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She turned her head when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Gavin stood in the shadows. He came forward, the clip of his shoes loud in the hushed silence. He looked every inch the wealthy businessman and not a man with murder on his mind. He looked as flawless and untouchable as James Bond in his tailored suit, hands in pockets, expression nonchalant. In contrast, she felt as if she was on the verge of falling into an endless chasm from which there would be no return.
He stopped in front of her. She couldn’t meet his eyes, not when he looked at her as if he hated her. There was nothing more to say. He would do what he wanted, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. She felt so goddamn helpless. She thought the days of not being in control of her destiny were a thing of the past. Apparently not. Everyone sided with Gavin and thought it was his right to take Jonathan’s life. She didn’t agree. If he killed Jonathan, would she leave him?
The silence stretched. What did he want? His presence fanned the throbbing pain in her chest. He was tearing her apart, but that was nothing new. She was always the one who had to conform, not him. No matter what she said or did, he wouldn’t change, so where did that leave her? Was this the beginning of the end for them?
She jolted when a calloused hand cupped her chin. He tilted her face up. She kept her eyes closed. A tear leaked out of her left eye. She hoped it was too dark for him to see, but his thumb brushed it away before it could travel halfway down her face. Her breath hitched as another tear escaped. She wasn’t prepared for the gentle kiss he pressed against her lips.
She opened her eyes, but he was already on his way back to the house. “Gavin.”
He didn’t stop. He walked back into the house and disappeared from sight.
11
Gavin
Santana’s brothertrembled like a plucked bow as Gavin held his head at an angle guaranteed to end his miserable existence. Santana’s men scattered after he executed their leader. He thought he bought enough time to attend the hospital function and come back to finish gutting Santana’s operation. Seeing those gang members in the elevator with Santana’s brand on their neck sent a spear of ice-cold terror through his body when he realized he had put Lyla at risk.
“How did you know to send men to the hospital? Are you tracking me?” he bit out.
Santana’s brother’s mouth flopped open and closed like a fish. He bent his head a fraction more, and he squealed like a stuck pig.
“How did you know?” he bellowed.
“I-I got a call.”
“From who?”
“Stark.”
Everything in him went on high alert. “Eli Stark?”
“Si. He’s an informant, sells information. He gave the location of hospital.”
“What else?” he asked.
“That’s it, I swear.”
Gavin broke his neck, rose, and stared down at the body without really seeing it. Eli Stark. This wasn’t the first time he heard whispers of Stark, but it would be the last. Once, he considered Stark a loyal associate, but that changed after Stark’s mother had been brutally attacked. Stark blamed him for not protecting her, which gave him motive to turn traitor. Selling information to a Mexican drug lord? It didn’t sound like Stark, but people changed. After his mother’s attack, Stark quit his position as detective and went on a bloody rampage to avenge his mother before he fell off the map. It was time to draw him out of hiding.
He dug through the dead man’s pockets and found condoms, drugs, and a cell phone. He used the dead man’s thumb to unlock the phone, debated whether to cut it off for future use, but decided to change the passcode instead. He scrolled through recent calls, most of which were unavailable.
He dialed his tech genius. “Z, it’s me. I need you to tap into this phone and unblock some numbers.”
Z didn’t ask questions. “Give me ten minutes.”
“And locate Eli Stark’s mother.”
A pause. “Sir?”
“I don’t know her name. She’s been in a coma for two years.”
“I’ll find out,” Z said.
He pocketed the phone and glanced around the room. The blood-splattered walls reflected how he felt on the inside. Bodies littered the ground around him. It took him less than two hours to track Santana’s brother to a set of cabins on the outskirts of the city.
Santana was a sick fuck. He had made sure to clear out the child prostitutes they discovered earlier this morning. He didn’t feel a lick of remorse for drawing out Santana’s death since he found the fucker molesting a baby. If he let the justice system do their thing, Santana would get several life sentences and live off taxpayer’s money, reading books and educating himself about the legal system to see how he could get out. Or he would join one of the gangs in prison and claim the lives of too many prison guards who were just trying to make an honest living. Fuck that. He knew Santana’s brother would retaliate, but he hadn’t expected them to stage a public attack that cost four of his men’s lives and put Lyla and too many others at risk. Stupid fucker.
He was high on rage and feeling especially savage. The lethal fury racing through his veins hadn’t dissipated as he slayed anyone who crossed his path. The fight with Lyla made him crazed. He couldn’t fault Blade for drugging him today. What he felt this afternoon when he walked into that hotel room was inexplicable. Blade had done his job and prevented him from doing something unforgivable to his wife. In the basement, he had lost control. He wanted to hurt, to punish her. Lyla would lie to protect this guy, which showed how deep her feelings for Huskin ran. He wouldn’t allow it. She was supposed to heal him, not break him. Hearing her cry and plead for another man’s life made him homicidal.
