Page 114 of Seven+Four
“He has information Uri wants. That we all want,” Raph explains. “And speaking of information, I want to know where Uri hid my sunglasses.”
Uri flips him off. “I had to go inside a freezing lake to retrieve my moccasins, which were fucking ruined.”
“Let’s pause on your idiotic nicking game for a moment.” Rami sounds grim.
Hunter tucks him to his side, while holding Albert E. in one hand. “After the firemen, the police, the fire marshal and arson team—who were allthankedfor their discretion—left what remained of Meg’s house, Rague investigated the fire. Checking with Serena, we know it originated in the shack in the backyard, near the garden. Someone with a fireman’s uniform?—”
“Phoenix, the sleepless malice!” Rague growls threateningly. “I analyzed the burn path, found the point of origin, and checked for signs of accelerant like kerosene which were left in different places around the house to assure it would all burn to the ground. They used potassium permanganate and glycerin to start the fire, then added the kerosene, which caused some of the explosions we witnessed. The flames propagated very quickly, enveloping the house in less than ten minutes.”
“Phoenix didn’t leave any fingerprints anywhere,” Gabe let us know as he stops behind Lori.
“Fingerprints rarely survive high temperature fires, and if they do they’d be corrupted by soot or debris. So it’s highly unlikely we would have been able to find any.”
A heavy silence falls on the room, filled with memories of what we have lost. It’s like we are driving further into the storm when the visibility is zero.
Having Meg in a coma for more than two months has been agonizing, but losing her house and all her things as well? It’s too much. Linda really hated that old mausoleum, but she toocussed like a sailor when we told her about the fire. She’s now trying to cover the cause behind it, calling favors and bribing the people in charge. We can’t afford to get law enforcement agencies entangled in this Phoenix mess, as well.
“Thank God, nobody was harmed,” I break the silence, squeezing Uri’s hand for a moment before letting it go.
“The light turns waxy and brown when someone burns to death in a room because human fat gets congealed in the light bulbs,” Michael reminds me of an article that I read a while ago about fires and human remains.
“Ugh,” Rami makes a gagging face.
“I don’t think I have the stomach for this,” Bez declares.
“Says the guy who scooped up a donor’s eyeball with his fingers and then squashed it in his palm,” Uri says, while I start plating slices of pie.
Yeah, we are still going to eat, regardless of the gory topic. There’s a vanilla sponge cake, red velvet, coconut, chocolate, and tiramisu. They all look yummy. Michael is passing coffee or tea mugs around, while Lori offers the slices.
I leave the last plate in front of Ezra, who’s looking at us eating sweets with a frown on his face. Right, he doesn’t know about our Sunday family meals.
“We usually gather together once a week to eat,” I tell him, patting his shoulder. He saved Uri, I’m grateful to him. All those jealous feelings have disappeared. I know where I stand with my boyfriend, and his brother, as far as I’m concerned, is part of this family, if he wants to be.
I move toward the counter since there are no chairs available anymore. Uri suddenly grabs my wrist.
“You sit on my lap,” he orders me. “Ass on my cock.” The second part is whispered in my ear as I oblige him. His voice has taken on that husky quality it gets when we have sex. My body is conditioned to yield to it, and I shiver against him as I feel the urge to wrap myself around him.
“What are you going to do without your base now?” Ezra asks.
“I can build a new one,” Rague states, shoving a big piece of coconut cake inside his mouth.
“We can’t stop the bloody family side business, though. So in the meantime we will improvise,” Rami adds. He already bought a warehouse—using his favorite shell company Cinderella & Co, LLC.—in the middle of nowhere on the edge of the city.
“Killing feels good. Presumably even to God, since he does it all the time,” Ezra gives us his two cents. He hasn’t touched his cake, but his gaze keeps going to the slice of tiramisu on his plate.
“God?” Raph huffs.
“One of man’s superstitions. Belief in a powerful being that decides humanity’s fate seems to help the largest part of the world’s population,” he clarifies. Yeah, a psychopath believing in a higher being is ludicrous.
Uri snorts as I feel his hand slide under my sweater to caress my belly.
“You said no fingerprints, but Phoenix wasn’t wearing gloves.”
“You sure?” Lori asks my boyfriend; he grabs Gabe’s arms and curls them around his waist.
“He kept his gun pointed at me after shooting twice, what do you think?” Uri snaps.
“Super Model, when I tell you to go fuck yourself, it’s because I care. Orgasms are good for your health. They lower stress levels. So, fuck you!”
