Lucky
For the longest time, I sat on the edge of my bed and just watched her.
The moonlight pouring through my bedroom window allowed me to study the way her long dark lashes fanned her cheekbones as she slept, and her plump, full lips slightly parted as she exhaled every whimpered breath.
Her left eyelid blackened with every hour that passed.
And the scar on her face?
I'd spent half my life behind bars and I'd never seen anything so goddamn brutal.
Fucking butcher had scalped her to the goddamn bone.
Her face wasn’t the only part of her damaged either.
Her fragile wrists were bruised from the force he'd used on her.
There was a boot-sized bruise on her stomach, ugly and discolored.
As for her legs?
That fucking animal's fingerprints were carved into the flesh of her inner thighs.
From where he'd tried to pry them open.
My cell vibrated on my nightstand, just as I had anticipated.
Part of staying alive was predicting the other person's move, and up until tonight, I had been pretty fucking good at predicting trouble.
Not wanting to wake Hope, I slid out of bed, grabbed my phone, and padded into kitchen.
I stared at the words Blocked Caller on the screen before swiping my finger across it and putting it to my ear.
"Lucky Casarazzi," a smooth voice filled my ears. "My granddaughter's personal bodyguard."
I rolled my eyes at the endearment.
I had been around enough psychopaths to know that David Henderson wouldn’t stop.
What I had done tonight, killing that bastard, was the beginning.
My actions would excite the bastard.
I knew enough about the creep to know that his life's mission was to destroy Hope's father.
Targeting Hope was his mistake.
His last mistake.
"David Henderson," I replied in a slow drawl. "Your granddaughter's next deceased family member."
He chuckled down the line.
"Did you enjoy the show?" I added lazily.
My question threw him.
Like I knew it would.
Like I said; the key to survival was anticipating the opposition's move.
This wasn’t my first rodeo.
And a man as deranged as David would never have passed up the opportunity to watch his revenge pan out.
I figured that out before I ever stepped foot inside Thirteenth Street tonight.
The black Rover parked up the street was a rookie mistake on his part.
"Smart boy," he finally said.
"Can't say the same for you, I'm afraid," I shot back. "Fucking with my woman?" Reaching into the cupboard, I pulled out a pack of smokes. "Bad move, old man."
"Your woman?" David repeated, his tone one of wry amusement. "What happened to the addict husband?"
Placing a smoke between my lips, I flicked my lighter and sparked up. "She upgraded."
"Yes. She certainly did," he laughed.
"You know, this could've panned out so much better for you," I stated, taking a drag from my cigarette. "You were out. A free man. You could have lived the rest of your miserable life in relative peace." Exhaling a cloud of smoke, I hopped onto my kitchen island and said, "But now?" Flicking the ash off my smoke, I added, "Now, you're gonna spend your last days watching your back. That unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach? The one you're feeling right now? That feeling will haunt you. And that regret churning around inside your cold, black heart? The one that's telling you it's too late to turn back? Telling you that you sealed your fate tonight? That feeling is right."
"You honestly think you can scare me, boy?" he snarled, tone harder now, clearly rattled. "My own son tried to take me down," he added, laughing cruelly. "Do you know what happened? He failed. I've seen and heard it all before."
"You haven't seen nothing like me yet," I chuckled, my words laced with promise. "Or the shit-storm I'm gonna rain down on you."
"Is that a threat?"
"More of a friendly forewarning," I replied "And here's another; enjoy the time you've got left, Davy-boy, because I'm coming for you."
With that, I ended the call and tossed my cell down on the counter beside me.
Goddamn, I had never felt the need for vengeance more than I did in this very moment.
I knew what had to happen.
David Henderson had to die.
I wasn’t naïve enough to believe I could bring him down single-handed.
I couldn’t do this alone; the man had his fingers stuck in too many cookie jars.
This world was littered with dirty cops and corrupt courtrooms, and David Henderson was on a first name basis with every last one.
Intelligent play was the only play in this game of cat and mouse.
That was the only way to beat him.
To flush him out, I would have to become a ghost.
In order to do that, I needed a pack.
I could only pray that I had backed the right horse in falling in with Mortico Gonzalez and his crew.
Running errands for a gangster wasn’t ideal, but it was all I had in my arsenal.
And I would do it gladly if it meant she was safe.
I would take the whole damn world down to make that happen.