Sins Brothers [1] Forgotten Sins (22 page)

Crack.

Blood arced across the rough floor.

“Bitch.” Blood poured down his temple. He yanked the cutters out of her hand, throwing them across the floor. “I’m going to kill you.” He reached down to untangle his legs.

Run. Josie dodged to the side and ran.

Oh God.

Chapter 18

Her stockings snagged on the subfloor as Josie ran for the elevator. Slivers cut into her feet. Sobbing, she punched the up and down buttons.

Behind her, something crashed against the wall. George had thrown the saw.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry,” Josie chanted, pushing the buttons. The blood rushed through her ears. Her knees trembled. She glanced toward the makeshift office. George teetered to his feet with a roar, stumbling toward her.

No time. She pivoted and ran toward the far wall. Toward the stairwell. Her feet slipped on new marble tiles. With a cry, she yanked open the door and ran inside.

Shit. She wasn’t in the stairwell. The room was a large closet, probably a janitor’s storage area. A stinky room. Rows of metal shelves stood next to the door, awaiting some sort of order.

Footsteps pounded closer. Reason fled, and she panted out fear. Survival was all that mattered. She slammed the door shut, engaging the lock. Would George have a key?

Someone had left the light on, thank goodness. She leaped forward and yanked a shelving unit down in front of the door. Then another. Stacks of marble tile rested against the far wall. Her fingers shaking, she grabbed several tiles and piled them between the downed shelves. Her nails split. The rough edges of the tiles cut into the pads of her fingers.

George pounded on the door. “You little bitch. I’m going to kill you.”

She bit back a sob and kept piling tiles. Back and forth. Tiles. Until they were all between the shelves, keeping the door shut. Even if he had a key and could unlock the door, no way could he push it open.

Panting now, she backed away from the door. What now? How could she get a message to Shane?

Josie sniffed, tears burning her eyes.

George continued to pound.

She scanned the room frenziedly for a weapon. Near the tiles. A box cutter. She leapt for the large razor blade, holding the tool in front of her toward the door. Her hands shook. Blood from her tile-mangled fingers dripped to the floor.

George continued to pound.

He didn’t have a key. She needed to focus.

What stank? Did new tile smell like rotten tomatoes? She eyed the small room. Stacks of wooden flooring piled up at the far wall. She edged toward them. Was there a dead rat in the corner?

Holding her nose, she skirted the edge of the wood and glanced behind the stack.

She screamed. Billy lay on his back, his eyes wide and unseeing at the ceiling, a hole in the center of his head. His hands were tied in front of him, his wrists rubbed raw.

Dead.

Coughing, Josie forced bile down. Her mind sheeted white, and she stumbled back. Why wasn’t he in rehab?

She shook her head. Focus. She needed to focus. They’d killed Billy.

Silence descended outside the stifling room.

She slowly turned around, her heart pounding. She glanced up. Where was a vent? Way up, in the wall. No way could she reach so high.

Her mind scrambled.

Something hit the outside wall. Hard. She yelped, jumping back. Toward Billy.

“That’s right, little girl. I’m coming,” George bellowed. Something slammed into the wall again, and dust flew.

He was going to tear down the wall. Maybe he’d hit electrical wires and fry himself. Was that even possible?

She needed to think. Think, damn it.

Her fingers hurt. Breath heaved in and out of her lungs. She eyed Billy.

A large thump echoed, and Sheetrock dust flew toward her. Panic had her gasping. George would be inside soon. Why hadn’t she spent two years learning karate instead of yoga?

She slid the razor closed and put the tool in her pocket. With a gulp of a swallow, Josie fell to her knees, reaching for Billy’s pockets. Hopefully he had a weapon.

Nothing in his front pockets.

Closing her eyes, breathing through her nose, she yanked him to the side to check his back pockets.

A phone!

She grabbed the cell, punching in numbers to her office with slippery fingers. Hopefully Shane was there. If not, Vicki would pick up. Billy fell back with an inanimate thud.

“What?” Shane growled in answer.

“Shane!” Josie hissed, forcing herself to lower her voice.

“Josie. Where the hell are you? Whose number is this? I’m in your office—”

“Listen. I’m on the ninth floor in a maintenance room. Billy’s dead. George is going to kill me—”

The head of a sledgehammer plowed through the Sheetrock near the door. Josie screamed and jumped back, stumbling over Billy’s body and falling to the floor. Her butt bounced against the tiles, causing fresh bruises. The phone flew out of her bloody hand, skipping across the room.

