Page 189 of Reverie

Winter will get out of this safely, even if that means I don’t.

Winthrope keeps talking as the world spins, spins, spins out of control.

My eyes flick to the man holding my wife by the upper arm.

“Ah, see, I’d planned on doing this from afar—sending some men to your island and filling her with bullets for you to find, but Marcus convinced me that the revenge would be much, much sweeter if I witnessed your pain firsthand.”

My eyebrow twitches at that statement, and I resist the urge to look at Marcus Law.

Winthrope looks thoroughly unhinged as he speaks, so I take a moment to assess Winter in the dim light. She looks drugged, listing to the side a fraction, but she’s alert, and that’s what’s keeping my heart beating through the agony I’m battling.

I love you, Sunbeam.

I transmit the words and every ounce of love and care and protection I have for her in my expression.

“What’s your end goal, then?” I nod my head to indicate the mansion above us that will soon start to deteriorate.

Winthrope sniffs, and I zero in on the shake in his forearm. He’s getting tired of holding the gun.

One more minute, Sunbeam.

“It’s time for The Legion to rise up and claim our rightful place. We’ve wasted decades—decades where your father got to have his fun but gotnothingdone. You think Benjamin Brigham was a king? Of course,you’dthink that, but your father was a weak fool. He thought he had what it takes to see our divine mission completed. But in the end, he failed. Just like you’ve failed.”

“Divine mission?” I ask. But instead of answering, he gives me a broad grin.

Keep him talking.

He shifts his gun’s aim to Winter, and Marcus takes a step back, positioning himself behind Winthrope.

My vision narrows on Winthrope’s hand holding the gun that’s pointed toward my wife.

Myeverything.

I give the older man a smile that’s just as sick as his.

“All this for The Architect?”

Something flashes across his face. “No, everything is forme.” I see the intent in his gaze, but the moment I’ve been waiting for finally comes.

With a loudboom, the first chain of bombs goes off on the far side of the mansion. It’s still close enough that the blast causes the walls to vibrate and groan, and Winthrope jumps, giving me the split second of distraction I need.

He drops the gun a fraction, pointing it away from Winter just enough for me to throw the high-carbon steel toward his chest, and with a meatythwap,the blade hits the target of his heart.

Winthrope drops like a rock to the stone floor, a strangled noise slipping from his throat as he tries to grasp for the knife.

I stand over him, pulling the secondary gun out of the holster at my back and pointing it at his gaping mouth. He coughs, and blood spews from between his clenched teeth.

“Who is The Architect?” I yell, my hoarse voice grating in my ears.

Winthrope coughs again, sucking in a failed breath before sputtering on my shoes. Then he laughs.

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” he says. “You may kill me, Hunter Brigham, but we will never stop hunting you. Your cunt wife, the bastard in her stomach, your son, and your sweet sister—we will have her. Nothing stops The Architect.”

I allow the rage and vengeance to take over, filling my cells and overriding my senses. I pull the trigger.