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“We didn’t order any pizza,” one of the men says as he opens the door.
His first mistake. Eric shoves him inside with enough strength to throw him against the wall. I go in next, gun drawn and cocked as the second guy pops up in the living room, one hand nervously looking for his weapon somewhere along the line of his pants.
“Don’t even think about it,” I hiss, finger tight on the trigger.
Wyatt shuts the door behind us.
The second guy gives me a hard glare and insists on pulling his piece out. I have no choice as Eric struggles to contain the first goon. Silencers have been fitted on every weapon we’re carrying.
Thwup.
I fire a shot into the second guy’s knee. He screams out in pain and falls to the floor. I rush to his side as he drops his gun. I kick it across the room as he bawls, his face red, tears streaming down his tattooed cheeks. “Stop, for fuck’s sake.”
“What the fuck did you do?” the first guy croaks while Eric has his forearm pressed harshly into his throat.
“Don’t move,” my brother warns him, then gives me a troubled look.
Wyatt is downright furious. “Chase, what the hell?”
“I told him not to,” I casually reply. My dark side has fully emerged, and I am too tired to fight him anymore. It’s been so long, it’s almost refreshing. I might regret it later but I keep telling myself that I’m doing this for Halle. “He did anyway.”
“Who are you?” the first guy gasps.
Eric sighs and pulls him away from the wall, then tosses him across the floor and over his buddy. “We’re the ones asking questions. You’re the ones answering,” my brother says. “Chase, hold off on firing your weapon.”
“I will if they sit tight,” I mutter.
“We’re sitting tight!” the first guy says, his hands up in a defensive gesture.
I take a long, hard look at both of them. Hood rats, at first glance. Baggy pants, oversized hoodies, all sorts of tattoos covering their faces and necks, their knuckles and fingers. It’s mostly prison ink, from what I can tell. Various gang affiliations. I recognize a couple of them, I’ve seen them before.
“You boys run with a lot of crews, huh?” I ask, half-smiling. My calmness under these circumstances visibly irritates my brothers. They know what’s coming. “The Sixers, the Silver Cowboys… y’all were busy bees.”
“We don’t run with them anymore,” the first guy says. “Look, man, he’s bleeding! Call an ambulance or something!”
“We’ll get you both taken care of once you answer our questions,” Eric replies. “Put pressure on the wound in the meantime.”
Wyatt comes into the living room with a handful of kitchen rags and gives them to the injured man. “Here, use these.”
His buddy helps him out, and we spend the following minute listening to his panting and moaning. There’s not a smidge of sympathy left in me for these people, not when I know who they associate and collaborate with.
“Colby Nash,” Eric says. “He stayed here.”
“We don’t know him,” the first guy replies too quickly.
Immediately, I raise my gun and aim for his friend’s shoulder. “I can put a whole in every major joint.”
“Alright, alright!” the first guy says. “Fucking hell!”
“Colby Nash. He stayed here,” Eric repeats his statement. “Where is he now? Crimson Lane or the warehouse down on 56th and Jefferson?”
The injured man gives me a sour look. “Who wants to know?” he asks, gritting his teeth as he struggles to withstand the unbearable amount of pain he’s in. “We deserve that much.”
“You don’t deserve shit,” I reply. “Just tell us where we can find him. We know he stayed here. We know you covered for him. I assume he paid well but did he pay you enough to die today if you don’t tell us where he is?”
“Chase, I’ve got this,” Eric warns me.
I ignore him. I don’t have a care in this moment, not as the injured guy looks at me with all that hate, itching to kill me. He’s stirring something deep within me, the beast that has been sleeping for so long. The beast that dreamed the sweetest dreams when I wrapped my arms around Halle’s curvy, delicious body. When I listened to her breathe as she slept beside me. When I heard her laughing. The beast within is coming back to the surface and he is raging. He wants her back. I’m afraid I can’t stop him. He’s been scratching at the window for too long.
