That’s when the tears find their way to my eyes. That’s when it hits me, really hits me. That’s when I know what Ian must’ve gone through when he buried a coffin with my gun inside. It’s crippling, the pain. I stumble. Leon steadies me, but he doesn’t slow down.
Another guard waits at the exit to the roof. He gives me a sympathetic look. “The pilot is ready.”
I sag in Leon’s hold. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
The guard opens the door and stands aside for us to exit. The breeze is stronger on the top of the building, whipping my hair around my face and obscuring my view. I swipe at the strands. When my view clears, I still. A big, black helicopter waits on the helipad, and in front of it stands Ian.
It can’t be, yet dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket, he looks very real.
Leon freezes. Incomprehension shuts down my brain. We stand rooted to the spot. Leon lets me go so suddenly I stumble. Before I can come to my senses, Leon storms at Ian. Swinging an arm through the air, he hooks a fist under Ian’s jaw.
The impact flings Ian’s face sideways. He doesn’t fight back. When Leon takes another punch at him, he catches Leon’s fist.
“What the fuck?” Leon yells.
“It was Damian’s idea,” Ian says.
Leon wrenches his fist from Ian’s hand. “To blow up the van?”
“Apparently to fake my death.” Ian catches my gaze over Leon’s head, his eyes soft, apologetic. “He placed a dead body with handcuffs and leg irons in the back of the van and another in the driver’s seat and made it look as if the driver blew up the van with explosives.”
“Son of a fucking bitch.” Leon shakes out his fist. “He could’ve fucking told us.”
“He didn’t want the information to accidently leak out, even if he trusts his hired men. He needed the accident to look real. In case you got caught, he needed even you to believe I was dead.”
“Who was it?” Leon asks, still looking like he wants to commit murder. “Who blew up the van?”
“Russell.” Ian doesn’t look away from me as he continues. “He’s the only man Damian trusts with his life.”
Leon flexes and curls his fingers. “How did he manage such a stunt?”
Ian finally breaks our eye contact to look at his brother. “He intercepted us with another van when we stopped at a red traffic light. A man working with Russell followed in a pickup with the bodies in the back. The driver and I drove Russell’s van to the underground parking while Russell and his buddy placed the bodies and the explosives. Russell said they’d leave in the pickup before the explosives detonated. It was damn well coordinated. It only took them thirty seconds to set it all up. We saw the explosion just as we reached the building where you left the bolt cutter, bike, and clothes for me. The driver abandoned the van and left with the bolt cutter, chains, and my jumpsuit in a car waiting there, and I took the bike here. The driver said he was instructed to dump the cutters in Bruma Lake and to burn the jumpsuit. I reckon by now, Damian would’ve sent someone to fetch the van, or maybe he’s bargaining on the criminals scouting the area to have taken care of the removal for him.”
“Where the hell does Damian find dead bodies?” Leon asks.
“At the morgue. Apparently, he sent two of his men to falsely identify bodies no one had claimed. They signed out the corpses with the pretense of burying their dead relatives.”
“He sounds like Franken-fucking-stein.” Leon rolls his shoulders. “Who’s going to claim responsibility for the attack? There will be a witch hunt.”
“Some fanatic suicide bomber who was a fighter for justice,” Ian says. “Damian had a masked man make a recording claiming responsibility for the attack and sent it to the media. The man claimed to have orchestrated my escape to execute me since the State no longer gives murderers the death sentence they deserve. Seeing that he died in the explosion, there’s no one to hunt.”
“Nice and clean.” Leon’s tone is wry. “All the loose ends tied up. What now? You’re just dead?”
Ian grins. “I want a nice funeral, flowers and all. Purple ones. It’s become my favorite color.”
“Fuck you,” Leon says, spitting on the ground.
“Thanks for having my back. I owe you one.” Ian holds a hand toward me. “We better go.”
Life returns to my limbs as the worst of the shock wears off. Advancing on Ian, I throw back my arm and plant my fist on his jaw.
Ouch! Dammit.
That hurts. Pain pulses in my knuckles while he hasn’t moved an inch.
Moving his jaw from side to side, he gives me a narrow-eyed look. “What the hell was that for?”
“For making me die ten times over in the last few minutes.”
He rubs a palm over his jaw. “I wasn’t privy to your or Damian’s plans, remember?”
No, the punch should’ve been aimed at Damian, but it still makes me feel better.
Ian puts an arm around me. Irrationally, I’m livid with him. I want to shove him away, but relief washes away the anger and with the anger my strength. My legs cave as my knees go wobbly.
He kisses the shell of my ear. “It’s all right. We’re fine.”
He offers Leon a hand. “Truce?”
“I’ll get back at Damian for this,” Leon says. “I swear it.”
Ian drops his hand. “You can come back to Zim with us.”
Something flickers in Leon’s eyes. It’s minute, but it looks a lot like intent. It looks a lot like the determination I’ve come to recognize in Ian’s eyes. There’s a word for that kind of determination. It’s called obsession. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Leon met someone. A female someone.
“Nah,” Leon says. “I’ve got a good gig going here.”
Ian nods. “You know where to find us if the city gets too much.”
“Take care of yourself, motherfucker.” Leon punches Ian on the shoulder. “You too, Cas.”
“Thanks for your help.” I lean against Ian, letting his warmth soothe me. “I know I asked a lot of you.”
The corner of Leon’s mouth tilts. “What else is family for?”
“If you change your mind—” Ian starts.
“I’ll know where to find you,” Leon says.
Ian guides me to the helicopter, throws my backpack on the backseat, and helps me inside. He gives Leon a last look as he comes around and takes his place next to me. He straps me in and fits a pair of headphones for me while the pilot starts spinning the blades.
After donning his headphones, we lift into the air. Leon stands on the roof, his face tilted up as we take off. With his dark features, tanned complexion, and black hair blowing in all directions, he looks more devil than man. Put in certain circumstances, all the Hart brothers do.
We gain altitude until Leon’s features are no longer discernable. The helicopter dips and turns north. The landscape of city lights shrinks. The landmark towers of Johannesburg are replaced by the newer skyscrapers of Sandton and then the highway and the suburbs of Midrand before the fields turn dark.
A warm hand folding around mine draws my attention. I look at Ian’s face. He appears ten years older, but not any less invincible.