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He was here…the goddamn Priest. I took a step toward the church before fate took over, lengthening my stride until I pushed through the massive wooden door of this place of worship. Hinges squealed as shadows descended, moving between the pews…until I realized the shadows were me. Ominous and dark, they reached over the rows of hard wooden seats as I headed for the massive statue of Jesus hanging from the cross suspended at the front.
There he was.
Thomas Cruz.
The one they called The Priest. He paced the floor in a frenzy before suddenly turning and sinking to his knees. I watched his head bow, my boots a heavy muffled thud against the hard wooden floor as I came up behind him.
But he didn’t seem to hear me, lost in his own torment he clasped his hands together, not quite in prayer, more like in distress. I swallowed the tang of rage. His distress had only just started.
“Thomas,” I growled his name. He whipped his head toward me, his gaze narrowing as I lifted my clenched fist into the air. “Your God will not help you tonight.”
I unleashed the blow with a crack! His head snapped backwards, but if I thought the goddamn lying bastard was going to go down easy, I was mistaken.
He shoved upwards from the floor. “London.” He started, his gaze moving behind me.
Was he searching for the sons?
Was he expecting Carven to follow, full of fury and rage, determined to exact revenge for his brother? But there was no Carven…and there was no Colt. There was only me.
“Wait!” he roared as I lunged, driving my fist against the side of his head.
The blow hit with a crunch. He stumbled sideways and slammed into the tiered rows of dozens of candles alight and glowing. Some spilled, their flames hitting the white fabric covering.
“Fucking wait?” I barked, lunging once more to grab him by his black shirt. “You. Fucking. Bastard! Where is he…WHERE IS MY SON!”
He shoved, kicking out with a foot to catch me on the side of the knee. My stance buckled as pain shot straight into my thigh. The bastard was fast…and strong, tearing out of my grasp to stumble backwards. “I don’t know, okay! I don’t know about Colt…I don’t know anything!”
“LIAR!” I rushed him.
But he swung his fist, arcing high in the air, aimed for my head. I ducked and drove my own upwards, hitting him under the jaw. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. My knuckles burned as they made impact. I unleashed the darkness inside me, driving it down into his face.
There was no hope for him.
No going back now.
Thump!
My son was all I saw. His bright blue eyes filled my mind. A montage of moments as that scared, broken boy slowly learned he was safe.
I’d made him safe.
Thump!
I’d made him strong. I did that, pouring my heart into those boys, teaching them how to fight…and how to kill…and finally…how to be a man…and a lover.
Go to him. Those words haunted me now. Go to him, pet.
I grabbed The Priest with one hand, holding his body off the floor as he slumped. His eye was a mess…bloody and bruised. His mouth was no better. Blood slipped between the cracks of his teeth and stained the enamel. I sucked in hard breaths, remembering the last moment of Killion Dare…as I’d severed his thumb and sent it to Hale.
Now I had caused my son pain.
A roar tore free as my mind morphed it into Colt’s severed digit on Ophelia’s kitchen counter.
I’d done that.
I’d done that.
I sucked in a hard breath, seeing the blood splatter on my hand. “Someone has to know where Hale is.” I settled my gaze on those blood-filled eyes. “Because he has my son.”
