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Their very real, unusual marker left behind for me.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I feel a sense of unease settle in the pit of my stomach. It’s as if a sinister presence has invaded my sanctuary, leaving behind a disturbing message. I have been tracking the Harbingers' movements and crimes for months, trying to piece together the puzzle of their actions, and now it seems that they are taunting me in return.
It would be delusional to think that I wouldn’t end up on their radar.
As I approach the coffee table, a rush of adrenaline shoots through my veins. The skull's hollow eye sockets seem to stare into my very soul, a silent challenge from the ones I have been chasing. This was a bold move and a clear statement that they are watching me. They’ve violated my personal space, which means something I’ve done or said was too close for their comfort.
I pick up the skull, it's cold surface sending a shiver down my spine. It’s a physical manifestation of the darkness I have been delving into, something that now seems to envelop me. The Harbingers are playing a dangerous game, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being drawn further into their twisted web.
The notes I have compiled are now tainted by this ominous gift. The patterns, the clues–they all seemed to take on a new layer of meaning in the wake of this intrusion. They were no longer just subjects of my investigation; they were tangible, real, and dangerously close.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my frantic heart. I have worked too hard and come too far to let fear dictate my actions now. If anything, this alarming message only fuels my determination to uncover the truth behind the Harbingers' path of destruction. They might be playing with fire, but I’m capable of handling the flame.
With a newfound resolve, I place the steer skull back on the desk, letting it serve as a reminder of the evil I am up against. I won’t be intimidated by their scheme. I would use it as motivation to dig deeper, to unravel the secrets they are so desperate to keep hidden. The Harbingers might be skilled at leaving their stain on society, but I was determined to leave my own mark on their story–one that would expose the truth and bring them to justice.
They thought they could scare Quinn Sorvani, but they didn’t know that my childhood beat true fear out of me.
If they wanted to be cats batting at their prey, I hope they were ready for their game to bite them right back in the ass.
CHAPTER8
DOM
Quinn Sorvani. Clever little girl in piecing some things together. Superficial shit, but nonetheless bothersome. Like a little gnat just buzzing about, and I’m going to need to squash it between my forefinger and thumb.
I already knew about her before Khi finally brought her up. He acts as if I don’t religiously troll the internet for any and all keywords that could possibly have to do with us. I refuse to be caught unaware and to put us in unnecessary danger.
The cat-and-mouse chase the last couple of weeks between the reporter and us is like a dance of danger. She’s relentless in her pursuit of the truth, while we are equally committed to protecting our identities and secrets. With each article she writes, she’s stepping closer to getting on my bad side. The tension is thick, like a wire waiting to snap.
I’ve been watching her. Popping up at her favorite coffee stand here and there. In a town like ours, it’s not unusual to see the same person frequently.
The first time our paths crossed, our eyes locked in a silent gaze. Hers filled with appreciation for my looks, and mine barely restrained disgust and a need to take her now and leave little pieces of her in a scavenger hunt for Khi. What a fun game that would be. I don’t think he’s ever done one before. The idea seems more appealing now than ever.
Her investigation was drawing her closer to us, sometimes running parallel in certain circumstances. Khi is entirely too fucking obsessed with her and how she operates. We need to fucking get her off our tail. If we have to kill her, then so be it. I hate veering off the plan, but the longer this goes on, the more I realize we need to factor her into our outline. Or at least I do. Malakhi is just going to have to fucking deal. No doubt he’ll whine about me taking away another one of his potential toys.
“Khi. Let’s go. Stop fucking around and just pick something,” I grumble as I watch my brother hmm and haw all over this cabin, trying to find the perfect addition to our collection.
I see him crouch down, running his knife up and down the side of the man’s face. The man who liked to weave lies and ruin lives.
“I’m thinking his tongue. Naughty boy caused a lot of harm with this tongue. Yes, I think taking it is best. It will look so good on a shelf.” He glances at me, already halfway into the man's mouth, waiting to see if I’ll stop him. I don’t give a fuck what he wants to take as long as it’s quick so we can finish up here.
“One, two the Harbingers are coming for you. One, two the Harbingers are coming for you…” A little hum of the nursery rhyme Malakhi will sing sometimes is all that can be heard.
“Got it. Now we can go, Daddy Dom.” He snickers and all I can do is roll my eyes. The more I let him know it grates on my nerves, the more he’ll do it.
We are just getting home and I’m tossing my keys on the table as I quickly go through the mail. Junk. Junk. Water bill. A magazine?
Gagged & Gay.BDSM For the modern guy who loves it a little rough.
Addressed to me. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Malakhi Xavier, why are you subscribing me to magazines? What is this, the goddamn 90s? This is a waste of paper and money,” I yell out before walking into the front room.
Khi’s gaze is lingering on something in his hand, and I peer over his shoulder to find him looking at the picture he snapped of that damn reporter. His eyes tracing the lines of her face with a look of fascination, and loathe that I am to admit it, obsession. He’s disturbingly infatuated with her, and it grates on my nerves.
He’s mine, and when we aren’t killing, his entire world should only be me. His focus, his attention, it's all mine.
I rub my chest, a sharp pain going through it. I’m too fucking young for heartburn, so whatever the fuck we had for dinner tonight can never be made again. Fucking meal delivery service bullshit. Convenient, but I can’t control the ingredients, so we won’t be doing that anymore.
