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Minutes passed, and I held Emily, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against my arms.
My thoughts drifted to Maxwell again, lying in a hospital bed, caught between life and death. The weight of his condition, the uncertainty of his future, pressed heavily on me too.
Goddamn idiot. You saved my sister and. . .hurt yourself.
I let out a long breath and inhaled Emily’s hair some more.
Now I will never kill you. Now. . .you are truly my brother.
Misha and Emily already formed a violent line to kill the people who shot Maxwell. With Ufuoma’s arrival she would get in that line too. And of course, Valentina would be there.
Everyone wants to kill for Max. But none of them know that I will not be waiting in line. I will be bombing all that shot him.
I closed my eyes and tried my best to push away the looming war.
Sicarios. . .now walk in a city where my cubs lay their heads.
I yawned, noting how the stakes were now higher than ever.
After this dinner, will the Butcher join the war? And whose side will he stand on?
My thoughts slowly began to unravel as sleep beckoned.
And after a while. . .in the quiet of the night, with the soft sound of Emily’s breathing and the silent watchfulness of my men, I finally succumbed to the exhaustion that had been gnawing at me.
My last conscious thought was a silent promise to Emily, my sons, and even Maxwell.
I will kill them all.
Soon. . .this cold slumbering darkness swallowed me up, but. . .
This wasn’t the benign darkness that followed the flick of a switch, nor was it the peaceful shade provided by night’s gentle hand.
This was different.
It was an all-consuming void, an endless expanse of emptiness that devoured light, sound, and hope with a voracious appetite, leaving nothing but the cold touch of despair in its wake.
And I was not exactly asleep either. . .
What is this?
While I was no longer. . .up. . .I surely was conscious.
But it was not conscious with my eyes closed it was something else like dream walking, like when I talked to Pavel in my slumber.
I was very aware.
And then. . .
even though I was not standing. . .
I was falling. . .
And this fall wasn’t a gentle descent, the kind you might experience in a dream, floating softly towards the ground.
No, this was a harsh, relentless plunge, as if I had been ripped from the realm of the living and cast into an unseen chasm. I was caught in a merciless grip, sucked into a vacuum that spared no thought for mercy or respite.
What the fuck?!
