It’s been six days since Dante’s funeral and my little run in with Vincenzo at the docks. Information from Zach and The Duke has slowed to a trickle the past few days, with none at all coming in the past two. While this isn’t unusual or out of the ordinary, my stomach has been roiling with nausea, an uneasiness settling over me like a dark cloak. My back prickles, the hair at the nape of my neck standing on end—as if Death itself is at my back, just waiting for me to turn and greet it.
Shaking my head at my fancifulness, I flip through the channels until I find the news. At least Tessa, Susannah, Rebecca, and their men will be back tomorrow. As much as I’ve enjoyed the peace, I’ve kind of missed them.
A special news bulletin flashes across the screen, and I turn it up, but not so much as to disturb Cruz. After the four orgasms he gave me last night, he deserves to sleep in. The red news ticker races across the bottom of the screen, the words MASS MURDER replaying over and over again.
I lean forward, breakfast forgotten, as the blonde Barbie look-alike newscaster announces that seventeen men and women have been found nailed to crosses on a hill in a forested area of Yonkers.
A helicopter shows footage of the area, not far off the I-87. Fuck, that’s only about forty miles from here. The FBI agent in me chomps at the bit, excitement fizzing in her veins, wanting to be on this case. Whoever cracks this one will have their career made. All sorts of theories cross my mind, from deranged serial killers to some kind of cult. Not that it matters, I can’t be on the case. Vincenzo needs to be taken care of first.
Switching over to a house-flipping show, I finish off my breakfast while contemplating for the first time what I’ll do once Vincenzo is dead. Stay with the FBI? Join the Charon Group? Runaway with Cruz and live some version of a happily ever after?
I almost want to recoil at the thought of a happily ever after. Disney can go fuck itself, filling children’s heads with that bullshit. But then my mind turns to the man sleeping in my bed, and my heart warms.
I could, maybe, find some sort of happily ever after with him. It might be a fucked-up one with motorcycles and swords and lots of filthy sex, but it would be ours, and that’s all that matters.
Give me Cruz and a bike over a prince and castle any day.
Just then, a loud alarm goes off, making my heart just about leap out of my chest. Jumping up, I race toward my room, but Cruz is already hopping out as he tries to get his legs into his jeans. “I’ve never heard an alarm like this!” I shout, trying to be heard over the obnoxious noise.
Cruz grabs my arm, leading me into the kitchen. “It means the building has been breached.” Opening the dumb waiter, he pushes me inside. “Stay in here. If you hear anything suspicious in our apartment, press the green button and it will take you down to the kitchens.”
Fear etches down my spine as I see him pull his swords out from under the sofa. “Cruz, wait–”
“Now,mi alma!This time, do as you are told. I will knock on the door three times so you know it is me.Te quiero.Now close the door and be quiet!” The door drops closed, the darkness surrounding me as I hear Cruz leave the apartment.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I am not the person that hides in a fucking dumbwaiter! Shame, anger, and fear course through me, the conflicting emotions having me ready to jump out and fight one second and bursting into tears the next.
I’m not sure when I started turning into a pissy little girl, but it needs to fucking stop. See what caring has done to me? You do one little simple thing like let your walls down and you go from being a kickass FBI agent to a baby. Fuck me.
And I’m not even going to think about how he just told me he loves me. He chooses now to tell me? Who the fuck does that?
After a good ten minutes go by with no sign of Cruz coming back, I decide I’m done playing the damsel in distress. I pull the knife from my pocket and slowly lift the door far enough for me to peek out. The alarms have gone quiet, and there’s no movement. Farther lifting the door, I slide out and peer around the corner, but it’s empty. Running to my room I pull the weapons box out from under the bed and arm myself with another knife and two guns.
Cracking open the apartment door and glancing out, I slide out into the hallway, keeping my back to the wall and guns raised as I move around the space. Not wanting to possibly trap myself in the elevators, I take the stairs, moving slowly down each level and keeping watch over the railing in case anyone comes up.
The sound of my erratic breathing breaks the ominous silence as I continue to climb down. Has the building been evacuated? Is there some secret room everyone meets in when the alarms sound?
Is everyone … dead?
My dread grows the farther down I go. I poke my head through every doorway as I pass, and each is the same. Silent. Down, down, down I go, and by the time I’ve reached the restaurant and dining room level, I’m a bundle of nerves, fully convinced that before I reach the garage, I’ll open a door into death and chaos.
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, then push the door open, just a crack. And nearly have a heart attack when a room full of people spin around, guns aimed at me. “It’s just me!” I shout out.
“Stand down!” Ryan calls out, and they drop their guns to their sides. Willing my heart to vacate my stomach and return to my chest, I pull the door open and walk into the dining room.
The room is full of unfamiliar faces, and judging by the way they spun almost as one toward the threat they thought I was, I’m going to take a wild guess that I’m amongst the rest of the Charon Group. Several women sob in a corner, and I walk past them with a brow raised. Well, they may be part of the Charon Group, but I’m guessing they’re the secretaries.
I’ll have a good talk with myself later over that very misogynistic thought.Do better, Dutch.
Ryan and Cruz stand side-by-side next to the table, Kian and Jase to the left. Sidling up to Cruz, I ignore theyou’re in so much trouble for disobeying melook he’s casting at me. “What’s going on?”
Ryan glances down at me, and the haunted look in his eyes has me gasping. He gestures at the table, where a cooler sits. There’s nothing extraordinary about it; just a red and white cooler, the kind you take on a picnic or to the beach. But I can read the room, and I know there aren't cans of soda or beer inside.
Swallowing down the dread that’s forming, I set my guns down on the table. “What’s in the cooler?”
Ryan’s eyes close and his hands clench into fists. “Zach’s head.”
I step back in shock. “No, no, no,” I whisper. “What about The Duke?” Ryan jerks back at my words, his face scrunching in pain.
