“We'll see. Finish him. Toss the cabin.”
“Wait—” Thomas choked out.
Ray’s blood froze.
“Wait,” Thomas coughed. “Under... under the floor. Root cellar.”
Marcus stiffened against Ray. In the dark, Marcus slowly drew his heavy knife, pointing it upward toward the trapdoor.
Sterling’s boots stepped directly over their heads.
“Where?”
“Under the rug,” Thomas said.
Ray’s heart shattered. Thomas was giving them up.
A hand pulled back the rug above them. Light cracked through the seams of the trapdoor.
Marcus tensed, ready to drive his knife upward the second the door opened.
“Open it,” Sterling ordered.
The handle of the trapdoor rattled.
Suddenly, above them, Thomas screamed. A raw, terrifying battle cry of a man with absolutely nothing left to lose.
There was a wet tearing sound, a shout of surprise, and the deafening blast of Thomas’s Glock firing point-blank.
Thomas hadn't given them up. He had lured Sterling’s men close to the trapdoor to draw their fire away from it.
Chaos erupted again. Automatic weapons fire tore through the floorboards, splintering the wood, sending shards of oak raining down on Ray and Marcus.
“He’s got a knife! Put him down!”
Three deafening, unsuppressed rifle shots shook the foundations of the cabin.
Then, total silence.
Ray stopped breathing entirely.
Above them, someone groaned.
“Status,” Sterling barked, his voice tight with sudden adrenaline.
“Miller’s hit. Neck. He’s bleeding out.”
“And Mercer?”
Silence.
“He's gone, boss.”
Ray felt a tear break loose, hot and stinging, sliding down his face into the dirt. Marcus slowly released his grip on Ray, his own chest heaving in the dark.
Twenty years. He had found his brother after twenty years, only to listen to him die through the floorboards.
“Burn it,” Sterling commanded, his voice shaking with fury. “Burn the whole damn cabin to the ground. If the files are here, they burn with him.”
The heavy footsteps retreated toward the front door. Liquid splashed loudly across the floorboards above—the unmistakable smell of kerosene cutting through the gunpowder.
“We have to go,” Marcus whispered urgently. He grabbed Ray’s collar and dragged him backward through the dark, cramped cellar.
Ray felt dead inside. He moved mechanically, crawling on his hands and knees over damp, packed earth. His hand brushed against the thick envelope tucked inside his vest.
*The files.*
At the back of the cellar, Marcus found the drainage pipe Thomas had mentioned. It was a corrugated metal tube, roughly three feet wide, vanishing into total darkness.
“In. Now,” Marcus ordered.