My hand snaps out and my fist smashes through the drywall. Dust and chunks of the wall fall to Malia’s pristine dark gray carpet. Breathing in and out, trying to calm my mind, I place my hands on the wall, stretching my upper body to release the tension tying my muscles in knots.
When I’ve calmed down, I walk over to Malia’s canopy bed, eyeing the nightstand next to it. A picture sits next to the cracked lamp on the small mahogany table. A teenage Malia stands next to a younger Lion Castello. Malia is on his back, both with mischievous smiles on their youthful faces. Even at that young age, the guy was fucking huge. I’m no small dude, but he’s broader and taller than even I am.
Looking at the photo, at the playfulness in their expressions and body language, I can see how much their lives have hardened them in the years since the picture was taken. Neither Lion nor Malia had their matching scars back then. I know Malia got hers from her mother, but I have yet to hear the story on his. I wouldn’t put it past the fucker to do it to himself just to make Malia feel better.
Then again, I don’t know anyone who would mutilate his own face for shits and giggles. If I gave a fuck, I’d dive into it. Find out more about the ruthless man who is connected to my girl in ways no one else is. But I don’t give a fuck. Lion Castello has been crystal clear about what he thinks of me, and I can’t say the feeling isn’t mutual.
I set down the framed photo and open the drawer to the nightstand. I’m unsure what I’m looking for. Nothing Malia loves would be as easily accessible as this, but maybe there’s something. A picture of her I could steal or something to hold onto until she’s back.
“I have a key to her condo if you want to stay there,” The Omen says from behind me.
I see a polaroid buried in the bottom of the drawer and I dig it out, ignoring the man I didn’t hear enter the room. A young Nathaniel Olin and a short blonde stand together wrapped in each other’s arms. They’re looking at each other like the sun rises and sets on the other. An odd thing to see in teenagers.
Looking closer at the girl, I can see the similarities to Akila Lorenzo, Lion’s girlfriend. This must be Alya Turner, the woman we learned about while in New York. The younger version of The Omen is wearing a baseball uniform and I raise my eyebrow in surprise.
“Baseball?” I question, looking at the man looming in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his ankles crossed and hands tucked into his pockets.
As it had earlier, his relaxed stance at a time like this makes me want to send my fist through his face the way I had through the wall. The only sign of distress in the calm and collected man in front of me is the untucked button-up shirt and rolled-up sleeves showing his muscular forearms.
Surprisingly The Omen isn’t as decorated in tattoos as his children, Malia more than her brother, from what I could tell. I haven’t spent enough time with Donovan to notice much, other than that both he and Malia have very different personalities. They don’t seem as close as Lion and Malia, even though they are blood.
My chest tightens as I remember my sister. She’s holed up with Bastian Collins, of all people, and I haven’t reached out or even asked about her yet. The Omen said he would keep an eye on her, but I’m still wary of him.
The Omen gives me a sad smile and pushes off the wall, walking further into the room as I show him the picture.
“That seems like ages ago,” he says, a half-hearted smirk tugging at the corner of his lips like the memory is bitter-sweet. “Alya Turner was my first love, baseball was my second. I was good, too. If my father had not mapped out my life for me, I would have chosen a very different one.”
I frown, looking down at the picture, before shrugging, tossing it back where I found it, and closing the drawer. If The Omen and my father were best friends even back then, I imagine all of our lives would be different than they are. Because of dads’ friendship, in whatever life, my path was bound to cross Malia’s, regardless. I can’t think of another life where I wouldn’t fall to my knees for that woman, forever simping on Malia Alya Olin, in any life I lived.
“As I mentioned before,” The Omen says, changing the subject. “Malia had a condo when she had her mission with you and Collins. A lot of her things are there, but she did not get a chance to be there often. If you need to feel close to her without being here around the rest of us, the condo is always an option.”
That, of course, was the goddamn mission that placed Malia in my life, to date my ex-best friend so she was close to me. The reminder of The Omen playing puppeteer with my life doesn’t help my already intense annoyance with him.
“Think about it,” he says with a shrug when I just glare at him. “We have some things to go over, so let us head to my office. I did not want you to get lost.”
Silently, I follow The Omen out of Malia’s bedroom like a good little puppy, biting my tongue and hoping their tech man was able to find the vehicle the kidnappers used to take Malia. I imagine if the people who took her work for Rico Martinez they’d be smart and fast about it. Fake tags, ditching the vehicle shortly after nabbing her, a lot of different ways to easily elude someone you don’t want to find you. Even with fake tags, though, we’d have somewhat of a trail to start with.
One can only hope.
We step into The Omen’s office and find it already occupied by several of his men, along with those whowork closely with him, including his son and his son’s best friend. There’s a girl with bright red hair and tanned skin standing beside Donovan. He has his arm slung around her shoulders, pulling her against him protectively as she holds onto a laptop while worrying her bottom lip.
“What’s our move, Omen, before I start breaking necks myself,” I say instantly.
The Omen stares back at me with narrowed eyes while he leans against his desk. Those goddamn green eyes that match Malia’s, only they’re on someone less magnificent to look at.
The door to his office slams open, catching both of us off guard. Our guns are drawn but lower when we recognize the brooding man storming toward us.
Lion’s amber eyes are zoned in on me while he beelines in my direction. A tiny blonde rushes in behind him; Akila is cursing at him to slow down, but his attention is on me. The look he’s giving me is enough to tell me he blames me for Malia being taken.
“Lion,” The Omen growls his warning.
Lion breaks my stare and offers his uncle a quick look before shifting his glare back to me.
My body jerks and a sharp pain shoots throughout my left arm. I curse, looking at the source of the pain, seeing blood flowing from my shoulder. Refusing to allow the pain to show on my face, I press a hand to the wound as my gaze snaps back to Lion, just in time to see him tuck his gun back at his waistline.
“What the fuck!” Akila, Lion’s girlfriend, yells while she shoves into him.
His large body hardly moves.