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We parked in a clearing to the west of the house, the opposite way from where we were chasing him down.

My fists clenching and my mind swimming with thoughts. It can’t be him. I’m just fucking crazy.

We reach the car and I get in the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. I grip the steering wheel tightly as my jaw ticks.

“Jesus Christ, man. What happened?”

I sit, wondering how the fuck I am going to tell him that I was chasing down his dead brother.

The file my father gave me had a location and the descriptions of five men. We only had names for two of them. The rest are guilty by association. So why the fuck is Damien running around with fucking rats. He’s supposed to be fucking dead. I was at the fucking funeral.

I don’t say anything to Lucien. I speed away, not looking back. Whatever he is doing is going to get himself killed— killed for real.

* * *

I stop at Astra’s house to pick up Evelyn and drop off Lucien. He was pretty fucking pissed I wouldn’t tell him anything. I’m just glad he isn’t a faster runner. If he saw him, I know he would have never stopped running.

He always hated his brother. Didn’t even go to the funeral. I think he now has a guilty conscience about it. His brother was always his father’s favorite. Lucien was always the afterthought. No matter how much he claimed to have hated his brother, I know he misses him.

Evelyn climbs into my car, giggling at something Astra just said. Her door closes, and she stares at me with heavy eyes.

“Are you drunk?”

“Mmm….Yes,” a laugh erupts from her tiny frame.

I smile at her. The shy, timid girl I met at Club Muse doesn’t exist anymore. She is fucking wild— as I knew she would be.

She buckles herself in and I place my hand on her thigh, reminding her that she is fucking mine. She grabs my hand and moves it closer to her center.

She licks her lips. Her eyes full of need.

I pull my hand back to where it was. If she keeps looking at me like that I will fuck her right here. I don’t give a fuck if I’m parked in front of her friend’s house or not.

She makes a pouting face as I put the car in drive.

We listen to music the entire drive home, and she is singing— no. Screaming along to the songs. She is a terrible fucking singer. I rate it a 0/10. The only flaw I have found.

I park the car, and she stumbles out of the car, nearly running headfirst into my Ducati.

I quickly rush over to her and scoop her up into my arms. She weighs practically nothing.

We stand in the elevator, and she traces my neck tattoos with her fingers.

“Would you let me carve my name into you?”

Her question surprises me. She has a pretty weak stomach, and I didn’t think the thought would ever even cross her mind.

“Yes.”

I don’t hesitate with my response. I would gladly fucking bleed for her.

“W-why?” Her voice is soft and filled with a sense of curiosity.

I step into my bedroom and place her on the edge of the bed. I slide a knife out of my nightstand and hand it to her. She holds it in her shaky palm.

“Because. I belong to you.”

Her eyes search mine for answers as if I didn’t give her a good enough explanation. I grab her wrist, stepping into her. Letting the tip of the knife nip the skin above my heart.