44. Kovu
Ifucking hate being on surveillance.
I’m not the guy who can sit still for a long time. I’m a bundle of violent energy that struggles to sit still for more than a few minutes at a time. The only exception being when I have my little lamb nearby.
The asshole Crew has me watching is not only an ugly fuck, but also boring as hell. He’s done nothing but check in with his crew on the street since I first started following him three hours ago. The norm for the guy Davenport has running his drug network, and certainly not something that needs me watching him.
I’m about to call it quits when a black town car pulls up on the corner the asshole I’m tailing is chatting with his dealer on.
He doesn’t seem to notice them at first, but when he does, his face pales.
I lean forward in my seat, the leather of my vintage Mustang creaking as I move. I fucking love this car, and it’s perfect for work like this. Its sleek black edges fit in both the upper-class areas of the city as well as the scummy corners like the one I’m in now.
The door swings open, and out steps Charles Davenport.
What the fuck is he doing here?
He buttons his perfectly-tailored suit jacket, his gaze moving over the derelict buildings and the garbage littering the street. We’re a long fucking way from his penthouse in the heart of the city.
I watch as he moves toward the two men, each looking more terrified than the other. Chris Jones, the guy I’m surveilling, should have no reason to fear his boss. They work closely after all, and I’m sure he gets paid handsomely for running one of the most profitable areas in Davenport’s business.
I can’t hear a word they’re saying from where I’m parked down the street, but the tension is rolling off all three of them with each word spoken between them.
Quickly pulling my phone from its holder on the dash, I take a few photos and send them to Crew, never taking my eyes off the exchange, which seems to get more heated as the seconds tick by.
There’s a loud crash down the street, and I glance over my shoulder to see a rubbish truck approaching, but by the time I turn back, Davenport has a gun pointed at Jones’s head.
I snap a few more photos, watching with bated breath as their conversation intensifies, and then the sound of two gunshots fills the street. It’s broad fucking daylight. What the hell does he think he’s doing killing one of his own in the middle of the day?
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I answer without checking the display, watching as Jones crumbles to the ground, blood surrounding him on the sidewalk. “Crew.”
“What the fuck is going on?”
“Davenport just killed Jones. No fucking clue why.”
“Fuck,” he growls. “He was a weak link. Our possible way into the workings of the organization.”
“Maybe Davenport figured it out?”
“I doubt it, but it’s not impossible.” I hear him stand from his desk, the chair slamming into the wall behind him as he starts pacing.
“Is there anyone else?”
“One of his guards, perhaps. His cousin, maybe, if we can dig something up on him that we can use to blackmail him.”
“I’ll work on it,” I tell him as I watch the dealer Jones was meeting haul his dead ass up and toss him in the trash, ready for the garbage truck coming down the street.
Maybe I haven’t given Davenport the credit he deserves. He’s not as big an idiot as we thought he was, which means it’s not going to be quite as easy to toss his ass to the curb as we had hoped.
By the time I get back to the compound, my skin is itching with the need for violence. Being so close to a kill but not being on the giving end of it has made me that much more desperate for blood.
I burst into Crew’s office without knocking, as usual, and I find my little lamb in the corner, curled up with a blanket thrown over her. She looks so peaceful when she sleeps, and part of me doesn’t want to wake her, but I know if I don’t, I’m going to crawl out of my own fucking skin.
In the last few weeks, she’s become my safe place, the only thing that can bring me back from the edge when I’m standing on it, and right now I’m ready to find any fucker on the street and end their life.
“Kovu—” Crew starts, but I’ve already breezed past him, approaching my prey with quiet steps.
As soon as I’m close enough, her sweet scent washes over me, giving me just a moment of calm before I scoop her up into my arms, holding her close to my chest, where the organ masquerading as a heart beats heavily.
Camilla’s eyes blink open sleepily, and the most breathtaking smile tugs at the corners of her lips when she looks up at me. “You’re back,” she says.
I nod and bury my face in her hair, taking a deep breath of her fresh scent. It probably makes me a total fucking creep, but I don’t care. I need her. I need to feel her against me so I don’t go kill every motherfucker I can find.
“Are you okay?”
I don’t get a chance to respond before Crew is pulling her out of my arms and into his, the possession in his mismatched eyes completely unrecognizable to his usual cool, calm, and collected persona.
“What the fuck?” I snap, reaching for her, but he quickly turns, giving me his back.
“Not when you’re like this,” Crew says over his shoulder as he takes long strides toward the door.
I glare at his back and stalk after them, unable to allow any distance between me and my little lamb. By the time I catch up to them, they’re standing at the elevator, and Camilla is staring up at Crew like he’s grown an extra head and me like she’s not sure what to think of the exchange.
“Give her to me,” I growl, unable to hold back the rage from pouring into my tone.
“No.” Crew glares at me over her head. “You’re too unpredictable when you’re like this. I won’t have you hurting her.”
His words only have more anger beating down on me, but before I can step in after them, the doors slide closed in my face.
The roar that escapes my throat is barely human.
How fucking dare he take her from me?
How dare he think I’m going to hurt her?
Doesn’t he fucking realize she’s quickly become my reason for breathing?
Doesn’t he understand that every moment I’m away from her is physically painful to me?
I take the stairs two at a time, hoping to beat them to the lower level before he can put her back into her room, but by the time I throw the door open, they’re nowhere to be seen.
My phone rings in my pocket, and I quickly pull it out, glaring at the unknown number on the screen.
“What?” I snap.
“Did you enjoy the show today?” The voice on the other end of the line is vaguely familiar, but I don’t need that alone to connect the dots.
“What the fuck do you want, Davenport?”
“I wanted to let you all know that I’m taking matters into my own hands in finding Camilla De Marco. Anyone I think may be keeping her from me will meet the same fate Jones did today.” He pauses, and it takes all my effort not to snap back. That’s what he wants, and I’m not going to give it to him, no matter how pissed off I am. “I suggest you let all the members of the Syndicate know.”
Before I can respond, the line goes dead, and I’m left staring at the blank screen.
Does he know we have Camilla here?
And if so, is he threatening us?
Big fucking mistake, Davenport.