The Gates of Hell

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Matt Drake had started on the expensive stuff. A bottle of Johnnie Walker Black was beckoning and looking none too shabby.

Would the better stuff stifle the memory of her face faster? This time, in his dream, would he actually save her like he’d always promised to?

The search continued.

The whisky burned. He emptied the glass immediately. He refilled. He struggled to center himself. He was a man who helped others, who gained their trust, who stood up to be counted and never let anyone down.

But he had failed Kennedy Moore. And, before that, he had failed Alyson. And he had failed their unborn child, a baby dead before it even had chance to start living.

The Johnnie Walker, like every other bottle he had tried before, was making the desperation run deeper. He had known it would. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to carve a slice of agony out of his soul.

The pain was his penance.

He stared at the window. It stared back, blank, unseeing and unfeeling— dirtied to the point of blackness, just like him. The updates from Mai and Alicia were becoming less frequent. The calls from his friends in the SAS were still very much on time.

The Blood King had made an attempt on Ben’s parents a few days ago. They were safe. They never knew the danger and Ben would never know how close they came to being victims in the Blood King’s vendetta.

And neither would the CIA agents who were guarding the Blakes. The SAS did not need recognition or pats on the back. They simply did the job and moved on to the next.

A haunting tune started to play. The song was as moving as it was beautiful—‘My Immortal’ by Evanescence — and it reminded him of everything he had ever lost.

It was his ringtone. He scrabbled around the bed sheets a little blearily, but eventually got a hold on the phone.

“Yes?”

“It’s Hayden, Matt.”

He sat up a little straighter. Hayden had known about his recent exploits, but had chosen to ignore them. Alicia had been their go between. “What’s happened? Is Ben—?” He couldn’t even bring himself to speak the words.

“He’s fine. We’re all fine. But something has come up.”

“You found Kovalenko?” Eagerness cut through the alcohol haze like a blazing searchlight.

“No, not yet. But Ed Boudreau does have a sister. And we’ve been sanctioned to bring her in.”

Drake sat up, the whisky forgotten. Hate and hellfire burned twin tracks through his heart. “I know exactly what to do.”