Lakevallée, on the road to Connor’s house, 8:30 p.m.

“It’s done,” Carl informs Jacquie as he ends the call. “The local police will join us at the scene. I told them to proceed carefully.”

“Good,” Jacquie says, driving the vehicle onto a rutted path about four hundred feet from their destination. Once the car is fully hidden from view, she pulls over and turns the motor off, immediately opening the door to slide out.

Carl does the same. “How do you want to do this?” he asks, taking in the surroundings, the forest spreading down to the lake.

“Allen’s superior has been notified. A team is on the way, but we can’t wait for them.” Jacquie shuts the door quietly, checking her gun and walking to the trunk. She opens it, leaning down to rummage through the bag she prepared at the safe house. Retrieving a couple of items, she glances at Horvath and declares, “I’ll take the path that leads directly to the house. You skirt the forest and head west. You’ll eventually arrive at the lake in front of the house. Here, take this,” she orders, handing him a bulletproof vest and grabbing another for herself. Once both of them have donned the vests, Jacquie gives Carl a miniature cell phone and an earpiece, specifying, “To contact each other. Put that in your ear and press this button.”

“What about the neighbors?” Carl inquires as he puts the earplug into place and secures the cell on his belt, checking that everything is functioning properly.

“Let’s hope they’re out of town.” Jacquie answers, doing the same. Satisfied, she nods and clarifies, “We don’t have time to check.”

“Okay,” Carl breathes out, a rush of adrenaline coursing through him. In the thirty-two years he’s been on the force, he’s never participated in an operation like this. He’s barely ever used his gun, whereas Jacquie is a trained agent and used to handling dangerous interventions.

“Horvath?” Jacquie calls his name.

“Yeah?” Carl responds, gazing at her. His apprehension must be obvious, since Jacquie gives him a supportive look.

“Be careful,” she warns him. “We don’t know what we’re going to find. Be prepared for the worst. And always watch your back.”

“I will,” Carl promises, nodding in assent before turning around and striding toward the lake.

He walks past huge oaks, carefully stepping over multiple tree branches. He can hear birds all around him, their trilling doing nothing to calm the furious beating of his heart.

A flock of birds suddenly flies from a tree about fifty feet away, making him jump. Freezing, he hides behind an oak. He peers around the tree at the source of the disruption and realizes he can’t see anything, the fading daylight making it impossible to discern any shape more than a few feet from him. Carefully, Carl resumes his advance, making sure to stay out of sight as he approaches the tree from which the birds fled.

As he does, he hears sounds. Voices. Squinting, he’s able to distinguish two men. One is standing in front of the oak, but it’s the other who catches Carl’s attention. He’s tied up, his arms secured to the tree with rope. Carl can’t see his face, but as he stares at the other man, he recognizes Gavin Allen.

***

A few minutes earlier

Connor staggers. With his hands tied behind his back and Gavin pushing him forward, he can’t find his balance. As expected, the next nudge has him falling down face first, flat onto the ground. Dirt fills his mouth, his cheekbone aching badly from the impact.

“Come on, move!” Gavin doesn’t give him time to regroup before grasping his arm painfully, forcing him to stand back up.

“Why are you in such a hurry, huh?” Connor spits after a minute, barely managing to stay upright as he’s marched toward the woods.

“I can’t wait to kill you,” Gavin retorts, taking a few more steps before forcing Connor to halt and carelessly pushing him against the trunk of an old oak. He removes the rope he looped over his shoulder before they left the house and uses it to fasten Connor’s body to the oak. Once he’s done, he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. “I should have captured a wolf and left you here while it slowly ate you.”

“Yeah, too bad you didn’t.” Connor taunts. “You’ll have to find another sick way to kill me.”

Connor knows he’s in deep trouble. If no one comes to his aid, he’s certain he’ll suffer agonizingly before dying. A lot of people have looked at him with disdain in his life, but the level of hate he sees in Gavin’s eyes surpasses anything he’s witnessed. There is something else too, a subtle insanity, an irascibility Gavin can’t control, one that Connor recognizes since he’s lived with it all his life.

