Chase
She just had to be pretty, didn’t she?
My gut churned until I ran into the bathroom and puked all the whiskey and then some into the toilet. I grabbed a towel and wiped my face then grabbed some mouthwash and swished it around. I didn’t recognize the man in the mirror. The one with haunted eyes and dark circles beneath them.
Anger was like a second skin wrapped tight around my muscles, my bones. It was as much a part of me as my own damn lungs.
I slammed my fist into the mirror, shattering it on contact; pieces of glass stuck in my knuckles.
My expression in the mirror shifted.
More anger.
And sadness.
My blue eyes landed on a few pieces of dark inky hair that fell across my forehead.
I gripped one of the shards of glass from my right hand and inspected the blood as it trickled down my wrists. I don’t know how long I watched the blood leave my body and remembered the way it left hers.
Blood had trickled down her chin.
She’d reached for me…
Her hand outstretched as if to both beckon and stop me.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Chase!” Her voice screamed my name over and over again in my head, always begging me to forgive her, begging me to understand.
I wouldn’t forgive.
I wouldn’t understand.
I wasn’t that man anymore.
I would never be him.
I held the towel to my bloody hands then tossed it back on the counter and slowly walked into the bare room. I refused to keep anything that reminded me of her — of us — in the house. In a fit of rage, I’d grabbed every piece of clothing, every picture, every single thing she’d touched, tossed it in the back yard, and lit a match.
Half of her things were singed before Phoenix could douse the fire. The only reason I hadn’t burned part of my body was because he’d shown up. I’d been ready to take a step into the inferno, needing to prove to her ghost that I would walk through hell in order to punish her.
And when Phoenix left, in a moment of temptation, when the flames called again, I took another step. Dante knocked me on my ass and punched the shit out of me. I rubbed my jaw at the memory.
Six months.
It had been six months since I sat in that church.
Since I refused to look in the casket.
Since my soul died.
And I didn’t feel better.
Weren’t people supposed to feel better? Time healed. That was what Sergio said.
He’d never been so wrong.
Time? Time was the fuel to my rage, because every day I woke up still smelling her; every night I reached across the bed only to find a cold, empty memory of the lie I’d lived — I felt a little less human.
And a hell of a lot more crazy.
I jerked on a black t-shirt and tried to regain control of my thoughts. I couldn’t be weak, not with what I had to do.
Ten more families with cousins, sisters, wives, associates.
And I was going to end them all.
Shut down the De Lange bloodline — the bloodline that should have never existed in the first place. All they’d brought was pain, bad luck, anger, betrayal.
I’d been keeping vigorous notes on locations, aliases.
Sergio thought it would help me heal.
It took me two days to get all the intel I’d ever need.
The social security numbers.
Identities.
Locations.
I’d memorized each one.
And never said a word to my own blood about it.
It was my fucking right.
So why did I feel like death every time I fired the gun, every time I took another life? My death toll was suddenly substantially higher than the rest of my family. I was darkness.
Loneliness.
Pain.
It was all I had.
What I lived for.
I walked down the hall, fully intent on grabbing the keys and heading out to get drunk off my ass, when I saw an ass.
Not mine.
Just pushed up into the air behind a black pencil skirt.
The annoying girl was on all fours, organizing folders that looked older than Frank.
“You’re still here,” I said with disdain. “And I thought I scared you away.” I leaned against the door to the office.
“Shit,” she muttered under her breath.
“Such language.” Her ass was still pointed toward me. I walked over to her and bent down, intimidating her on purpose because she represented everything that was so wrong with this world. A pretty girl, in pretty clothes, thinking that she was owed something, some semblance of power or respect just because she looked the part. “You should have locked the door, princess.”
She stiffened and then looked over her shoulder. “I thought you were upstairs punching things. Had I known you knew how to carry on an actual conversation that didn’t include insults or yelling, I would have sought you out and introduced myself as your new roommate.”
She held out her hand.
I stared at it.
Then at her.
Then back at her hand. “The hell you are!”
“Look…” She stood on bare feet and put her hands on her hips. “…do you think I want to stay here? I signed a contract. A contract that would take an act of God to get out of, so yes, I’m staying here until I finish going over all the court cases attached to your name, until I look at all the overseas accounts and business holdings, until I know every inch of Abandonato Dynasty. And then when I’m finished, I’m starting in on a new family. You can either help or be a hindrance. Your choice.”
“Hindrance,” I snapped. “And you aren’t staying here. Find a hotel!”
“Sergio said—”
“Oh, Sergio, huh? On a first name basis with him? What, did you offer to spread your legs for him, too? Is that why you wear such tight skirts?”
She frowned and looked down. “My skirt isn’t—”
I held up my hand. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t speak.”
“But you just—”
I took an aggressive step toward her. “I need you to listen very carefully.” I squeezed her chin between my thumb and forefinger, ignoring how soft her skin felt and wondering why my heart suddenly started thudding louder than it had in six months. As if it wanted me to remember its presence loud and clear. “I don’t want you here. At all. I don’t want you breathing the same air, I don’t want you showering with the same water. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t exist. If you seek me out, you’ll regret it. In the meantime, I’m talking to Sergio about your living situation. Don’t fall asleep until I get back.” I released her skin and rubbed my hand against my jeans.
Her lips trembled. “Is that a request?”
“It’s an order.”
“I may work for you, but—”
“What did I say about speaking?” I tilted my head. God, the nerve of the girl. Didn’t she know who I was?
Her body shook.
Shit. Me.
He wouldn’t.
Nikolai wouldn’t do that.
He wouldn’t send…
I narrowed my eyes, briefly opened my mouth, shut it, then opened it again. “Do you know what I do for a living?”
She didn’t open her mouth.
“Answer the question.”
She bit down on her bottom lip and then shrugged. “Business?”
I burst out laughing; it wasn’t a joyful one, more of a mocking, holy shit you’re in for a treat so try to survive laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“Alright, princess.” I pulled the gun from behind my pants and pointed it at her. “I do business, capiche?”
She let out a scream so loud my ears rang and then ducked to the ground as if I’d somehow miss if she was pancaked against the wood floor.
“Like I said, don’t fall asleep until I get back. Don’t touch anything and try not to burn the house down. It’s harder than it looks.”
I left her on the ground trembling.
I shoved on my sunglasses and felt zero guilt as I got into my new Maserati and drove like hell to Nixon’s.
Answers. He was going to give me answers.
Or I was going to shoot him in the lung.
I smiled.
And my hate grew a little bit more.