All the Broken Bones (An FBI Romance/Thriller #67)

Prologue

Old San Juan

A Week Earlier

Early Morning

In the wee hours of the morning, there was something creeping in the dark, and it was doing what it did best—hunting. It moved in the shadows, slipping around, and working in the darkness as it prepared for the next victim.

For they were already chosen.

Chosen.

To.

Die.

The next prey was picked, and before the night was up, when the sun kissed the Puerto Rican beaches as it rose in its majesty, he would be dead.

Why?

Well…

Why not?

If one dug deep, there were a plethora of reasons for his demise, but ultimately, the bottom line was that the man was the one that the darkness craved as sacrifice.

And what the darkness wanted, the darkness got.

That was always going to be the case.

Sometimes, you just had to act, and not worry about the justification of your actions, because before the sun came up, that call had to be answered.

For every death had a reason, and every life had an expiry date.

Like.

This.

One.

That expiry date was tonight.

As he worked, not thinking about what crept in the darkness, it was only a matter of time before he was taken and offered up.

The Sanse, or Puerto Rican Voodoo, craved nothing less than the best victim, and that would be this man. Whether it was true…

OR NOT.

Oh, it looked as if the spirits would feast tonight. It didn’t matter the reason he was chosen, or if it was nothing but bullshit and lies. In this moment, it was a necessity, and also because all that mattered now was that sacrifice.

And it would be brutal.

Bet on it.

There were times when necessity won, and this was one of those times.

As he moved around the back of his nice and tidy home, taking out the trash, and tidying up the yard after a little get-together, the predator was watching.

Night was the only time to do this, because the shadows kept the secrets.

And in the darkness, there were plenty of those. If you looked close enough, you’d see the crimes and magic working together.

Or maybe you were like this one, and wouldn’t even notice. Someone had horrible survival skills.

Creeping around was the best way to find prey, and once you learned their habits, overtaking them was easy.

And watching this one didn’t take long.

He was a creature of habit, and that was always dangerous. From work, to home, and back again, he was visible and easily accessible.

Under the guise of the black magick of Sanse the spirits, would be pleased tonight. For this one had been on the list for a while. For this man was problematic. It wasn’t like he dabbled in being a good person, and was failing miserably at it.

No.

He was just an inconvenience, and that had to be handled.

Why not offer him up to the darkness?.

To hide was easy.

To get away with murder…

Not so much.

Oh, and this one, particular thing was dangerous.

Already, the two other victims were taken care of, and before the week ended, this one would be too.

And this was the most difficult one of the threesome—no doubt there.

Ahhh, before the night was done, this one’s remains would be tossed away, and the problems around him would be washed away.

That would teach him a lesson for the afterlife.

Bet.

On.

It.

And no one would see it coming.

Rightfully so.

While justice mattered, the things meant to stay in the darkness should be allowed to continue. They should be allowed to flourish.

Where?

Here in Puerto Rico.

It was only fair.

Right?

Having a badge didn’t allow a person to be above the law, and it didn’t allow them to do whatever they wanted.

Unfortunately for this man.

While a decent person, he had other issues…

Mostly, he couldn’t mind his own business. That was problematic on the island. If people died, the Sanse said to turn heads, but this cop…

Not.

So.

Much.

Instead, they had to watch, and attempt to rectify what had been done.

That was the problem.

Someone couldn’t take a warning to heart.

So this was what would happen.

As he finished cleaning up after his little get-together, dragging the recycling can to the curb for the garbage in the morning, it was when he came back into the yard that it was time to move.

It was now or never.

For both parties involved.

When the man turned his back, making sure that the firepit that had been burning brightly a few hours ago was finally out, that’s when the shadow left the darkness of the trees, and took care of business.

QUICKLY.

With one strike, the man went down, crumbling into a pile of limbs. It was then that he was silenced with that soaked rag.

Not a peep was made, and no one was any the wiser that he was contained.

Yeah, he should be ashamed of himself. That was a little too easy.

Or maybe it was getting easier with each one.

That was a possibility.

Now came the difficult part. It was time to transport him to the place where he’d be handled.

Getting him there would be tricky, but by the time it was done, the Sanse would be given the credit, and this man would be gone.

As in deceased.

