I pause at the doorway to the outside and try to breathe. Ahead of me, Tommy jogs to the van with Gabe in his arms. Gabe’s dark head lolls lifelessly against his brother’s shoulder.

Don’t let him die,
I pray.
Don’t let him already be dead.

Tommy sets Gabe down on the pavement and opens the van’s back doors. I suck in a deep breath and run to them. He needs to get Gabe back to Harpy
fast
.

When I get inside, Tommy’s already pulled off Gabe’s clothes. I tell myself not to be embarrassed, but I don’t know where to put my eyes. I slough off the pack and climb up to brush dirt and debris out of Gabe’s hair.

“Most of these seem superficial,” Tommy says, though he sounds uncertain. He’s taken off his own shirt to wipe Gabe’s skin clean. He frowns and waves me over. “This one’s gushing,” he says, taking my hand. He presses it over a wound, wet and warm with blood. “Press hard.”

I hold my palm to Gabe’s chest. His flesh is still warm, but I know that could only be temporary. Tears come to my eyes. “Is he…alive?”

Tommy nods, tossing his shirt aside. He pulls out the keys and starts for the front of the van. “I’m gonna drive real fast. Do everything you can to keep pressure on that wound and him on his back.” Tommy scampers out, slams the door, and gets in the driver’s seat. When he starts the engine, I brace myself.

The ride back is hell.

Tommy drives faster than I thought the van was capable of. He drives with headlights on even though it’s dangerous. He swerves around potholes and old tires, nearly flipping us over. It’s everything I can do keep my palm on Gabe’s wound. We rock back and forth. Several times, I almost tumble over his body.

When we skid to a stop, I almost cry out with relief. Tommy flings himself out of the van, runs to the back, and looks at me. In the moonlight, his hair and eyes are wild. His bare chest is splattered with his brother’s blood. His expression—loving and fearful—breaks my heart.

He lifts Gabe into his arms, climbs out of the van, and heads to the apartment. I clamber out, sick as a dog, but determined to keep going. Running to the complex, I yank open the door. I wonder where Prentice’s men are. They were right here, but now they are gone. I sprint up the stairs and hold that door open, too. Tommy tromps up, though I can tell he’s used up his last bit of strength. And to think, twelve hours ago, Tommy was being beaten bloody. He probably still has broken ribs that feel like knives with every step, and his eye is nearly puffed shut, but you wouldn’t know he’s in any pain.

He charges down the hallway and into the apartment.

Harpy’s gasp from inside tells me the doc is in. I fall to my knees and throw up until I’m empty.

When I wake with a start, dawn light is spilling in through the hallway window. I’ve passed out on the floor outside the apartment. A nasty pile of my own vomit has crusted near my head. And every ache and pain I had when I went to sleep has multiplied. Sitting up brings tears to my eyes. Every inch of my body feels broken. Not shattered, but misshapen like a bike that’s been run over and left in the street. I crawl toward the open doorway where the voices are and stand up.

Tommy’s slumped over, asleep in a chair. He’s still shirtless and bloody. As I walk over to him, his mouth twitches. A fitful sleep. I’m sure he never intended to let unconsciousness take him. With a man like Tommy, sleep has to claim its victim by force. It takes all my willpower not to brush a dark lock of hair off his forehead.

Murmuring voices draw me away and down the hall. In Tommy’s austere bedroom, I find Harpy standing over the Gabe’s body, which is dressed in so many bandages that he looks mummified. This must’ve been what I looked like when I was burned. Did Bell feel a choking gasp in her throat when she saw me for the first time? Did she want to rewind time and go back? If I’d been just a bit faster… In my memory, I replay the scene—his hand reaching out for the painting. All he wanted was to put something right in the world where too much is wrong. All he wanted was beauty in the chaos. Now look at him.

“Where’s my aunt?” I ask, taking Gabe’s hand. He feels so cold.

“Are you okay?” I whirl around, and Tommy’s there in the doorway. He runs a hand through his dark hair. “I would’ve had Harpy look at you, but he had his hands full.”

I rub my thumb over Gabe’s hand. “I’m standing, aren’t I? I’m breathing.”

“He’s breathing, too.” Harpy presses two fingers into the crook of Gabe’s neck, taking a pulse. “He’s going to live, this one.”

I nod as the tears threaten again. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as shootin’. Sure as any of us are gonna live another day anyway. Most’a the wounds ain’t deep. He’ll be mad he’s got so many scars, though.” When he looks at me, his face darkens for a minute, and I wonder if he’s keeping something from me. But he puts on a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and says, “You kids really do know how to use up most of your nine lives, dontcha? Keepin’ me busy.”