“So tell me,” Connor resumes. If he’s going to be tortured, he might as well earn it. “Was your mother gross? Fat and ugly? Because when I look at your face, you sure were not blessed by-”

The first punch comes then, Connor’s head abruptly snapping to the side. A fiery pain washes over his cheekbone and nose, and he forces himself to breathe deeply before gazing up again. As he does, his lips turn upward.

“Ahhhh, I see. Your mom was a terrible cocksucker. I mean, she must have been if she couldn’t keep your father satisfied. Maybe she was frigid? What do you think?”

He has barely finished speaking when he receives a second punch, this one to his stomach. The brunet’s breath is cut short by the force of the impact. He coughs a couple of times, trying to regain control over his body and focusing until the pain slowly lessens.

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” Gavin questions dryly.

“I have an IQ of 162. I don’t think; I know,” Connor coughs, spitting out blood. “What’s yours, big brother?”

Saying the word that establishes their connection provokes a strange squeezing in Connor’s chest, an emotion he prefers to ignore.

“You know, Connor, I’m going to enjoy this,” Gavin declares as he grabs the knife in his pocket, unlocking it so that the blade springs out. He slowly enunciates, taking his time so that Connor will hear every word and imagine each moment to come, “I’m going to do exactly what I did to your boyfriend. I will slash your face to pieces. I will stab you, multiple times. It’s going to be excruciatingly painful. But you won’t die.”

Connor’s sarcastic facade vanishes as he realizes what Gavin has just implied. “Gabriel is alive?” After watching the blond be marked with a knife and then stabbed, he was sure he was already dead.

“That is all that matters, huh? Your boyfriend?” Gavin inquires. “Well, he may not be dead yet, but I’m sure he wishes he was.”  

Connor stares down at the ground, overwhelmed by this unexpected information, not wanting to let this piece of shit see how much it affects him.

However, Gavin kneels down in front of him, peering up at his face as he continues, “We’ll keep him alive just long enough - like we will with you, Kinney, and Taylor - so that your bodies aren’t wasted. You’re worth millions, didn’t you know?”

“Our bodies? Malone is an organ trafficker?” he surmises, staring at Gavin in horror.

“Maybe you’re not as dumb as I thought,” Gavin replies, approaching with the knife and slicing it across Connor’s left biceps in one sharp movement.

Connor can’t help it, flinching as pain shoots down his arm. “Fucker,” he grunts, closing his eyes.

“It stings, doesn’t it?” Gavin comments, pleased. “And yet it’s nothing compared to what’s to come.”

With that promise, he reaches out toward Connor’s chest and presses the blade against his pecs, breaking the skin. While he was quick with the first cut, he proceeds slowly this time, several seconds elapsing before he removes the knife, a long trail of blood staining the brunet’s shirt from left to right.

Connor can taste blood in his mouth. He’s fighting not to make a sound, but he can’t prevent an agonized moan from echoing inside his shut mouth as the blade progresses along on his skin. Once it stops, having almost reached the point of unconsciousness, he releases the breath he’s been holding.

Raising his eyes, he sneers at Gavin, forcing the words out with as much venom as he can. “This is the best you can do?”

“I told you, we’re just about to start the good stuff. Now, say goodbye to your pretty face,” Gavin retorts cruelly.

Connor closes his eyes as Gavin raises the knife, waiting for the man to carry out his threat. But just as he feels the cold blade grazing his skin, he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize shout, “Freeze!”

He opens his eyes and sees Gavin stepping back.

“I won’t say it again!” the voice continues. “Drop the knife or I’ll shoot you, Allen!”

Connor frowns, wondering who is threatening Gavin. He peers to the side and observes a man in his fifties approaching carefully, gun aimed at his brother.

“Horvath, you’re making a big mistake. I’m an FBI agent.” Allen cautions, eying the man askance.

“Now, Allen. I won’t repeat it again.” Horvath insists firmly.

