Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
DANTE
Idon’t bother changing out of my clothes before flopping down on my unmade bed.
Laz isn’t home. I knew he wouldn’t be. He works the graveyard shift most nights. It’s the only reason I let that stalker walk me home from the club. Fear is my fucking captor, and it won’t let me go until the last of SIXX are buried in the ground.
Fishing the business card out of my pocket, I run my fingers along the crisp edge.
Rev Kotkas. COO of Sinro Enterprises.
He’s the fucking COO of a private security company. I huff, irritated by the part of me that’s relieved to know someone else is hunting SIXX. Someone more experienced than me.
Still, I refuse to use this man as a crutch. I’ve been relying on Laz ever since Papi died. Maybe even longer than that.
If I share what I know about SIXX I might lose out on the chance of closure after fucking months of trying to find my way back to some semblance of normal.
Whatever that is.
Doesn’t that make me an accomplice by withholding information, though? What if someone else gets hurt because I stubbornly refuse to give my kills over to someone else?
I can’t rely on the police to help. If we leave this case up to them, years will fly by, and these monsters will still be terrorizing the streets. No consequences for their horrific actions.
Dropping the card onto my chest, I rub at my eyes. I’m so fucking tired. I wish I could sleep, but the moment I shut my eyes, my brain plays tricks on me.
Like right now. I could probably pass out for a bit, but I can’t remember if I locked the front door. I know I did, but what if I didn’t? What if those creaking sounds of the house settling are actually someone breaking and entering?
Growling, I roll to my feet and grab my butterfly knife, spinning it between my fingers with practiced ease.
After I’ve checked every window lock and door, I return to my bedroom and plop down behind my makeshift desk. It’s nothing more than a piece of plywood balanced on four plastic milk crates Laz and I salvaged when we put down a deposit on the place.
With shaking hands, I pull out my phone and debate calling Laz to come home early. I used to call him almost every hour, shortly after Papi’s death.
But I’m doing better.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I grind my teeth as the urge to check the locks again has me squirming in my chair.
Scrolling through my phone instead, I hover over old messages from dancers at Eastview Ballet Company, asking why I didn’t show up for auditions.
These were followed by hollow condolences when news spread about Papi’s murder.
Thinking of you
Praying for you and your brother
So sorry for your loss
I should have deleted them, but at the time, I didn’t have the energy to do more than sleep and breathe.
With an irritated breath, I toss my phone onto my desk. The silence in my dark room picks away at me. Soon enough, I’m flipping open my laptop, held together by duct tape and a fucking prayer, and typing Rev Kotkas into my search bar.
No matches pop up.
“Of course.” Is that even his real name?
Scratching at my window has me jumping upright into a defensive position. A relieved breath escapes me at the sight of the little black kitty pawing at the glass. I walk over and crack it open.
Not like it can get much colder in this stupid house.
“If you get me killed, I’m gonna be so fucking pissed,” I mutter.
Sinking into my chair again, I type Sinro Enterprises into the search bar next. I click on the company’s link, and I’m taken to a generic website detailing Sinro’s services.
Or their “topside” services. Pretty sure snatching gang members off the street and dragging them back to who knows where to kill them isn’t part of their security work.
The following couple of links are news articles.
Sinro’s Rapid Growth Brings New Employment Opportunities for Local Veterans.
Sinro Allocates Two Million Dollars to Build a New Shelter for Disadvantaged Youth in West Bank.
Sinro Actively Promotes Human Rights in Recent Protests That Shut Down 7th Street.
Sinro’s CEO Cain Vincent Spotted Front Row at Gala Event to Raise Money for Underprivileged Children.
The accompanying picture shows a lethal-looking man with dark hair, a cut jaw, and intimidating energy. Had I not just read all about his giving heart, I might have assumed he enjoyed murdering people.
Hell, that might still be true after what I’ve witnessed from his COO.
My eyes move to Rev seated beside him. He’s dressed in an impeccable gray suit, legs crossed, and a hand resting under his chin. He’s smiling, but it’s nothing like the smirks and wicked grins he gives me.
I snap my laptop shut. Fuck. Why am I thinking about that?
Diving onto my bed, I grab his business card and tear it to shreds.
I don’t need his help.
I don’t need anyone except Laz.
Icy air burns in my lungs as I practice deep breaths to steady the rapid beating of my heart.
