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“You should tell him.”
I spin back, eyeing the female detective. “Tell me what?”
Caruso sighs, shooting his partner a glare before rolling his shoulders back.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’ll likely just fuel your fucking rampage even further, but Nelson, here, is of the belief that you’d want to know.”
“Tell me fucking what?” I snap, and Nelson is the one to answer.
“We found semen at the scene. Near the blood smear on the floor.”
Once again, my fucking breath leaves me. Why the fuck are they telling me this?
A growl slips past my lips as I eye Caruso and the smirk he’s trying to hold back.
Motherfucker!
He knew his partner would say something and now he’s trying to gauge my reaction, otherwise why the fuck would they divulge information like that? I’m not Zoe’s fucking dad, so there would be no reason why they should tell me that. But they aren’t dumb. They know Zoe meanssomething to me. So either they are trying to provoke me into losing my shit and spilling information, or it’s a warning. Perhaps they think it was me after all.
Thank fuck Alana has her wits about her before I lunge for the smug prick, because she steps in front of me and asks the questions I can’t seem to summon.
“Was it the riding trainer’s jizz?”
“No.” Nelson answers as Caruso still smirks. “Forensics have already ruled him out as the owner of the semen. They are still working on finding a DNA link.”
“Are you suggesting that Zoe was raped?” Alana asks quietly, and I fucking stumble back at hearingthosewords, only to run into Slasher’s chest.
Fuck. How long has he been behind me?
Any smugness quickly falls from Caruso’s face, and the look the two detectives share is answer enough, and as red-hot rage sweeps through my body, igniting the monster in me, Alana herds the detectives out of our crumbling clubhouse as my men try to contain me.
Grayson
Dragging myself out of the bed Zoe and I shared each morning is a form of torture. Maybe coming back to sleep in the clubhouse was a bad fucking idea. Everywhere I look I’m reminded of the one person who was put on this earth to save me from myself.
Every fucking morning, I consider if perhaps I should just go back to Dirty Diamonds and sleep in Cain’s office which is where I took residence after Zoe was taken. Even though I’d fucked her on his desk, it didn’t smell like her in there, and I realize now that was easier. Because her scent is like dangling a fucking drug in front of me, that’s just out of reach.
Fuck.
Nothing feels right anymore. Everything is fucking wrong. Getting out of bed feels wrong. Showering feels wrong. Taking my dick in my hand and obsessing over Zoe’s panties feels wrong.
The worst part is, I don’t know how to make it right again. Each week that passes, the hope that I’ll get Zoe back fades a little more. It’s nearly been two fucking months since everything went to hell. And it’s been four fucking weeks since the cops came to me with Zoe’s note. A cry for fucking help.
A lot of good it did. We are still no fucking closer to finding the Reapers. It’s like they vanished off the face of the earth.
I go through the motions of preparing for another day in hell, and when I show my face down in the main clubhouse, I find my brothers waiting for me.
I feel like an imposter. They look to me for leadership, and all I want to do is burn everything to the ground. If they only knew the thoughts consuming me, they wouldn’t want to follow me.
Maybe I should leave.
“You gotta get out of your head,” Slasher grunts as he comes to stand in front of me.
“Why? What does it matter?”
He stares at me, long and hard before he fists the front of my cut and jerks me forward until we are nose to nose.
“My brother died for this club, Prez. He fucking died for each one of us. Don’t let his death mean nothing.”
