Sound of Madness A Dark Royal Romance - Maria Luis Page 0,137
is punctured with the pistol shoving my head farther back. Fury swirls in my gut. Desperation claws at my lungs. If I remove the rope, Guthram will give away that we aren’t alone, but if I don’t . . .
There’s a good chance that Marcus will decide that he doesn’t give a damn about saving Kendrick. He’ll shoot me, then. Paint the bricks red with my brains. And Rowena will see it all unfold. A lifetime of nightmares where she’s surrounded by flames and then, in a heartbeat, she’ll remember me dead in this chamber forever after.
“Ease back,” I grunt, “and I’ll do it.”
The gun barely shifts.
Unable to turn my head, I trace the length of the rope from the back of Guthram’s skull. He twists his body and thrusts his chin away. It gives me pause, for less than a second, that he’s actively trying to pull back. I don’t let him. Sinking my fingers beneath the rough threads of the rope, I yank him into place.
The rope tears free and the commissioner turns away to face his father and, in that split-second moment where time slows and hell rises to destroy us all, I watch my brother pull the trigger.
A shout lodges in my throat.
Robert Guthram’s body spasms from the force of the blow.
And then Guy shoots again.
The commissioner’s anguished cry reverberates throughout the chamber. His right leg twists inward, his weight collapsing hard and fast. He lands on the ground, less than an arm’s length away from a dead Robert Guthram, but still has the wherewithal to lunge for the gun he dropped.
I launch for it at the same time.
He curses in my ear when I swipe it away and push up to my feet. Whirling on my brother, I hiss, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Hurrying shit along.”
His blue eyes don’t bother to meet mine as he holsters his firearm. Without another word, he crosses over to the commissioner and grabs him by the arms to prop him on the brick steps beside Guthram.
Fucking hell.
Oh, bloody fucking hell.
“Broadmoor is looking for him.” Wide-eyed, I look from one Guthram to the other. Father and son, both white-haired, both bleeding. “Jesus fucking Christ, the hospital has people looking for him and you killed him.”
“The commissioner will live,” he mutters, “and he’ll be sure to call back the hounds for us. If there’s still a Broadmoor left standing at all after tonight.” With his mouth set in a grim line, Guy pats down Marcus and pulls out a mobile from the commissioner’s trousers. Shoving it at me, he keeps his attention firmly rooted on Marcus. “You’re going to ring the Met, and you’re going to have them remove the bounty.”
Marcus’s stare never leaves his father. Chin wobbling, he breathes, “You’ve killed him.”
“And you’ve been collecting his pension for ten years now, so let’s not sit here and pretend that you suddenly give a damn. We both know that you don’t.”
“Piss off.”
Grabbing the commissioner by the collar, my brother jerks him close, hissing, “The difference between us, Marcus, is that I understand loyalty. I understand family. So unless you want to end up like your old man, you’re going to take this”—he plucks the mobile from my grasp and shoves it against the commissioner’s chest—“and take him off the fugitive list.”
Marcus’s fingers tremble as he angles the phone toward his face.
Guy growls, low, “Where I can fucking see you.”
The commissioner lowers his hands to do as he’s told—but the cut of light from the screen reveals Rowena coming to stand beside me. His mouth twists with disgust. “If your father could see you here—”
“My father had my mum murdered and had your father make it happen. Edward Carrigan doesn’t have a leg to stand on.” Deliberately, Rowena lets her gaze drift to Marcus’ bloodied thigh. “Justice always has a way of being served, don’t you think?”
He lurches toward her with a roar.
“Trust me,” I grind out, clamping a hand around his arm, “you don’t want to do that.”
His furious gaze flickers to me. “And you have no bloody idea what you’re doing here. You’ll regret this, Priest. One day, you’re going to realize that you’ve—” A scream rips from his throat as Guy grinds the heel of his palm against the commissioner’s wounded thigh.
“The bounty, Marcus,” my brother says.
On a sharp glance toward his father, jagged breaths cut past Marcus’s lips. His pallor turns ghostly under the sparse light. The hand clutching the mobile visibly shakes. And all the while