Seven+Four (Angels of Wrath Book 6)

I grunt and get more comfortable on the solarium’s sofa. My dreads are still damp from the two-hour swim I had in the indoor pool. The physical exertion didn’t help with my restlessness. Nor the time spent taking apart and cleaning some of my rifles.

I know what I need; I already booked a room at Madame Claudette’s for tonight.

I lift my phone and check Sari’s bracelet app. His heart rate is fine and temperature as well. I look at his position again. His pin is still at Rague’s house. One of the triplets, Ren, came early this morning to pick him up. They’ll help Sully pack for college. It was my turn to help Gabe dispose of his donor, so I hired two bodyguards to follow them. This stalker problem needs to be resolved. I just finished talking to Michael. The guard working at Bear-Stone Labs who was bribed to sneak the package inside the building was killed.

Michael—with the medical examiner—found a small needle mark behind his left ear and a trace of a muscle relaxant called succinylcholine in the guard’s blood. A smart choice since it is not normally tested for in toxicology screens. In higher doses, it can paralyze the entire breathing apparatus, and the victim suffocates to death—which is what happened to the guard.

Rami checked the diner’s CCTV. A person entered the bathroom thirty seconds after the guard went in. Unfortunately there’re no cameras inside, but after fifteen seconds, the same person came out wearing a long coat and a knitted cap, keeping their face down. They are average height and build, we can’t discern their gender, the poor quality of the footage doesn’t help. Serena followed them outside, but they disappeared in the crowded streets of downtown Chicago.

This is more serious than I anticipated. This sicko is ready to do whatever it takes to reach Sari. It’s escalating quickly, and I don’t like the direction this fucker is taking us. He needs to be stopped.

Albert E. moves in his sleep on top of my belly while I’m checking the stock market. I stopped by his room earlier as I heard him wheeking and squeaking. I don’t fucking care if the critter croaks, but Sari would. After checking the levels of water and food and the room temperature, I decided to keep an eye on him so I took him with me. He seems to enjoy the warmth of my body. Is he purring?

I can’t forget the soft smile gracing Sari’s face when he looked at it last night. I was instantly hit with the desire to squash the pig. I wanted that sweet expression directed at me and only me. I can’t help but glare again at the hairless wiener. What does Sari see in it? Those tufts of hair are ridiculous. I touch the one on his head, pulling a little. I raise a confused brow when his bony leg starts twitching uncontrollably. Sari is way too gentle with it. He seems to like a vigorous rubbing. The wiener is now looking up at me with those small, round eyes asking for more.

It reminds me of Sari’s begging expression, those tears making a wet path down his face. My dick had never throbbed with such a need to claim, wreck, utterly destroy someone before. The temptation so consuming, it almost burned me alive. Controlling my needs is something I don’t fucking do. Hurting people is more than an urge for me, it’s a way of life.

And then there’s Sari.

He enjoyed a few spanks, his sensual moans were proof enough of that. But that’s nothing to me. He’d break irreparably under my hands if I show him the true extent of what I’m capable of doing. Of what I have been willing—so fucking eager—to do to satisfy the blood-boiling craving I feel when I have someone yield to me.

Having him trembling with pleasure in my arms feels fucking good, but not enough. The line I drew a long time ago has been working just fine until he started going around letting other men touch what belongs to me. It turned me fucking homicidal. I made him come; he should be thankful and eager for more. Instead he locked himself in the bedroom—forced me to pick the lock—and then acted all busy and distracted this morning. What the fuck is going on in his head? Haven’t I been clear enough?

Damn it. Whenever my mind wanders, it finds him.

My phone beeps. A text from Ash, one of the triplets, with a picture of the next tattoo I plan to get.

I introduced him to the owner of a tattoo parlor after I saw some incredible drawings in his notebook, and they hired him. His manners remain atrocious, but he acts like a punk toward everybody. His abrasive behavior reminds me of a young me. Nevertheless, the prick will never stand a chance against me.

The twisted pomegranate tree trunk looks papery and rough, the red fruits heavy on the long branches, leaves are falling, floating in the air, creating exactly what I described to him.

I move to the tracking app again and push on the cameras in Rague’s house. Sari is in the kitchen, sitting at the table with Ren while Sully is getting some snacks from the cabinets. Didn’t he go there to help the kid pack? I sniff. It looks to me like they are just chilling around.

