Page 20 of Sire

The electricity between them, undeniable. The pull to her, magnetic. Their worlds, divined to collide.

Pecking her forehead, this man says, “Welcome home, Wren Chapel.”

And then I turn to go to bed before the beast regrets ever touching her again.

CHAPTER FOUR

SIRE

Harboringan innocent woman should give me peace.

Right?

Wrong, and welcome to my world.

Especially after thoughts of Wren kept me and Dick up all night, only to find another manila envelope on the floor by my locked, steel door this morning.

My fucking father.

This is how he communicates with me, and he’s not even the one leaving the envelopes.

No, Ruslan Kholodov, the head of Russian Bratva, is probably kicking back in his compound in Moscow while I have to deal with this shit. He gets one of his soldiers to leave me a note, like we’re some goddamn pen pals and not mortal enemies.

I could kill my abusive father a million times, but he has my mother in his crosshairs. He has my brothers, too. He’s found us, and I’m the only one who knows, so I play along.

I keep us safe.

Swiping the envelope from the floor, I rip it open. It’s a clipping fromThe Palm Beach Postnewspaper from four daysago. An article about a headless body found washed ashore on South Palm Beach. The remains have been identified as those of a hedge fund manager from New York City, who was renting a vacation home nearby.

Yep, this was my work. My rage. I’m usually not so sloppy, but that man touched Wren. He wanted to violate her before selling her, and Axel couldn’t stop me.

No one can when I want vengeance.

Under this article, there’s another about a golf tournament on Hilton Head Island in three months.

The client list.

The powerful, predatory men trafficking girls, and the ways they hide their evil enterprise.

Don’t ask me why my father sends me clues. Why, when he kidnapped and trafficked my mother, is he sending me intel about monsters like him?

Is he gloating?

Or feeling guilty?

I don’t give a damn; innocent girls are at stake, so I follow the clues.

Sometimes, I get intel from my parishioners. A few are undocumented, the most vulnerable to exploitation, and they give me names and ways to help others like them. Other times, I get these taunting letters from my father, likely delivered by his Sovietnik, Viktor.

Viktor is my father’s advisor, and it’s as if they’re praising my work. Like my gruesome vengeance is a kid’s drawing you proudly hang on your refrigerator.

I rip it to shreds before washing it down the sink with dish soap and the metallic whirl of the disposal.

This is how I found Wren. My father sent me an article about a golf tournament in Palm Beach, sponsored by the hedge fund manager’s firm. I put the rest together.

How did Wren get mixed up with those men? She’s beenin my home for less than twelve hours, and I’m ready to wage a war over her.

Grabbing my phone, I don’t care that it’s just after five in the morning, I call Axel.