Page 28

URIEL

I grunt and get more comfortable on the solarium’s sofa. My dreads are still damp from the two-hour swim I had in the indoor pool. The physical exertion didn’t help with my restlessness. Nor the time spent taking apart and cleaning some of my rifles.

I know what I need; I already booked a room at Madame Claudette’s for tonight.

I lift my phone and check Sari’s bracelet app.

His heart rate is fine and temperature as well.

I look at his position again. His pin is still at Rague’s house.

One of the triplets, Ren, came early this morning to pick him up.

They’ll help Sully pack for college. It was my turn to help Gabe dispose of his donor, so I hired two bodyguards to follow them.

This stalker problem needs to be resolved.

I just finished talking to Michael. The guard working at Bear-Stone Labs who was bribed to sneak the package inside the building was killed.

Michael—with the medical examiner—found a small needle mark behind his left ear and a trace of a muscle relaxant called succinylcholine in the guard’s blood.

A smart choice since it is not normally tested for in toxicology screens.

In higher doses, it can paralyze the entire breathing apparatus, and the victim suffocates to death—which is what happened to the guard.

Rami checked the diner’s CCTV. A person entered the bathroom thirty seconds after the guard went in.

Unfortunately there’re no cameras inside, but after fifteen seconds, the same person came out wearing a long coat and a knitted cap, keeping their face down.

They are average height and build, we can’t discern their gender, the poor quality of the footage doesn’t help.

Serena followed them outside, but they disappeared in the crowded streets of downtown Chicago.

This is more serious than I anticipated. This sicko is ready to do whatever it takes to reach Sari. It’s escalating quickly, and I don’t like the direction this fucker is taking us. He needs to be stopped.

Albert E. moves in his sleep on top of my belly while I’m checking the stock market.

I stopped by his room earlier as I heard him wheeking and squeaking.

I don’t fucking care if the critter croaks, but Sari would.

After checking the levels of water and food and the room temperature, I decided to keep an eye on him so I took him with me.

He seems to enjoy the warmth of my body. Is he purring?

I can’t forget the soft smile gracing Sari’s face when he looked at it last night.

I was instantly hit with the desire to squash the pig.

I wanted that sweet expression directed at me and only me.

I can’t help but glare again at the hairless wiener.

What does Sari see in it? Those tufts of hair are ridiculous.

I touch the one on his head, pulling a little.

I raise a confused brow when his bony leg starts twitching uncontrollably.

Sari is way too gentle with it. He seems to like a vigorous rubbing.

The wiener is now looking up at me with those small, round eyes asking for more.

It reminds me of Sari’s begging expression, those tears making a wet path down his face.

My dick had never throbbed with such a need to claim, wreck, utterly destroy someone before.

The temptation so consuming, it almost burned me alive.

Controlling my needs is something I don’t fucking do.

Hurting people is more than an urge for me, it’s a way of life.

And then there’s Sari.

He enjoyed a few spanks, his sensual moans were proof enough of that.

But that’s nothing to me. He’d break irreparably under my hands if I show him the true extent of what I’m capable of doing.

Of what I have been willing—so fucking eager—to do to satisfy the blood-boiling craving I feel when I have someone yield to me.

Having him trembling with pleasure in my arms feels fucking good, but not enough.

The line I drew a long time ago has been working just fine until he started going around letting other men touch what belongs to me.

It turned me fucking homicidal. I made him come; he should be thankful and eager for more.

Instead he locked himself in the bedroom—forced me to pick the lock—and then acted all busy and distracted this morning.

What the fuck is going on in his head? Haven’t I been clear enough?

Damn it. Whenever my mind wanders, it finds him.

My phone beeps. A text from Ash, one of the triplets, with a picture of the next tattoo I plan to get.

Ash

Check the design, fucker

Me

Ungrateful dick!

I introduced him to the owner of a tattoo parlor after I saw some incredible drawings in his notebook, and they hired him.

His manners remain atrocious, but he acts like a punk toward everybody.

His abrasive behavior reminds me of a young me.

Nevertheless, the prick will never stand a chance against me.

