Page 73 of Yours on the Canvas

Before Ray can blink, I cross the small room in two massive strides, wrap my hand around his throat, and haul him out of his chair. I slam him against the wall hard enough to rattle the cheap framed print clean off its hook.

“You listen to me, you piece of shit,” I growl, my face inches from his, my voice vibrating with a lethal, terrifying promise. “You ever go near Jack or Hale again, you ever look at them, touch them, or speak their names, I won’t just break your bones. I will flay you piece by piece and feed you to the crows. You stay the fuck away from my house. You stay away from Hale, and you make sure you stay the fuck away from Jack. They are my people.”

I tighten my grip. Ray’s face flushes, but he doesn’t look scared. That’s what makes my stomach twist with a murderous, feral urge. The fucker just smiles wider, his eyes dead and glittering with sick satisfaction.

“Your people?” Ray laughs, the sound scraping against my patience like sandpaper. “The boy is a stray, Silas. He was bleeding in the ditch when we found him, and he’ll crawl right back to the gutter where he belongs the second things get hard. You think playing house in some fortified glass box changes what he is? You think you can lock up a dog bred for the fight and teach him to sit pretty?”

Dale takes a heavy step forward, his massive fists curling as he prepares to tear me off of Ray.

“Get your hands off him, boss!” Mack’s voice booms from the doorway, breaking the tension like a gunshot.

Next second, Callan is steam rolling into the room. He takes in the threat in a second, seeing Dale take the step forward, he doesn’t hesitate. He hits Dale like a freight train and slams the larger man backward against the bed in a brutal, locking hold that sends lamps and side tables crashing to the floor in a heap of plastic and glass.

Mack plants his back firmly against the shattered doorframe, his sidearm drawn, locked, and pointed straight at the center of the room.

“Silas, pull back! Drop him!” Mack roars. “Don’t ruin your life for this piece of trash!”

My fingers are locked so deep into Ray’s throat that if I just squeeze a little more, my fingers would touch through his flesh.

“You think you own him?” I whisper, baring my teeth, my chest heaving against the Kevlar hidden beneath my jacket. “You think you can break him again?”

Ray’s cold fingers wrap around my wrist; not to fight me off, but to steady himself, his eyes locking onto mine with absolute, chilling malice.

“I don’t have to break him, Silas,” Ray whispers back, his voice smooth as poison. “He’s already broken. That’s why he came to you, because he needs someone to patch him up before he crawls back home. You can keep him warm for a week, a month, a year… but blood calls to blood. Your dove is going to come back to me. And when he does? You can do fuck all about it.”

The words drop like lead.

For a fraction of a second, the world stops. The sound of Callan struggling with Dale, the low hum of the overhead fluorescent light, the cold draft blowing through the shattered door, it all fades into nothingness. The sheer, suffocating arrogance of the man makes my vision blur red. I could snap his neck right here on this cheap motel floor, and I wouldn’t lose a single second of sleep over it.

Then Mack’s arm wraps around my torso from behind, physically hauling me backward off Ray with a grunt.

“Let’s go!” Mack barks in my ear as he drags me toward the exit. “Callan! We’re done here! Move!”

Callan shoves Dale back hard and covers our six, backing out through the shattered doorway into the cool, damp air of the hallway. I stagger, my wounded shoulder throbbing a white-hot reminder of my physical limits, but I catch my balance against the wall.

Ray follows us and steps up to the splintered doorframe, adjusting his suit jacket with infuriating, pristine calm.

“Give my regards to Jackie,” Ray calls out, his voice echoing down the concrete corridor as we break into a run toward the metal stairs. “Tell him dinner is always waiting at home.”

The stairs rattle beneath our boots as we fly down three flights, hitting the car park just as the cold rain starts to pour harder, plastering my hair to my forehead.

We pile into the truck, doors slamming shut in unison, and I drop the gear into reverse, burning rubber out of the lot before the motel office even realises their door has been kicked in.

“For fuck’s sake, Silas. What the hell was that?” Mack screams over the roar of the engine.

Callan sits in the passenger seat, his hands tight white-knuckled fists against his knees. “We agreed it was a controlled op. No fucking emotion, and you completely went rogue, Rook. What the actual fuck!”

I ignore them. I don’t care.

It felt too good to have my hands around that fucker’s throat. I was half a second away from ending him, and Ray knew it.

My hands are shaking on the steering wheel, not from fear, but from a terrifying, cold realisation.

Ray isn’t just a threat we can shoot our way out of. He’s a parasite burrowed deep into Jack’s psyche, whispering in his ear every time he closes his eyes.

I stare through the windshield at the wet asphalt ahead, the rain washing the tail-lights of passing cars into long smears of red.

The vow hardens in my chest like diamond.