Connor holds his breath as Gavin hesitates and finally steps back, raising his hands and dropping the knife to the ground. Horvath grabs a pair of handcuffs and throws them at Gavin, ordering, “Put these on. Now.”

The glare Gavin directs at Horvath is murderous, but he complies, picking up the handcuffs from the ground and securing one around his right wrist. Horvath takes advantage of this, forcibly grabbing his other hand and finishing the process of restraining the FBI agent.

“Jacquie,” he speaks, using a miniature cell phone to contact whoever this Jacquie is. “I have Allen. And Decunn.” He waits for a response and nods a couple of times, while forcing Gavin to move toward the tree before releasing Connor.

As soon as the ropes loosen, Connor struggles to get free, taking a step forward and rubbing his abraded wrists. He then turns to face Gavin, landing a blow to his face, the man faltering at the strength of the painter’s vengeful punch.

“You motherfucker,” Connor spits out, grabbing the collar of Gavin’s jacket and throwing him against the trunk, startling Horvath, who momentarily loses his grip on Gavin. The FBI agent takes advantage of the move to charge Connor, but the painter is so full of hate that Gavin doesn’t succeed in escaping his grasp.

“Calm down!” Horvath yells, raising his gun to aim at Gavin as he grabs Connor’s arm, forcing him to recoil. Glaring at Connor, he secures the ropes around Gavin’s body. “You want to get killed, Decunn? Because I don’t.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Connor barks, nonetheless obeying the man’s order and taking a couple of steps back.

Ignoring Connor’s query, Gavin interjects, “What do you think you’re doing here, Horvath?” Glaring daggers at the policeman, Gavin indicates the brunet with a toss of his head. “This guy is working for Harry Malone! He’s one of the reasons I have to relocate Kinney! And you might not like my methods of obtaining information, but I was working, so you’d better fucking untie me before you make a huge mistake! ”

Horvath stays silent for a moment, making Connor fear he believes Gavin’s false explanation. But when the detective responds, his cold tone provides a sharp contrast to Gavin’s outburst. “Nice try. But you see, we know about your connection to Decunn, Allen. So, would you care to explain why you’d torture your brother?”

Gavin doesn’t reply immediately, the fury in his eyes showing he knows he’s been busted.

“It’s over, Allen.” Horvath declares resolutely. “We know you’re the mole we’ve been looking for. I never understood why Malone was always ten steps ahead of us every single time we should have caught him, but now, it all makes sense. Having an FBI agent in his pocket was very clever.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Horvath,” Gavin attempts to deny his association with the criminal, although it’s useless. One stare from the detective is enough to convince him that the policeman won’t believe a single word that comes out of his mouth. Even so, Gavin warns him, “It’s not over. It’s never going to be over.”

“We’ll see about that,” Horvath counters, keeping his gaze on Gavin for a few more seconds, before turning to look at Connor, inquiring, “You alright, son?”

The question startles Connor for some reason. “I…” He feels sick, the taste of blood still filling his mouth. He’s cold and has a hard time focusing on the detective’s face. But he needs to tell him what’s going on. “Malone is here, with Brian and… fuck,” he breathes out, a wave of dizziness making him stumble as he realizes he doesn’t have a clue where Gabriel is. “I need to go back.”

The policeman frowns in concern. “You’re hurt, Connor. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

Connor begins to step back, glancing down at his bloody shirt. Horvath advances toward him, prompting the painter to look up at him. The man repeats his first name, which means he must know who he is. Maybe he knows about the forgeries, about everything. He might want to arrest him, too.

But the truth is, Connor doesn’t care. All that matters to him anymore - apart from enjoying his brother’s downfall - is to find Gabriel and to make sure Brian and Justin are okay.

“I need to go,” Connor whispers as he continues to back up. “I’m sorry, but I need to go,” he insists before turning around and running, disregarding his increasing dizziness.

“Connor, wait!” He hears Horvath’s plea but ignores it.

