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Now what?
Okay. I had two choices.
Attempt to make my way down the concrete steps and break a few bones, or yell for help.
My mouth dry, I attempted to lick my lips, but they stuck.
Panting quietly, I took a second, closing my eyes and making a considerable attempt to calm my breathing. And when I was sure I wasn’t going to pass out, I took in a deep breath—deep enough to fill my lungs—lifted my head heavenward, and screamed at the top of my lungs.
Vik
I was going to kill him. Murder him. Maim and torture. Disfigure his pretty face until his eyes were nothing but empty, gaping holes. Mutilate his body until his blood painted a red carpet on the ground I walked upon. And I was going to enjoy doing it.
Anika sat quietly, gently rubbing at her red, raw wrists, looking utterly miserable. Sasha paced silently, walking slowly with one hand on his hip while the other covered his mouth as he struggled to keep it together. Mina sat on the sofa, hugging a devastated Cora, and both women shed silent tears of fear for their friend, while Alessio leaned against the open doorway of the living room, peering across at the petite blonde. He wasn’t even trying to hide it then. He wanted to go to the tiny woman who irritated him beyond measure but continued to punish them both by denying himself the pleasure. Lev sat stoically with his daughter in his lap, staring into space, his leg bouncing rapidly, and I thought the only thing holding the man together was the little nugget in his arms.
And me?
A slow rage was burning me from the inside out, lighting my veins with liquid magma, and when Anika spoke quietly, her words doused the flames, cooling my heart to solid stone.
“This is our fault,” Anika rasped through the thick fog of silence, and when my gaze fell on her, her lips trembled as she uttered a dismal, “We did this, Vik.”
Not our fault. Not we.
No.
I’d been thinking it since the moment I got the call.
This was my fault, and I was going to fix it. I didn’t know how yet, but I did know that my trigger finger was itching, and my target was purely inhuman.
How did one kill a demon?
A curt knock sounded, and Alessio turned to answer the front door. Laredo walked into the soundless room, took a long look around at the faces of the people missing one of their own, and shook his head slowly as he carefully removed his gloves and made the short distance toward Sasha.
Stone-faced Sasha paused in his pacing to greet his uncle, and when the older man began with, “Rounded the troops. Sent them over to the club. They’ll hold things down for as long as you need them,” his shoulders drooped.
“Thanks,” he muttered, and that single word of gratitude sounded as though it stuck in his throat. Sasha had never been good at pleasantries.
Laredo placed his hands on his nephew’s shoulders and looked him deep in the eye. “We’re family. Your thanks aren’t necessary. We look after our own.”
From the open doorway came a stoic, “That we do,” and my spine turned rigid.
Philippe Neige looked me up and down before approaching Sasha slowly, carefully, and even though it was clear Philippe wasn’t over the bad business between them, he looked to his old friend and sniffed a bored-sounding, “Heard you could use a hand.”
And Sasha closed his eyes, starting with a penitent, “Philippe…”
But Philippe wasn’t having it. He cut him off with a hard-sounding, “Just to be clear, I’m not here for you.” He turned to look directly at me. “Or you.” He twisted back to Sasha. “I’m here for Nastasia, and I will do whatever I can to see her home safely.” His jaw tightened. “I am here for your family, as I hoped you would have been for mine.”
Bang, bang.
Shots fired.
From the looks of thing, it met its mark, and Sasha turned away to avoid looking at the man a second longer.
Laredo’s observant gaze went right to me, and there it stayed. “You, my boy,” he began, “have some explaining to do.” He took a second before uttering, “Of all the stupid, reckless things to do, you go and offer your services to him.”
Technically, it was Sasha who had placed me into Roam’s hands, but I knew better than to blame him.
The choice was my own.
My hackles rose, and the words grated. “I was desperate.”
“Yes,” Laredo muttered, nodding. “And now you are going to know what real desperation feels like.” A moment’s pause, then his brows lowered as he asked, “Do you have any idea who you have obligated yourself to?”
The way he said it, with cool confidence, immediately told me I might’ve fucked up harder than I originally thought. And when Laredo began to talk, I realized I had.
