Before entering, I pull out my cell and shoot off a quick text to Malachi.
Me: House broken into. Going in.
I turn the ringer off in case he responds. No need to give an intruder the heads up that they’ve been caught. And even if Malachi responds, he’ll still come running. Or he’ll send Gill. I’m okay with either of them, as long as I get back-up.
I quietly push the door the rest of the way open and wince when it creaks on its hinges. I make a mental note to WD-40 the fucking thing and keep moving. It takes all of two seconds to realize that whoever broke in, they were searching for something. My sectional is sliced to shreds, the stuffing littering the floor like an exploded teddy bear.
If I hadn’t just left the clubhouse, I’d think the DHMC was responsible. They don’t hide the fact that they inflict damage with sharp weapons and this reeks of their MO. But no, it’s not them. I’m family now.
After quickly clearing the kitchen, laundry room, and half bath on the first floor, I climb the stairs. The more of the house I see, the more infuriated I become. Not only is everything torn apart, but there are numerous holes in the walls, along with what I hope is paint splattered everywhere.
The spare room and my office are clear, albeit messy as fuck. My bedroom is the only room remaining, and when I step inside, bile crawls up my throat.
In the middle of my bed is a woman, or what was a woman. I force myself to turn away and check the attached bath. When I’m satisfied that no one remains in the house, no onealive, I retrace my steps and go closer to the bed. I take my cell back out of my pocket and send another text to Malachi.
Me: All clear. Need a body bag.
As I slide my phone back into my pocket, my eyes snag on the wall opposite me, and I freeze. The message written in blood tells me exactly who is responsible for all of this destruction.
Her blood is on your hands, Craig.
Who will be next, brother?
“Motherfucker.”
“Who the hell is Craig?”
I whirl around and aim my 9mm, but swiftly lower it when I see Peppermint standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing here?”
“Malachi called me. I was closer than he was.”
“Remind me to kill him later.”
“Why, because he sent a girl to save you?”
“No. I’m going to kill him because he sentyouinto a potentially dangerous situation,” I snarl.
“I bet she wishes someone was looking out for her like that.” Peppermint tips her head to the woman on the mattress. “Who is Craig?”
“I’m Craig,” I answer absently.
“Care to elaborate?”
“Craig Moore was the new identity my father saddled me with when he shipped me off to Seattle.”
“Huh. When did you take your real name back?”
“Is this a conversation that can wait? I think we’ve got more important things to deal with.”
“Right.” Peppermint walks to the bed and takes in the eviscerated woman. “Do you know her?”
I step up beside her and look at the pristine face of my former personal assistant. It was ingrained into anyone who worked for the Ricci Crime Family that the face was not to be touched. It should be left in pristine condition, so buyers felt like they were getting their money’s worth.
“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair. “Her name is Bethany. She worked for me in Seattle.”
“What the hell does he have against her?”