The sunlight refracts on him as he talks, turning his aquamarine eyes into a serene ocean. They stand out for their pure innocence and sweetness.

His coal-black hair is once again tied in a sleek side-braid. Delicate features, a small upturned nose, peach cheekbones. He isn’t wearing his contact lenses today, but opted for his red square glasses.

He suddenly smiles, leaning his slender, graceful body toward Ren. I can’t look away from him. He’s beautiful, but when he smiles, he becomes almost ethereal, surrounded by an inner light, exuding warmth and wholesomeness. I can easily imagine people wanting to hurt that, to possess that. Because I am one of those people. The only rightful owner of all that is Sari.

He stands and goes to Sully to help him out. Is that pert, full ass wrapped in lace under those skintight jeans? He tosses a chip inside his mouth, and I remember those lips wrapped tightly around my dick as his throat sucked the cum out of it. I want him defenseless again. Utterly powerless, only able to take. And take more. The bruises from my fingers, the redness from my palms, the sting from my cock. I want him where he is supposed to be, under me again, over me, around me, any fucking way I can have him. Always returning to me.

Is his genius mind aware of what I want to do? Sometimes I wonder if he knows the vicious, dirty as fuck thoughts I have about him. He’s so fucking naive and gooey inside, anybody could easily take advantage of that. Not on my watch. What belongs to me remains mine unless I say differently.

My stomach starts growling, so I give Sari one last look and move to the kitchen, leaving Albert E. in the cage near the dining table in the corner.

The fridge is filled with food containers from three different places. I don’t need to know how to cook when I own more than a few restaurants. I’m about to grab the steak au poivre vert, which the chef at the bistro Le Chat Blanc near the harbor prepares beautifully, when my damn phone starts ringing.

All I want is a good meal and about four hours of uninterrupted sleep before going to the club. Anyone that gets in the way of that has a bloody death wish I’ll happily grant.

It’s Rami. I asked him to check out an employee at Fine Joe, the café I own on Taylor Street. There were some discrepancies in the books, on top of other things. When I get my answers from the short call I snap my switchblade in the jeans pocket, slide Veronica—my SIG—into the back of my jeans and grab a couple of pretzels with some cheese dip. I put on the denim sherpa tracker jacket and head toward the front door.

The Hummer is still at the car wash—Sari went all out in it—so I get in the Range Rover. I turn on the heated seat and wait a few seconds while the cabin warms before driving off.

Getting into the food business wasn’t a calculated choice. I used to model when I was a teenager. The money was good and the job didn’t take too much time from my studies. Meg and Linda are loaded, but I wanted something of mine that came from me. When I went to college, I started moving in the right circles, spending time with the right people, and stock trading with those modeling earnings. I quickly found out I had a knack for it—even my brothers got more than some extra capital thanks to me. When the opportunity to invest in a sushi restaurant knocked at my door, I took it. From there, I soon made a name for myself and started buying or funding restaurants. Now I own seven, a chain of cafés, and one of organic burger joints, two bars, and a trattoria.

I have managers who take care of the everyday tasks, and I meet them once a month to go over the paperwork. But finding people you can trust is not easy.

Thirty minutes later I park at the back of Fine Joe and swiftly make my way inside the café through the back door. The sweet smell of pastries makes my stomach rumble. Those pretzels weren’t enough to sate my hunger. I move toward the front where everybody is waiting—except Charles, the baker who’s working in the kitchen—as I ordered them to do when I called before.

The place is minimalistic yet sophisticated, with soft lighting that casts the space in an inviting, yet awe-inspiring ambiance. The walls are adorned with pictures of coffee fields and tea plants—I hired an interior designer to take care of all this crap. The three barista/waiters and the two assistant bakers are sitting around one of the dark wooden tables on the plush, high-backed chairs. The marble-topped bar stretches across from them, where they serve artisanal smoothies, organic teas, and uniquely fine coffee brews. Patrons can catch a glimpse of the culinary baker and his minions in action through the massive glass panel showing the open kitchen.

Every little detail contributes to an atmosphere of understated luxury.

Contrary to my brother Raph, I try to project a non-threatening image to look approachable to my underlings, unperturbed but assertive. Because you never know when people can be of use. That’s why I let my lips curl a little as I reach them.

They greet me with different levels of politeness. I don’t like inane chatter or talking for the mere sake of it. I only do that if there’s a purpose, an angle I can exploit, usually to feel people out. Today, I just want to hurry this up and go back home.

