What Are You Afraid Of?

  Ronnie was furious.

  This was supposed to be his grand finale.

  Everything over the past months had been plotted and planned for this specific moment.

  And now it was ruined.

  All because of Griffin Archer. The bastard. He was going to take so much pleasure in killing him.

  Shoving himself to his feet, Ronnie ignored the forklift that was now tangled with metal shelving, and the clouds of dust that filled the air. The mess was Baylor’s problem. Not his.

  He paused long enough to make sure the safety was off his handgun, and then he headed toward the nearest aisle. Carrie was hidden somewhere in the warehouse. He intended to find her and complete his goal of squeezing the life from her.

  But first he was going to blow out the brains of Griffin Archer.

  Focused on his lust for blood, Ronnie was oblivious to the shadow gliding through the aisle that was parallel to him. It wasn’t until he reached a small clearing that Baylor abruptly stepped around the end of a rack to block his path.

  Ronnie frowned. He’d hoped that one of the flying boards had plunked his partner in the head. It would solve the problem of killing him once he was done with Carrie and Griffin.

  Then again, he didn’t mind being the one to put a bullet in Baylor. There would be a nice symmetry. He was the one who started the Kill Club. He would be the one to end it.

  But only after the others were dead.

  Ronnie came to a halt, sending Baylor an impatient glare. “Why are you just standing there?” he demanded. “We need to find Griff and get rid of him before he shoots us or finds some new way to be a pain in the ass.”

  Baylor shrugged, his gun held loosely in one hand as he offered a mysterious smile.

  “Actually, there’s been a change of plans.”

  Ronnie’s brows snapped together. No one changed his plans. No one.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Baylor’s smile remained as he took a step toward Ronnie. “The problem with the endgame was making sure the authorities believe that all the bad guys are dead.”

  Ronnie shrugged. He’d already planned for that. Baylor just didn’t know that his death was going to be the “endgame.”

  “The cops are too stupid to figure out anything,” he said. “We already proved that.”

  “So we did.” Baylor held out his hand. “But just to be sure, I need to borrow your gun.”

  Ronnie took an instinctive step backward. “You have your own gun.”

  Baylor’s features tightened, but his smile never faltered. Ronnie had learned over the years that the older man shared many of Ronnie’s own talents. Including the ability to hide his true emotions.

  “Yes, but when I put a bullet into my brother’s heart, I prefer to use your weapon.”

  “Brother?” Ronnie felt a stab of surprise. “Matthew is here?”

  “Yes, I found him in the security office when I went in to change the passcode for the locks. I assume he was trying to figure out how to open the doors.”

  Ronnie cursed. How many people were waltzing in and out of the warehouse? It was a wonder the National Guard hadn’t shown up.

  “He’s the idiot who led Griffin Archer to the warehouse,” Baylor said.

  “Oh.” Well, that explained how Griff had found him. “What did you do with him?”

  “I bashed him on the back of the head,” Baylor admitted, his tone revealing zero regret at having wounded his brother.

  The lack of empathy convinced Ronnie the older man hadn’t been lying about wanting his brother dead.

  “You’re really going to kill your own brother?”

  “That wasn’t my intention, but now I realize that I’ll never have a better opportunity to have what I deserve.” A cold glimmer in his hazel eyes. “The company. The estate. The money. I couldn’t have planned it any better.”

  Ronnie’s uneasiness deepened. There was something different about the man standing in front of him.

  Of the two Jacobs brothers, Matthew had always been bold and brash and charming, while Baylor was quiet and studious, and watchful. When they’d been young, Matthew would enjoy tormenting Ronnie, and it was Baylor who would whisper in Ronnie’s ear how to get back at the older boy. He was the one to urge Ronnie to toss the keys of Matthew’s expensive Corvette in the lake. And it was Baylor who’d been encouraging when Ronnie had confessed that he was certain Stuart Jacobs was his father.

  Now there was an arrogance in his expression that Ronnie didn’t like.

