7. Help Me
Help Me
Anon
R age burns through me, and my fingers curl tighter around the blade in my hand. Whimpers carry toward me from the bound woman in the chair behind me.
I was so close to my angel. I could touch her, but something, some sixth sense, demanded I look up and to the right. Directly into a camera lens.
It was small, innocuous even. But all my carefully laid plans went up in smoke. And then she rolled over in her sleep, long lashes resting against cherubic cheeks beginning to flutter.
If she woke and parted those pretty lips to scream, I had no doubt her brother would’ve come running. And now that there’s video footage of my presence, I have to regroup and re-plan.
They will expect me next time. And I can’t have that.
“Please! Please, let me go,” the woman cried. I turn to give her a punishing glare. Long dark hair falls in waves onto her lap, but it lacks the shine and luster of her hair. Even the brown of her eyes wasn’t the right shade. They’re dark enough to be considered black.
And the most damning feature of all is her pale, alabaster skin. Much too light to even emulate my angel.
But as I’d skulked through the streets and came across her jogging, headphones plugged in, I had the thought that I could salvage the night after all.
What a joke!
But she does have pretty skin, even if it’s the wrong shade.
My boots thud across the concrete floor of the basement, a skinning knife tucked into the palm of my hand. If I can’t have my angel yet, then I’ll make myself a pretty doll.
And maybe the mysterious woman’s scream will assuage some of the rage swirling within me.
One can only hope.
Zade
My cock’s a throbbing weight resting against my abdomen, tucked into the waistband of my pajama pants.
Siri rests in my bed, dark hair sprawled across my pillows.
Sometime during the night, her hair tie slipped off, letting the silky strands cascade like water around her.
Her strawberry and cream scent taunted me all night while the warmth from her body pressed into mine sent blood flooding into my cock.
It’d never risen for anyone. Not even the tattoo artist who had to palm my dick to do my piercings. The pictures I’d seen online looked cool, and I thought maybe some pain or extra stimulation would force the thing to work. Nothing. A waste of money.
Until now.
With an aching cock, I couldn’t sleep and watching her sleep felt too creepy.
“Touch her. Taste her.”
Right on queue. I slip my headphones over my ears and click around on my desktop until I find the app I’m looking for. It’s not one I use often, but desperate measures and all that.
A split screen fills my desktop, and soon, two familiar faces replace the black background.
Tito’s brown eyes dart across the screen like he has several tabs open, and maybe he does. He manages a few of the Castille’s businesses in Mexico, so I probably caught him while he’s in the office of one of them.
Zeke answers the video call, filling up the other half of the screen, but continues lifting and lowering the weight in his free hand, sweat dripping down his tawny skin.
“Who called?” Tito asked in a slightly accented voice, brown curls slicked back to give him a polished look.
“Not I. Looks like a family meeting without the girls,” Zeke chimes in, grunting in between words. Fluorescent lights halo his bleached blond mohawk.
He’s referring to the other quartet of cousins in our close-knit family.
Bella, Siri, Zaria, and her adoptive sister, Emilia.
Technically, Bella and Tito are my niece and nephew since they’re Lauren’s children, but they’re also Uncle Xavier’s children, so they’re lumped in the cousin’s squad.
Zeke’s the lucky one, being an only child.
Or maybe unlucky, considering what his dad does in his free time. Some things I wish I didn’t know.
I called. We kind of have a situation here.
A set of brown and amber eyes immediately give me all of their attention, a heavy thud coming from Zeke’s side as he drops the dumbbell.
Since Tito doesn’t see me year-round like Zeke does, making his ASL skills rusty, I sign slowly, catching them up on the events that happened—I glance at the weak rays of sunlight piercing my curtains—last night.
“You didn’t call polícia ?” Tito asks. Looks like he picked up on Uncle Don’s tendency to speak Spanglish, combining English and Spanish in a conversation. Good thing that the Spanish word sounds like its English counterpart.
No. I have video footage of him breaking and entering Riah’s room, and I want to catch him myself. A malicious grin spreads across my face, adrenaline spiking.
I want to teach him the error of his ways, Daniels’ style.
Being the son of the other half of the Daniels’ twins, Zeke chuckles, instantly catching on to my meaning. I’d heard his Uncle Deaton also left a trail of bodies in his wake before settling down, working alongside Uncle Zac.
Apparently, murder runs in our family, and, for once, it doesn’t bother me. If it turns me into a monster, that’s what my mother and Siri are for. My anchors, tethering my sanity in the here and now .
Excitement sparks in Zeke’s eyes, along with the same spark of something else that I’ve spotted in Uncle Zac’s eyes.