***

A few minutes earlier

The sound of steps ascending the stairs is all that Brian can hear as he sits, tied up, powerless, waiting for the noise to stop. When it does, Justin is standing at the threshold, staring at him with a look full of love and terror that makes his throat close up painfully.

“Brian…” the blond whispers his name and, ignoring the danger, joins him in three quick steps, kneeling in front of him and placing his cheek against his, the warmth of his skin causing a tugging in Brian’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly as he lowers his head, burying his face in the brunet’s neck.

Shaking his head, Brian closes his eyes, feeling the tears run down his cheeks. He’s terrified of what’s going to happen to his lover and wants to do something or say something that would lessen the pain, but he can’t. When a hand forces Justin backward, he gazes at him, praying to a Lord he doesn’t believe in to have mercy on the man he loves.

“How touching,” Malone comments, removing the gag from Brian’s mouth, tilting his head as his henchman restrains Justin and puts him in a chair facing the brunet.

“If you touch him...” Brian warns, unable to control his fury. The certainty that Justin is here because of him and will probably die, is too unbearable for him to think rationally.

He should know better, however. One glance from Malone is all it takes for the thug to strike Justin twice, the blond folding over at the force of the blows.

“Justin!” Brian exclaims.

“Find it,” Malone orders, the henchman immediately beginning to search Justin’s clothes, not waiting for the blond to regain full consciousness.

Brian watches, helpless, as the man’s hands travel across Justin’s body. He can’t detach his gaze from those hands, dreading the moment when they will stop moving. They do, eventually, his fingers closing around a small item that Brian knows is the flash drive Malone has been looking for ever since his fate was sealed in that parking garage. With it gone, Brian and Justin’s last chance to escape this nightmare vanishes, and with them gone, no one will ever be aware of its existence.

Peering up at Malone, Brian wonders what has happened to this man, questioning the reason he turned into a cruel, insensitive human being who feels no emotion. The thought is fleeting, though, because Justin chooses that moment to gaze over at him, and once their eyes lock, Brian isn’t able to look anywhere else.

When he realizes Justin has a plan, he pleads with his eyes for the blond to listen to him and not do something stupid.

“Justin…”

Justin ignores him, raising his head, waiting for Malone to look at him. “I made a copy,” he claims impassively. Once the criminal pivots to blankly stare at him, he continues, “You thought I’d be stupid enough not to make one? After what I saw in those files?”

“Justin, please stop…” Brian pleads, trying to capture the blond’s attention, though it’s pointless. Justin is still glaring daggers at Malone, while the man keeps looking at the blond, his face unreadable.

“If you kill us, you’ll never know where it is,” Justin spits at the man’s face.

Malone’s lips curl upward, sending a chill down Brian’s spine. “It’s going to be fun,” he enunciates enigmatically, his eyes almost laughing. “Now,” he pulls out a knife from his pocket and clicks it open, asking Justin, “What part of him should I cut first?”

Understanding dawns on Brian as Malone approaches him and uses the blade to slowly skim the skin of his neck, from left to right. A single drop of blood falls on his chest after the man adds a slight pressure just before removing the knife, while Justin’s face turns paler.

“You really think you can fool me?” Malone resumes, leaning back and beginning to walk around Brian menacingly. “You didn’t make a copy. And even if you did, you’d tell me within five minutes where it is.” With that last statement, Malone slashes Brian’s side in one quick move, causing the brunet to hiss in pain.

“Stop!” Justin shouts, his whole body surging forward, fighting against the restraints.

“That’s the thing about people,” Malone continues, pulling out a tissue and wiping the blood off his knife. He resumes circling around Brian, speaking and gesturing with the knife, completely disregarding what he has just done to the brunet. “I will never understand how someone can be so dependent on another person. It must be exhausting. Although it makes my job easier. Threaten to kill a kid or a partner? People suddenly turn into good little soldiers and obey in an heartbeat. Like your best friend.”

“You’re fucking sick,” Brian mutters, wincing. Glancing over, he catches Justin’s flabbergasted expression as he realizes that Michael is the one who was coerced into shooting Brian.

