Chapter 241 The Last Call
Keenan stepped fully into the living room, closing the door behind him with a soft click that echoed louder than it should have in the tense space. The house was dim, curtains drawn, only a single lamp casting long shadows across the leather furniture and marble floors. Jimmy lounged in the oversized chair that used to be Keenan’s favorite, feet propped on the glass coffee table, a half-empty bottle of Château Margaux dangling from his fingers. Mark sat on the couch opposite, hunched over his phone, thumbs flying across the screen like he could text his way out of the mess they were in.
Keenan tilted his head, studying them.
“It seems you’ve already made yourself comfortable,” he said, voice smooth, almost amused.
Jimmy sat up quickly, dropping his feet to the floor with a thud. “I thought you said we should make ourselves at home.”
Keenan’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I did.”
He crossed the room in slow steps and stopped in front of the table. Jimmy straightened, suddenly aware of how exposed he felt. Mark didn’t even look up, still typing, still lost in whatever desperate message he was sending to zarina despite finding out the truth.
Keenan glanced at him, then back at Jimmy. “I brought you here for a reason. Revenge. On Kieran Blackwood. On Genesis. On everything they’ve taken from us.”
Mark’s thumbs paused, just for a second then kept moving. Keenan turned to look at Mark who looked unkept, his hair and cloth in disarray.
Jimmy leaned forward, elbows on knees, bottle still in hand. “My brother’s all in. He just found out the girl he’s been obsessing over was a fucking spy planted by that bastard Kieran. He’s been texting her nonstop, trying to get her to answer like a fool. She ghosted him. Completely.”
Keenan’s lips curved. “We’ve all been hurt by Knight.”
Jimmy took a swig of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the fuck did he do to you?”
Keenan’s smile turned sharp. “It’s a long story.”
He walked to the bar cart, poured himself a glass of the same red, swirled it once, then took a slow sip. “The reason I brought you here isn’t so you can make this your home. Knight is in the hospital right now, recovering from a bullet to the chest.”
Jimmy’s eyes lit up. “What? Is he going to die?”
Keenan’s gaze darkened with something almost tender. “No. I want the pleasure of killing him myself. But while he’s not in the estate… I want to hurt someone close to him. Someone he loves more than his own life.”
Jimmy leaned back, suddenly interested. “Genesis,”
Keenan nodded once. “Nooo, I have something special for that one, I mean Donald. The father, he’s sick. Being treated inside the estate. Vulnerable. And I have my ways of knowing exactly where he is, what room, what schedule the nurses keep.”
Mark finally looked up, face pale, eyes hollow. “What’s the point? We lost everything. Mom’s in prison. The money’s gone. The house is gone. Let it go.”
Jimmy spun on him. “Shut the fuck up, Mark. You’re the one who got us into this mess with your dick and your stupid girlfriend. We’re not letting it go. We’re finishing it.”
Keenan smiled, slow, satisfied. “I want to kill Donald Blackwood. Slowly. In his own home. While his son lies helpless in a hospital bed.”
Jimmy’s eyes gleamed. “I’m in. We’re both in.”
Mark stared at the floor. “What’s in it for us?”
Keenan set his glass down. “Is hurting someone Knight loves not enough?”
Jimmy leaned back, swirling the wine. “It’s not nothing. But going into the Blackwood estate is suicide. Armed guards. Security systems. Cameras. What are you offering?”
Keenan’s smile widened. “I’ll make you as rich as you were before. Richer. I have accounts, offshore, untraceable. Cash, crypto, properties. Once Donald is gone and Knight breaks… the empire will be in chaos. I’ll give you enough to disappear. New names. New lives. You’ll never have to run again.”
Jimmy stared at him for a long moment.
Then he grinned.
“We have a deal.”
Just then, one of Keenan’s men stepped into the room,tall, silent, face blank. He leaned down and whispered something into Keenan’s ear.
Keenan’s smile vanished.
