Page 1 of West Bound
PROLOGUE
Six years ago…
Levi
“Drop it!”
The muzzle of the gun presses against my temple, knocking my glasses askew, as my fist tightens around the bag in my hand. I close my eyes, focusing only on my breathing. The sound of the air filling my lungs and slipping back out again into the night.
In. Out. In. Out.
For now, at least, my lungs work like they should. Like they always have. The way I hope they will for a long time to come.
The barking demands of the masked man robbing me at gunpoint are a garbled hum. The deafening alarm that’s sounding through the whole room is a distant buzz. The gallop of my heart slows to a more predictable rhythm.
“Give him the bag.” My brother’s voice breaks through. I open my eyes to glance at him in my peripheral vision. He mirrors my stance, frozen in place, fists balled and jaw tight.
We took this job off my father’s plate. He’d planned to do it himself, argued with us about this alternative, but his heart’s been weaker than normal lately. A scene like this one would have killed him, and for all his perceived faults, my father is a good man. My mother couldn’t bear a world without him. And my family is everything to me.
Which is why I don’t argue when my older brother gives me a command. We could hash it out behind closed doors later. Right now, I don’t flinch. I drop the bag of stolen objects at the robber’s feet, just like he asked.
The smack of the fragile artifacts against the Carrara marble underneath our feet echoes in the sterile hall. The robber’s eyes narrow, and he presses the muzzle against my skin until it forces my head to tilt at an angle. My sweat parting like the Red Sea around it as it makes its way from my forehead to my cheek.
“You son of bitch!” the man snarls. He sounds like he’s all bark and no bite. If it were just us, I’d test my theory. But I won’t put my brother’s life at risk to sate my curiosity.
“You have what you want. Now fucking leave us alone.” My brother doesn’t bother hiding the fury in his tone. I imagine he’s having similar fantasies about ending their lives.
“The fuck did you—” We’re spared another round of needless yapping when the wail of police sirens pulls around the corner.
“Let’s go!” the robber’s coconspirator shouts as he takes off for the exit.
My would-be murderer lets out a frustrated sigh of discontent. Disappointment that he doesn’t get to see me die if I had to guess. He pulls the gun from my head, grabs the bag off the floor, and takes off down the hall after his friend. I hear the sound of relief in my brother’s slow exhale for half a second before the police sirens get too close for comfort.
“Down the stairs. Out the back entrance. I stashed it under the steps. Out the black door with the red sign. Over thefence to the left, across the alley, turn right, through the gap in the second fence, and right down the street.” I repeat the instructions for how to get to our getaway car in case I don’t make it out with him.
“Smart,” he remarks, a hint of admiration, as we take off for the stairwell. When I suggested we stash the reliquary that brought us here before we filled our bags with some other opportunistic finds that might muddy the waters of a future investigation, Grant had been annoyed at the extra time it took. Now, it’s going to save us. If we manage to get out before the cops find us, that is.
The sirens are close now. Just outside the building as we take the stairs down three or more at a time. I duck under the stairway, grabbing the black bag I’d stashed with the reliquary inside, before we bust through the black door.
The rain batters my face and forces me to duck my head down as we take off for the fence. If we can climb it before the police come around the building, we have a chance in hell. That’s a big fucking if as I watch Grant’s boot slip off the rung almost as soon as he puts it on. I glance backward, checking to make sure the coast is still clear.
I stop to boost him, shoving him upward. He’s strong, but I’m stronger. We both need more time in the gym and less at the bar drinking whisky. That’s going to change in the future. I heave the bag over the fence without the time to be more delicate, and he catches it.
“Go!” I yell. We don’t have time to play heroes right now. We’ll both die. But this is my brother we’re talking about. He’s not about to leave me, even if it means he gets shot too.
I’m lucky when I don’t have the same trouble as him. I haul myself over the top of the fence and land in the alley with a thud before we take off running. It’s his turn to look back when we turn right.
“So far, so good,” he mutters as we slip through the gap in the fence.
I can see the car in the distance. We’re almost there. So close and yet so far. We have to walk this stretch quickly. A slight jog might even be warranted given the rain. But we can’t run like we’ve just stolen something.
This kind of work isn’t our strong suit. It’s not our usual line of business. Far from it. The Quiet Horsemen are a lot of things, but cat burglars aren’t one of them. Or at least they weren’t before today. I’m not even sure why we’re doing this or who we’re doing this for. My father never gave a shit about collector’s items or reliquaries before today.
Our father has been cagey with the details, and the way he fidgets when he talks about this deal makes me think he’s doing it under pressure. Maybe to protect us. From who or what, I’d love to fucking know. The fact that he’d put not one, but two of his sons at risk? That he didn’t trust anyone who wasn’t blood right now? It’s bone-chilling if I stop to think about it too long.
Grant’s got the doors to the car unlocked, and we slip inside. I’m grateful for the tinted windows as I toss the bag in the back and pull my glasses off to wipe them free of raindrops. Grant revs the Shelby’s engine and tears out of the parking space as quickly as he can without hydroplaning.
I check the link to the building’s security system. The looped footage covers our tracks. I’d double—no, triple—check it when we get to our safe house. But so far, so good. Just like he said.