“Medically, you’re right since, according to my shrink, psychopathy is classified as a personality disorder.” Malone says in that amused tone Brian can’t stand, approaching Justin. “And it’s also why seeing you bleed to death won’t affect me. But it will affect him.”

A small cry escapes Justin’s lips as Malone jerks his head backward.

“Look at him,” Malone says in the blond’s ear, staring at Brian. “I’m going to make him bleed like a pig if you don’t tell me what I want to know.”

“Justin…” Brian murmurs his name, searching the blond’s eyes. He needs to make him understand, make him see he can’t tell Malone what he wants to know. The moment he does, it will be over, Justin’s death sentence signed. Brian will die either way, but the blond may still have a chance to live.

“Look at me…” Brian pleads, the surge of love he feels for the blond overwhelming him. When Justin complies, he shows him without a word, screaming ‘I love you’ with everything he feels. “Don’t tell him. Whatever happens, promise me...”

“Bri-” Justin is crying now, but Malone interrupts them as he strides toward Brian and grabs him forcibly.

“That’s enough,” he announces, pulling Brian’s head backward to expose his throat, pressing the knife against it. “Maybe torturing your true love won’t be as effective as slashing his throat in front of your eyes. I will cut him slowly, so that you can watch what your silence has done to him.”

“No!” Justin cries out.

“You have ten seconds. After that, it will too late,” Malone promises, Brian fighting not to swallow, the blade already pressed too closely against his skin. “Ten… nine… eight… seven…”

Brian closes his eyes, avoiding the look of despair on Justin’s face. The blond is begging, repeating, “Please, stop…” over and over. Brian braces himself for the moment when the blade will enter his skin while he’s still be conscious and fighting to breathe.

“Six… five…”

He thinks about Michael, about what his friend has gone through because of one unfortunate encounter in Stockwell’s office. Lindsay, Debbie, Emmett, Ted - they will never know he survived that night. Gus will never see his father again. It’s not fair, and he knows without a single doubt that his death won’t end the infernal cycle meeting Malone started. Justin will pay for his silence as well, even though Brian will be gone.

That thought terrifies him.

“Four… three… two...” The countdown nears the end.

Brian winces when he hears Justin’s desperate cry. “Wait!”

Malone ignores his plea, the blade’s pressure intensifying on Brian’s throat, but as the brunet takes a last breath, Jacquie’s voice resonates in the studio.

“Malone! Drop the knife! Now!”

Opening his eyes, fighting to get air into his lungs, the first thing Brian sees is Justin’s face. He is a mess, tears running down his cheeks, his gaze reflecting the agony of watching the man he loves about to be killed, although he is also blinking in confusion, not understanding what is happening. Behind him, Special Agent Bennett is standing at the door, her gun aimed at Malone.

“Don’t you dare, or I’ll shoot your boss,” she warns as the henchman attempts to grab his own weapon. “Place your gun on the floor and slide it over to me now,” she orders, repeating, “Now!” when he doesn’t immediately obey.

The man lowers his weapon and pushes it toward Jacquie, the Afro-American woman catching it with her foot, before leaning down to pick it up, still aiming her gun at Malone. But as she grabs the revolver, the thug pulls out another one.

Jacquie is faster than him. She snatches the one on the floor and fires, and within seconds, he falls to the floor, dead. Malone would no doubt have attempted to take advantage of the situation if the FBI agent hadn’t kept her own gun trained on him the entire time.

Dropping the henchman’s revolver and turning to look at Malone, she barks, “Now, untie them, you psycho. I won’t say it twice. And if you try anything, you’ll join your pal.”

Brian can’t see Malone’s face, but after a few seconds, the criminal kneels to untie his ankles. Next he grabs his hands, using the knife to saw through the rope around his wrists, cutting his palm in the process. Brian flinches but immediately frees himself, standing up. His legs are shaking, his heart hammering in his chest.

