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I feel the usual thirst for him burning the back of my throat.

Is that birthmark under his right nipple still there?

I couldn’t see it last night, that sexy bra was in the way.

Fuuuuck, that flimsy lingerie he wears, if I pull on it, tear it right off, it will mark his smooth, diaphanous, perfectly pale skin so easily.

The image makes my balls boil, dick leak, teeth grit.

Tonight, I need to work on someone at the club. Otherwise I know exactly how this is going to end with Sari. I fucking hate the restraints I’ve forced on myself. He’s mine! And I should do whatever I want with what’s mine.

Like he knows I’m thinking about him, I get a text.

Sari

Ollie and Rague will be busy with three donors. I’ll keep Sully company tonight.

Me

Let me know when Rague and Ollie are back. I’ll come pick you up

Sari

No need. I’ll sleep here

A furious roar leaves my lips. The one emotion I understand above all is anger. Why is he being so fucking unreasonable? He’s putting distance between us again. I made him fucking come last night; he screamed like a whore begging for more. What else does he want?

My impulsiveness is screaming at me to go get him and lock him up.

There’ll always be an us, even if I have to pave the way with blood and screams to make him realize it.

As I look ahead, my eyes catch a figure a few feet away leaning against the café in the back alley. He’s wearing a gray hoodie, horrible cargo pants, and a white mask. What the fuck is Ezra doing here?

I get out of my car and head toward him, gun still tucked in my pants. The ice cream truck is still there. There’s a closed sign on the window, but that stupid melody is on.

“Take off that ridiculous thing,” I order Ezra, stopping a few feet away.

“Like you don’t wear a mask every day.”

I know he doesn’t mean literally.

He grabs it and lowers it. “Everybody wears a mask; the only difference is that you can see mine easily.”

I fucking hate that I agree with him.

“Why are you following me?”

He studies me before saying, “Boredom can kill.”

His vague answers are getting on my nerves more than the short, repetitive fucking melody coming from the truck.

Ezra suddenly turns halfway, his hand slides on the side of his cargo pants and then his arm swings outward, swiftly tossing a knife in the air.

The blade hits the clown face on top of the ice cream truck where the speaker is.

He gets it right in the mouth and the jingle finally ends.

He faces me again. “You’re welcome.”

He’s more unhinged than I thought. And sort of fun. Should I ask Rami to erase any street CCTV that caught Ezra tossing the knife? Nah, that’s his fucking problem.

“I’ll ask you again, why are you in Chicago, Ezra?”

He smirks. “I faked my death. Phoenix forced my hand, screwed with my life. So I killed…myself. I can’t get back to my job until I get rid of Phoenix.”

“So how are you working then?”

“Under assumed identities. But that’s not why I am here.” His voice deepens.

“No?”

“The guy you live with, Sariel…”

I hear the menacing growl leaving my lips.

Ezra’s smile widens. “I have no ill intentions toward him. I know he’s one of your foster brothers. But who is he to you?”

“Mine,” I pronounce slowly.

“Why?” He seems just curious.

“Don’t have to explain shit to you.” I’m acting defensively, but I always do when Sari is concerned.

“True.” He nods. “He’s mine as well, then.”

A wave of fury washes through me. My body moves before my brain even processes the words. My switchblade is at his throat, pushing until I see a drop of blood forming on his skin.

“The fuck he is. I’m ready to mutilate you if you try anything.”

“You’ve never been good at sharing. But you’ve also never given a fuck about anyone. He is mine, though,” he repeats, making me curl my lips to show him my teeth. “Just like you are. Like you’ve always been Uriel. Look into my eyes, your eyes.”

Like looking in a mirror. His gaze is slightly darker. It’s unsettling and so… familiar .

“Still denying it?” he challenges me. “If you don’t back off I won’t think twice before stabbing you in the guts.” I feel a sharp point poking my stomach. A knife? How many does he carry?

The grip on my switchblade tightens before I pull back and clean it on my jeans. I pocket the blade as I utter, “Are you denying the fact that you evaded me for years?”

“I had my reasons.” He avoids answering again.

“Will you share those reasons?”

“I’m not good at sharing either,” he teases me.

I never thought I’d be talking to him like this one day. I always imagined finding him on the other side of the line, turned evil. I envisioned killing him. That could still happen.

“It’s odd how you don't get bored of him after all those years together.”

“Who?”

