Page 155 of Dark Endures

Maddox

Mindy’s mom whisks her away, leaving me with Percival. This definitely isn’t what I had in mind.

“We decided against a hunt today.” Percival turns towards one of a dozen hallways that attach to the front foyer. “It’s usually a pre-wedding tradition around here. But my father was feeling a little under the weather.”

Small blessings. Because if rumors are true, the Linckesters don’t only hunt animals out here. His father is right around Ethan’s age, but not in half the shape Ethan is in.

“The family is gathered at the gun range.”

Because it’s totally normal for people to have a gun range in their home. Though, to be fair, it kind of makes sense when you’re a weapons manufacturer for the government. The security in the building is subtle but top-notch. There’s definitely a monitoring station somewhere, but I doubt it was either of the guard shacks we saw.

Why am I walking through and planning how to break their system?

Because Percival Linckester might be a little odd, but his father brings weird to a whole new level. Filmore Linckesterpersonifies the word eccentric. Legends were built on that man. More like horror stories.

Dealing in death for generations will do that to a family. Who wakes up one morning and thinks about an efficient way to kill more people? But that’s their job.

They supply the government and select others with weapons and armaments. His stuff always exceeds expectations.

We head down a spiral staircase.

“How has Ethan been?”

Better since he hasn’t had to deal with you. “Married life suits him.”

“Interesting. He always was the best killer. If he hadn’t started that company of his, we were planning on hiring him.”

Is that a royal ‘we’, or does Filmore still pull the strings? I wouldn’t put it past him to try, even from the grave.

Another thick metal door stands open. Male voices float out of it along with the scent of cigars. Good cigars. Ethan taught me the difference. Not that I like smoking, but if I must, at least the good cigars aren’t terrible.

That must be the shooting range.

Most shooting ranges are a mixture of cement and granulated rubber. This one is steel, bulletproof glass, and ballistic rubber. But the thing that gets me is all the animals stuffed or spread across the floor. It’s a menagerie of death.

Do they stuff the people they kill, too?

The space is large enough that the fifty or so men lounging around hardly fill it. A gun range built for entertainment.

“Do you need any introductions, Locke?” Percival stops by the bar.

“No, I know most of the family.”

“I’d expect nothing less of a man like you. My gun locker is at your disposal. Do have fun.” He wanders away, grabbinga cigar on the way from a scantily dressed woman and a drink from another.

Not wanting to socialize with senators and generals, I take a drink and walk over to a wall of pictures.

It’s filled with kill shots of all the animals gracing the floors and walls. Most of them are of Filmore and his sons, but a few feature his grandsons, all of whom run the family businesses now.

“Enjoying the view,” a familiar voice says from my side.

“Valen. I almost forgot that you were related to this bunch.”

“I try to on a regular basis. But I couldn’t miss my uncle’s wedding.”

Mandatory attendance sounds about right for this family.

“What forced you here?”

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