The Grave Shadows

53. Beloved

People thought the Watts Prime Branch boys basked in good fortune—their money, their impressive physiques, the self-absorbed personalities, their untamed arrogance, and their father's shadow. They were the examples of unfairness, the violation of karma, the victory of wealth. Truthfully, the afflictions buried so deep beneath their skins and proud smirks that resentment had never found its way to surface. Bill Watts wasn't a father, but a crude king, and the Watts boys were insentient colts bred for wars with the royal entitlement shrouding the startling truth that they weren't loved.

The full moon brightened the spectral sky. The unearthly silhouette of Dawn Cathedral transfixed in a thin layer of the leafless woods. Behind the van, Will wrestled with the Prius's steering wheel. Next to him was Simon, and Luke was in the backseat. Angelica propelled the van into the darkness while, beside her, David snarled something that went through Everett's mind like a hymn.

"Do you understand?" David shouted again, louder than the engine rattling.

Everett snorted to mean yes, despite paying no attention to David's deliberate babble.

The ground in front of the West Door gloated luxury cars, the first sign of the Watts Clan gathering. Four men guarded the façade out where the amber glow seeped. They noticed the intruders when the van squealed. On top of that, the Prius ramming into a shiny Bentley was quite a big giveaway.

Before the van came to a halt, David jumped from the passenger seat with valor following him. He strutted to the guards as though he was going to hug them. Everett slipped out of the van, his body slower than he wanted, his hands too cold to be brave, his blood rushing fast enough to be reckless. Luckily, reckless was his strategy for tonight.

In the inky atmosphere, Will, Simon, and Luke stormed out of the Prius when the alarming guards pulled out the pistols. The men were Henry's crew, who were a part of security at Pearl Orchard, but right now, being Bill Watts's son gave Everett nothing to control these men.

Hunters.

Before the men aimed, David threw his hands in the air, and the pistols flew away like startled ravens. He thrust the ferocious yellow bolts from his bare hands into the guards' chests. They dropped on the ground with blood gushing from their lips, noses, and ears. Three were dead on the spot and one begging quietly for mercy.

David stepped on the dying man's glowing hand. "Finish him." His cold command reverberated.

The Watts boys fired their first bullets when they were six, turning expert marksmen before hitting puberty. Luke was a skilled sniper; Will and Simon never missed their targets. They hunt. They wrecked the shooting range. They killed before their first kisses. The things they slaughtered, however, were never humans. Everett stared at the man, another Watts boy, a breathing creature who would die regardless of what Everett did or didn't do. David only allowed Will, Simon, Everett, and Luke to tag along because they had pledged to kill.

Everett turned his gaze to David while blood rushed through his fingertips. The pistol was crisp against his palm when the bullet went inside the man's head. He had just ignored the Watts Clan's shooting discipline and proved to David that he was capable. Everett killed a man, but his only remorse was he had to do it with a gun. Perhaps he was meant to be a killer like his father.

Armed with rifles and shotguns, Will, Simon, and Luke jogged after Angelica to the back of the ruin. They, too, would pull the trigger without hesitation.

Satisfied, David raked Everett's hair. The petting was to calm and ready Everett, or perhaps to award him for the execution. While the whole plan had changed at the last minute, David made one rule clear: Everett was to be by David's side at all times. Considerately, heedless Black Sheep was more useful than the drained Watts boys.