Kurtz removes Mabus’s sandal, then injects the clear elixir between the big man’s toes.

‘First floor, heading for the kitchen.’

Kurtz replaces the sandal. Gathers his thermal pouch.

‘Five seconds … move!’

Kurtz hurries out the back porch, hustling silently down the walkway to the beach.

Twelve-year-old Lucien Mabus stubs his cigarette out in an ashtray, then heads outside. ‘Hope dinner’s ready, I’m starving. Dad? Oh, shit—’

The boy bends over his prone father. Presses his ear to his chest. ‘Rempe, get in here, Dad’s having a heart attack! Walker? Maurice?’

Peter Mabus’s pulse ceases long before the ambulance arrives.

From the sundeck of their rented yacht a half mile offshore, Beck and Kurtz feast on lobster and fillet tips, the light show provided courtesy of the Hampton Police Department.

Gabriel Compound 9:02 p.m.

Jacob’s head throbs in pain. His arms are pinned behind his back, his wrists and ankles in handcuffs.

He forces his eyes open, bile rising in his throat as he takes in the scene.

His mother is seated across the room, bound by duct tape to a wicker chair. Her hair is tousled, her eyes wild above the gag as the slight, middle-aged predator methodically finishes taping her ankles before turning his attention to Jacob’s twin brother.

Manny is bent chest down over the kitchen table, his arms splayed and bound over the granite top, his lower body dangling free.

Solomon Adashek pulls up a kitchen chair and sits beside the boy. Liver-spotted hands gently probe the unconscious youth’s hairless muscular legs, savoring the moment before pulling down the boy’s boxer shorts, exposing his bare bottom.

Jacob and Dominique grunt and groan as if jolted by electricity, thrashing within their bonds.

Solomon looks up, his eyes cold and twinkling, his thin mouth grinning like a snake.

Jacob’s heart beats like a timpani drum, his adrenal glands pumping like a river—

—as the room seems to brighten, and time suddenly slows to a crawl.

Through waves of invisible energy, he forces himself off the ground, balancing within his shackles. He struggles with all his might against the steel handcuffs.

No use … I can’t break free!

Eyeing his mother, he bunny-hops toward her as Solomon Adashek’s head slowly turns toward him, his eyebrows raising in surprise.

Jacob jumps off the ground and double-kicks the man as hard as he can in the chest, sending him headfirst over the kitchen table.

Lactic acid washes over the boy’s muscles as he bends to his mother, the fingers of his shackled hands tearing at her bonds, ripping apart the duct tape.

Freed, Dominique springs out of her chair, pulling the tape from her mouth. She rushes toward the mantel and grabs the Katana, the larger of the two Japanese swords on display.

Jacob collapses to the floor, his exhausted muscles quivering, his body bathed in sweat.