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What the fuck?
With her car missing from the garage, it at least meant that she’d left of her own accord. However, my gut told me she’d been lured from the house. I ran back into my office, scanning the surface of my desk. She’d been inside picking up the things I’d tossed, trying to make right my stupidity from the night before.
Where the hell had she gone? I pulled out my phone just as it rang and something caught my eye in the bookcase. Two books were ajar.
I answered without bothering to look at the screen. “Sara.”
“No, it’s your brother.”
“Styx. I’m a little busy right now.” As I pulled out one of the books, a cold shiver coursed down my spine. “Hold on. Hold the fuck on.”
“I know who the asshole is and you’re not going to believe it.”
Styx’s voice was tinny, echoing. But I could easily answer the question. But how the hell had I missed it? The man had asked too many questions, always in my face. And the apple bit? Oh, shit. “Marcus Shelton.”
“Yeah, he’s the only son of the old Italian boss Angelo Rossi. Remember him?”
The wash of images flowing through my mind was immediate and harsh.
“No. I have a family,” Angelo screamed as he crawled over the thorny foliage in his attempt to get away.
“And we don’t give a shit,” Creed said.
“Not for a fucking second,” Styx howled.
“Look at the fuck trying to crawl away. Shoot him again, Easton.”
“I will be avenged,” Angelo said just before I took aim, the arrow whizzing through the air. “Sins of the father…”
Sins of the father.
While I certainly didn’t believe in ghosts, I knew better than most that bad blood could pass from generation to generation. Angelo had been no fool, his hatred of our father stemming from a generations-old battle the two families had shared. His father had killed our grandfather, and Angelo had been killed in return.
Now his son was returning the favor. Only doing it his way.
I closed my eyes, still able to hear the man’s pleas for mercy. I’d barely left him alive, just enough so my father had enjoyed his task of ending the man’s life. I stumbled against my desk, trying to control my breathing.
“Guess who his godfather is.”
“Who?” Although I wasn’t certain I needed to ask.
“James Barker.”
I pulled the phone away from my head, stars floating in front of my eyes. My friend. The man I’d trusted enough to learn several of my powerful, destructive secrets had been playing me for years.
“Sara is missing. I need to find her.”
“Shit. I’ll dispatch some soldiers.”
“Call Creed. This means war.”
I ended one call and started another, finally ready to leave a message for the woman I adored.
While not a praying man, I did so now in hopes my pride and my past, my anger, and my inability to see what was right in front of me hadn’t signed her death warrant.
Sara
I was shaking from anger and sadness, trying to make sense of why Josie would want to hurt me. She wasn’t my fucking friend. Maybe she just wanted Easton for herself. But the picture was…
