Page 113 of The Devil’s Lair

He nods. No questions, no recriminations, just solid support. “Where are you going?”

“To kill the rest.”

Nicholas puts his hand on my arm. “This is your fight, brother, but one of us is going with you. Non-negotiable. Who’s it to be?”

I jerk my chin at him. “Thanks for volunteering.”

A small smile curves his lips upward. “Right by your side.”

“I’ll call Mahoney,” Xan says. “Send me the list, and I’ll have him sweep up after you.”

I nod, making my exit, only pausing by Christian. “Can you take care of Rebecca for me? Tell her I’ll be back soon. And let Dad know where we’ve gone.”

“On it.” He claps me on the back and takes off.

Nicholas and I follow.

“Mahoney.” Xan’s voice drifts after us. “Got a job for you.”

It’s after two o’clock in the morning when Nicholas and I stagger through the front door. The house is quiet, the guests having long since left. We trudge up the stairs in silence, pausing on my floor.

“You did good, man.” Nicholas draws me into a hug.

Exhausted, I take a second to lean against him. “Thanks.”

“Always.” He releases me and carries on to the top floor of the house where his apartment is.

I stand there for a few moments, taking in tonight’s events. Didn’t turn out like I expected, but the world has a few less rapists in it, and that counts as a good fucking day.

The floorboards outside my apartment creak—a sound that’s hardly noticeable in the day echoing through the hallway. Shower, bed, then in the morning, I’ll tell Rebecca everything. One of our first vows to each other long before our wedding was that we’d always be honest, and I don’t intend to stop just because the subject matter is dark. She deserves to know what I did tonight, what I’m capable of to avenge and protect the woman I love.

Because I do. I love her. I can’t point to the moment, the day, the week it happened. It sort of crept up on me, slow, steady, and lethal. I’m all in. Gone for her.

I push open the door, feeling around for the light switch. The space illuminates.

“Hi.” Rebecca is sitting on the couch, still dressed in the beautiful gown I never got time to fully appreciate.

“Hey.” I glance down at my bruised hands, my bloodied shirt. Guess I won’t need to tell her much after all. “I didn’t expect to see you. It’s late.”

“It is.” She rises gracefully from the couch and comes toward me. Taking hold of my hands, she brings them to her lips and kisses my scraped knuckles. “Where else would I be?”

My shoulders slump. For a dreaded minute, I worried she’d take one look at me and bolt.

“You look shattered.”

“I am.”

“I’ll heat up the shower.” She turns.

“Wait. I want to explain. I need to explain.”

“You can, after you’ve cleaned up and had some sleep. Christian’s told me enough for now.”

Standing on tiptoes, she presses her lips to mine. I close my eyes, sinking into the moment. It’s over too soon. My eyes track her through my living room and into my bedroom. After a few seconds, I follow. Loosening my tie, I toss it on the bed. There’s an odd, dark humor in still wearing my tie while I ended the lives of the men who hurt my wife.

“Shower’s ready.”

“Thanks.” I reach for the top button on my shirt.