I point my gun at her face and she steps into it, a fierceness in her eyes that reminds me so much of Camryn, my arm shakes.
They’re so alike. A mirror on fast forward, features aged on Sarah, but scarily similar to her unwanted daughter. Their long brown hair, the soft tan of their skin, the distinct blue of their eyes.
It gives me pause. Another moment of uncertainty.
“See.” She moves, the blood-red of her lips a breath away from my ear. “Weak.”
My fists clench with the need to pound against flesh, to break skin and see the gush of red decorate my hands.
She might look like her daughter, but where death haunts the shade of Sarah’s eyes, Camryn’s shine with a scared need to hope.
Consumed by my rage, I don’t see her move.
A taser being fired sounds like a thousand cicadas swarming around my ears, or like that irritating static of a radio or TV that hasn’t been tuned. Small and pestering, but fuck does it hurt.
My entire body tenses involuntarily, locking me in place. Pain slices through my body like a bolt of lightning striking through me from the very top of my head to the very tips of my toes. Within seconds my body drops to the ground without warning.
Tivoli moves in my peripheral, having stayed quiet up until this point. But she’s faster, picking up the gun I’d dropped when I hit the ground, aiming it in Tivoli’s direction in silent warning.
His feet stop.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” he warns.
“Not if I get you first,” she taunts, one hand held tightly to my gun, the other on the taser she dropped me with.
Lowering the aim of my gun, she doesn’t hesitate and I watch the bullet pierce Tivoli’s leg, sending him to his knees on an agonized grunt.
I move to sit up, but she points my own gun at my face. “Next time I see your face, I’ll kill you and that useless daughter of mine you seem to be caught on, just for shits and giggles. It’ll be nice watching you bleed that pain again. It’ll be like Lila and Kendall on repeat.” She grins.
She steps over me.
“Where is she?” I bite out, the ache in my body stopping me from attempting to move.
“She ain’t anywhere, handsome. Like your mommy, the bitch is dead.”
Chapter Eighteen
Camryn
They lost her.
Not in the way someone will tell you they’d lost their wife or husband. With sadness in their soul and tears in their eyes.
She’s gone, but not dead. They lost her. As in, she escaped.
My pathetic excuse for a mother overcame two grown fucking men to flee.
One with a score to settle.
The other literally trained to kill.
I take my hat off to her, she’s one sneaky bitch. But no one ever claimed otherwise.
Dad got the call as we were finishing up our lunch. Tivoli, who had been shot in the leg, was on his way to the hospital to be stitched up. Surface wound he assured my father, his pride having been dealt a greater blow than his leg. Sly as she is, apparently Sarah has horrible aim.
Rocco is now MIA. Tivoli said he took off after her as soon as he could stand. She’d tasered him. Shot him straight in the chest with five thousand volts. Apparently her aim isn’t as bad with a taser as it is with a gun. If I didn’t hate her enough to wish they’d succeeded in forcing karma down her throat, I’d laugh. What I’d give to taser that son-of-a-bitch and watch him fall to the ground.
I can’t tell if I’m more pissed off at the fact that Sarah got away or relieved that Tivoli and Rocco aren’t severely hurt. Maybe a mixture of both. I’m comfortable in my concern for Tivoli. He’s family. He started with dad as a teenager, only a few years older than me, he’s more of a brother than a soldier. And he’s earned his place as a trusted right-hand to my father.
Rocco, well, apparently I’m still in denial about the fucked up friendship we seem to be feeding into.
The elevator door slides open on a soft chime and I step into the hallway, irritated at myself that I’m even here. I’m just checking he’s not dead, I tell myself for the twelve thousandth time. Or more likely, checking he’s not on his way to kill someone else.
That’s all.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I’m doing my duty as a good citizen to the world. Checking their well-being with an angry Shay on the loose.
There’s a good chance he’s not even home, I tell myself. He’s probably run off to one of his illegal fights, letting someone beat his skull in to dull the pain.
Jackass.
The scars on my leg throb in a silent reminder that I have no right to judge his way of coping. I feel attacked and ashamed at my body all at once, grinding my teeth in irritation at my own weakness.
I knock softly, rolling my eyes at how pitiful the sound of my knuckles are. I knock harder.
The door opens with force, a bristling Rocco standing on the threshold, sans shirt.
He can’t hide his shock at my presence, eyebrows pulling down in thick slashes over his crazed eyes. “Fuck are you doin’ here?”
I hide the hurt that his cutting accusation causes.
He doesn’t want you here, Einstein.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him this way. He looks just like he did the day Mira died. Pacing his loft like a panther, ready to claim your jugular with his bare hands. Only this time he remains still, the veins on his arm protruding in fury.
“Nice wounds.” I gesture to the superficial injury on his chest, ignoring the nasty voice in my head.
He grunts in annoyance, eyes skating over me like I’m a stranger. An unknown unwelcome in his space.
“I just thought I’d—”
“Rocco.” A blonde steps into my line of sight, cutting the sentence off in my throat, a bottle of whiskey in her hand. “Oh, hey,” she greets on a surprised smile.
I lift a hand lamely in silent acknowledgment.
She’s exactly who I’d imagine would be Rocco’s type. Large fake tits, superficially tanned skin, her figure enviably curvaceous. A skin-tight leopard-print dress covers her body; a tank-style top that follows the line of her body all the way down to her bare feet.
“I’m Maggie,” she introduces herself eagerly.
Before I can reciprocate, Rocco steps closer to me, the door moving with him enough to cut her out of view.
There’s chaos in his eyes. Uncertainty and hint of regret as he scans my face intently.
I want to reach out and reassure him. Ease the skittishness in his person. He resembles a caged animal; wild in the way he wants to rip out your throat, savage in the silent burn to be loved.
“I should go.” I speak before he does, turning on my heel and making for the elevator in an awkward rush.
The world, obviously working to do me a solid for delivering me the ultimate in embarrassment, lets the doors slide open immediately. I don’t hesitate in jumping inside, tapping at the close button faster than a new judge on The Voice.
Maggie.
She’s even got a nice wholesome name. What the heck is she doing with the likes of Rocco Shay? More importantly, why the fuck do I care?
I rush out onto the ground floor, making a beeline for the exit doors. But I can’t walk through them. My feet pause, the automatic mechanism forcing the doors open, only to close them again when I make no attempt to move.