If Jason lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the expression on X’s face, that glint-eyed half smile of childish anticipation. But Jason couldn’t make the promise. He would kill Reece without thinking twice. He’d kill anything or anyone that got between him and his brother. If that made X a problem, then it was tomorrow’s problem. The whole situation was X’s fault. He’d brought Jason back to Lanesworth. He’d put Reece on Gibby.

At least Jason was out.

That was real, too. No walls, but no future, either. He had no money, and he grieved for the only thing he’d ever wanted for himself: a few acres of rocky coast, and an old boat with a new engine. But that was out of the question now. He had to run fast and far, but only after he found his brother, and murdered the shit out of Reece.

Or not.

He gave X a small nod, then put the car in gear, and got the hell out, over the hill and down, all along that dirt road. At the end of it, the blocking cars made way, and Jason hit pavement like he lived for the drive. He couldn’t see the city, but felt it out there, like a moon rising. His look at the schematics had been brief, but he’d seen enough to worry. He had bad ribs and busted fingers, blurred vision, and blood in his piss.

He couldn’t do it alone.

He needed help.

Jason ran options as the world flicked past, still and silent, as if respectful of the man and the cause. Jason had been in this place before, fast-moving in deep jungle, or church-quiet on the back of some starlit river. Three years out, and it was still an old friend, the dark charge of war.

When city lights rose in the distance, Jason turned into an empty gas station, and parked beneath one of its lights. The place was closed. No traffic. X wanted Jason to wait for Reece to leave the house, a fine plan if it wasn’t your brother inside. Reece was unstable enough to do anything at any time, so Jason needed another plan. He studied the schematics until he knew them by heart, then opened the trunk, and found what X had promised: an M16A1, a Colt .45, and a half-dozen loaded magazines. Jason checked the actions.

Clean.

Crisp.

Also in the trunk was a hard-sided suitcase with his name written on it in black marker. It was heavy. Jason dragged it out, and popped the clasps.

Cash.

Lots of it.

There was a note, too. Jason read it in the gas station light.