Prologue #2
I manage to contain myself, though, and by the time we get to a closed door just past the stairs, I have my temper under control and am rehearsing the lines my father gave me.
Get Dom alone and give him the message, he said.
Make sure he understand, and get a response from him. Whatever the fuck that means.
Honestly, at this point I just want to give him the message and get the hell out of here. The whole house is dark and quiet as the grave, and it’s got my instincts screaming that something bad is happening. Something I don’t necessarily want to know about.
Then I hear a scream from behind the door we’re facing.
I don’t wait for the man to get out of the way.
I shove him with all the strength in my body, sending him to the floor, and yank the door open.
It’s dark inside as well–pitch black in the corners–but there’s a fire in the fireplace and enough light for me to see the hulking shadow of a large desk, complete with two chairs in front of it and a bookcase behind.
I see the shadow of a man leaning over something, and when he jerks to the side at my sudden entrance, I see something else.
Brooks Landry on the floor, her head covered by her arms and her tiny frame trying to make itself as small as possible. When she looks up, shocked at the incursion, her white-blonde hair is plastered to the side of her face by her tears and her eyes are wide and terrified.
There’s blood on her lip and a bruise is already developing around one eye.
Someone hit her.
If I thought I was angry before, I had no idea what anger felt like.
My body lights up like I’ve been plugged into an electric socket, the heat rushing through my veins from the inside out until I feel like I might actually be glowing.
Every nerve in my body is screaming with fury, and I’m moving for her before I can stop myself.
Because I’ve known Brooks for only a couple months now, but the moment I laid eyes on her, I saw her for what she was.
A dragon in a girl’s frame. A warrior. A rebel.
And I girl I would spend the rest of my life defending, if she’d let me.
I shoot toward her, my brain focused on only one thing: Get Brooks and get her the hell out of here. I don’t know what’s going on–why the house is so fucking dark and quiet or what she’s doing on the floor of her father’s study, bruised and broken–but it doesn’t matter. I know my job.
I know my fucking job.
Before I can reach her, though, the shadow man steps into my path and I run right into him. When I bounce back and look up, the light of the flames dances across his face, and I see Dom Landry himself glaring back at me, looking like he wants to murder me where I stand.
“The Boudreaux brat,” he hisses. “What the fuck are you doing in my house? I’d heard you were sniffing after my daughter, but I didn’t realize we’d reached the point of you making house visits. Or maybe you only visit her when you think I’m not looking.”
Oh my God I am going to murder someone tonight. I was just joking about that before, but now I realize that I was actually right.
Fuck, maybe I’ve turned psychic. I should start a side gig.
But first, the important things.
I snatch my Glock out of its holster and bring the nose right to Dom’s forehead.
“Fuck you,” I say, my voice low and controlled. “I’ve never been here to visit your daughter, but I do consider her a friend. So I’m a little bit concerned at what I’m seeing right now.”
His lips pull back in a snarl, but he doesn’t back down. “That’s none of your fucking business, boy.”
I click the safety off, my blood singing at the sound of it.
“And yet I think it is. I’m here with a message from my father, Landry.
I’m going to deliver it, and then I’m going to get that girl out of here.
Or you’re going to find your brain splattered across that pretty desk back there.
Actually, I guess you won’t see that part. Because you’ll already be dead.”
I watch his eyes, wondering if he’s going to fucking back off now.
Because he doesn’t know me–not well–but I’m sure he’s heard the rumors.
He’s got to know that I’m a wild card my father can barely control.
That I already run the younger crowd in the city, and that I’m on my way to having a solid crew of my own, regardless of what my father has to say about it.
If Dom is half as smart as his daughter, he knows I killed one of his soldiers last week when he got in my way.
And he should guess that I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger right now if he doesn’t give me what I want.
But there’s no harm in confirming that for him.”For the record, my father doesn’t like you. He’s not going to complain if I decide to kill you rather than delivering his message.”
A split second passes where I think he might actually try to fight me. He’s older, but he’s still fit, and I might have my hands full if he tries. After a moment of hesitation, though, he relaxes slightly and blows out a breath.
Good.
“Give me the message,” he snaps.
“My father says he sees you,” I reply quietly. “He says he sees what you’re doing, and he doesn’t appreciate it.”
I don’t know what it means. They’re just words to me. But they must resonate with Dom because his eyes slide suddenly to the door, and when they come back to me there’s something new in them. Alarm. Fear.
Realization.
“I see you hear me loud and clear. He wants a response. I’m guessing you know what sort of response he wants.”
Because I don’t. I don’t have one clue what any of this means or what my father wants to hear back from Dom. All I know is that the faster I get through this, the faster I can get to Brooks and get her back home to safety.
She should be safe here. Her brother and cousin are upstairs, and Beau should have been down here making sure her father didn’t hurt her.
But they might know what Dom is doing.
I want to believe they don’t. I’ve always liked Beau, and if he knew his father was beating his sister, I’d like to think he’d be here ready to protect her.
He’s not, though. And honestly I’d rather be the one to do it, anyhow.
Dom still hasn’t answered and I grind the nose of the Glock into his forehead, fighting to maintain eye contact.
Dom’s eyes are black as the devil and twice as evil, and fuck, I hope my father has something good on him.
I hope my father’s planning on taking this asshole out and has for some reason decided to give him advance notice of it.
I hope I’m the one who gets to pull the trigger.
“I hear him,” Dom finally grinds out. “But this is none of his business.”
I doubt that’s what my father wants to hear, but I don’t have time to ask for anything better.
I nod once and then step past him, keeping my gun on Dom as I move toward Brooks.
I reach down for her hand and nearly smile in relief when she reaches up and takes it, letting me pull her up and to my side.
I tuck the girl under my arm and give her a squeeze, hoping to God I’m not hurting her any worse than she’s already been hurt, then stare at Dom for a moment.
“I’m taking her,” I say quietly. “And if I ever hear you’ve put another hand on her–if I ever hear you’ve even thought about it–I’ll be back for you. And I won’t give you anything as quick as a bullet between the eyes.”
I tow her quickly toward the door, then, though I make sure my gun is still on her father. I don’t trust him. He has to be furious about the shit I’ve just pulled. Both the message from my father and the fact that I interrupted his beating.
God, my father is going to be angry.
He sent me to deliver a message only he understood, and though I did pass that one along, I’m leaving an entirely different message of my own.
Mess with Brooks Landry and Lucien Boudreaux will come for you.
And when he does, it won’t be pretty.
Some part of me knows that I’ve just sold a part of my soul to the tiny girl next to me... and that I’m going to spend the rest of my life holding up the promise I just made her.
The thing is... I don’t hate that.
Not even a little.