“Like hell you will,” I snap, standing from the bed and narrowing my eyes on him. “If he had anything to do with Malia’s disappearance, that motherfucker is mine. We’re going, now.”
The Omen shakes his head.
“Not like that.”
He points to my clothes which are tattered and burned. My skin and hair are caked with dirt and blood, while dead grass and spots of soot from the fire and car explosion speckle my shirt. My jeans are torn at the knee from God knows which my many falls.
“Go shower, and we can hunt down some clothes,” he adds. “I’m sure someone around here is your size.”
I stand in Malia’s room taking in the familiar feeling of her personal space. The Omen tried to put me in a guest room, but I refused. He didn’t argue with me, most likely knowing I needed to be close to her the only way I could be right now.
Despite his objections, Oren led me to her room and left me alone with the parting words,”It’s your funeral.”
I can’t say I’m surprised Malia is anal when it comes to her personal space, and I’ll gladly take whatever punishment she wants to rain down on me for making myself at home here. So long as she’s safe, and here where she’s meant to be, to rip me a new asshole.
The last time I was in this room I was with her. It was the first time I killed a man when it had nothing to do with the badge I wore; something I hadn’t thought about in a while. It’s crazy to think how much has changed in the last few months. The shock I felt when I shot that bastard in the basement seems so foreign to me now. The need to bloody the people who took Malia from us burns in my gut. The carnage I’m willing to cause for her shows how corrupt my soul really is.
Blowing out a long breath, I strip out of my clothes and walk into Malia’s en suite bathroom. I glance at the man looking back at me in the mirror, and I finally see on the outside the person who’s always been hiding deep inside me. A man no longer willing or wanting to hide from the darkest parts of his mind. A man who will spill blood, without remorse, for the woman he loves.
5
Nathaniel
AfterseparatingfromLiamand Oren, I make my way to Hazel’s office to see if she has made any headway on locating this vehicle.
It is not a solid plan, but it is the only one we have right now.
Liam’s words of the bordering towns not having that kind of tech echo in my mind, only serving to heighten my anxiety to get my daughter back as soon as possible. I am out of control in this situation. So many unknowns and what-ifs are making my skin itchy. I need the calm I hold onto to think and act with purpose, no moment wasted on moves likely to fail.
Watch, analyze, then act. That has always been my way. But the panic tightening my chest makes all sense melt away and has me worried I am acting before analyzing. What am I missing?
“Nate?”
Chantelle’s worried voice pulls me from getting lost in my doubt. None of us can afford doubt right now.
“Are you alright?”
Her hand reaches out and rests on my cheek. I look down at her as she holds a hairless cat in her arms. I then take in my surroundings and realize my feet have taken me to my bedroom instead of Hazel’s office.
The monster tucked away tight within its cage inside has been rattling the iron bars, demanding release, since I learned of Malia’s kidnapping a few hours ago. But it settles when I meet my Little Bird’s green eyes.
When Malia was born, it was like someone flipped a switch inside me. That is when I found the need to be smarter, to survive and climb to the top of the underground pyramid. Sure my hands—and soul—are stained with the blood of both sinister and innocent men, but everything I have done has been for her. I cannot allow myself to lose control now and ruin any chances of getting her back.
I cannot let her die thinking she was lesser to me because she is a woman.
And Chantelle is the perfect person to ground me.
“Why does the cat have on a sweater?” I ask, pursing my lips at the ugly creature.
Oren mentioned to us that Liam had a cat, something his sister gave him to keep him company when she moved off to college. Why she would get him something so grotesque, I do not understand.
Chantelle drops her hand to begin petting the cat’s head. I think they called it Lucifer, but I have not gone far enough out of my way to make friends with the thing to care what they named it. I have never been one for pets, especially cats. However, if it being here brings Chantelle any comfort while she is worried about her friend, I can allow it.
Chantelle frowns. “You’re worried about Luci’s fashion at a time like this?”
“Cats have fashion?”
“When they’re naked and it’s winter, they do,” she says matter-of-factly.