I haven’t been able to feel my fingers curled around my butterfly knife for a while now. I’m not sure I could inflict damage on SIXX at this point, no matter how much I want to.
Should have worn gloves.
But I don’t think about shit before I do it. My body was designed to move. Which is why I’m hunkered down beneath a broken window, overlooking one of SIXX’s drug routes while freezing my balls off.
Is this an efficient way to take down my enemies? Fuck no. Am I questioning why I shredded Rev’s business card?
We’re not going there.
I wrap my arms around my bent knees, desperate to retain some body heat. I didn’t wear a coat, either. Didn’t want to risk hindering my movements. Not when I have a better understanding of what I’m up against—humans who don’t think twice about killing, whereas I’ve yet to strike a killing blow.
Forcing another deep breath, I gaze up at the celestial mural painted on the ceiling. The building I’m hiding in is gorgeous. The spacious rooms and wood floors would make for a perfect spot to dance. I can almost sense the ghost of inspiration stirring in my bones.
God, I wish it were enough to ignite something in me.
Lifting off my ass, I peek through the spiderweb cracks in the window. A dark figure appears beneath the yellow glow of a streetlamp, a cloud of smoke billowing around him from a lit joint he’s puffing on. His mask is pushed up on his head.
My heart sinks into my stomach.
There doesn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason to what SIXX wears. I’ve run across so many different variations of their masks; it makes it hard to figure out who’s actually in charge and who’s just following orders.
Which is probably their goal.
Tightening my grip on my knife, I watch the figure for a couple of minutes.
What if he knows I’m here?
What if more SIXX show up?
Dropping below the window, I squeeze my eyes shut and knock my head back against the wall. This is stupid. Why am I hesitating? What am I afraid of?
The click of a gun nearby stops my heart.
“Kill shot or should I make him suffer?”
The soft question jolts me to my feet. My eyes dart around the room, locking onto a silhouette by another set of windows. There wasn’t a single soul in this building when I first entered. I made sure of it.
How long was I being watched?
The shadow moves into a patch of moonlight, revealing silver hair I’ve seen in too many places lately.
Rev’s clad in tactical gear with a black cloth mask over half his face.
He’s holding a silver gun, aimed out the window at the SIXX member.
There’s some kind of inscription on the barrel, but it’s impossible to read from this distance.
“I can’t fucking get rid of you, can I?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t romance me, baby. I’m not a relationship kinda guy.”
Anger tumbling through my veins, I raise my knife in a defensive position. “He’s mine.”
“Then take the shot.” Blue eyes glint with that edge I caught the night he walked me home. When he seemed to let his perfectly crafted facade dissolve. When he went from playful and carefree to dangerous.
I’m not about to tell him that I don’t carry a gun.
Sure, bringing a knife to a gun fight is stupid.
I’ve tried remedying the situation. I took Papi’s gun out of Laz’s hiding spot between his mattresses recently, but the second I positioned the cold weapon in both hands, I was sucked back into that closet with visions of Papi’s head snapping back and blood splattering the wall.
My stomach does a flip, and I have to remember to keep breathing so I don’t freak the fuck out.
True son of the Colombian Muay Thai king, am I right?
Rev lowers his gun and walks over to me, those icy eyes never melting. He should terrify me. Nothing seems to faze him. Not even pulling the trigger.
My pulse skips. I won’t admit it out loud, but he’s not bad to look at.
Okay, so he’s fucking hot.
He’s also insane, Dante.
Slowly, he lifts his gun back to the figure on the street. A sickly, sweaty coldness creeps through me. Without looking at his target, he pops off a shot. I cringe at the sound, disgusted with myself for showing weakness to this man who seems to feed off everything I give him.
It takes several furious beats of my heart before I scrounge up the courage to glance out the window. My target’s no longer standing. Smoke curls from his dropped blunt as blood pools beneath him.
Again, I’ve been robbed.
Turning back to Rev, I shove at his chest. Once I start, I can’t stop. I push and push at him until his back hits a wall.
Why is he fucking with me like this? I need this. I need to move on. I don’t know how else to do that except to throw all this pain and fear right back at SIXX.
Flicking open my knife, I slash at him. The tip of my blade slices through his cloth mask, drawing blood along the strong line of his jaw. I watch him bring his fingers to the cut and pull them back in examination.