  “Planned what?” he demanded.

  “First you got rid of my uncle for me.”

  For him? What the hell was he talking about?

  “You know why he had to die,” Ronnie argued. “He was punished because he refused to admit the truth.”

  Baylor shook his head. “Christ, you’re the most gullible fool I ever met.”

  Ronnie stiffened. Enough was enough. How dare this man act as if he was more than a mere disciple?

  “Don’t say that,” he snapped.

  “It’s true.” Baylor’s voice held a hint of derision. “I’ve been using you since you were a creepy kid, trailing behind my uncle like a pathetic stray dog.”

  Ronnie shook his head. “I didn’t trail behind him. My father—”

  “He wasn’t your father, you moron,” Baylor interrupted.

  Ronnie’s breath was wrenched from his lungs. What was going on? Was Baylor trying to confuse him? But why?

  “He was. I have the proof,” he rasped. “You saw the letters and said they had to mean that he was my father.”

  Baylor clicked his tongue, taking a step forward. “Poor Ronnie. I wrote those letters.”

  Ronnie lifted his gun, waving it toward Baylor. “No.”

  The man stopped, his gaze on the weapon in Ronnie’s hand. Still, his expression remained taunting.

  “Yes. I copied them from a stack of love letters I found in my aunt’s desk.”

  Ronnie grimaced. There was a pounding behind his right eye. He should just shoot the bastard. It was what he was planning to do eventually. Right?

  But he couldn’t squeeze the trigger. Not until he’d reasserted his dominance over the man.

  “My mother’s name was on them,” he reminded his companion. As if that explained everything.

  Baylor arched a brow. “A simple enough change.”

  Ronnie struggled to grasp what he was saying. “Why?”

  “Because my uncle was destroying our company,” Baylor said. “My father refused to force Stuart out of his position, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

  Ronnie made a sound of disbelief. Baylor couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen when Ronnie found the letters.

  “You were just a kid.”

  “A very observant kid,” Baylor insisted. His smug tone grated on Ronnie’s raw nerves. “I could see that my uncle was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Not only was the business going down the toilet, but he was terrified he might lose his young and beautiful wife if she realized he was a failure. So I did everything in my power to add to his stress.”

  “Yeah, right,” Ronnie scoffed. “What could you do?”

  The icy hazel gaze flicked down to the gun in Ronnie’s hand before returning to his face. Was he worried that Ronnie was going to shoot him?

  He should be.

  “I would casually mention to my uncle that I happened to see my aunt in town with a strange man,” he admitted, his lips twitched as if he was remembering the pleasure he’d taken in tormenting Stuart Jacobs. “I would move things around his office to make him think he was losing his memory.” He paused, studying Ronnie with that annoying smile. “And then I realized that you could provide even more chaos.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you,” Baylor drawled in mocking tones. “I hoped after I convinced you that you were Stuart’s son you would confront my uncle.” He deliberately paused. “Preferably in front of my aunt. It was possible she might
believe that he had his bastard living above the garage. Can you imagine the trouble it would have caused in their marriage?” He released a low chuckle. “I never dreamed you would actually shoot both of them.”

  Ronnie clenched his teeth. He didn’t believe him. Baylor couldn’t have written the letters. They had to be from Stuart to his mother.

  After all, they were his proof that his real father wasn’t a nameless loser. That Ronnie Hyde was as good as all the snotty Louisville society kids, even if he couldn’t tell anyone.

  If they were fake . . .

  Then his entire identity was a lie.

  “If it was just some game to you, then why did you help my mother cover up what I did?” Ronnie asked in a harsh voice. “And why haven’t you told anyone that I was locked in an institute instead of living with a relative?”

  “It suited me to have people think my uncle was responsible. It not only allowed my father to take over the company, but it got rid of my bratty cousin. My family belonged at the Jacobs estate, but having Carrie around would always mean that my father was being compared to his dead brother. No one can match up to a saint.” A cold, calculating smile twisted Baylor’s lips. “Plus, I’d discovered you were a valuable tool.”