Eww. She kicked against Billy’s legs, scrambling to get away from the dead body. Hand over bloody hand print, she crawled up the wall to stand on shaking legs.

She grabbed the box cutter out of her pocket, shakily working to slide the blade out. Her bloody fingers slipped, her nerves screamed in pain. Holding the tool with both hands, she finally pushed hard enough to expose the blade.

George broke the hole in the wall wider, pounding either side of the opening and sending chunks of Sheetrock dust flying. He poked one thick boot through the bottom, kicking drywall toward her. Both beefy hands pulled at the broken wall to open a man-sized hole.

He stepped inside, blood pouring down his face, his brown eyes wide and crazed.

Chills ripped down her back. She lifted the inch-long blade toward him. “I called for help.” Her voice trembled more than her hands. “You should run. Now.”

He grimaced, his gaze on her meager weapon. “You didn’t call nobody.”

She shoved fear to the back of her mind. Think. Focus. Shane’s words from so long ago came flying back.
Accept you’re being attacked, breathe, and face reality.
Her stance settled.

George leapt forward, both hands grabbing her wrist and swinging her toward the wall. Her knuckles crashed into hard Sheetrock, and she cried out, the blade clattering to the floor. Her foot shot out to kick. George reared back and punched her in the jaw.

Pain ripped through her face. Josie went down.

He grabbed her by the hair, dragging her through the hole and out of the closet. Agony scorched along her scalp.

Bunching her fist, she plowed it into the back of his knee. He yelled, loosening his hold and turning toward her. Scrambling for her feet, she jabbed him in the groin on her way up.

Somebody yanked him away. He released her, bellowing in protest.

Josie dropped to the floor, her vision blurred, her ears ringing.

“Angel,” Shane breathed, gathering her into a seated position. He lifted her chin. “Where are you hurt, sweetheart?” Concern and fury comingled in his eyes.

Josie shivered. “My hands.” Her entire body began to shake. “My jaw.” Where did George go? She glanced around in terror.

The breath caught in her stomach. Matt held George in a headlock, a wicked double-edged knife at her kidnapper’s throat. George’s eyes had gone wide, his body slack. Nathan stood to Matt’s side, a gun in his hand. They’d come for her.

Like a real family would.

Shane eyed her jaw, and his snapped shut. Swiveling to full height, he shot a punch to George’s face. A loud crack split the air. George went limp, and Matt let him fall to the ground. Shane instantly stomped on George’s hand. The sickening sound of knuckles breaking destroyed the silence. He moved for the other fingers.

“Wait.” Matt held up a hand.

Shane circled George like an eagle hungry to strike. “No. He hit her.”

“I know.” Nathan stepped between Shane and George, ignoring his brother’s warning growl. “We need answers, Shane.” He glanced at Josie, his gaze softening. “How badly are you hurt, sweetheart?”

She pushed to her feet. “I’m not. I’m fine.” Her jaw was on fire, and speaking forced tears to her eyes. She batted them back.

Nathan’s upper lip quirked. “Good on you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why did he take you? Does he know about Shane?”

Josie frowned, rubbing her smarting fingertips together. Blood smeared. “No. His boss is the one who trashed our offices because they want some of my records.”

Shane frowned. “Which records?”

Josie shrugged, trying to catch her breath. “George wouldn’t say. It had to be in one of the four files I took home the other night. Those are the only files they couldn’t get at the office.”

George groaned, rolling to the side.

Shane reached for her wrists and turned her palms over. “What the hell happened to your hands?”

“I grabbed the tiles to block the door.” She bit her lip against tears. Now that the danger had passed, fear clutched her around the throat. No crying. She would not cry.

“Smart girl,” Shane murmured, his hands warm under hers. “You go with Mattie, angel. We’ll be along shortly.” He pushed her gently toward Matt, who put a reassuring arm around her shoulder.

“Oh but—” Reality crashed back. “Billy’s dead. I mean, his body is in the storage room.” Poor Billy.

Nathan raised an eyebrow and hustled through the hole in the wall, plunging back out after a couple moments. “Thirty-five to the head. Point-blank.”