“Where’s Russ?” I ask about the manager.

“In his office,” comes Linda’s rapid reply.

“Go get him.” She runs off as soon as I utter the words.

“Would you like a coffee, boss?” one of the baristas offers me.

I nod. “To go.”

I turn to the others. “There have been a couple of heated verbal arguments in the last few weeks, one in front of the customers. Do any of you care to tell me what happened?”

Nobody speaks, suddenly avoiding my eyes, except one guy. His gaze doesn’t waver, spine straight, hands balled up. A defensive pose like he’s expecting something negative to come his way. If he intends to physically attack me, his small and delicate figure won’t help him at all against me.

“Name?”

“Izzy Pratt.” His lips turn into a long line, and I suddenly know why.

“You’re the one involved in the quarrels.”

“Quarrels?” He sniffs bitterly. “I don’t know who your source is, but that’s not the word I’d use.”

“And what word is?” I accept the coffee the barista hands me, tilting my head at him without taking my eyes off Izzy Pratt.

“Bullying, harassment, threats.”

I like his boldness, but it reminds me too much of Lori.

“Mr. Mahoe. What a pleasure!” The manager, Russ, finally arrives, looking like he has not a worry in the world. He reminds me of Ken from Barbie. However I can read anxiety in his stiff smile.

“Sorry for my tardiness, I was organizing some papers in the office.”

I ignore his ass licking and get straight to the chase. “You’re fired. Pack your shit and go.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then a gasp and low murmurs go around the room.

“What? But…why? I’ve been doing a great job in the last month,” Russ sputters with a desperate expression, and I know why. Yesterday, Rami cleaned out his bank account and got him evicted. Now he’s losing his job. This is nothing compared to what I really want to do to him.

“You’ve got your girlfriend a job here and a quick promotion as the assistant manager without any references. You’re also fired, by the way.” I wave at Linda while taking a sip from my coffee. This is good stuff; I should get some of these beans for home. “And also you let your drug dealer friends set up shop inside my café.” I took care of those fuckers already by giving an anonymous tip to the cops. They were picked up two days ago.

“That’s not true, I-I swear,” he says pathetically. What a fucking waste of space this guy is.

“Go before I call the cops.”

“You have no proof!” he barks.

“You turned off the CCTV inside the café, but not outside in the back alley where you and your pals smoked weed together during work hours.” Fucking amateur. “I have plenty, shithead. You also owe me seven hundred dollars for all the free food you and Linda gave away to friends and family.”

His face has turned red, body trembling with anger. If he tries to pounce on me, I have a nice surprise for him—witnesses be damned. It would be self-defense, and Veronica is registered. I almost hope he does attack me. But time passes, and the worm doesn’t make a move.

“What the fuck are you still doing here? The holier-than-thou boss spoke.” I give him a long, challenging look since I’ve heard him call me that behind my back. “Get the fuck out before I make you,” I hiss with an incinerating glare.

He finally flees, tail between his legs, toward the office with Linda following him like a lost puppy. “You.” I point to the barista who gave me the coffee. “Make sure he doesn’t steal anything.” He nods and quickly jogs after them.

“You can go back to work,” I tell the others.

I’ll keep my eye on Russ, and if he crosses the line at any time, I’ll stuff every hole in his body with bullets. Nobody fucks with me. The thought that he’s been doing it for a month enrages me. I started having my suspicions about two weeks after he started, but Rami told me we needed more proof. Just in case. Now I have enough.

“Are you going to fire me too?”

I lower my gaze to Izzy Pratt. He’s still here.

“Since they bullied me because⁠—”

“I don’t care,” I cut him off, but he keeps talking.

“Because I’m trans.” He widens his arms to show me…what exactly?

I give him a once-over. Big lips, long hair. The level of wariness in his eyes is odd for a person this young, unclouded of any delusions. Which tells me he had a rough life. “Does being trans affect your work efficiency?”

He frowns. “Uhm, no.”

“Izzy, here is your batch.” Charles comes out of the kitchen to leave a tray on the counter. He tilts his head at me and goes back to work.

“I don’t remember those pastries on the menu.”

“Oh, I made them.” His cheeks turn pink. “I noticed most customers take coffees to go, and the cakes we provide are not easy to carry.” He shrugs.

I make my way to the tray. The presentation is nice, they look inviting and smell good.