“Sariel.” Why the fuck is he talking about Baby Blue again? I don’t like his name on Ezra’s lips. “Should I go talk to him about it?”

“He’ll be the last thing you’ll ever see,” I hiss the threat, ready to follow it through if I have to.

“Then tell me,” he insists with a nonchalant tone. Why does he want to know when he doesn’t even look interested?

“I’ve seen his face since I was eight and still I’m not tired of it. I keep on wanting more of it. Of his blushes, his smiles, the way he bites the corner of his lower lip and pulls on his braid when he’s nervous. He. Belongs. To me. Don’t really care if your psychotic brain gets it.”

“A person I once knew told me Plato’s theory. Do you know it?”

What the fuck is he talking about now? I shake my head, but he tells me anyway.

“Plato believed that humans originally consisted of four arms and legs and two faces. Zeus, king of the gods, felt threatened by their power and split them all in half, condemning them all to spend their lives trying to complete themselves.”

“I don’t believe all that shit.” I tsk. “I actually think we are born complete and lose part of ourselves because of others. We can give it away, or it is taken from us.” I pause. “Either way, we need that completion, and we find ways to fill that hole.”

“Even if momentarily,” he adds annoyingly.

“Sari will never be momentary,” I snarl.

He hums noncommittally. “The stalker situation, don’t treat it lightly.”

“What do you know about that?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Not much since Serena keeps me out now.” He scratches his forehead below the red bandana; he has a little scar there. I suddenly remember him tripping on a glass bottle and hitting his head over the table edge as we were running from our drunken father.

“I’ve had my fair share of encounters with obsessed wackos in the past. Keep Sariel safe.”

Is he for real? “Why did you come see me after all these years?”

“I always kept an eye on you. You looked okay. I was okay. Why disrupt it?” He shrugs.

“How did you escape from the facility, Ezra?” If you actually did.

“The scientists moved me to another place just a few days before you were all released. Again two years later to a bunker deep in the mountains.”

That’s why Meg and Linda couldn’t find him. “So how did you escape from the bunker?”

Before he replies, I give him a stop-with-the-bullshit glare. “We can go back to knifing each other if you prefer. See who gets sliced more.”

I can see how the knife fight feels tempting for him. It is for me as well.

“A nurse,” he finally says. “He was…different from the rest of the fuckers. Carried me out when the place caught on fire. Everybody else left me there for dead. He got me out.”

So, he had someone. “How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

“Fuck!” He was tortured and experimented on for three more years. Linda was a little worried about the repercussions on his mental stability if he had been kept longer as a subject. I don’t know what’s inside his head, but I’m pretty sure that’s not a good road to go down.

“I don’t follow your cute code. I kill who I need to kill.” I see the bloodthirst in his eyes, same as mine. “And now Phoenix is the one who has to die. But I need people with certain skills to take that fucker down.”

“What do you know about him? If you want to work together, you have to come clean.”

“And I will. As soon as I’m sure your foster brothers won’t kill me on sight.” He raises his brow challengingly.

I pucker my lips in fake ponderance. “You have to prove to them you’re not a threat to the family.”

“Not to you?”

“More so with me.”

He lets out a chuckle. It takes me back to when we were kids throwing stones into the river and seeing them bounce. Ezra was good at it, laughed every single time.

“How about I give you the guy who made the poison that almost killed your foster mother?”

I grind my teeth as my gaze turns into a searing glower. “How the fuck did you get that info?”

“You have your ways. I have mine. Do you want him or not?”

“Who?” I snarl, not liking anything about this, especially the lack of control. Impotent is a word that doesn’t exist in my vocabulary.

“Marlon Finch. He’s a retired chemist. Lives in New York.”

“How do you know it’s him?” I ask again.

“People like to brag, especially when their audience doesn’t fucking care.

” He shrugs. His nonchalant behavior as he discloses such important information which could take us a step closer to Phoenix irks me deeply.

“I have an archery range back at home, kind of like your firing range. I’m curious to know if we have more things in common apart from our faces,” he then adds, changing topic so damn easily.

“What's next? Grabbing a drink and talking about life?”

“More like kill someone, compare our…skills.”

I’m actually tempted. I have a donor who wouldn’t be too hard to grab.

“Your phone is ringing,” Ezra lets me know.

This thing has been going off all day.

“What?” I answer, without looking at the caller ID.

“Sari got another package,” Rami says in a grim tone. “The doorman of his building called me after I asked him to let me know if any mail came.”