This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Rebecca Zanetti
Cover design by Brian Lemus. Image of man © Claudio Marinesco. Image of forest © Stephen Carroll / Trevillion Images.
Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2017946154
ISBNs: 978-1-4555-9431-3 (paperback), 978-1-4555-9430-6 (ebook)
E3-20171013-NF-DA
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Also by Rebecca Zanetti
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter: 1
Chapter: 2
Chapter: 3
Chapter: 4
Chapter: 5
Chapter: 6
Chapter: 7
Chapter: 8
Chapter: 9
Chapter: 10
Chapter: 11
Chapter: 12
Chapter: 13
Chapter: 14
Chapter: 15
Chapter: 16
Chapter: 17
Chapter: 18
Chapter: 19
Chapter: 20
Chapter: 21
Chapter: 22
Chapter: 23
Chapter: 24
Chapter: 25
Chapter: 26
Chapter: 27
Chapter: 28
Chapter: 29
Chapter: 30
Chapter: 31
Chapter: 32
Chapter: 33
Chapter: 34
Chapter: 35
Chapter: 36
Chapter: 37
Chapter: 38
Chapter: 39
An excerpt from Deadly Silence follows.
Praise for Rebecca Zanetti’s Novels
Discover More Rebecca Zanetti
Also by Rebecca Zanetti
Sin Brothers Series
Forgotten Sins
Sweet Revenge
Blind Faith
Total Surrender
Blood Brothers Series
Deadly Silence
Lethal Lies
This one is for Jillian Stein, who has saved my sanity throughout the last year. You’re an amazing social media director and an even better friend. No matter what happens in this crazy life, we’ll always have Michigan.
Acknowledgments
I’m thrilled to bring the third and final book of the Blood Brothers to readers, and I have many people to thank. This series and its predecessor, the Sin Brothers, found a wonderful home with Grand Central Forever, and I’m thankful to be able to work with such amazing people.
Thank you to my wonderful family, Big Tone, Karlina, and Gabe. I appreciate you telling people that I’m working out dialogue instead of honestly telling them I just talk to myself. Thank you for the support and understanding when I forget which day it is because I’m in the middle of a book. I love you immensely.
Thanks to my editor, Michele Bidelspach, who is so very insightful and hardworking. She puts incredible thought into every book, and I appreciate it so much. These Blood Brothers books have gotten RT Top Pick reviews and have won awards because of the editing, without question.
Thanks to Jodi Rosoff and Michelle Cashman for the brilliant and outside-the-box marketing. More specifically, thank you for getting me full-week speaker passes to Emerald City Comicon and San Diego Comic-Con. I kind of love you guys for that.
Thanks to Brian Lemus for the awesome covers, and thanks to Kallie Shimek, Yasmin Mathew, Dianna Stirpe, and Jessica Pierce from Grand Central Forever for their hard work.
Thank you to my agent, Caitlin Blasdell, who gives fantastic advice across the board and who has been with me through six series. Thanks also to Liza Dawson and the entire Dawson gang for their hard work and support.
Thanks to Jillian Stein, Minga Portillo, Rebecca’s Rebels, Writerspace, and Fresh Fiction for getting the word out about the books.
Thanks to my constant support system: Jim and Gail English, Travis and Debbie Smith, Donald and Stephanie West, Jonah and Jessica Namson, and Herb and Kathy Zanetti.
Prologue
Twenty years ago
Denver sat in the front seat of the fancy car while the pretty lady drove through the small town, her nails a bright red against the white steering wheel. She’d said her name was Dr. Sylvia Daniels, she’d arrived at the boys home yesterday to meet him, and today she’d told him he had to go to get a physical. At least she hadn’t come in the room with him when the doctor had checked him out.
The front seat was too big for him. He was small enough he was supposed to sit in the backseat, but he didn’t want to argue with her.
“You’re turning into such a big boy at only eight years old.” She glanced at him, her eyes bluer than the ocean on television. “I know after speaking with you yesterday that you don’t have selective mutism. You can talk if you want, correct?”
He nodded. But he rarely wanted to talk. Why bother?
She smiled. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you yesterday that I’m sorry it took me so long to find you.”
It had been his first day at the boys home. He bit his lip. She sounded super smart, and she knew he could talk, so it’d be rude not to try. “You were lookin’ for me?”
She turned back to the road. “Yes.” Her grip tightened until her knuckles were as white as the leather. “From the second you disappeared.”
His stomach felt funny. Was that his fault? “I’m sorry.” Sometimes if he said he was sorry, even if he didn’t know why, he didn’t get hit. Though a lady like her wouldn’t hit as hard as his uncle, probably. “Really sorry.”
Her chin lifted, and her dark hair bounced down her shoulders. “None of this is your fault.”