“These are strawberry tarts, and those are lemon cheesecake bars.”

I toss a round tart in my mouth, and fuck, it’s good, at an incredible level. It melts on my tongue, the balance between sweet and sour is perfect. Now that I think about it, a week ago, Charles told me there was an employee who is very good at baking. The Russ and Linda fuck-up discovery pushed that discussion aside.

“Do you have a culinary degree?” I ask.

“No.” He turns his eyes down and sighs. That must be the reason why he got a job as a barista and not as a baker.

“I’m moving you to the kitchen. I want these pastries on the menu,” I let him know.

“What?” he replies, seemingly baffled. Deciphering people’s emotions is a drag sometimes. And why do they always need explanations? Can’t they just take what they’re given? Sari included. Damn it.

“You’re the best employee here, always on time, never complain, a hard worker. Also, you could be an alien, and I wouldn’t care. That’s your private life. None of my business. I’m your boss, not your pastor.”

Nobody bothered me when I was finding my way, and I turned into the best version of myself. I’m simply giving Izzy the same courtesy. Why? Because an idea is whirling inside my head. I saw a for sale sign a few weeks ago outside an old bakery near Rami’s warehouse apartment. My eyes fall on the pastries Izzy made. This could be a new opportunity for a franchise.

“I’ll give you a three-month trial. Keep the status of this café high. Don’t, and you’re fired,” I finish. Three months is enough time to see how he does and to start planning accordingly.

He is still looking at me like a dead fish, mouth open and all, but he nods after a second.

I keep talking as I walk toward the office, expecting him to follow, and he does. “I appoint you as the temporary manager until I find a permanent one. You’ll have double salary until then. Your first task is to find two more servers, take care of that quickly. I’ll send you an email with whatever you need to know about inventory, quality control, menu planning, cleaning equipment, and so on. You’ve been working here for two months right?”

“Yes.”

“So you know some things already. My phone number is only for emergencies. I’ll see you in a week. I expect a full briefing.”

He suddenly grabs my hand in his. “Mr. Mahoe. Boss, thank you so much for this opportunity. Baking is my life. I won’t let you down.” His beaming smile is not as annoying as I expected. The way he’s looking at me—I like to be adored by people even though they are only little ants to me. Inconsequential, insignificant. But if Izzy Pratt is as good as I believe, he could be of use.

“Let go,” I deadpan, more than ready to leave.

He suddenly drops my hand and starts backing away. “Sorry. I’ll see you in a week.” He scurries away.

When I get to the parking lot through the backdoor, a loud, irritating jingle hits my ears. It’s coming from an ice cream truck across the road. I see Russ and Linda leaving in their car; I can hear their heated fight even though the car windows are closed. How much I’d like to punish them, see their suffering, blood rolling down their cheeks. My cock turns hard at the prospect, and Sari’s face suddenly pops up in front of my eyes. I’m associating sadistic pleasure with him now. Fuck!

I enter my car and slam the door.

I feel the usual thirst for him burning the back of my throat. Is that birthmark under his right nipple still there? I couldn’t see it last night, that sexy bra was in the way. Fuuuuck, that flimsy lingerie he wears, if I pull on it, tear it right off, it will mark his smooth, diaphanous, perfectly pale skin so easily. The image makes my balls boil, dick leak, teeth grit.

Tonight, I need to work on someone at the club. Otherwise I know exactly how this is going to end with Sari. I fucking hate the restraints I’ve forced on myself. He’s mine! And I should do whatever I want with what’s mine.

Like he knows I’m thinking about him, I get a text.

A furious roar leaves my lips. The one emotion I understand above all is anger. Why is he being so fucking unreasonable? He’s putting distance between us again. I made him fucking come last night; he screamed like a whore begging for more. What else does he want?

My impulsiveness is screaming at me to go get him and lock him up.

There’ll always be an us, even if I have to pave the way with blood and screams to make him realize it.

As I look ahead, my eyes catch a figure a few feet away leaning against the café in the back alley. He’s wearing a gray hoodie, horrible cargo pants, and a white mask. What the fuck is Ezra doing here?

I get out of my car and head toward him, gun still tucked in my pants. The ice cream truck is still there. There’s a closed sign on the window, but that stupid melody is on.

“Take off that ridiculous thing,” I order Ezra, stopping a few feet away.

“Like you don’t wear a mask every day.”

