Blood Line (A Tom Rollins Thriller Book 1) Paul Heatley (10 best novels of all time .txt) 📖

makeup to hide the tired darkness under her eyes. She’s pretty, though, and her smile lights up her face. Her name tag reads BETH.

Tom pulls the car down to his room. He unlocks the door, leaves it wide. Checks there’s no one around, then goes to the trunk. He has another bag here. It’s full of gifts from his father.

He gets the bag inside, locks the car, locks the door to his room. He gives the room a quick look over, checking escape routes. Other than the front door and the window next to it, there is only one. At the back, in the bathroom, out the window. He opens the window up and leans out, gets a good look. It leads out onto a patch of dead land. In the dark, he can make out the shape of an abandoned, rusting tricycle.

Tom empties the bag from his father onto the bed, laying out the contents. There are night-vision goggles, binoculars, flash-bang grenades, a gas mask, an M4 Carbine and the ammunition to go with it, as well as his Beretta and KA-BAR still in his regular travelling bag. Tom examines each item, making sure everything is in working order. He checked them before he left his father’s, but he has since driven for a long time.

Satisfied, he packs them back up into the bag, hides it under the bed. He leaves out the binoculars. From his regular pack, he takes the folded piece of paper with the names and locations of the higher-ranking members of the Right Arm that Ben gave him. He goes to the desk in the corner of the room, next to the television. On the map, he marks down where each member lives, as well as known haunts.

Peter Reid, aka ‘Terminator’, is closest to him. His workplace is a bar known as a regular hangout for other Nazis, and it’s theorized that the Right Arm launders their money through it. There is a note next to Peter’s name that his younger brother, Steve, is also a member of the Right Arm and is the one Anthony spent most of his time with.

Tom doesn’t let this knowledge affect him. He’s here to do what needs to be done. He’s treating it like a job. He’s a professional. Stays cool, stays calm, thinks things through.

The map is marked. He folds it back up, puts it in his pocket. He takes his Beretta and KA-BAR, grabs the binoculars from the bed, and he heads out into the night, back to his car.

He’s going to get to know his enemy. He’s going to do some recon.

26

Anthony wakes from another fitful sleep. Heavily drugged, it takes him a moment to work out where he is.

The same place he keeps finding himself every time he opens his eyes. His father’s home. Anthony remembers that Tom was here. In the chair next to the bed, talking to him. He talked to him for a long time. Anthony blinks, trying to remember. The painkillers fog his brain, make him forgetful.

Either that, or the fracture.

No matter how many pills they give him, the pain never leaves. It barely numbs. It’s in his arm, in his skull, and in his heart. Even when he’s confused, not fully aware, he knows that something is wrong. That he has suffered a great loss.

And then it all comes back, the same way it always does. A tidal wave of remembrance, an ocean of loss, grief, of despair. It brings nausea, too, roiling within him. He grits his teeth. With his good hand, he grabs the edge of the bed, squeezes it, closes his eyes tight until a tear runs from one corner.

He calls for his father.

Jeffrey is quick to arrive. Anthony doesn’t give him a chance to say anything. “Where’s Tom?”

“He’s gone,” Jeffrey says.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Anthony can tell he’s lying. “He’s gone to Harrow, hasn’t he? He’s gone after them.”

Jeffrey holds out his hands, hesitates before he speaks. “Someone has to.”

Anthony is annoyed. “That someone is me! Damn it, I told him not to do this! And I told you –” he jabs a finger at Jeffrey “– that I didn’t want him called! I didn’t want him to know. I knew this is what he’d do, exactly what he’d do.”

“We didn’t know if you were going to survive, Anthony,” Jeffrey says. “Your brother deserved to know.”

“Bullshit,” Anthony says, glaring. “You knew someone was responsible, and you wanted them to pay. Tom’s a bullet – you got him here, you pointed him in the right direction, and you fired. This isn’t Tom’s fight.”

“You’re his brother, Anthony. Of course it’s his fight. He cares about you. He loves you.”

Anthony laughs, though it’s without humor. “Sure, it’s for me. That’s exactly who he’s doing this for.” Anthony shakes his head, but it gives him a splitting pain, feels like he’s taken an axe to the skull. “It’s my fight,” he says. “What happened was for me to resolve, not Tom. It was for me to deal with, and I don’t care how long it takes me to recover, you don’t have the right to take that decision away.”

Anthony tries to get up, to swing his legs over the side of the bed and get to his feet, to make a point, but he can’t. The room starts spinning as soon as he’s sitting up. It feels like his skin is tearing under the bandages, like his bones are going to break through the surface. He has to lie back down, defeated, impotent.

“Calm down, Anthony,” Jeffrey says. “You’re just gonna hurt yourself more. You need to rest.”

“I’ve done nothing but rest,” Anthony says. “And I don’t feel any better.”

“It’ll take time. These are severe injuries you’ve got. You’ve broken bones. You fractured your skull, for Christ’s sake. That’s not gonna just heal overnight.”

Anthony stares up at the ceiling, angry. “Just go,” he says. He puts his good arm over his eyes, obscures his vision, blocks everything out.

His father doesn’t leave,