He straightened slowly.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”
He walked to the front door, opened it a crack.
Two FBI agents stood in the hallway, badges out, faces unreadable.
“Mr. Dane,” the taller one said. “We need you to come with us to the field office for questioning.”
Keenan tilted his head, smile sliding back into place, smooth, dangerous.
“Why is that”
The second agent stepped forward. “We have reason to believe you have information regarding the disappearance and suspected homicide of Amanda Reynolds. We’d like to speak with you voluntarily.”
From the corner of his eye, Keenan saw his men shift, hands drifting toward waistbands, fingers brushing concealed holsters.
Keenan’s smile never faltered.
He turned slightly, speaking low enough that only his right-hand man could hear.
“Make sure they do it. Get rid of them both. I’ll be back soon and get my lawyer.”
Then louder, to the agents: “Of course. I’ll cooperate fully.”
He looked back at Jimmy and Mark one last time.
“Enjoy the wine,” he said pleasantly. “I’ll be back soon.”
He stepped out.
The door closed behind him.
Jimmy and Mark sat frozen.
The two agents exchanged glances.
Then the taller one spoke into his sleeve mic.
“We’re bringing him in. Stand by.”
Keenan walked between them, hands loose at his sides, smile serene.
Behind the closed door, Jimmy looked at Mark.
Mark looked back.
Neither of them moved.
But the silence felt like the calm right before a storm.
Jimmy leaned forward.
“Please do not fuck this up. We know the plan. Keenan’s men are gonna cause a distraction—loud enough to pull every guard and Angel out of the house. You stay hidden in the treeline until you see the flare. Then I move fast. Back gate, service entrance. I get in, get to the old man’s room, do it clean, and get out.”
He stood, checking the pistol tucked in his waistband one last time.
Mark stayed seated, staring at the floor.
Jimmy turned toward the door.
Mark’s hand shot out and grabbed his brother’s wrist.
Jimmy froze.
Mark’s voice came out small, cracked. “We don’t have to do this.”
Jimmy looked down at him like he’d grown a second head.
Mark kept going, words tumbling out faster now. “What has Genesis really ever done to us? We’re the ones who hurt her. We beat her. We humiliated her. We stood by while Mom—” He choked on the word. “We’re the monsters, Jimmy. Not them. I don’t trust Keenan. He’s using us. Once Donald’s dead, he’ll kill us too. I’ve got a little money saved—offshore account, enough for new IDs, a flight to Mexico or somewhere quiet. We disappear. In a year or two, when things cool down, we come back. We visit Mom. We… we try to fix it. Please.”
Jimmy stared at him for a long second.
Then he yanked his arm free.
“Are you mad?” he hissed. “No. They need to pay for what we lost. Mom’s rotting in prison because of them. Our money’s gone because of them. Our lives are over because of them. Be a man, Mark. For once in your pathetic life.”
He turned and walked out.
The door slammed behind him.
Mark stood there.
He had a bad feeling, deep, gnawing, like something inside him already knew how this ended.
Thirty minutes later.
The night was thick, moonless. Jimmy crouched in the treeline across from the Blackwood estate’s back service gate, black hoodie pulled low, heart hammering so loud he thought the guards could hear it.
Then it came.
A sharp crack—gunshot—followed by another. Then a low, concussive boom, like a flash-bang or small explosive tossed against the east wall near the main driveway. Flames licked up from the perimeter fence. Shouts erupted inside the compound. Boots pounded. Radios crackled. Every floodlight snapped on. Angels poured out of the house, weapons drawn, sweeping the perimeter in tight formations.
Jimmy waited, five seconds, ten, then sprinted low across the open lawn, heart in his throat.
The service gate was ajar, Keenan’s man had done his job. Jimmy slipped through, staying in the shadows of the hedges, moving toward the east wing where the medical suite was.
Chaos was everywhere, guards shouting positions, flashlights cutting through the dark, sirens wailing in the distance.
