Turning my back on a massacre of Crusaders and Daggers, I slapped him on the shoulder. Sudden gratefulness and kinship swarmed me. He’d been a fucking dick when I first arrived, but ever since, he’d been a solid friend. “Morgan …”

He paused, his finger twitching on his trigger. “Yep, Prez?”

“Cheers—for everything.”

He chuckled. “Didn’t think carnage brought out the soppiness in you, Kill.” His eyes glowed. “Means a lot, though, man. Thanks.”

A bullet slammed into the wall, cutting our moment short. With no hesitation, he ducked, aimed, and slaughtered a Dagger.

Leaving him to it, I charged from the room and back into the corridor.

A shape barreled toward me. I raised my semi.

“Wow, Prez!” Beetle skidded to a halt, blood plastered all over his hair.

I pointed the muzzle at the carpet. “You seen them?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. Heard that Asus might be hiding in the john, though.” He cocked his thumb up the corridor. “That way.”

My gun grew heavier with retribution. “Perfect.”

Without another word, he bolted away and disappeared in the hazy smoke.

I followed his direction, stalking past bodies and clearing suddenly silent rooms. Everywhere I looked, I saw men I’d grown up with—trusted and learned from—but no Rubix. No Asus.

My heart thundered. The longer I couldn’t find my targets, the more my rage increased.

This was supposed to be their hideout. So where the fuck are they?

Slamming my shoulder against a toilet door, I bulldozed inside.

And fate finally smiled down on me.

Found you.

I stood in shock as I faced my brother.

“Shit.” His eyes met mine, rage, fear, and surprise mingled in their depths. He sat on the dirtiest shitter I’d ever seen. A rifle pointed at my chest.

“Hello, Dax.” My arm swung upward without thinking.

He snarled, every muscle locked. “Goodbye, Arthur.”

The family reunion happened in a split second. Recognition, acknowledgment, anger.

He fired first.

“Fuck!” By some miracle, I ducked.

The bullet whizzed past my ear.

My brother, Dax “Asus” Killian, stood up, pumping his shotgun to fire again.

Too late.

I didn’t bother aiming, just pulled the trigger. I didn’t have time to make peace, or find an ending. The gun bucked in my hands, almost as if it knew this kill was different. This was the one I wanted more than anything.

“Motherfucker!” He collapsed sideways.

The bullet struck his shoulder, slamming him against the wall. Blood smeared down the dirty surface as he groaned in pain. “You fucking asshole.”

Fumbling to get off another round, he folded forward on the toilet. “Fuck you! What do you think you’ll do? Just kill us all and won’t suffer any consequences?” He spat a wad of blood at my feet. “You’ll go back to jail. Where you belong!”

I’d planned on dragging out his pain. I’d wanted to tell him why this had to happen. Why he had to pay for his sins. But staring at his betraying face, the agony of my childhood took me hostage.

The manipulation. The low-handed tactics.

It was no longer relevant—just like him.

I couldn’t prolong it. I needed it over with.

“Just die, Dax.”

This mayhem wasn’t me. I wasn’t a murderer by choice but by life’s design. The sooner the past was in the past, the sooner I could throw down my weapon and live for the first time in eight long years.

His arm shook as he struggled to fire. “You first, brother.”

Raising my gun, I pulled the trigger.

No remorse. No flinch.

My own flesh and blood existed, then … didn’t. The hole in his forehead gushed with crimson as he slithered to the floor.

I waited to feel something. Anything.

He was my brother.

But there was only the glittering sensation of relief.

I’d turned my brother into a corpse and all I felt was solace. Endless solace to finally have payback. After what he and my father had done that night. After they’d drugged me, beat me, and made me believe I’d shot Thorn and Petal Price on my own accord—there was no other way this could’ve ended.

This was for her.

Grasshopper suddenly appeared. He favored his right side, holding two guns, fingers poised to shoot. His eyes darted into the single toilet. “Shit, you found him.”

I didn’t reply, only continued to stare at my dead relation.

He patted me on the back. “You did right, dude.”

His touch snapped me back to the present. Clearing my throat, I backed away, throwing away the semiautomatic. I’d run out of bullets but I had plenty of other alternatives. Fisting the pistol from my waistband, I nodded. “He had to die.”

Hopper’s gaze was fierce. He knew what this meant but he also knew I wouldn’t find complete redemption until my father was as dead as his firstborn son.

“Go,” I ordered. “It’s not over yet.”

“On it.” With a grin, he took off, charging down the dark, dusty corridor.

I looked left and right. Which way?

The screams and shots happened less and less. It’d been bloody and fast but the battle was almost over.

The adrenaline of war thrummed in my veins—not nearly satisfied. It’d been so long in coming but so short in ending.

Would I be happy with this? This quick conclusion after a decade of dreaming?