Page 83 of Stroke of Shadows

He pushed her closer to the display, and it took Harper a second to figure out what she was seeing. It was a woman beneath the glass, curled in the fetal position. She was mainly bones, not much left of her features. But all around her lay the most colourful and unique flowers. They seemed to sprout from her dead flesh, wrapping along her bones with vibrant green vines and dark red thorns. She was an art piece, a morbid, yet stunning display.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Angel whispered, as if his voice would disturb the dead woman. “She’s as unique dead as she was alive. You look much like her.”

Harper sucked in a breath, having to lock her knees to keep from falling.

“The only reason you’re not part of my collection is because I allow you to live.” Angel released her jaw, his smile so cold it turned her blood to ice. “If you don’t want to become like your mother, then I suggest you start behaving.”

SYTHE

Sythe gripped the wheel of the car hard enough to leave indents. Normally he’d be pissed off with damaging such a beautiful car, but tonight, anger vibrated violently beneath his skin. Angry at his father. Angry at the situation. Angry at her.

‘It’s okay not to be okay.’

‘Not for me, it isn’t.’

He’d have believed she wasn’t crumbling beneath her calm exterior if it wasn’t for the tiny hitch in her voice. The way her eyes were wet and her upper lip quivered so slightly, she probably wasn’t even aware of it. Harper held more secrets than he thought possible, ones that could compromise everything.

So why the fuck was he pulling in front of a posh club, rather than being back at the estate working damage control?

His phone buzzed, likely Wyatt.

Sythe ignored it.

The club was exclusive, but not for someone who could hide in the shadows. With the darkness wrapped tight around him, Sythe slipped past the front, searching the intimate venue for Cruz-fucking-Halkins. He’d very rarely used his network to find someone, especially so quickly. But luckily, Cruz was a well-known face within the socialite circles. Ten minutes it had taken someone to snap a picture, and in those ten minutes his rage had settled into determination.

He found Cruz at the bar, his clothes the same as they were at the restaurant. He stood with his legs spread slightly, and Sythe’s beast gave a satisfied puff at knowing his balls still ached.

“Whisky on the rocks.” He tapped the bar, placing himself as close to Cruz without actually touching. He’d chosen the drink because it was exactly the same as Cruz was currently nursing. No words were exchanged. Sythe was simply a presence beside him, a person enjoying the same drink at the same club. A forgettable face.

It didn’t take long for Cruz to move from the bar, heading towards the private bathrooms to the side of the DJ. Sythe waited a moment, savouring the last of his drink before following. The bathroom wasn’t as ostentatious as the club, with simple chrome handles and basic taps. There were two empty stalls and one urinal, currently used. Sythe locked the door behind him, crossing the short distance to stand directly behind Cruz.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you? I’m trying to take a piss,” he hissed. His neck turned to the side, and a flash of recognition brightened his eyes. “You’re that guy from the restaurant, the one who was looking for Harper.”

Sythe barely controlled the rage at hearing her name on his lips.

“You can tell the bitch she can kiss my balls all better.”

The words barely left Cruz’s mouth before Sythe had smashed his face against the tiles. His nose cracked, blood a harsh splatter against the bright white.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.” Sythe asked calmly. “Would you like to repeat that?”

A muffled curse, Cruz’s arms flapping as he tried to yank up his jeans and also touch his clearly broken nose. “What the—”

Sythe yanked him back, this time smashing him against the floor to ceiling mirror. Glass shards shattered around him as the door to the bathroom rattled.

The urge to return to Harper was growing with every passing second. He should have escorted her inside, not let her deal with her distress alone. But he’d been too worked up, his emotions a surge he didn’t understand.

He needed to calm down.

He needed to bruise his knuckles on the man who dared touch what was his.

“It’s a shame she only kicked your balls,” Sythe drawled, bloodlust thrumming through him. “You deserve to be a eunuch.”

Cruz finally recovered, his bloody teeth bared when he turned to face Sythe. With an angry shout, his knuckles grazed Sythe’s jaw, barely a peck before Sythe turned and snapped the arm clean. The crunch of the bone echoed in the silence, Cruz’s eyes widening before he realised what had happened.

All his brothers had different fighting styles. Kace was a blunt hammer, while Jax was a sleek blade. Sythe, on the other hand, fought dirty.

With the pained cry as background noise, he grabbed Cruz by his shirt, not allowing him a chance to run before he smashed his face into Sythe’s knee.

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