Denver glanced out at the small stores on the quiet street. When the authorities had taken him out of school and driven him to the boys home, nobody had explained anything to him. “Um, where’s my uncle?”
The lady turned toward him. “Do you care?”
Denver lifted one shoulder. He didn’t like getting hit, but he needed family. That was an odd way for a grown-up to answer the question, too. He plucked at a string next to the hole in his jeans. Why was life so scary?
She sighed. “Landrey Mishna is not your uncle, and you don’t have to worry about him any longer. He kidnapped you. From me.”
Denver wiggled on the smooth seat, his heart lea
ping. “He’s not my uncle?” A heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. If the guy hadn’t been his uncle, then Denver wasn’t related to a total asshole. Denver had thought it was his fault his uncle always hit him, but maybe Landrey was just a bad guy. Maybe Denver didn’t have to turn out to be a bad guy, too, since they didn’t share blood. “He lied?”
“Yes.” The lady sniffed. “He was a soldier who worked for me, and he took you away when I had other plans for you. Apparently I made him angry when I stopped seeing him.”
Denver turned to face her. Who was she? What did she want from him? God, he wished he were bigger and could just get out of the car and run. Did that mean he wasn’t alone? His chest got heavy. “You know my family?”
She stiffened but didn’t turn. “I know everything about you.”
He swallowed and leaned toward her. His heart beat faster. “Do I have a dad?”
Now she turned, her face not telling him anything. “No.”
He crossed his arms. “Do I have a mom?” Maybe his mom needed him. She had to be lost, or she’d be with him.
Dr. Daniels stopped at a crosswalk. “You don’t have a mom. You’re quite alone, Denver.”
He didn’t have a mom? His shoulders fell. Yeah, figured. His eyes stung. If he had a mom, then he wouldn’t be alone. “Okay.”
Then Dr. Daniels turned and watched him as if they had all day. “Yesterday when I arrived, you were talking with Ryker and Heath. I figured the three of you would bond quickly. At least I hoped.”
The older boys had protected him from a bully, although he’d been giving it a good fight. “Um, Doctor? What should I call you, and what do you want with me?” She hadn’t explained anything the day before.
She swallowed and pressed her high heel on the gas pedal. “You may call me Sylvia. I’m a doctor who studies smart kids like you.”
He tilted his head to the side. Being quiet helped him to study people, and he somehow knew when they were lying. This lady was lying. She was a doctor, and she studied people, but that wasn’t her name. He’d noticed the hitch in her voice yesterday when he’d first met her. Why would she give him a fake name? If he called her on it, she might hit him. “You gonna study me?” he asked quietly.
Her mouth lost its firm line and she looked softer. She turned the car down a long dirt road toward a big white building. “Yes, I am. You, Ryker, and Heath are special.” Suddenly she reached over and grabbed his hand, enclosing it with her soft skin. “You are the most special of all, Denver. Someday I’ll tell you why.”
He blinked and looked around as she stopped the car. None of this made sense, but he didn’t have a choice in anything. He never had. Not really. “We’re back at the home.”
“Yes,” she said, squeezing his hand before releasing him. “It’s time to get started, my sweet boy.”
* * *
Four years later
Ned Cobb was dead.
A bruised and battered Denver huddled in the corner and stared wide-eyed at the dead adult on the ground. Ned’s brown eyes, so often filled with pure mean, now stared blindly from his smashed head. He had been the owner of the boys home, and he had liked to punch kids. The man had just killed another child, one who’d shown up only yesterday. Ralph’s small body was in the corner, and Denver couldn’t look at him.
Death made the room feel heavy. It even smelled funny. Like old cut grass that had been under wet wood for an entire spring.
Ryker and Heath, Denver’s brothers, stood with bloody baseball bats in their hands, staring at Ned’s body. Like Denver, they both had special senses, including abnormal strength. Right now they were pale, and Heath looked like he was gonna throw up.
“We had to do it,” Ryker said, his voice shaking. He was the oldest of them at around sixteen, and his voice never shook. “Ned killed that kid and was going to kill us.”
Heath nodded, his long brown hair pulled back and his greenish brown eyes filled with terror.
They’d both swung only once.
Denver grabbed the wall and climbed up it to stand. His hands hurt from trying to defend himself from Ned’s belt, but he didn’t think any fingers were broken this time. Though his pinkie was numb.
Ryker dropped the bat and ran over to the kid on the ground. “Ralph?” His voice really trembled now.
“He’s dead,” Denver whispered. His stomach hurt so bad he needed to go to the bathroom.
Ryker checked the kid’s neck anyway. His hands looked like they were shaking, but he touched Ralph carefully, pressing on the jugular. Then Ry leaned over to listen for breathing. He slowly straightened up. “Yeah.” He turned around.