  Ronnie shoved aside the fact that Griff Archer was hidden somewhere in the warehouse with a gun. As well as his clamoring need to destroy the woman who’d had the life that should have been his. Instead, he glared at Baylor.

  This man had been nothing. A younger brother who’d lived in the shadows of his brother who was better-looking and more charming than Baylor could ever hope to be.

  Everyone loved Matthew. No one even liked Baylor.

  Until he’d started visiting Ronnie at the institute, Baylor hadn’t had any friends. And he certainly hadn’t had a purpose beyond his stupid work.

  Ronnie had allowed him to share in his dark fantasies. And trained him to become a part of the Kill Club. In return, Baylor had helped him stay in contact with the others. He’d even helped them to escape the various facilities when Ronnie was ready to put his plans into motion. But it’d all been with the understanding that Ronnie was the one in charge.

  Now Baylor was trying to change the rules. And undermine Ronnie’s confidence by rewriting the past.

  Ronnie squared his shoulders. It wasn’t going to work.

  “I’m not a tool,” he snapped.

  Baylor flicked a dismissive gaze over him. Like he was some sort of bug that he was contemplating squashing beneath his heel.

  “Of course you are,” Baylor insisted. “One that I created and nurtured over the years.”

  Ronnie stepped toward his companion, waving his gun in a wild gesture.

  “You’re nothing but a cowardly liar.”

  Baylor remained calm. The smug bastard.

  “I suspected one day I might need you again. And I did,” he told Ronnie. “Over the years I’d hoped that Carrie would find some nice local farmer to marry and settle down in her grandparents’ house. She hadn’t any contact with us for years, and there was no need for her to return to Louisville.” Baylor heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Of course she had to become a problem. Not only did she not stay at her home, she had to go to college to become an investigative journalist.”

  Ronnie made a sound of impatience. None of this made sense.

  It’d been Carrie’s determination to become a journalist that had led her to interviewing the serial killers. And eventually had inspired his own killing spree.

  “Isn’t that what we wanted?”

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Baylor said with an expression of disgust. “I couldn’t have her returning to the family estate, snooping into things that were none of her business.”

  Ronnie frowned. At first he assumed that Baylor was talking about the murder/suicide of her parents. Why would he worry about that? There was no way for Carrie to learn the truth.

  Not until Ronnie was ready to reveal his inner self to her.

  Then he wrinkled his nose in repugnance. “You did steal the three million dollars,” he said, shaking his head.

  His mother had been convinced that Lawrence had been up to something nefarious. And it appeared she’d been right. It was disappointing to think that Baylor was just as shallow as the rest of his family.

  For the first time since he’d blocked Ronnie’s path, the older man flushed, looking oddly defensive.

  “The insurance money should have gone to my father in the first place,” he growled. “We needed it to save the company from a bankruptcy that had been created by my uncle’s stubborn refusal to listen to common sense.” Baylor paused, sucking in a deep, calming breath before he managed to paste his smile back on his lips. “Unfortunately, the law wouldn’t understand that it was a business decision.”

  Ronnie didn’t understand either. Who cared about money? It couldn’t buy respect. Or greatness.

  He had earned those without having a penny in his pocket.

  “It was stealing,” he accused.

  Baylor gave a dismissive wave of his hand, once again in full command of his composure.

  “Whatever,” he said. “I needed to get rid of her. And you were the perfect stooge to do it. Why do you think I brought you a copy of her book?”

  Ronnie hunched his shoulders, the pain drilling behind his eye. He didn’t want to hear these lies. They were starting to confuse him.

  “You said the book was a challenge from my sister,” he muttered. “Our blood was calling to each other and only one of us could come out as the victor.”

  Baylor gave a loud laugh. “I said a lot of shit,” he told Ronnie. “I knew that with enough prodding you would finally give in to your need to kill Carrie. After all, you’d wanted to see her dead since she was just a little girl.”

