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Elio slumps over, looking a little dazed, and I sigh. “I need more muscles to get the job done faster.”
I whack him again and again with the cast-iron skillet until he’s unconscious, his face bashed in, a pool of blood soaking the wood beneath his body. I’m sweaty and panting as I bend down to check if he’s still breathing.
Fucker. It took too long to knock him out. I mean, he could have just gone easily. He didn’t need to make it difficult.
“Shit,” Casey mutters, and I drop the pan in the sink and rush back to Skylar, slapping him on the cheeks, hoping to wake him up. Fuck, but he needs to wake up. His eyelids flutter open, his face far too pale.
“Hey, brat,” he says softly, and I find my smile wobbling.
“My dad’s on his way. You hang in there.”
“Hmm. I’m just so fucking tired.” I slap his face again and he scowls at me. “Do I need to punish you again?”
I nod, feeling my throat bob, something fat and sticky blocking my airways. “Yes, I need it, which is why you can’t die. You need to fucking hang in there for my ass. It needs you…I need you.” The last bit comes out as a whisper, and I feel my entire chest cave in with the admission.
Casey shifts uneasily next to me, but I don’t care that he’s seeing this tender moment between us. If you could call it tender…whatever it is, it’s ours. I’m not ashamed of it.
“Your dad’s taking the chopper. He should be here soon. Has the doctor too.”
I nod, swallowing roughly and swiping at my eyes.
Skylar has passed out again, and I feel panic and rage bubble up inside of me. That itch is back. The need to destroy, to burn.
“Don’t let him die,” I say, standing up and moving toward my bag of saws. I turn and check to make sure Casey is keeping pressure on the wound before I finally move away.
Casey’s eyes follow me. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to wake Elio up and then make him regret ever being born.”
I move toward the unconscious man on the floor, a saw in each hand. Oh, yes, he’s going to regret the day he ever drew breath.
“This is for Angel and Skylar, you sick fuck,” I hiss, flicking the switches and turning on my saws. The whirls are music to my ears as I bend down.
Don’t care what my dad wanted. This isn’t about him.
This is about me.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
ANTHONY
The blades whir loudly as I jump from the helicopter, Doc and two of my men right behind me. My goddamn son. I swear he always finds himself in trouble and yet, who’s to blame for it? Me, that’s who.
The moment he threw that glass through the window when he was a child, I knew he took after me. Devious and troublesome, always looking for the wrong way. My son, Angel, took after his mother.
Laura. My sweet wife who died far too early.
She would be horrified if she knew what was going on right now, livid. She’d have my hide. God, I am such a fucking disappointment. I’ve ruined them, and I have no one to blame but myself.
I rush to the door which is hanging off its hinges, and fear streaks through me. Casey updated me on the phone when we spoke. Diablo’s safe, but the bodyguard, Skylar, is injured. His father would be so upset knowing that I’d put his son in danger and yet, I did it anyways.
But I trusted only him with this. No one else.
And now he’s been shot while protecting my son.
“You save him at all costs, you hear,” I tell Doc. “There’s no other option.”
Doc nods and rushes inside with me, the smell of blood permeating my nose as soon as we enter the rickety house. My eyes widen slightly, surprise on my face when I see Diablo coated in blood, wiping the back of his hand across his face. It does nothing but smear the mess across his cheeks.