Ash

*finger flipping emoji* So???

Me

It’s passable

Ash

Passable my ass. It’s a masterpiece

The twisted pomegranate tree trunk looks papery and rough, the red fruits heavy on the long branches, leaves are falling, floating in the air, creating exactly what I described to him.

Me

When?

Ash

Next Wednesday. Usual time. Don’t be fucking late!

I move to the tracking app again and push on the cameras in Rague’s house. Sari is in the kitchen, sitting at the table with Ren while Sully is getting some snacks from the cabinets. Didn’t he go there to help the kid pack? I sniff. It looks to me like they are just chilling around.

The sunlight refracts on him as he talks, turning his aquamarine eyes into a serene ocean. They stand out for their pure innocence and sweetness.

His coal-black hair is once again tied in a sleek side-braid. Delicate features, a small upturned nose, peach cheekbones. He isn’t wearing his contact lenses today, but opted for his red square glasses.

He suddenly smiles, leaning his slender, graceful body toward Ren.

I can’t look away from him. He’s beautiful, but when he smiles, he becomes almost ethereal, surrounded by an inner light, exuding warmth and wholesomeness.

I can easily imagine people wanting to hurt that, to possess that.

Because I am one of those people. The only rightful owner of all that is Sari.

He stands and goes to Sully to help him out.

Is that pert, full ass wrapped in lace under those skintight jeans?

He tosses a chip inside his mouth, and I remember those lips wrapped tightly around my dick as his throat sucked the cum out of it.

I want him defenseless again. Utterly powerless, only able to take.

And take more. The bruises from my fingers, the redness from my palms, the sting from my cock.

I want him where he is supposed to be, under me again, over me, around me, any fucking way I can have him. Always returning to me.

Is his genius mind aware of what I want to do? Sometimes I wonder if he knows the vicious, dirty as fuck thoughts I have about him. He’s so fucking naive and gooey inside, anybody could easily take advantage of that. Not on my watch. What belongs to me remains mine unless I say differently.

My stomach starts growling, so I give Sari one last look and move to the kitchen, leaving Albert E. in the cage near the dining table in the corner.

The fridge is filled with food containers from three different places.

I don’t need to know how to cook when I own more than a few restaurants.

I’m about to grab the steak au poivre vert, which the chef at the bistro Le Chat Blanc near the harbor prepares beautifully, when my damn phone starts ringing.

All I want is a good meal and about four hours of uninterrupted sleep before going to the club. Anyone that gets in the way of that has a bloody death wish I’ll happily grant.

It’s Rami. I asked him to check out an employee at Fine Joe, the café I own on Taylor Street.

There were some discrepancies in the books, on top of other things.

When I get my answers from the short call I snap my switchblade in the jeans pocket, slide Veronica—my SIG—into the back of my jeans and grab a couple of pretzels with some cheese dip.

I put on the denim sherpa tracker jacket and head toward the front door.

The Hummer is still at the car wash—Sari went all out in it—so I get in the Range Rover. I turn on the heated seat and wait a few seconds while the cabin warms before driving off.

Getting into the food business wasn’t a calculated choice.

I used to model when I was a teenager. The money was good and the job didn’t take too much time from my studies.

Meg and Linda are loaded, but I wanted something of mine that came from me.

When I went to college, I started moving in the right circles, spending time with the right people, and stock trading with those modeling earnings.

I quickly found out I had a knack for it—even my brothers got more than some extra capital thanks to me.

When the opportunity to invest in a sushi restaurant knocked at my door, I took it.

From there, I soon made a name for myself and started buying or funding restaurants.

Now I own seven, a chain of cafés, and one of organic burger joints, two bars, and a trattoria.

I have managers who take care of the everyday tasks, and I meet them once a month to go over the paperwork. But finding people you can trust is not easy.

Thirty minutes later I park at the back of Fine Joe and swiftly make my way inside the café through the back door.

The sweet smell of pastries makes my stomach rumble.

Those pretzels weren’t enough to sate my hunger.

I move toward the front where everybody is waiting—except Charles, the baker who’s working in the kitchen—as I ordered them to do when I called before.