I know he doesn’t mean literally.

He grabs it and lowers it. “Everybody wears a mask; the only difference is that you can see mine easily.”

I fucking hate that I agree with him.

“Why are you following me?”

He studies me before saying, “Boredom can kill.”

His vague answers are getting on my nerves more than the short, repetitive fucking melody coming from the truck. Ezra suddenly turns halfway, his hand slides on the side of his cargo pants and then his arm swings outward, swiftly tossing a knife in the air. The blade hits the clown face on top of the ice cream truck where the speaker is. He gets it right in the mouth and the jingle finally ends.

He faces me again. “You’re welcome.”

He’s more unhinged than I thought. And sort of fun. Should I ask Rami to erase any street CCTV that caught Ezra tossing the knife? Nah, that’s his fucking problem.

“I’ll ask you again, why are you in Chicago, Ezra?”

He smirks. “I faked my death. Phoenix forced my hand, screwed with my life. So I killed…myself. I can’t get back to my job until I get rid of Phoenix.”

“So how are you working then?”

“Under assumed identities. But that’s not why I am here.” His voice deepens.

“No?”

“The guy you live with, Sariel…”

I hear the menacing growl leaving my lips.

Ezra’s smile widens. “I have no ill intentions toward him. I know he’s one of your foster brothers. But who is he to you?”

“Mine,” I pronounce slowly.

“Why?” He seems just curious.

“Don’t have to explain shit to you.” I’m acting defensively, but I always do when Sari is concerned.

“True.” He nods. “He’s mine as well, then.”

A wave of fury washes through me. My body moves before my brain even processes the words. My switchblade is at his throat, pushing until I see a drop of blood forming on his skin.

“The fuck he is. I’m ready to mutilate you if you try anything.”

“You’ve never been good at sharing. But you’ve also never given a fuck about anyone. He is mine, though,” he repeats, making me curl my lips to show him my teeth. “Just like you are. Like you’ve always been Uriel. Look into my eyes, your eyes.”

Like looking in a mirror. His gaze is slightly darker. It’s unsettling and so…familiar.

“Still denying it?” he challenges me. “If you don’t back off I won’t think twice before stabbing you in the guts.” I feel a sharp point poking my stomach. A knife? How many does he carry?

The grip on my switchblade tightens before I pull back and clean it on my jeans. I pocket the blade as I utter, “Are you denying the fact that you evaded me for years?”

“I had my reasons.” He avoids answering again.

“Will you share those reasons?”

“I’m not good at sharing either,” he teases me.

I never thought I’d be talking to him like this one day. I always imagined finding him on the other side of the line, turned evil. I envisioned killing him. That could still happen.

“It’s odd how you don’t get bored of him after all those years together.”

“Who?”

“Sariel.” Why the fuck is he talking about Baby Blue again? I don’t like his name on Ezra’s lips. “Should I go talk to him about it?”

“He’ll be the last thing you’ll ever see,” I hiss the threat, ready to follow it through if I have to.

“Then tell me,” he insists with a nonchalant tone. Why does he want to know when he doesn’t even look interested?

“I’ve seen his face since I was eight and still I’m not tired of it. I keep on wanting more of it. Of his blushes, his smiles, the way he bites the corner of his lower lip and pulls on his braid when he’s nervous. He. Belongs. To me. Don’t really care if your psychotic brain gets it.”

“A person I once knew told me Plato’s theory. Do you know it?”

What the fuck is he talking about now? I shake my head, but he tells me anyway.

“Plato believed that humans originally consisted of four arms and legs and two faces. Zeus, king of the gods, felt threatened by their power and split them all in half, condemning them all to spend their lives trying to complete themselves.”

“I don’t believe all that shit.” I tsk. “I actually think we are born complete and lose part of ourselves because of others. We can give it away, or it is taken from us.” I pause. “Either way, we need that completion, and we find ways to fill that hole.”

“Even if momentarily,” he adds annoyingly.

“Sari will never be momentary,” I snarl.

He hums noncommittally. “The stalker situation, don’t treat it lightly.”

“What do you know about that?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Not much since Serena keeps me out now.” He scratches his forehead below the red bandana; he has a little scar there. I suddenly remember him tripping on a glass bottle and hitting his head over the table edge as we were running from our drunken father.

“I’ve had my fair share of encounters with obsessed wackos in the past. Keep Sariel safe.”