Malone heads toward Justin. Once he has untied him, he steps back until he is next to Brian. The blond glares at him as he rubs his abused wrists, not standing up immediately, wary that the psycho will try something if he moves.

After a few seconds, Justin directs his gaze at Brian, as Jacquie demands, “Now, slide the knife over here. Slowly…”

Malone bends down, staring intently at the Afro-american woman, with the knife still in his hands.

“Don’t give me a reason to kill you,” Jacquie advises sternly.

Malone tilts his head, and Brian could swear the man’s lips are curved in a slight smile, even though it’s not true. He has just started pushing his weapon in Jacquie’s direction when she makes the mistake of glancing toward the staircase at the sound of steps from the second floor.

“What the…”

Taking advantage of her brief inattention, Malone grabs Brian’s arm and forces it behind his back, restraining him while using him as a shield. The brunet’s eyes go wide, and he realizes too late that Malone has pulled out a gun, a shot echoing around the studio.

At first, he doesn’t understand what has happened, the sound of the bullet so loud that he instinctively closed his eyes. But then, as he opens them, he sees Jacquie falling backward, into the hallway. Next to her, Connor is standing, covered in blood, staring at her limp body in shock.

“Mr. Decunn… What have you done with my friend Gavin?” Malone asks, stroking the barrel of the gun across Brian’s temple. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

Connor doesn’t reply, his eyes fixed on Agent Bennett.

“Let’s play a game, shall we?” Malone suggests playfully. “Mr. Taylor, tell me who I should kill first. Him?” He indicates Connor, aiming the gun at him. “Or your boyfriend?”

Brian starts to panic when the blond gets up from his chair and looks behind himself, peering at Jacquie’s immobile body and noting Connor’s vacant gaze, the pallor of his skin standing out against the deep red tainting his clothes.

His shoulders sagging, Justin turns around to face them, giving Brian an apologetic look.

“Don’t…” the brunet pleads, knowing it’s useless.

“Brian, I’m sorry. I can’t…” Justin stammers, gazing at the brunet, imploring Brian to forgive him for what he’s about to do. Glancing at Malone, he reveals what the man has been after since he found the flash drive a few minutes ago. “There’s no copy. You have everything you wanted. So please… let them go.”

Brian shakes his head, catching the painter’s gaze as Connor finally emerges from his stupor.

“I believe you,” Malone answers Justin’s statement in a cold voice, raising his gun.

“Justin!” Brian screams in sheer terror when he understands what’s going to happen.  He fights to get free but only succeeds in delaying the detonation.

Connor blinks. His eyes widening, he yells, “No!” before running toward Justin and forcefully pushing the blond away.

Another shot echoes through the room. For a split second, time stands still. Justin has landed on the floor, while Connor stands frozen in front of him, gasping.

The painter blinks. He looks down, raising his hand to his chest as he steps back and falters. When he removes his hand, he stares at his blood-covered fingers in shock, before peering at Brian and collapsing to the floor.   

“Connor!” Justin yells, rushing to his side, immediately pressing his hand to the wound before removing his jacket and using it as a bandage to prevent the painter from bleeding out.

“For fuck’s sake,” Malone curses as Brian tries desperately to escape his grasp, but fails. His blood runs cold as the man murmurs in his ear, “Say goodbye to your true love, Kinney.”

“No!”

Using all the strength he can muster, Brian tugs on the arm Malone has wrenched behind his back and senses something splintering. He ignores the pain as he gains enough leeway to jerk his shoulder upward, hitting his kidnapper in the chin. Surprised, Malone loosens his grip and takes a step backward.

Emboldened, Brian pivots on his heel and attacks. He ignores the danger, focusing solely on disarming Malone, but he’s unable to maintain his momentum. The pain in his arm, in his side, is too much for him to overcome an opponent who knows how to fight dirty. After a short struggle, Malone pushes Brian’s injured arm against a large window, twisting it nastily. The window cracks when Brian collides with the glass, and he screams in pain, his tormentor putting even more pressure on his arm.

