Bastard carved in high relief, Butch’s life-sized build that of a prizefighter’s under his slick clothes. And within a split second, as if a silent alarm had gone off, Brothers flooded in from the gym, the office . . . the other clinic rooms. Moments later, the gun was out of Syn’s oral cavity, the pair were separated, and Vishous was walking Butch down to the interrogation room.
As the pair went inside, Boone considered giving them some space, but Helania wasn’t having it. She marched right in after the Brothers—and that meant Boone was going in, too.
Vishous wheeled around and pegged the two of them with icy eyes. “Give me a minute with him. You don’t have to leave, but you both need to chill.”
Boone nodded as he and Helania backed up against the far wall. Together, they watched in silence as V forced Butch down into a chair and appeared to hold him in place with a heavy hand. They spoke softly to one another, and out of respect, Boone turned away so he was less likely to overhear.
“Are you okay?” he whispered to Helania as he looked over her pale face.
She shook her head slowly and spoke in a rough, low voice. “I know it was him,” she said urgently. “Oh, God . . . it was him that night. And maybe he killed Isobel, too.”
As she began to tear up, he put his arms around her and she sank into his chest until he was holding her upright. It was then that the Brothers looked over.
Helania lifted her head off Boone’s pec. “Are you kidding me? I want to shoot him, too.”
“No one’s shooting anybody,” Vishous cut in. Then he rolled his eyes. “And you know people be losin’ their shit if I’m the one saying something like that.”
“You’re sure that’s who it was,” Butch asked Helania. “You have no doubts.”
“I know what I scented. I’ll take a polygraph. Or blind test me in a lineup, I will pick him out a thousand times correctly.”
“Okay.” Butch looked up at Vishous. “I want Syn held down here in a patient room with full guard until further notice. He should be considered a suicide risk, so strip the place of anything he can stab, cut, or hang himself with. I’m going to go search his room up at the mansion now and we need to get him to talk. Get Xcor down here. If there’s anyone who can get him to open up, it’s his goddamn boss. And I want that shit recorded.”
Vishous nodded. “You got it.”
“But first, you need to update Wrath while I confirm details here with Helania.”
As the other Brother departed, Boone had no doubt that everything was going to be executed exactly as Butch wanted, and that was a relief.
Dear God, the idea that it was one of their own who was the killer? Boone couldn’t believe it—and yet as he remembered those red eyes flashing in that alley and thought about what the Bastard had said to him as they’d stood over the mutilated body of that human assailant?
He didn’t doubt that Syn was capable of killing for sport. Butch looked around and cursed. “Damn it, I left my pad out in the corridor.”
“Do you want me to go get it?” Boone asked, even as he went back over to block the photographs with his body.
“No, it’ll be fine.” The Brother focused on Helania. “Can you tell me again exactly what Syn was wearing the night you saw him with Mai in the club?”
She nodded and walked across to the table. Sitting down, she put her hands out in front of herself, and Boone got the impression it was to prove she wasn’t hiding anything.
“He had a black knit hat that he’d pulled down low. Dark sunglasses. And all black clothes.”
“Can you be really specific as to what kind of clothes? A cloak like you? Or—”
“Leathers. Black muscle shirt, I think. And then a leather jacket.” Boone spoke up, indicating his body. “Like mine?”
“Yes, exactly like yours.”
“What kind of shoes? Or boots?” Butch asked.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “And before you ask, I didn’t see his face really. I’ve got to admit that. But his scent is unmistakable.”
“You’re doing great. You’ve given me more than enough, and way more than I thought we’d get tonight.” The Brother took out his gold cross again. “See? What I say. On His time.”