Heath threw his bat over into a corner. “The sheriff is coming back soon. We have to run and get out of here.”
The sheriff was Ned’s brother, and he liked to hit them with his baton. A lot. Denver straightened his shoulders. He might be younger than Ryker and Heath, but this was his fault. They wouldn’t have come down into the basement of the crappy boys home unless it was to save him. Now he had to save them. Even if it made him bad and he’d have to go to hell. Right now he had to protect them. “Burn it. The whole place.”
Ryker looked up at him, surprise in his greenish blue eyes.
Denver flushed. He didn’t talk much, mainly because talking just got kids hit. Also, speaking was hard to do, so he didn’t do it. But this was too important. “We’ll burn the evidence.” Plus, the boys home sucked and it should burn to the ground.
Heath paused and looked wildly around. His shoulders settled, and he breathed out. “Run. We have to run.” He started moving for the door. “I know where the fuel is. We’ll just burn this main building and leave the barracks alone.”
Denver nodded. They didn’t want to kill anybody else. It was after midnight, so they were alone in the main building.
The fire was surprisingly easy to start, and since they spilled lighter fluid and gasoline in almost every room, the building went up in flames fast. Crackling wood had a nice smell, and Denver tried not to think about the burning bodies.
“Let’s go,” Ryker said, turning, his voice sounding older than it had earlier. “Now.”
Denver followed him, with Heath taking up the rear. They hustled across the scrub field into the forest and kept running. Ryker had hidden packs for them nearly a month ago that contained food, knives, and additional clothes. They’d known either they would have to escape, or Ned would kill one of them.
They ran all night, finally stopping to rest at the far edge of the forest, miles away from hell.
Denver leaned against a tree, his chest heaving, tears in his heart. His hands shook. And his legs ached. What had they just done? “We’re just kids.”
“That’s okay. It was him or us.” Ryker slid an arm around his shoulders, his voice cracking and then strengthening. “We’re smart, and we’ll figure out a way to survive until we’re not kids anymore.”
“She’ll find us,” Denver whispered, his stomach rolling over. The woman who studied the three of them, the one dating the sheriff—she’d find them. The doctor lady. There was something wrong about her. She showed up every once in a while to make them take written and physical tests like they were lab rats. She took notes and then went away. And she looked at him funny. Different from the way she looked at Ryker and Heath. Denver bit his lip to keep from crying. Even if the lady didn’t find them, the lawman would never stop looking for them. “The sheriff is gonna want to murder us for killing his brother.”
Heath coughed. “Yeah, but they’re alone, and we’re family. You can’t take down an entire family.”
Denver scratched his chin, his chest aching. “We’re family.” He looked at the scar on his hand. It was four years old, and it meant everything.
“Family,” Ryker affirmed, stepping away to grab cereal bars out of his pack. He stared at the crushed food but didn’t open the wrapper. His body swayed, and he sat down. “Let’s take a minute.”
“Yeah.” Denver’s knees wobbled as he l
ooked at his scar line. Four years ago. He’d felt like a dork, but he’d asked Heath and Ryker for blood. They’d been behind the main building after a day of being tested, and he’d wondered if he was making a mistake. What if they had laughed at him?
He went instantly back to that day that had changed so much.
Denver took a deep breath. “Let’s become blood brothers. There’s one thing that will bind us.” What if he was wrong? Was this stupid? He reached for a knife he’d stolen from the kitchen earlier, wanting only one thing in life. Even if he died tomorrow, he didn’t want to be alone anymore. Maybe they had a chance together in the next life, wherever that was. “Blood.”
Ryker straightened.
Heath moved away from a tree he’d been leaning against, his jaw hard. “I get it.”
“Blood brothers,” Ryker said, grabbing a knife from his back pocket. One Ned didn’t know he had. “This one is sharper. Let’s use this one.”
Denver’s chest exploded. They were gonna do it. Create a brotherhood like he’d dreamed about when they became friends four years ago. It was important that they each cut their own hand—make the choice.
The slice hurt, but somehow it healed what ached so badly inside him. When he pressed his hand to Ryker’s and Heath’s, when they all pressed together, it got kind of messy. Bloody. But it meant something. It meant everything. If he died now, it was okay. He had brothers. Maybe they’d all meet again in heaven. He kind of believed in the place. Tears clogged his eyes.
His hand hurt when everyone let go.
Heath looked down at his bloody palm. “Should we put on bandages?”
Denver shook his head, letting the tears fall. It was okay to cry. They were family. “Let the scars get bigger.”
“Yeah,” Ryker said, his eyes glassy. “We’re brothers now.”
Denver jerked back to the present, and tears filled his eyes, but he didn’t care. They were on the run, and they were just kids. If the sheriff caught them, he’d kill them with a lot of pain. But he could never take away who they were. What they’d formed.
They were family.