But just as Brian thinks that Malone will take advantage of his predicament and kill him, he hears the sound of another gunshot. Malone’s grip loosens, and he steps back in surprise.

“What?” He says blankly, dropping the gun to the ground and staring at the hole in his shoulder in amazement.

In the hallway, Jacquie, still lying on the floor, has her pistol pointed at Malone. Brian recoils, his feet colliding with the knife Malone used earlier, abandoned on the floor.

Malone tries to stop him, but Brian is quicker and picks it up. Verging on madness after what he has just lived through, he lashes out, releasing his pent-up anger over all the years this psycho has stolen from him, the image of Justin’s face as he thought Brian was about to die erasing any lingering doubts.

“Brian!” Justin’s shouts, but he doesn’t listen. He thrusts Malone against the same window where he was held a minute ago. The cracked glass shatters under the impact, sharp pieces cutting them both. Malone struggles, weakened by the injury to his shoulder, which has paralyzed his right arm, and by the sharp piece of glass now planted in his thigh. Managing to get hold of his left arm, Brian pushes it backward, impaling his biceps on a large fragment of glass. This allows the brunet to gain control and take aim with the knife.

Brian sees the exact moment when Malone understands what’s going to happen, his blue eyes suddenly filling with something the brunet has never seen before. It’s a strange mixture of astonishment, anger, and pride.

“Game over…” Brian leans in, breathing the words quietly into the man’s ear, before stabbing him in one quick move, hearing a gasp escape the man’s lips.

Malone grips his forearm and squeezes. His grasp slowly loosens, until he starts trembling against Brian. For an instant, it’s like the man wants to say something. His lips are parted, but no sound comes out. He smiles though, not that creepy smile which seemed to be constantly on his lips, but one that chills Brian nonetheless. When it vanishes, his life ebbing away beneath his fingers, Brian feels a rush of anger, despair, and freedom overwhelming him - and he screams and pushes the man out the window.

Malone’s body falls to the ground, twenty feet down.

***

“Christ.” Horvath’s voice breaks the deafening silence that has followed the defenestration.

Turning around, Brian sees the detective in the doorway, checking Jacquie’s bulletproof vest, but his eyes are immediately drawn to Justin, who is still sitting on the floor a couple yards away, pressing his soaked jacket to Connor’s chest.

Looking up at Brian, tears running down his cheeks, Justin pleads, “Brian…” and peers back down at Connor. Jolting out of his daze, Brian strides over and kneels next to them, hearing Carl say something about an ambulance being on the way.

“There is too much blood. I don’t know how to make it stop,” the blond cries out as he desperately presses his jacket to the wound.

Brian puts his hands on the painter’s chest, covering Justin’s, while urging hoarsely, “Come on, Connor; don’t you dare die on me.”

Justin takes over, begging Connor to stay awake. As he does, Brian can’t help but think that the painter won’t make it. He is too pale, the slight tremors rippling through his body the only sign that he is alive. Brian’s heart skips a beat when Connor unexpectedly opens his eyes and tries to say something, but he is too weak to speak. Bending over, the brunet places his ear to the painter’s mouth, trying to understand.

After a few attempts, Brian hears it and leans back, vowing, “I promise I will find him.” He then glances at Justin as they both try to stop the Connor from bleeding out.

When a paramedic bursts into the room moments later, the blond looks at Brian, urging, “you need to find Gabriel.” Brian nods and gets up, hurriedly walking out of the studio, starting to search for Gabriel.

He finds him in the guest room, barely conscious, his hands tied to the headboard. His right cheek has been slashed. He was stabbed in the side in two different places, but the cuts don’t seem deep.

“Gabe,” Brian cups his face as soon as he has loosened the ties, forcing Gabriel to look at him. He tries to wake him up fully, but the blond’s eyes keep closing. “I need help here! Right now!” he shouts, embracing Gabriel and murmuring, “You’re going to be okay.”

For the first time in years, he begins to pray. He rocks his friend’s limp body and whispers, tears filling this eyes, “Everything is going to be okay.”