Grabbing him by the legs, it was easy to drag him toward his own vehicle, that was parked not far away.

Then, it would be a matter of taking him for a little drive—a not-so-scenic one. Then, his car would go missing, and no one would be any the wiser.

Again.

For this man was about to meet his maker, and in the darkness of the night, he would be made the next sacrifice.

It was a necessary one for the shadow in the darkness.

After all, those tracks wouldn’t cover themselves.

For the Voudon was going to get the glory.

Once more.

And his killer would get away.

Scot-free.

* * * Blackhawk & Cantrell * * *

The Hidey-Hole

A Couple Of Hours

Later

Good freaking God.

This one was not helping himself go to the great beyond. In fact, someone was stubborn, and the last thing he wanted was to die.

Clearly.

Normally, he’d give props to the man, but he needed for him to cross.

Wearing the plague doctor mask was warm and uncomfortable in the Puerto Rican humidity, and with the candles all burning…

The effect was spot on.

The sweating was torture.

Still, this man clung to life, even as all of the bones in his body were shattered into pieces. Even as he was tormented and forced to spill his guts, he fought to stay alive.

Normally, that would be impressive.

Now, it was fucking annoying as hell.

The offering refused to go into the night, and that was a pity.

For.

Both.

Of.

Them.

This could have been far easier, but instead, it became a battle of wills, and one that only had a single, solitary outcome.

And that wasn’t his victory.

That was for sure.

There was no way to escape this death. It was already written into the book of fate.

All that was needed was for him to cross, so that his body could be taken and dumped.

As they were in that perfect hidey-hole, he fought for his life, but eventually, he lost.

Thank.

The.

Sanse.

It was done.

Yeah, it was a valiant effort on his behalf, but in the end, that sacrifice had to be made.

It had to be done.

Standing over his battered and broken body, it became time to clean up. The man looked almost peaceful, had he not been a broken mess beneath his skin. Carefully, he had to be transported, so that there would be no tears in his flesh, so he would be…gooey.

The sacrifice was done, and the man’s remains were going to get a sailor’s burial.

Someone was going to be fish food. Hopefully, unlike the others, he wouldn’t float to the shores. That would mean a further trip out.

This man had paid the price for what he’d seen and heard, and everyone involved was pleased.

Only, the list still had a person or two on it, and before the month was out, they would be handled. It was all coming down to what was coming and what the police did.

Because one had to be careful.

If this could go unnoticed, then it was time to start again.

Before the week was out, hopefully, there would be more freedom to move around.

Because life in Puerto Rico would go on.

Well, for some of them.

* * * Blackhawk & Cantrell * * *

Philadelphia, P.A.

Same Time

Oh, he was furious, and frankly, Javier Hughes was getting tired of being cockblocked in his attempt to get what he wanted.

Ethan Blackhawk.

How difficult was it to find one man, get him ensnared, and then back to his home?

How?

Freaking?

Difficult?

You’d think the man was the best sneaky ninja, and able to evade the best hunters out there.

It was getting frustrating.

There was a highlight in Javier’s life.

Now that he was out of jail, on bail, he had time to think about his next steps and plan accordingly. If he could get Ethan’s partner to die a horrible, painful death—where he couldn’t possibly be involved—everything would be right in the world.

Well, for him. Because someone was NOT going back to jail—HIM.

Ever.

Again.

Only, that wasn’t easy either. It was damn difficult to find good help.

Mostly because he’d lost his loyal sidekick, Diesel, but the man shouldn’t have been a snitch.

Because snitches got stitches.

Or they ended up with a Colombian necktie.

Or was that a hired criminal necktie?

Either way, he was dead.

Oh, and the man who sliced Diesel’s throat from ear to ear so that he’d not be able to run his mouth anymore was more than happy to have money for his dirty deeds.

All he wanted was for his old lady to be taken care of and a fat bank account for his children.

So, it was done.

That was the loyalty he appreciated.

Thankfully, his attorney was on his payroll, willing to make a ton of money for getting that information to the people he needed help with on this. To the outside world, it simply looked as if he was being paid his salary to represent him.

Oh, the joys of being rich.

Filthy.

Rich.

Diesel dying had given him the out he needed to be free from the disgusting place he was put in, and also set that wealthy bird free.

