The tires of the Explorer squealed as I pulled into the parking lot of the exclusive Hale Club. Sleek, dark sedans filled some of the otherwise empty spaces, with the drivers huddled inside to escape the brutal January wind. I pulled the four-wheel drive near the back entrance before I killed the engine and climbed out.
I pulled the dark hoodie low to shield my face. But the wind still lashed my hair into my eyes, so I lowered my head further as I strode toward the back door.
I knew this place probably better than anyone, knew the men who came here, their names, and where they lived. I knew who their families were, if they were married, had kids…and even where those kids went to school. Not that I wanted to need that knowledge. But you never knew with those slimy motherfuckers. Everyone was fucking collateral.
Glancing over my shoulder at the gunmetal gray Bentley, I checked the driver before I turned back, punched the code into the lock, and yanked open the door. The howling wind was quickly silenced by the thud of the door. Then there was only the quiet, until I headed deeper into the vile fucking club.
Laughter rang out. Deep, booming…masculine. I scanned the expansive room to search the occupied tables in the dim, discreet areas designed for the kind of secrets these men kept. Movement drew my gaze as one of the men rose and buttoned his jacket. His laughter was infectious as it spread across the table. He lifted his hand in an I’ll be right back motion.
I narrowed in on him and searched his face…he was one of them.
One of those who’d taken her.
One of those who’d hurt her.
But who’d left before the others had their fun.
I stepped out, kept my head down, and hugged the shadows to follow him into the darkened hallway on the other side of the club. My footsteps were silent and my pulse was steady and slow as I reached around and slipped my blade free.
Hinges squealed from the men’s bathroom door. The spill of bright light made me slow. He disappeared inside and a second later, a stall door closed with a bang.
I followed, carefully pushed the bathroom door open quietly, and scanned the line of stalls for occupants before I turned to the sink and twisted the faucet. A smile was still on his face when he exited the stall with the noise of the flush behind him. He glanced my way but he didn’t linger, just moved to the sink…until I lifted my head and turned toward him.
He froze, then carefully, slowly looked my way.
I didn’t speak, just raised my arm high in the air and lunged, driving the blade down into the bastard’s neck. Stab…stab. Stabstabstab…then I sucked in a hard breath as I met his wide eyes. He’d never had a chance…not with me. None of them would.
His blood spurted into the air to splash against the stark white bathroom tiles.
“You?” he spluttered as he desperately clutched his throat to try to stem the flow.
But it was impossible. It flowed in a torrent, spilling through the gaps of his fingers and down his perfect white shirt.
“You touched something that wasn’t yours to touch.” I lowered my gaze to his hand around his throat. “So I’ll make sure you never touch anything…ever again.”
He tried to scream as I stepped forward, but his knees gave way and he crumpled to the floor. There was no fight, not even when I pulled his hand from around his throat and gripped his wrist. Only then did the hate rise inside me.
I used it as I carved the knife through flesh and tendons, as I hacked and sawed until the hand dropped free…to hit the floor with a plop.
A whimper came from the bastard as I bent and picked it up. “A souvenir,” I said as I cleaned my knife on his shirt, then met the dullness in his stare.
He had turned ashen by now and slipped away from me with no more than an exhale. I tucked the hand into the pocket of my hoodie as I rose, then strode out of the bathroom.
I stayed in the shadows and had made it halfway across the room before a guttural roar of horror came behind me. By the time I left through the back door, they’d know…
They’d all know…
You didn’t touch what belonged to us.
I pushed through the door bare minutes after I’d entered. I headed back to the Explorer, tossed the knife on the floor of the passenger side, and climbed in. By the time they checked the cameras, it’d be too late.
Harrison Bolune would be dead…
And his buddies would be next.
That crawling sensation came at the back of my neck as I pulled out of the parking lot. I didn’t need to look, I knew they were there…watching me. I turned the car, headed two blocks away to the offices of Burton and Bourke Family Lawyers and pulled the four-wheel drive into the parking lot.
There was blood on my hoodie. I tugged it off, cast it aside, and climbed out, then made my way through the front door of the prestigious offices and across the foyer. It’d do no good to have the cops on my case before I was done…I didn’t want to have to kill them too.
But I would.
And I wouldn’t flinch, either.
A pretty receptionist looked up from her seat behind the desk. She had red hair in tight ringlets against puffy cheeks and a perky smile. “Can I help you?” she asked.
I didn’t answer, just shifted my focus from her and kept on walking, headed to an elevator and pressed the button for the third floor. Cold, unflinching blue eyes stared back at me from the steel doors. I didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, just stared ahead until the doors slid open and I stepped out into a busy reception area.
The phones rang.
The receptionists were busy.
I strode past, headed to the director’s offices.
“Excuse me,” one receptionist called out. “You can’t go in there!”
I reached around to the gun in the small of my back and caught movement behind the office doors up ahead as I turned toward the large corner office of Martin Bourke. I gripped the door handle and turned as my pulse picked up pace while I scanned the area and stepped inside.
But he wasn’t there, nor was he in the adjoining bathroom. Footsteps sounded behind me.
“You can’t be in here. I’m about to call security!”
I walked back to his desk and found a single golf tee in the middle of the black leather desk pad. The desk reminded me of the one I’d shot to hell in that fucking house. “Don’t bother.” I glanced back at that tee. “I’m leaving.”
I lowered my hand from the gun at my back and strode past her. I was out of the office before she had a chance to stop me and stepped back into the elevator as rage seethed inside me.