Is he for real? “Why did you come see me after all these years?”

“I always kept an eye on you. You looked okay. I was okay. Why disrupt it?” He shrugs.

“How did you escape from the facility, Ezra?” If you actually did.

“The scientists moved me to another place just a few days before you were all released. Again two years later to a bunker deep in the mountains.”

That’s why Meg and Linda couldn’t find him. “So how did you escape from the bunker?”

Before he replies, I give him a stop-with-the-bullshit glare. “We can go back to knifing each other if you prefer. See who gets sliced more.”

I can see how the knife fight feels tempting for him. It is for me as well.

“A nurse,” he finally says. “He was…different from the rest of the fuckers. Carried me out when the place caught on fire. Everybody else left me there for dead. He got me out.”

So, he had someone. “How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

“Fuck!” He was tortured and experimented on for three more years. Linda was a little worried about the repercussions on his mental stability if he had been kept longer as a subject. I don’t know what’s inside his head, but I’m pretty sure that’s not a good road to go down.

“I don’t follow your cute code. I kill who I need to kill.” I see the bloodthirst in his eyes, same as mine. “And now Phoenix is the one who has to die. But I need people with certain skills to take that fucker down.”

“What do you know about him? If you want to work together, you have to come clean.”

“And I will. As soon as I’m sure your foster brothers won’t kill me on sight.” He raises his brow challengingly.

I pucker my lips in fake ponderance. “You have to prove to them you’re not a threat to the family.”

“Not to you?”

“More so with me.”

He lets out a chuckle. It takes me back to when we were kids throwing stones into the river and seeing them bounce. Ezra was good at it, laughed every single time.

“How about I give you the guy who made the poison that almost killed your foster mother?”

I grind my teeth as my gaze turns into a searing glower. “How the fuck did you get that info?”

“You have your ways. I have mine. Do you want him or not?”

“Who?” I snarl, not liking anything about this, especially the lack of control. Impotent is a word that doesn’t exist in my vocabulary.

“Marlon Finch. He’s a retired chemist. Lives in New York.”

“How do you know it’s him?” I ask again.

“People like to brag, especially when their audience doesn’t fucking care.” He shrugs. His nonchalant behavior as he discloses such important information which could take us a step closer to Phoenix irks me deeply. “I have an archery range back at home, kind of like your firing range. I’m curious to know if we have more things in common apart from our faces,” he then adds, changing topic so damn easily.

“What’s next? Grabbing a drink and talking about life?”

“More like kill someone, compare our…skills.”

I’m actually tempted. I have a donor who wouldn’t be too hard to grab.

“Your phone is ringing,” Ezra lets me know.

This thing has been going off all day.

“What?” I answer, without looking at the caller ID.

“Sari got another package,” Rami says in a grim tone. “The doorman of his building called me after I asked him to let me know if any mail came.”

“That means the stalker doesn’t know Sari is staying with you,” I hear Rague add. He’s right, otherwise they’d have sent the package to the lake house.

“Did you open it?” I walk to my car and get in. I glare at Ezra as he suddenly takes the passenger seat.

“Yes, he brought it to the base. And I’m ready to disembowel the demented lunatic.” Ollie’s voice is shaken.

“What was inside?” Ezra suddenly interjects into the conversation, leaning closer to the phone I’m holding near my ear. Does he have enhanced hearing?

“Who the fuck is that?” Raph asks.

“Ezra,” he replies. “Who the fuck are you?”

“His other psychopathic brother,” Raph counters. “We have some questions for you…Ezra.” The warning is clear in my brother’s voice.

“And I will answer them…in time.”

I push Ezra away from me, turn on the car, and activate the Bluetooth speaker.

“Are you okay, Uri?” Ollie asks.

“He’s okay…for now,” Ezra taunts them, triggering Rague’s enraged growl.

“Hey, listen up, elusive fucker, you’ll be the one bleeding if you touch so much as a dread on his⁠—”

He doesn’t let Rami finish. “Jeez. They have no faith in your abilities whatsoever,Uriel.” Ezra snorts.

“I meant to say, before you rudely interrupted me, that he’d be the one making you bleed,” Rami clarifies.

“He already did.” He rubs the blood away from his neck. Oh please, I simply nicked him.

“Good,” Rague grunts out.

“Where’s all this brotherly coziness coming from?” Raph asks, because making Ezra bleed equals coziness for him.