Her knees quivered. George would definitely have killed her. “All four of the accounts I brought home with me were Billy’s clients first.” They were good clients. What did George hope to gain by obtaining their financial information? Or was he trying to cover up Billy’s mistakes? Had he stolen from the companies? If so, for whom?

Shane’s face turned to stone. “Well, then. We need to find out what this guy was looking for, don’t we?” Anticipation and deadly promise whispered through his deep tone. “Matt, please take my wife out of here. We’ll meet you shortly.”

Josie shivered. “No, Shane. I think we should call the police.”

The smile he flashed was one she’d never seen. Hard and dark. “We will. After I get the answers I need.” He nodded at Matt. “The police have seen both Nathan and me—let’s keep you out of this. Take her out of here.”

“I can figure it out from the paperwork—we don’t need this guy.” She struggled against Matt.

Shane shook his head. “No—we need the answers now.”

She faltered. “But, I mean, what if he won’t tell you?” Shane wouldn’t really kill George, would he?

Shane dropped the smile, sadness curling his lip. “He will. I promise.”

Matt tugged her toward the elevator, gently, but not giving an inch.

Josie stumbled, glancing back at her husband. “Do you know how to do this, Shane? I mean, interrogation.”

His eyes turned slate hard. “I know how to do this, angel.”

She faltered, pushing away from Matt.

Shane shifted his gaze to the man writhing on the floor. “Now, Matt.”

Without a word, Matt swung her up in muscular arms. The scent of man and spice surrounded her. She began to struggle even as he stalked to the far corner, his boots thumping on the tile. Her elbow shot tentatively into his gut, and she squirmed in his arms.

Matt tightened his hold and lowered his head. “Stop it. You’ll upset Shane if he thinks I’m hurting you.” He opened a door, stepping into a wide stairwell.

Frustration welled up. How could Shane just let his brother carry her off? Matt was seriously strong, and she couldn’t get free. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“Stop, Matt. Shane’s going to kill George.”

Matt shrugged. “I wouldn’t care if Shane killed the asshole who attacked you, sweetheart. But Shane told you he wouldn’t kill George. So he won’t.” Matt loped down flights of stairs until he kicked open an outside door. Wind whipped hard rain into them, and Matt hunched his body over her, giving shelter. Quick strides had them at her car, where he buckled her in before jumping into the driver’s seat and maneuvering out of the parking lot.

Matt drove quickly through town, taking an unfamiliar exit off the interstate. Businesses and then homes passed by until trees and fields filled the view. The rain slashed against the window of her Toyota, and Josie burrowed farther down in the passenger seat. “We shouldn’t have left Shane to torture that guy.”

Matt’s jaw tightened. “Shane will be fine.”

Then why was tension suddenly filling the cab? Josie sighed. Matt wouldn’t turn back, and there was no way she could help Shane right now. But her clients were another matter. “I should’ve gone back to my office and gotten those files.”

He kept his gaze on the narrow road, his large hands relaxed on the steering wheel. “Your face is pretty banged up. It’s Friday—surely you take off early on Friday sometimes.”

The Hercules hadn’t given her a choice. Just hustled her out of the building. “Why don’t you like me?”

His head jerked. Muscles in his large chest shifted as he exhaled. “I do like you.”

“Do not.”

A dimple flashed in his cheek. Just like Shane’s. “Sure I do.” Matt’s gaze focused on her aching jaw, and he gritted his own, turning back to the road. “Enough to know you don’t belong in our world. You’re too—”

“Soft.” She sighed it. “All three of you have used that term.” It didn’t make any sense. “Maybe you’re all wrong. Whatever shaped you, whatever you think about women… maybe you’re all wrong.” Fog filled the windows, so she reached forward and flipped on the defrost. “I can be pretty tough.”

“I know.” He nodded. “There’s no doubt you’re a tough little thing.”

Why did that not sound like he was agreeing? “You don’t know anything about me.”

Matt had a deep chuckle. “I know everything about you.”

“Is that so? Like what?”

He inhaled. “I’ve read your records, sweetheart. Your hospital reports, your school reports, all the social worker reports. Your school transcripts, any e-mail you’ve ever sent. The court documents when Arthur and Claire Bomont began adoption proceedings.”

What? He’d investigated her? “The adoption proceedings didn’t go through.”