I wanted to kill him.
I wanted to kill them all.
I expected security to be waiting for me when the elevator doors opened. But there was no one as I headed back to the Explorer and climbed inside. That golf tee stayed with me as I backed out and headed out of the city to where the exclusive golf estates were tucked away from everything else.
Trees lined the road, but gave me glimpses of rolling greens hidden behind the lush pines. I pulled the car into the entrance and past the towering stone pillars of the Ashdale Country Club.
I headed for the sprawling club made for rich old assholes. Zipped up waterproof jackets and haughty expressions met me as I pulled the Explorer around to the rear of the building. The place was big…big enough to get lost in.
I settled my gun against my back and glanced at the hoodie. It was too bloody to wear here…but I didn’t have anything else. I clenched my jaw and climbed out into the blustery wind, then headed toward the pathway to the greens.
My eyes watered as I scanned the idiots who were still out in weather like this. The room where we’d found her burned in my mind. I held onto that image when I spied Martin Bourke near a clump of ash trees. Three of the other vile bastards on my list had been with him. Of course they’d be here together.
Like attracts alike.
I reached around for the gun as Martin compensated for a sudden gust of wind, took a swing, and launched the ball through the air. My gun was out in an instant. I raised the muzzle, adjusted my aim, and fired.
Bang.
Martin dropped where he stood, a neat bullet hole punctured the back of his head…and had blown out the front. The three others spun as I swung the gun.
“No!” one screamed, his eyes wide.
Bang!
He dropped to the ground as Dale Landers unleashed a roar and charged me, swinging a golf club through the air like a weapon. Something snapped inside me and gave birth to something savage. I threw out my hand, took the blow of the club across my palm, and ripped it from his hold.
“You motherfucker,” I roared as I swung and hit him on the arm. “You fucking touched her? You motherfucking TOUCHED HER?”
I swung again, and that time I caught him on the side of the head. He stumbled backwards and fell. It was all I needed. I yanked the club over my head and my muscles howled as I drove it through the air.
Crunch.
I swung again as blood splattered, tearing open his eye…and I couldn’t stop.
I sucked in heavy breaths, consumed by the momentum as I hit again and again…and again.
Until I was lost in the blood and the movement. I couldn’t get enough.
I wanted to kill and keep on killing. But the bloody, broken mess under me had stopped screaming and fighting. I stopped swinging, lowered the club, and stared at the body…and slowly felt that nagging feeling at the back of my neck, urging me to lift my gaze.
He was there…the Son, with his arms crossed as he leaned against the trunk of the ash tree, watching this all play out. He gave a slow jerk of his head toward the line of trees that led back to the club. “Missed one.”
I barely caught the words, but they snapped me to attention.
There were three bodies, but there had been four of those motherfuckers. The Son reached to his waist, pulled a long switchblade free, and tossed it toward me. “I want it back.”
Then before the knife landed, he turned and strolled away, headed in the opposite direction of the way I’d come. I looked at the steel knife that shimmered against the bright green grass and bent to pick it up.
I didn’t understand him.
Nor at that moment did I care. I just gripped the knife and tossed the bloody, bent club into the trees as I started running. My muscles were cold and burned with the stretch as I pushed into a run. By the time I spotted Peter Sidcome flailing his arms and screaming for help, I was sprinting.
Flick.
The blade shot out with the press of my finger.
I’d promised her the hands of her attackers and I wasn’t about to break that promise.
No…I’d break them instead.
He seemed to sense me as I bore down on him and turned at the last moment to fling his hands into the air. “NO!” he screamed.
I drove the point of the blade all the way through his palm. His screams sounded, even as he hit the ground.
But they didn’t last long.
I was the man they were terrified of.
The man who was once a boy.
Until they’d made me into what I was now.
A cold hearted, killing machine.
A…son.
By the time I was done with him, he wasn’t a man anymore. It wasn’t just his hands I wanted this time. I lowered my gaze to the bloody mess at the front of his pants. I’d seen what the Banks brothers had done to avenge Ryth Castlemaine. At the time, I hadn’t understood, not the depths of their rage…or the hunger they’d had for her.
Wide, perfect brown eyes filled my mind.
I’m not afraid of you, Carven, she whispered in my head.
I hadn’t understood before. But I did now.
An ache filled my chest, plunging deeper than any blade could.
Yeah…I knew now.
I turned around, went back to where the bodies had bled out on the green, and used the knife once more. Hands…cocks. I carved the word rapist in each scumbag’s chest before I wrapped the body parts in a windbreaker and rose to look down at the massacre in front of me.
They’d put it together in an instant. Hale would, at least. I turned around as the hate seethed inside me with the name. I wanted his blood on my blade more than anyone’s. But I couldn’t…not yet.
Ophelia’s face rose from the back of my mind as I strode to the four-wheel drive and climbed inside. I was numb from the inside out and my fingers shook as I started the engine, turned on the heat, and aimed the heated air toward me.
Blood seeped from everywhere. My palm stung from the blow of the club, and it was almost impossible to get my phone from my pocket. But the screen was empty, not even a message back from my twin.
I punched in the tenth message I’d sent today and hit send:
Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.
Then I closed my eyes, inhaling the stench of blood. “Just please don’t tell me to stop wanting her.”
I didn’t think I could do that, not now she was under my skin.
But I’d try…for him, I’d try.
I’d cut her out from under there…if that’s what it took.
