Blood had long since stained my skin, but not enough. It would never be enough until the man responsible for the string ofhorrible events and murders that had destroyed two families was brought to justice.
And ultimately put to death.
Very slowly I lifted my head as the first real cold chill drifted down my spine since I’d learned my brother had lost his life. Not based on betrayal of the people he’d committed his loyalty to. Not from selling his soul to another crime syndicate. Not based on love of another.
But because of a drug created, a truth serum impossible to ignore, yet a drug that ultimately ended a life in a brutal, torturous way.
A war created between two powerful families.
Blood raining down like water on a spring morning.
Violence nearly destroying a city.
Grief turning into rage, shifting into hunger for revenge that never left.
And above all, the creation of a monster determined to destroy anyone who’d had a part in killing my family.
CHAPTER 19
Fallon
Vivid colors.
I’d first been drawn to art when my mother had brought me my first coloring book and crayons. I’d been two or three, but it was the single memory I had from when I was younger than four. I could remember the excitement on her face and the joy in her eyes when she presented the gift.
I could also still hear her soft voice as she’d explained what the crayons were for and what I could use them on. No walls. No floors.
A subtle laugh left my lips as the good memory began to fade. She’d been so tickled when I’d added my own characters to the coloring book, staining each one in vibrant shades of red and purple, electric blue and the brightest orange.
That love of bold colors had never left, my paintings certainly not considered demure or devoid of emotion.
The sun was warm, the landscaping lush with greenery and spectacular foliage, and the breeze was wafting the fragrant scents of different flowers to provide a perfect setting for an artist. The shimmer of the crystal-clear pool was also a perfect draw, a luxurious, yet my guess was rarely used must-have for rich idiots who thought they owned the world.
A sly smile crossed my face as I wondered whether Navarro had a pool in his backyard.
After sliding into one of the outfits purchased for me, a form-fitting pair of jeans and a shirt that left nothing to the imagination, I finally allowed myself to explore.
First the house, but there was nothing of interest to me. This wasn’t Navarro’s home, but someone I didn’t know and I certainly wasn’t a guest. I found bottled water in one of three refrigerators in the kitchen and that was all I needed. As soon as I walked outside from the living room, I gathered a sense of why Navarro had encouraged me to consider sketching.
It had been years since I’d used a sketch pad for anything more than a draft idea. A part of me felt so guilty for daring to take any time to myself and clear my mind, but what else could I do? The thought of how foolish I’d been remained in the forefront of my mind, but I’d do it again for the single chance at saving my sister’s life.
And ruining my father.
I still couldn’t justify why he’d left even if he’d been running to safety. That just didn’t make any sense. None at all. Even knowing the background and why he’d left Spain didn’t bring anything to light. If he’d also been threatened, why not try to contact me?
A single tear formed and I brushed it away roughly before selecting the red pencil again. Maybe the set was cheap, but I felt more relaxed than I had for days. I also felt more determined. If Navarro wouldn’t help, I’d locate Brooke myself. And he couldn’t stop me.
The sketch was as bold as usual, but certainly full of more rage than normal. Or maybe I was kidding myself. I’d been in what my teachers had called my dark period since I could remember. The school counselors had told my father I’d grow out of it, but I never had, allowing the sadness and haunting memories to feed my visions. The paintings were a clear reflection of how much I missed my mother.
And a life I could barely remember.
I added subtle shading to sketch number three and held the pad out with both hands. Not bad for an amateur.
Suddenly, the pad was ripped from my hands and tossed aside, the carton of pencils pitched from my lap, and my wrists were grabbed by powerful hands. As a scream erupted from my throat, I was jerked off the chair by my wrists, held midair a full foot off the ground.
Another gasp escaped and I stared into the eyes of the same man who’d not only fulfilled my desires the night before, but had allowed me to see a part of him I hadn’t known existed.
Kindness.