“So, what are we talking? A cousin sleepover? BYOK?” he says, lips split wide in a deranged grin.
Tito’s brows furrow, and I guess it says something about me that I, too, instantly caught his meaning.
Bring Your Own Knife.
I might not get out much and my social skills leave a lot to be desired, but sometimes, especially at this time, I fucking love my family.
Something like that. I’d prefer to keep the girls away and we handle this in-house while my parents are out of town. The last thing we need is my dad slipping into his old ways when he learns about the threat to his daughter. This family has spilled enough blood. I only want this guy dead.
“ Could be a woman,” Tito mumbles, but his tone suggests even he didn’t believe that.
The height and build strongly points to male, and I’m not being sexist by saying that. Not many women have shoulders like linebackers.
Zeke chokes out a laugh, leaning over and nearly dropping his phone. Tito scowls in the direction I’m assuming Zeke’s positioned on his desktop.
“It’s not that funny. And since you’re in the States, there’s not much the Castilles can do to help, but if you need me out there, I’ll come.” I nod appreciatively, accepting the offer of help. Three heads work better than one.
“Bring Bella with you,” Zeke says after he’d composed himself. I blink, lips parting as realization hits me. Tito might kill him.
“Why the fuck would I do that? You just heard him?—”
“Because she could double as Soriah,” Zeke talks over him, unaware of his potential demise.
“Hell no,” Tito growls, leaning closer to the screen to get his point across. His eyes promise violence for even suggesting the idea. And I don’t blame him. If the roles were reversed, I’d react the same on Siri’s behalf.
Bella’s also… sheltered, for lack of a better word.
She’s got Don Castille and the entire Castille clan wrapped around her finger.
They’d go to war for her, and she rarely goes anywhere without a security detail trailing behind her.
Uncle Xavier also shares the same homicidal tendencies as Uncle Zac.
If anything happens to my cousin while she’s here, he’d probably kill everyone involved, nephews included.
Zaria would make a better decoy if she didn’t keep her black curls in a short pixie cut.
She can also handle her own, teaching a martial arts class in her free time and going to the gun range every weekend with her dad.
I’d feel sorry for anyone dumb enough to stalk her.
She has “potential female serial killer” stenciled all over her lithe body.
Zeke and I share a look. He’d come to the same conclusion before I even thought of using someone else as a double.
Emilia’s too damn young and blonde. She’s only fifteen, the youngest cousin in the family unless Aunt Zoe or Lauren has another child.
Mom and Aunt Nat joked that they were done raising children and too old to pop any out.
“Tito, if you’d just?— ”
“Listen, here, motherfucker?—”
I place two fingers between my lips and whistle sharp and low, hoping the sound doesn’t wake Siri. Both of them glare at me, transferring their agitation with each other to another target. I don’t have fucking time for this.
Bring her. Don’t bring her. I don’t care. I do care about my sister having as much protection as possible, which means you two need to pull your heads out of your asses and focus on the problem at hand. Think you can do that? If not, don’t waste my damn time.
“Someone’s grumpy,” Zeke grumbles, sounding chastised and lowering his eyes.
“I’ll be on the next flight out as soon as I’ve appointed someone to take care of business while I’m away. I take it you don’t want me to tell my dad about this? She’s his niece, after all.” My scowl is all the answer he needs. He nods, ending the call.
That’s Tito. Quick and efficient. He’s calm, like the waves of stagnant water. Zeke’s the one who’ll probably agitate the piss out of me during his stay. His aura is abrasive and loud.
He’s also a fucking shit stirrer.
“So, no Zef?” he asks with a smirk, like he plucked the last thought from my mind.
See? Already stirring shit.
I shake my head, fingers rubbing my temples before I drop them to sign.
No. You know he’s not sociable, and when’s the last time he and I hung out together by choice? We’re better off without him in the equation .
Zeke frowns at me. It’s not often a serious expression graces his face.
“She’s his sister, too,” he points out.
And he gives fuck all about her. He acts like she’s nonexistent when he’s here. Leave him out of it. I mean it, Zeke. Don’t go stirring shit up.
His answering grin sends inky fingers of premonition trailing down my spine.
“Whatever you say, cos. See you soon.” He ends the call, and I’m left staring at a black screen.
Fucking Ezekial. It would be Uncle Zac’s son. There’s nothing chill about the man, and it fits that his adopted son is the same.
I get up from the computer chair, striding toward the bathroom. I’ll catch a quick shower before Siri wakes and see if I can find out more about her masked stalker. Some of the tension drains from me, knowing that soon, my cousins will be here, lending me their support, strength, and intelligence.
Sometimes, being a part of a tight-knit family isn’t a bad thing.