“Jealous?” I hear Rami.

“Package,” I remind them.

Ollie is the one to finally tell me. “Another message, same typewriter. ‘We belong together, you’ll see it soon enough.’”

“There was also a black ball gag and pink lipstick inside the box,” Michael adds.

“Pink lipstick?” Ezra mouths. Like that’s the only weird thing.

“What else? Talk,” I demand, getting more worked up by the minute. I grab my phone and check that Sari’s location is unchanged.

“A bunch of razor blades.” Raph sounds grim.

Fuck!

“No fingerprints. But we found a brown hair on the elastic of the ball gag,” Rami says. “I checked some databases, and the DNA belongs to Francis Moreland, a scientist working for Abbot Laboratories. He disappeared for two days, then was found naked and unconscious in a park in Norridge. He had bruises on his cheeks, around his neck, wrists, and ankles, like he had been restrained.”

“What the fuck!” I exclaim. I need to protect Sari, to keep him close, so close I tuck him under my skin. Flay myself and wrap him in it.

“I thought that guy was found dead, raped, and beaten to death,” Ollie interjects.

“No, that was another body, a university student. It was found on the outskirts of Chicago in some woods. Hunter is helping the police with the case. It’s a very disturbing one,” Rami states. “Francis Moreland is still alive, and he was drugged. They found a needle puncture behind his ear, just like the guard from Bear-Stone Labs. But in Mr. Moreland’s blood, there were only traces of a tranquilizer.” The more my brother talks, the hotter my blood turns. It’s pulsing in my veins, whispering, “Kill! Protect! Kill!”

“They also found vaginal discharge on his body,” Michael adds. “The DNA is in the database, but it doesn’t match anyone.”

“So it was a woman who kidnapped and had their way with him.” I shuffle among my memories, looking for all the women who’ve approached Sari in the past months.

“Maybe. Hunter went to talk to the victim. He doesn’t remember anything from the kidnapped time, but he said he received disturbing packages months prior. Stalkerish packages,” Raph lets me know.

“Fuck!” I cuss, this time out loud.

“We should tell Sari.” Michael’s tone is serious.

“He’s still pretty shaken up,” I say. I don’t want him to have another panic attack.noveldrama

“Let him enjoy tonight,” Rami suggests. “We’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“I will,” I declare. “Are you working on finding any more links between Francis Moreland and Sari?”

“Serena, Opal, and Dare are all on it.”

“I’ll put more bodyguards on Sari. He won’t go anywhere alone.” It’s more a promise to myself. I should go too, but first I need to vent.

“Gabe and Lori are on their way there now,” Ollie lets me know.

“I see why you haven’t killed any of them, they are useful,” Ezra declares.

“He almost got me twice,” Rami says.

“We were young,” Rague feels the need to clarify.

“I lost count,” Raph scoffs.

“Want to get a head start on our wagers on you, Ezra?” Ollie asks him.

“Wager?” I see his eyes glimmer with interest.

“Thirteen to one odds that Uri will kill you.”

I already know who was the one against. My sweet Sari.

“And what if I get all of you to trust me by the end of this month? What will I win?”

“Other than a unicorn farting cupcakes? That will never happen,” Raph states.

“Challenge accepted,” Ezra replies with a smirk.

I choose that moment to let them know about the chemist who made Meg’s poison. The conversation grows heated, more questions, threats and insults are directed at Ezra, until I hear some fumbling, and then Raph’s voice is clear, like everybody else is in the background. He must have turned off the speaker.

“You going to Sari?”

“No.”

“No? And how long until you do?” he insists. He’s the only one who can somewhat understand how I feel about Sari since he’s the same with Michael.

“I’m going to Madame Claudette’s tonight.”

“Piglet,” Raph calls Michael. “No club tonight. Uri is going.”

This is new. “Since when are you both frequenting the club?”

“Club?” Ezra asks. I ignore him.

I can imagine Michael’s blushing face as he says, “We discovered we could have fun in one of those rooms a few weeks ago. But the last thing I want is to accidentally bump into you”

“Oh, it’s that kind of club,” Ezra exclaims, looking at his phone.

“There’s no website for it. It’s a very exclusive establishment. The only way to get in is by knowing another member,” I tell him.

“We’ll go tomorrow then,” Michael states.

“Where?” I hear Rami.

“Madame Claudette’s,” Michael replies.

