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The rage starts small in my stomach, churning up sickness, before exploding into my muscles. With clenched teeth, I rush toward the window and find what I’m certain is his murderer, an intruder who broke in while we were sleeping, clambering down the fire escape. Heel slamming into the underside of the window frame, I widen the gap and climb through, racing barefoot down the stairwell after the asshole. The metal structure sways as I hustle down each flight, and that’s when the bastard glances back at me.
I don’t recognize his face, but now I’ll never forget it, with his dark hair slicked back and pretty boy features that tell me he probably spends more time primping than killing. Which is why he opted for an innocent cat, instead of killing Ivy and me.
I haven’t even broken a sweat when I reach the bottom stair and hop over the railing to the sidewalk. Cold pavement slams against the soles of my feet, as I gain on him.
Not so much a runner, either.
Up the next block, I lower my shoulder and barrel him into the alley between the apartment building and a small strip mall. The two of us crash to the concrete, the surface scraping across my skin on impact. As he reaches down his pantleg for what I assume is a weapon, I scramble over top of him and hammer my fist into his face.
Once. Twice. Three times to the face.
Hot adrenaline takes over, and I take hold of his collar, lifting his bloody face to mine. “Who the fuck are you?”
He spits blood at me, and I drop him, cracking my knuckles against his cheek in a backhand smack.
Weary laughter breaks through his mouth on a spray of new blood. “You kill me, and you’re a dead man.” The nasally tone of his voice tells me his nose is broken.
“You killed my fucking cat. I have no mercy for you.” I draw my fist back for another punch.
“Neither willEl Cabro Blanco,” he says, before I follow through with the hit.
“What did you say?”
“Your girl is marked. She’s been marked since she got involved with that dumb fucker, Calvin. He protected her. But he ain’t here to protect her anymore.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“You wouldn’t be sleeping in her bed, if he was.”
“What are you to thisEl Cabro Blanco? You’re obviously not a killer. Of humans, anyway.”
Head rolling against the pavement, he snarls his lip and flinches. “I’m the eyes of the goat.”
“Why kill my cat?”
“To send a message. Let her know they’re coming for her.”
“Where is he? Where can I findEl Cabro Blanco?”
“You can’t. But he’ll find you. Hispajarosare everywhere.”
The smug expression on his face is enough for me to want to snap his neck right here. He murdered my cat. The last living piece of my old life. “Do you know why that cat is special to me?” I don’t give him a chance to answer. “He belonged to my daughter. Mymurdereddaughter.”
His lips stretch to bloodstained teeth. “I know. I was there the night Calvin killed them. Didn’t believe it was you until I saw you lying in bed with Ivy. Boss is going to shit his pants to know you’re still breathing.”
Tipping my head, I study him, my mind spinning with a million scenarios of what he could’ve possibly done to assist in their murder. What role he may have played prior to their deaths. Lookout? Tormentor? Did he hold Bella down while they brutalized her mother? The unknowns wind around my spine, awakening something dark and wicked, long forgotten. Shadows I buried years back, for fear of what they’d do to my mind.
Biting back the rage, I pound my fist into his face, which knocks him out cold.
The streets are quiet when I sling him over my shoulder and carry him back up the fire escape until we’re on the roof of the building. I discard his body onto the gravel and catch sight of a steel flask on the inside of his coat pocket.
“Damon?”
The sound of Ivy’s voice fails to deter me from my task. There’s a rag, left out beside a spray bottle filled with clear liquid, on the small table up there, and I use it to remove the flask and open it.
The scent of whiskey waters my tongue, and I dump some of the liquor into my mouth, before pouring it over the man lying before me.
Ivy comes to my side, and still, I don’t bother to look up at her. “He’s … he’s the one who—”
