“Good.” I turned back to the window, my mind still razor-sharp and shrewd. I hadn’t slept a wink the entire eternal journey from Indonesia. I didn’t need sleep. All fatigue, fury, and emotions had been stripped away.

I was clinical in all things, which allowed rationality to plot ahead.

If there was some chance of me surviving the inevitable death in my future, I owed it to Eleanor to at least attempt to reverse it.

It was Cal who dangled potential hope.

I wasn’t afraid of dying. I never had been. But I was afraid to leave the one person who’d made my life infinitely better.

Therefore, I’d activated a resuscitation plan. One chance to kill the old Sully and let a new one be reborn. Thanks to my connections within big Pharma, and my regular donations and breakthroughs to modern medicine, I had acquaintances in Geneva only too happy to give me the two items on my list.

A travel defib and a strong sedative.

A simple phone call, a rendezvous on the top of the hospital’s roof where mortally ill patients arrived by air, and a quick handover to the leader of the mercenaries following us, and it was done.

Whether or not it would work...I guess, we’ll find out.

Either way, Eleanor couldn’t be mad at me if I did die because at least I’d tried to stay with her. I did my best, and if I failed...that was fate’s choice.

“Three minutes, Sinclair,” an older mercenary muttered, touching his ear where an earpiece relayed information.

I nodded and pulled my cell phone free. Scrolling the copy of my contacts, I brought up the number for the head housekeeper of the Geneva estate. I hadn’t visited this place in years, but our staff were loyal because we paid well.

If Mrs. Betha Bixel still ran the household, she might give me loyalty over Drake who visited more often. He’d never been her favourite person after she’d been the one to clean up swan feathers after he’d snared one and plucked it, alive, in his bedroom.

I wished there was some explanation for Drake’s maliciousness—some excuse or cure for whatever psychosis he embraced. But the fact was, he was just born wrong. Rotten to his core and noxious in every way.

The phone rang as I pressed it to my ear and waited.

My heart didn’t skip.

My palms didn’t sweat.

I was so close to Eleanor, so near to finishing this, but my adrenaline didn’t spike. Every ounce had already been employed into drowning out my injuries and operated entirely under Tritec’s command.

“Hallo, we ist das?”

“Mrs. Bixel, it’s Sullivan Sinclair. Rose and James’ son.”

“Of course! You do not need to remind me, Sullivan. I know who you are. My favourite son.” Her Swiss-German accent filled my ear, half with comfort from our trips here and half with dread from what’d happened in that estate. “Your brother arrived ten minutes or so ago. He brought...friends.”

“Can I assume you will not inform him of this conversation?”

She tutted. “You assume correctly. I do not like that man.” Her voice lowered. “He brought a girl with him. Some poor thing dressed only in a man’s shirt. It’s early winter, Sullivan. A girl cannot be out in the snow in just a shirt.” Her disapproval poured down the line as she opened her mouth to berate me some more. “Why can’t he be caring...like you? You always were—”

“That girl. Is she hurt?” I cut her off. Already the helicopter had decreased its speed, flying closer to the sprawling acreage.

“No, but exhausted. She needs a bath and—”

“Where did he take her?”

“To the Blau lounge.”

“How many men are with him?”

“I did not get a full count. Perhaps six? Seven?”

“How many staff are on-site?”

“Why?” Her voice turned wary. “What is going on, Sull—”

“Round up your staff, Mrs. Bixel. Confine them to your quarters away from harm. I cannot promise they won’t get caught in the crossfires if they don’t.”

“Oh, my saints. Violence again? What is it with you two brothers—”

“Do what I say and do it now. I suggest you don’t come out of your quarters until someone comes to get you. You won’t like what you see if you do.”

I hung up before she could question me further.

The Sinclair Manor House appeared below us, the oak trees dusted with snow, the gardens painstakingly swept from the light fall overnight. The pond had ice crystals glittering around the perimeter, and the sight of the stone mansion made my hair stand on end.

The pilots swooped low, scooping out the gardens and choosing a landing site not far from the sweeping deck that’d been added on before my parents bought the place. I’d eaten many a breakfast on that terrace and smuggled titbits from the kitchen for the birds and wildlife.

The second the skids hit earth, the closest mercenary to the door ripped open the fuselage and leaped to the grass. The rest of the men spilled out, waiting for me as I grabbed the cane one of the mercenaries had given me when we’d landed in Geneva.

A walking stick instead of a helpless crutch.

I’d loathed the thought of a crutch. Just the sight of it made sickness and weakness come to mind. I was neither of those things. I was deadly, determined.

Seemed a mercenary had felt the same way as he’d presented me with a simple black cane when we’d disembarked the plane. Where the fuck he got it from, I didn’t know or care, but I’d accepted it and left the crutch behind.

With my hand wrapped around the smooth ball at the top, I commanded, “Sweep the house, shoot the men, leave the staff. If you can’t tell the difference, shoot first then ask questions. I expect cold-bloodedness, gentlemen. My brother is out of lives. If he doesn’t die today, you will. I fucking guarantee it.”

They nodded, unholstering their weapons.

“Three of you, follow me.” Sweeping my gaze over my black-clad audience, I added, “When the other team arrives, have them bring me the package.”

The men fanned out—faster than me, more able-bodied than me, and that was why I’d hired them. They could do the dirty work. I only had one life to steal today.

As I climbed the steps to the deck, my cane slipped on ice. My leg bellowed, sneaking past Tritec’s defences as I put more weight on my broken bones than I wanted. The bite of cold air was foreign after years in the tropics, but at least the colder weather matched the arctic chill inside me.

Sweat from pain just froze instead of rolled.

Flushes from agony had no place as I limped toward the many glass doors offering the weak winter sun to enter the family room and kitchen. The mercenaries had already run inside. Shots fired. Voices raised before being cut off quickly.

I was almost too late to witness the takeover as I stepped into the immaculate Regency home just in time to see the last man drop.

Three guards? That was all Drake had?

Bullshit.

Marching with a goddamn limp, I used my cane to point at the locked doors to blau lounge. German for blue, it’d been decorated by my father who had a love of dark spaces after working in bright labs. He and Drake had spent many a summer holed up in gloominess while I’d run wild in the sunny gardens.

“Shoot the lock,” I snarled.

The mercenary closest did as I requested, blowing apart the intricately carved door. Wood shards flew like shrapnel, and the doors swung inward thanks to his powerful kick.