“Maybe we should go check it out, Grizzly,” I think Rami tells Hunter. His voice is too far from the phone.

“I don’t fucking share, Red,” his boyfriend answers back with a grunt. That, I heard well.

“And you think my husband does?” Michael sniffs.

“You can choose a private room. Not everybody likes an audience like Uri,” Raph taunts me. Like I fucking care.

I hear a ding. “I’m getting another call.” It’s Gabe.

“Alright, we’ll let you know if there’s any news.” Raph pauses before adding, “And Ezra, I’ll see you soon.”

I hang up as I hear Ezra’s snort and connect the other call.

“Super Model.”

It’s Lori. “Gremlin.”

“When are you going to bump him on the head with a giant bat and drag him by his hair into your luxurious cave?”

“I hope you’re not talking about me,” Ezra cuts in.

“And you are?” Gabe asks.

“It’s Robin Hood, isn’t it?” Lori doesn’t let him speak. “Can you take a selfie with your twinsy-twin and send it to me? It’s for a friend…for research purposes.”

I don’t want to know what friend and what kind of research he’s talking about.

“I don’t have your phone number,” is Ezra’s comeback. Like I’ll let him take a picture of us.

“It’s—”

“Lori!” I hear Bez growling.

“Okay, Okay,” Lori tries to assuage his fiancé. “The psycho club in this family is getting bigger by the day.”

“Are you almost at Rague’s?” I ask.

“Ten minutes away,” Gabe flatly tells me.

“How many texts have you sent Sari since you left him?” Lori’s question irks me. And I let him know with a growl.

“Translating from controlling sociopathic language, a two-second growl equals ten to fifteen texts.”

Ezra is looking at me with a puzzled look.

“I can’t kill him. Gabe won’t let me,” I explain.

“Like you could take me.” Lori sniffs. “Plus, you bloody love me.”

“I can’t love. I’m a sociopath.”

Lori ignores my words. “Robin Hood, since I don’t want you to ruin such a cute bromance, I’m going to warn you about Uri and the fact that he put Sari in a state of eternal dibs.”

“Since he was six,” Gabe adds.

They call it my obsession. But is it really an obsession when I feel like Sari is a part of me? Can I be obsessed with myself?

“Michael just texted me. You’re going to that club tonight. Sure you need it?”

I don’t answer Lori’s question. It’s none of his fucking business.

“Do you have a case of pathological denial? I don’t care if you’re the most proficient torturer who’s ever walked this earth, I’ll hit your hard head with my custom-made spiked bat until I feel the crack of sanity and see the red fountain of acceptance. Otherwise, let Sari move on and live his life.”

“Move on,” Ezra echoes, making my skin crawl.

“He can start dating again the cute professor,” Lori keeps going.

Trent fucking Dohner. He must be the colleague who contacted Sari the other day.

“He can’t date a corpse,” I snarl. I’m breathing hard. I didn’t realize I’d moved so close to the car screen. I’ll tear out his guts, crush his heart, and perforate his lungs. I’ll make him choke on his own blood before I split him in half and pulverize his bones; there won’t be anything left. Not even a tiny speck in the air.

“Then what do you want from him, Uri? You keep meddling in his life. He can’t remain celibate forever.”

“He won’t,” I say simply. Ezra is strangely silent next to me.

“You should do him then…just saying. We are at Rague’s. Think about it.” Lori hangs up.

Ezra is staring at me. There’s a strange sparkle in his eyes; I can’t quite grasp it. “You said he was yours.”

“He is!”

“Doesn’t look like it since he still can choose someone else.” Is he talking about himself?

I need to show him the depth of my ownership and clarify without any doubt why he has to stay away from Sari.

“I’ll carve my name on the delicate skin of his chest. I’ll hear him say my name, scream it at the top of his lungs as I painfully penetrate him so damn deep I will become part of him, as he’s already part of me. I’ll own not only his body but his whole being, feel it under my bruising fingers as I squeeze it until he pierces my skin and reaches the void where my heart should be. He will not be able to push me away ever again.”

“Take what’s yours then, Uriel, and do it quickly.” He gets out of the car and slams the door. And I don’t do anything to stop him, because I know he’ll be back to see me soon. Otherwise I’ll get to him. I know how he moves around the city now.

His words keep echoing in my head long after he disappears from my sight.

Take what’s yours.

Take what’s yours.

Quickly.