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We’re cut off by the sound of heavy, booted footsteps.

My heart beats so violently that I can feel each pump of the muscle, and Quinn reaches for her gun, resting her hand on it.

We wait for a knock.

It doesn’t come.

The floorboards creak under the weight of whoever is in the hall, their shadow visible under the door.

A quiet, groaning squeak reaches my ears.

The doorhandle slowly turns.

Terror splashes down my spine, and Quinn takes out her weapon, pointing it at the door. “NYPD. Identify yourself.” The squeaking stops, the doorknob stilling. She jerks her head at me, and I move quickly and quietly behind her. She unhooks a walkie talkie from her belt. “Dispatch, this is Detective Quinn Marshall with the NYPD, working with LAPD and FBI on a missing persons case. I’m at 2251 Orchids Lane requesting backup for a possible break-in.”

“Copy that, Detective Marshall. Units are on the way.”

The man on the other side of the door still hasn’t moved. Quinn takes a step forward, her gun still raised. “NYPD. Respond or⁠—”

A bullet tears through the door. Quinn takes several steps back, firing twice. I duck, covering my ears.

“Dispatch, this is Detective Quinn Marshall. Shots fired at 2251 Orchids Lane—” Something thuds against the door. “If you breach this door, I will shoot you!” she bellows. Another thud. Another. “Dispatch, where are those units!”

“One minute out⁠—”

The door flies open. Quinn fires, holding her ground, and the man stumbles, his back meeting the doorframe.

But the bullets slam into a vest, and he barely misses a step.

Quinn’s gun clicks, the clip empty. “Fuck this.” She marches forward, and the intruder barrels toward us. I’m unsure if he’s enormous or if my mind is exaggerating his physique, but I shrink back. “Taser!” Two prongs shoot out of the device in Quinn’s hand, securing themselves to the attacker’s arms. He jerks violently, eyes widening as he falls to his knees. Quinn is panting, cheeks flushed as she takes out her cuffs. “You’re under arrest for⁠—”

He shouldn’t be able to recover that fast. Maybe he’s as big as I think he is, and the current wasn’t strong enough, because he lurches forward, seizing Quinn and throwing her. She’s like a rag doll, her body slamming into the ground and skidding toward the kitchen. The intruder stands, and I dart around the couch, heart in my throat as I make for the discarded taser.

Sharp pain shoots across my scalp. Warmth spills down my skin.

The world tips.

My knees meet the floor, and somewhere in the recesses of my mind, a voice begs me to keep moving. To keep fighting.

“Look at your father! Look at him and fight back!”

The last thing I hear is the echo of my mom’s voice.

Chapter 33

Xavier

The warehouse is buried deep in a part of the city where you don’t leave your car unlocked. It’s squeezed between a dozen other buildings, most abandoned, or they at least look it. Graffiti covers the gray brick, and heavy chains hang around doorknobs—bar the place where we believe Ryker is.

The night is heavy, and a flickering streetlamp adds to the creepy ambience but offers decent cover. Our men are split between the buildings either side of Ryker’s, others situated behind and in front of it.

Yale is on the roof opposite, set up and ready to go.

I hunker low as I move from building to building, dark clothing helping me blend into the shadows. My heart rate is steady, and I don’t allow myself to think about Silence. My focus needs to be on my brother.

“I hope you’re not rusty with that rifle,” I whisper.

Yale chuckles in my earpiece. “I bet a fucked-up part of you hopes I am so you can claim to be better than me.”