  “No.” Ronnie shook his head, even as the words struck a painful chord of truth. He had wanted Carrie dead.

  She had everything.

  And he had nothing.

  Baylor stepped toward him, continuing to twist the proverbial knife he’d stuck in Ronnie’s back.

  “And now, miraculously, you’ve given me a way to get rid of Matthew as well.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with stupid Matthew,” Ronnie denied.

  An ugly jealousy rippled over Baylor’s face. “You’re right. Matthew is stupid. And lazy. And self-indulgent. If there was any justice in the world, I should have been born the older son,” he said, each word coming out with biting force. The hazel gaze shifted toward the nearby security office. Presumably, Matthew was still lying unconscious in there. “Thanks to you I can now make it appear as if he was just another of your partners in crime who ended up dead when you were done with him.”

  Ronnie’s lips parted, but before he could speak, an icy dread snaked down his spine.

  Did Baylor know what he’d done with the others? Or was this just another trick to try to confuse him?

  Ronnie absently rubbed the painful throb beside his eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Seriously?” Baylor scoffed, smoothly moving forward. Ronnie frowned. When had the other man gotten so close? “Did you think I wasn’t aware that we were losing our club members one by one?” Baylor demanded. “I’m sure I was next on the list, wasn’t I?”

  Ronnie forced a choked laugh. “Of course not,” he lied.

  Baylor shrugged. “Oh, I’m not complaining. It tied up all the loose ends nicely for me. Now when the cops come, they’ll find Matthew with a bullet in his head, along with Griffin Archer, who was unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they’ll blame the deaths on you. Especially since I’ll be sure to use your gun,” Baylor said, his words soft as if he was speaking more to himself than Ronnie. “And as for Carrie, we need something special, don’t you think? Should I strangle her? It’s what you wanted to do.”

  Ronnie licked his lips. This was all spinning out of control. He was the one in charge. He was the one who decided when and how people died.
r />   Baylor was spoiling everything.

  “What about me?” Ronnie winced, aware he sounded like a whining child.

  Baylor smiled. A real smile that reached his icy hazel eyes.

  “You tragically didn’t realize that once Matthew had changed the security locks you couldn’t get out of the warehouse without having the passcode.” As he spoke, Baylor casually strolled to grab a metal can off a bottom shelf. Turpentine. “You died in the fire you lit to hide your crimes. The police will assume that’s the end to the killings and I can walk away. Although once the smoke settles . . .” His lips twitched as he managed to open the can while keeping the gun in his other hand. “Literally. I might create my own Kill Club.”

  For a second, Ronnie watched as Baylor splashed the clear liquid over the wooden planks piled on a nearby rack. Then the full impact of Baylor’s treachery hit like a sledgehammer to his head.

  This man hadn’t been his friend when they were young. And he hadn’t been trying to help when he’d visited him in the institute. And he certainly hadn’t been the devoted disciple he’d pretended to be when they’d formed their secret club.

  “You used me,” he breathed, launching himself forward as a misty red fury clouded his mind. He’d allowed this man to be his most trusted disciple. He’d chosen him to be the last to die. A place of honor. And how had he been repaid for his kindness? Betrayal. “You bastard.”

  If Ronnie had been in his right mind, he would have just shot the traitor. But his anger consumed him. He desperately needed to feel his fist crushing into Baylor’s smug face.

  “It’s about damned time,” Baylor muttered as he easily dodged Ronnie’s wild swing and reached to wrench the weapon from his hand.

  Then, with an expression of sheer triumph, he pressed the muzzle to Ronnie’s temple and pulled the trigger.

  Oddly, Ronnie felt nothing. There was a bright flare of light, followed by a distant sound of thunder. Like a storm was approaching. Then his knees went weak and the world was painted black.

  Wrapped in a peace he’d never experienced in life, he fell to the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Carmen slapped her hand over her mouth, muffling her scream as she watched Ronnie sway and then tumble onto the cement floor.