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I’ve seen the autopsy reports. I know exactly what those bastards did to my family. How battered their bodies were after they were finished with them.
It wasn’t Eliana and Ryder’s rape that killed them, however harsh their perversions were. The coroner says they would have more than likely died from their internal injuries from the sexual abuse if given the opportunity. But the bastards ended their lives in another way before their brutalized bodies could give up on their own.
Cat was stabbed in the torso six times before they left, one of those wounds a mere centimeter from her heart. All things considered, she should also have died that night. It was considered a miracle that she survived. But I know it was her sheer will to live. She wishes she hadn’t, but I thank God every fucking day that she wasn’t taken from me too.
But after watching that video, I understand. After experiencing that, no one would want to live.
My chair slams back against the shelf behind me, knocking several items to the floor. The crash of glass barely registers, the rage filling my body taking control and filling all of my senses.
My body works on autopilot as I grip the edge of my desk and drop my head. My chest pumps as I pull in air and let it out slowly. Blackness seeps into my vision, and I try to push it away. When I close my eyes and try to center my thoughts, images from that fucking video flash through my mind.
And with them, the sudden urge to do damage is too compelling to ignore. Because I don’t have the sick bastards in front of me, I take my anger out on my office. Everything I fucking touch will be destroyed.
A deafening roar erupts from my throat as I flip my desk. It crashes on its front, launching its contents everywhere. Mindlessly, I pick up my chair, and with another bellow of rage, I launch it across the room. The shit on the shelf behind me gets thrown. My fist slams against the wall. As I repeat the move over and over again, I barely feel my bones crack and my skin split open.
No matter how much I try, I can’t get the images out of my head. I’ll never be able to get them out. They’ve super glued themselves to the walls of my brain to stay forever.
This was Whisper’s doing. Henry could have sent it since he’s out of prison, but I know it wasn’t him. He sent me that goddamn thumb drive knowing how it would affect me. I nearly caught up with him so he’s fucking with me. It’s a reminder of what he did to my family, and what he could still do.
My chest feels tight and my head beats a crazy, unhinged beat when I’m done destroying my office. Shit lays everywhere. I want to do more. Ineedto do more, but there’s nothing fucking left for me to demolish.
As I spin around, looking for something to grab, I see Silas and Katie standing in the doorway to my office. Kurt stands behind them. While Katie’s eyes are wide, Silas and Kurt’s faces are expressionless.
I take a deep breath through my nose, like a bull ready to charge, and my hands are fisted at my sides. My shoulders lift and drop, and I’m sure my eyes look wild. It feels like I’m coming apart at the seams.
“You want to explain what the fuck that was?” Silas asks, stepping into my office, his cautious eyes assessing me.
“Later,” I grunt, my voice rough from yelling.
I start kicking shit out of my way, looking for my laptop. After spotting it under some papers, I pick it up, not surprised to find the back case cracked. When I pull out the thumb drive, part of me hopes it’s also destroyed.
After finding my keys across the room and my phone, which is surprisingly not broken, under another pile of papers, I shove them both into my pocket. Katie quickly steps out of the doorway when I stalk toward her, and I feel her weary gaze as I walk down the hallway.
“Hunter!” Silas calls, following me down the stairs.
I don’t stop, just growl over my shoulder. “I said fucking later.”
Slamming through the back door of Slate, I pull Mathias’s name up on my phone and tap it. He answers on the second ring.
“I need a status report on my house right now,” I bark into the receiver.
“One sec,” he replies.
I switch over to my SUV’s Bluetooth and peel out from behind Slate as I wait for Mathias to talk to his man.
A week after Cat’s attack, I had Mathias put a man on her. I’ve known the man since my time on the streets when I was a teen. He’s three years older and was a ruffian like me. We parted ways when I went to live with Thomas and Sandra Myers, but we met back up again about ten years ago. He joined the Army and served as an Army Ranger for four years before he left the service. As soon as he was out, he founded his own security company.
With the mastermind behind the attack free, I wasn’t taking any chances. It’s been quiet for five years. Whisper has never made his presence known. No matter how hard I searched or who I beat the shit out of, no information could be found. It was like the guy was a fucking ghost.
Until a couple of months ago when Silas heard the name Whisper mentioned in Slate.
“Damon says a black Toyota just pulled up to your house,” Mathias says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Jimmy Simons got out and approached the house, but he was waylaid by Presley.”
Only a few people are allowed on my property when I’m not around. Cat’s family is a given. Silas and Katie are another. And Presley, of course. Jimmy doesn’t come by often and usually calls before he does, but I’ve added him to the list.
“Presley will keep him company until I get there. Let Damon know I’m on my way, but keep vigilant.”
“Anything I should know about?” he asks.
