Page 9 of Irrevocably

LUCIEN

I’m in the shadows, by the rocks on the beach, watching Astrid Starling make her way back to the bonfire with the Hellhound beside her.

I was expecting her to tell him about me immediately, but it’s clear that she didn’t since he’s now standing there, laughing as he downs another beer instead of hunting me down in the dark. And he would, if he knew.

Years ago, Enzo gave me a book on psychology. He told me a good killer gets into the minds of his victims, and to do that you had to understand how people think.

I did my research into the Hound’s background, which is usual for a biker. Broken home, abusive father, that kind of thing. His only friend growing up was Astrid Starling – they were misfits together – and following the typical biker psychology, he probably views her as his. So yes, he’d hunt me if he knew I’d hurt her. At least, he could try. I’m very good at not being found when I don’t want to be.

The Hound bends and whispers something in her ear as they approach the bonfire, and a small smile turns her mouth. You’d never know that she’d been on the edge of death only a couple of moments earlier.

She hides things, this girl. She didn’t tell him that a strange man had had his hand around her throat, choking the life out of her, and that’s interesting. Why didn’t she tell him? Why is she hiding it? Surely, that’s the first thing a good girl like her would have said to him after I disappeared, but clearly not.

Interesting. Perhaps she has hidden depths.

I lean against the rocks, the wind trying to work its way under my jacket, but I ignore it the way I ignore most physical discomforts. Much of hunting involves staying still and waiting, and Enzo trained the impatience out of me years ago. I still have the scars to prove it.

I should be leaving the beach, and considering my next move, but I continue to stand there, watching Tinkerbell by the fire.

It was a risky move to threaten her like that, especially on a crowded beach, and most especially not knowing if she’d tell anyone about me. Lazarus was very clear that we had to lay low and not draw attention, and I’m supposed to be following his orders for now.

But I was curious. I thought she’d be an easy mark, that she’d be intimated enough to answer my questions straight away, but she held out on me. And not because she wasn’t afraid. She was absolutely afraid, I could see the fear glitter in her eyes, yet she refused to answer all the same.

So, I put my fingers around her neck and added pressure to see what she’d do. Most women in that situation would have been screaming their heads off, but she didn’t. In fact, the more pressure I applied, the calmer she seemed. Even her fear died away. As I cut off her airway, she stared straight up at me, her eyes so big and dark in the night, staring at me as if I was delivering her a benediction. As if I was her own personal angel of death, and all she wanted to do was surrender to me.

Surrender is not a response I get often. Mostly people wail and fall on their knees, begging for mercy, calling for their mothers. But she wasn’t afraid to die. No, if anything it was resignation I saw on her face, or maybe even relief.

Such emotions are alien to me these days, but I can’t deny a certain … curiosity.

Would I have done it? Would I have squeezed her lovely throat until she suffocated? Broken that delicate neck with a quick twist of my hands? I could have easily enough, without her making a sound. Then I would have dumped her in the water and let that strong current that moves through the harbour take her out into the deep sea. It wouldn’t be anything I haven’t done before. A target is a target, regardless of gender. Kids might be different, but no one’s ever ordered me to kill a kid before, so I haven’t had to deal with that particular ethical dilemma yet. Then again, I haven’t found a line I couldn’t cross so far. I’m a missile and I go where I’m pointed.

Astrid’s holding a can of beer, and she tips her head back, taking a swig. Her pale curls dance around her head, the firelight turning them pink and orange, the wind taking her laughter and throwing it in my direction. It sounds like bells.

I can’t remember how long it’s been since I heard a woman laugh.

There’s Thea, my younger sister, of course, but she doesn’t laugh much, or at least, not since I found her, Lazarus and Killian, my youngest brother. It took me a couple of months to hunt them out – Lazarus managed to hide their tracks well – but now I’m back in the family fold.

At the bonfire, Astrid glances out into the darkness, scanning the beach. She’s looking for me, I can tell. Am I out there right now? Am I watching her? I told her I’d see her around, and perhaps that frightened her. I’m a predator and she doesn’t know where or when I’ll strike.

The warmth of her skin against mine lingers and I can still feel the silver of her star necklace and the fast beat of her pulse against my palm. Life continuing whether she wanted it to or not. But what makes a girl like her want to die?

I shouldn’t be thinking about this now. There’s information I need, about what’s keeping the police from busting the Hounds’ operation wide open, and how we can use that to our advantage. I haven’t found any record of any alliance anywhere on paper, not at the chief’s house and not at the station. Then again, I’m not surprised that I haven’t found anything. It’s hardly something the chief would write down anywhere. It’s likely to be a gentleman’s agreement, as these things usually are, in which case the only people who’d know about it are the chief and the MC’s president.

And perhaps Astrid Starling.

It would be easier and quicker to force the information from the chief, but doing so would alert him to our presence here, and if he has an understanding with the MC, then that might involve them as well, and we’re not ready to take them on yet. Lazarus has been going back and forth from the city, finding potential allies for us. We’ll need some firepower in order to make a move, and we don’t have that just yet.

So, for now, it will have to be the indirect approach.

The Hound slings his arm around Astrid’s narrow shoulders and leans down to say something to her. But she’s not paying attention to him. She’s looking beyond the firelight, into the darkness, over to the rocks where I’m standing. She can’t see me, nevertheless, she’s looking straight at me.

I smile.

She’ll be seeing me around sooner than she thinks.

Chapter Five

ASTRID