Page 18

“Whatever. Like there’s a difference at the moment,” Bez taunts me. I hear a small laugh, and it’s like a switch turning on insidemy head. I grab Rague’s bloody hand still wrapped around Leslie and spin us toward the glass wall, lifting the gun and pulling the trigger five times, muzzle pointed right at Bez.

Lori screams, while Raph grabs Michael and moves his body behind him. Bez/Gabe remains still, cool as a cucumber. Not a twitch. They know the glass is bullet proof; they were here when Rague changed it two months ago—Raph as well, don’t know why he’s shielding his husband.

“You bloody, shitty arsehole!” Lori yells at me, his watery eyes fixed on the bullets stuck in the glass. He then frantically pats Gabe’s body before climbing him like a tree and wrapping himself around him.

He should know by now about my spontaneous outbursts. I do dream of hurting every single one of my bros, but I’ve never actually done it.

“I’m. A fucking. Sociopath,” I snap as I lower the gun and glare at all of them.

Then I move toward the door that leads to the bathroom. Need a fucking shower. Rague can dispose of the bodies since he enjoys acid’s effectiveness so fucking much.

My Hummer is gliding smoothly through the snowy streets of Chicago, a marvel of design and engineering. Warm air blows out of the vents drying the damp ends of my dreads. My black duster coat is lying on the leather passenger seat, hiding Leslieunderneath. I had to change my dirty clothes, and now I’m wearing kickass ankle boots, black jeans, and a burgundy cable knit—blood is less visible on dark colors. And with Sari’s stalker lurking around, I never know when I’ll need to shed some.

Five more minutes and I’ll be at my lake house in Winnetka, a suburban area of Chicago. I have just enough time.

“Serena, show me Sari’s position.”

“Sure thing, Uri,” she replies straight away.

A map with a red dot appears on the dash screen. Sari is having a top-rated gastronomic experience with Michael, Raph, and Sandy—their PA—in my upscale bistro downtown. I usually go along for their monthly office dinner, but I need to check on the work Rague’s men did at the house. It needs to be ready by tomorrow night.

“Serena, access the cameras in the bistro,” I order.

I’m the owner, no need for Serena to hack into them. She finds their table straight away—the best in the place.

“Zoom on Sari.”

And there he is. His new red-rimmed glasses should make him look like a nerd, but instead turn him into a tsunami of innocence and dirty thoughts. His long, elegant fingers with neatly filed, milky-white nails wrap gracefully around the glass stem. His relaxed smile gleams under the restaurant fluorescent lights.

After a moment, he leaves the table, moving toward the toilets. He’s wearing a pair of soft-looking velvet pants that envelop his legs like a second skin. Those plump cheeks are begging for my hands’ attention with each step he takes. The thought of themjiggling under my eyes with every hard, punishing thrust of my hips as I ruin his hole makes me want to turn my fucking car around and go to him.

“Fuck!” I rub my hand over my mouth, not sure what to do with myself. One long look at him, and I’m on fire. I start biting the barbell in my tongue impatiently. I’m hotly aware of the way my sweater rubs against my nipples, the pinch of the metal hoop in my eyebrow, the sweat covering the ink along my chest, and the urge to pull Sari onto my lap to punish him for displaying his uncontainable beauty for other men’s leery looks.

I need to move up my plan.That reminds me. “Call Clover.”

“Did you do it?” I ask as soon as he picks up.

“Learn proper etiquette before calling someone on the phone.”Why is he whispering?

I wouldn’t have given him the job, but Clover is the only one who could get inside Sari’s building without detection. He’s a thief we use when we need some extra help with the donors. We pay him abundantly for his facilitation. But, as the rest of humanity, he is annoying as fuck.

“Just answer the fucking question!”

“I didn’t want to let them go. They were so cute!”

Really? Maybe I should have turned to the triplets; they seem to like animals as well as unleashing chaos.

“Clover.”

“Wait a second. I’m upside down and sweating like a horse here,” he pants.

“Like a pig, sweating like a pig.”

“It makes no sense. Pigs don’t sweat. Horse on the other hand,” he whisper-yells. Then I hear a thud, a curse, and the abrupt beeping sound of an alarm going off.

“You’re on a job,” I state, unimpressed as I halt the Hummer in front of my house gates.

“No, I’m just…passing time between jobs,” he replies, out of breath.