It was all bullshit anyway.

All of this for simply loving a man?

A tricky.

Elusive.

Man.

Well, Ethan Blackhawk had seen nothing yet. If he thought that he would back down, or stop pursuing him…

He wouldn’t.

Javier didn’t even care if they put him in some prison in another state or a penal colony on the moon.

At some point, he’d make it home.

What he’d learned in life from being a businessman was that he had to be relentless, and that was his middle name.

They couldn’t cage him forever, and when he was free, Ethan Blackhawk would pay for playing hard-to-get.

Mark.

His.

Words.

Only, until that day came, there was planning that had to be done.

First up on the list of upcoming tasks would be taking out his lover.

Gene Cantrell.

Oh, he’d survived the bullet that Diesel had for him, but he wouldn’t survive again.

There was no way he’d get lucky twice.

That just wasn’t happening.

Gene Cantrell was a nightmare that just wouldn’t go away, but eventually, he would.

For now, he’d bide his time, making careful moves with people who wouldn’t screw up.

But his position in Ethan’s world would change, and before long, it would end eventually.

When it did, he’d take Ethan to a special place, and he’d enjoy him.

FORCEFULLY.

If need be.

That gilded bird would be in his cage, and his manhood would be destroyed.

He was going to do whatever he wanted to him to punish the man.

This was, after all, his fault and no one else’s.

Ethan Blackhawk would rue the day he made him work for it. Oh, don’t get him wrong, he didn’t mind a little hard to get, but NO ONE said no to him.

EVER.

Had he not been interested, he shouldn’t have come to his home, smiled at him, and flirted with him to get information. That put him on his radar.

Now, he’d stay there.

Until he owned his body.

Once his annoying boyfriend was gone, Ethan Blackhawk would never see the light of day. He’d put him on a very short leash to enjoy the beauty of his body.

It broke his heart that he’d have to castrate him. He was willing to bet his dick was spectacular, but when you were bad, you needed to be punished.

Oh, and he would be.

FOR.

A.

LONG.

TIME.

So, because he needed him caged, Javier had his feelers out. Yes, his attorney told him to be careful, but screw that. This was about more than just owning the man, and his body, this was about being insulted.

Oh, and he was just that.

They locked him in a cage with the commoners. That was beyond insulting. There was no way he’d forgive that insult.

He’d rather live dangerously and have a better chance of capturing his prey to put him in his sexy, human zoo, than to watch from afar and never have him.

Pass.

Sometimes, you had to take risks—especially if it was for your ego’s sake.

And that was exactly why he was willing to pay someone to kill Ethan Blackhawk’s partner and do all the dirty work by kidnapping him.

The golden bird would be in his cage, and if need be, he’d keep the man drugged up so he couldn’t fight.

Money could buy him anything, as he was very familiar with, and at some point, it would buy him a Fed.

One way.

Or the other.

As he walked around his estate, wearing a stupid ankle monitor, he had no choice but to remain in one place like a common criminal.

And that was Hell.

Hell.

On.

Earth.

He’d lost Syn, and that annoyed him, but putting him in a cage was a downright outrageous insult!

So, while he was out on bail, he’d start reinforcing his money, and search out a few businesses to buy, where he could continue to grow his empire.

After all, he had a sexy bird to keep in seed and chains for the rest of his life.

Oh, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on Ethan Blackhawk.

It was his only fixation.

Bet.

On.

It.

He was going to make the perfect sex slave. Oh, and because he needed to punish him, and Javier couldn’t fuck him himself, he’d find men to use him so he could watch and enjoy the show.

That would teach him.

For.

His.

Betrayal.

They were both meant to be together, and the man was not seeing it.

Well, that would be over too.

Before he was finished with Ethan Blackhawk, he would either be trained, malleable, and know his place, or he was going to be broken.

Into.

Pieces.

Because he was NOT taking NO for an answer.

Not now.

Not ever.

When it was all said and done, he would own the man, and what would be left of his body.

In this case, the punishment would most definitely fit the crime.

Because deep down, he knew one thing to be true.

The man was meant to be his.

Oh, and the other thing he knew?

At some point, that golden bird would call him master. If it was the last thing he ever did.

Bet.

On.

It.