He pressed himself against the wall near a side door.
Then he saw the cars, three black SUVs—Keenan’s men peeling out fast, tires screeching as they vanished down the road.
The distraction was over.
But the estate was still on high alert.
Jimmy stayed hidden, breathing hard, watching and when he saw his moment, he sprinted towards the main building.
A yellow cab rolled up to the main gate.
The back door opened.
Zarina stepped out.
Mark, still crouched in the treeline near the car, saw her first.
His world tilted.
She looked exactly the same, dark hair pulled into a ponytail, jeans, leather jacket, moving with that quiet confidence he’d fallen for so hard.
Before he could stop himself, he was moving.
He rushed forward, fast and grabbed her arm the second she turned toward the gatehouse.
She gasped.
He dragged her behind a thick hedge, out of sight, pressing her back against the cold stone wall.
“Zarina…”
Her eyes went wide. “Mark? What the hell are you doing here?”
He pressed closer, voice breaking. “I miss you. I miss you so much. I know the truth—you were using me. You were working for him. But I love you. I still love you. Please lets get…”
Zarina stared at him like he was a ghost.
“I don’t love you, Mark,” she said quietly, voice steady. “Yes, I used you. I’m married. I love my wife. So please get out of here before I call them.”
Mark’s grip tightened on her arm.
He dropped to his knees right there in the dirt, tears streaming down his face.
“Please. Please. I need you. I’m going crazy. I’ll die without you. I can’t—I can’t do this anymore.”
Zarina looked down at him, pity flickering in her eyes, then hardening into something colder.
“Get up,” she said. “You’re a monster. You hurt Genesis. You stood by while your mother destroyed her. You’d do the world a favor if you just died.”
She shoved him off her arm, hard.
Mark fell back onto the grass.
Zarina turned and walked toward the gate without looking back.
Mark stayed on his knees in the dirt, sobbing quietly, chest heaving with ugly, broken sounds.
He reached into his pocket with shaking fingers.
Pulled out the small pistol Jimmy had forced him to take “just in case.”
He stared at it, black, cold, heavier than it looked.
Then he lifted it slowly.
Pressed the barrel under his jaw.
His eyes closed.
Tears kept falling, trailing down his cheeks, mixing with snot and dirt.
His thumb hovered over the safety.
He stopped.
Trembling, he fumbled the phone out of his other pocket instead.
Dialed Jimmy.
One ring.
Two.
Jimmy answered, voice low and tense, already inside the estate.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Mark? You’re not supposed to call me. I’m inside…”
Mark cut him off, voice raw and cracking.
“I love you, brother.”
Jimmy went still on the other end. “What?”
“Tell Mom I love her too.”
Jimmy’s voice sharpened. “Mark? What the fuck are you talking about? Where are you? Talk to me…”
Mark’s thumb slid to the trigger.
His eyes squeezed shut tighter.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
He pulled the trigger.
The gunshot cracked through the night, sharp, final, deafening in the quiet dark.
Brain matter and blood sprayed across the hedge wall behind him.
The phone slipped from his limp fingers and clattered to the grass.
On the other end of the line, Jimmy froze in the shadows of the east wing corridor.
The sound echoed in his ear, muffled but unmistakable.
Then silence.
“Mark?” Jimmy whispered.
No answer.
Just the faint crackle of the open line.
And the distant, fading echo of a single, final shot.
Zarina only steps from the gate, froze.
She knew that sound.
She turned slowly and stepped back towards the treeline.
Saw the body crumpled in the grass.
Saw the blood.
Saw Mark’s lifeless eyes staring at nothing.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Inside the estate, guards spun toward the sound.
Shouts erupted.
But Zarina just stood there, frozen, watching the boy who’d once loved her bleed out in the dark.
And Jimmy, still clutching the phone, felt something inside him shatter.
He whispered one last time.
“Mark?”
The line went dead.