Page 30 of Black Heart

“I have your scent now,” he says, at last finished with savoring me on his fingers. “And you’ve tasted what it’s like to be associated with a man like me. Because I’m not going anywhere. I’ll kill anyone who tries to get near you. And when it’s time for Morelli to make an attempt…” He seems to mull over his last words. “I still don’t believe I’ll ever let you go.”

“I’m not someone to be kept,” I snarl while coming to a wobbly stand.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Wraithling.”

He fishes into his pocket, tossing something small, metallic, and heavy near my feet.

“Your new phone,” he explains. “Since you ran over your last one. Updated with advanced security features, including encrypted communication channels, a custom-built privacy firewall, and a discreet tracking app. All for my enjoyment and your protection.”

I pick up the smartphone, staring at it like I’ve picked up a roach. “It’s like I can’t escape you. Everywhere I go, you’ll track me down.”

“Yes, but I’ve made it pink.” His chin subtly dips toward the pocket he shoved my thumb drive in. “Which you seem to enjoy.”

“I don’t want?—”

“Don’t destroy this one. You won’t enjoy my backup plan.”

With a grim salute, he spins and disappears down the staircase, leaving me and my electronic handcuff behind.

11

KADEN

My daughter’s laughter haunts me.

I sit in the shadows, her memory a relentless tormentor unleashing words of guilt and blame. The fateful morning she disappeared is etched on my soul, leaving an indelible mark of loss, black and all-consuming.

I imagine what Cassie saw when he intercepted her in the hallway of our home.

What she said as she struggled and cried:

I want my dad. Please, Daddy, help me…

The cold marble floor on her bare feet, the hallway lit by the early morning sun and adorned by our family photos—her elementary school graduation portrait, when she caught her first big fish with me smiling behind her, the one where she snapped a picture of me at the top of the cliff, overlooking the sunset after a long hike … all those happy, proud father versions of me bore silent witness to Cassie’s terror.

She would’ve stumbled backward, her small hands instinctively forming fists, preparing to fight with all the innocent courage a twelve-year-old could muster.

I imagine the sickening crunch of a blow, a monster’s fist colliding with my baby’s face. The cry she would have let out—a sharp, horrifying sound that bounces off the crumbling brick walls of my nightmares each night.

Maybe she bit him. Perhaps she kicked and scratched, using the self-defense maneuvers I taught her from when she could walk. My Cass was a fighter. She wouldn’t have gone down without a struggle.

Then I hear the dull thud of her body hitting the floor for the last time before being dragged away, ripped from everything she knew and loved. Taken from me.

And I imagine how I’ll kill him.

I’m on the hunt, Morelli. For ten years, I’ve followed your trail, and now I’ve found you.

One of his assassins attempted to grab his latest prize, Layla, which I easily prevented. Morelli will make the mistake of sending more, all of whom I’ll dispatch, sending blood-soaked evidence to him, to anyone who steps between me and what’s mine. Every person involved in this scheme will understand the Scythe’s presence. I won’t leave until I get my pound of flesh.

That will make Morelli curious, an emotion I’ve learned he does not enjoy.

While clearing my dinner this evening, I’m not worried. I’ve thought of strategies and counter-solutions for all of the above. My operational designs are all so second nature to me, I consider individual warfare to inhabit a reserved section of my mind.

It’s the anomaly I never planned for that pisses me off. Layla is a variable that defies all my predictions, yet she’s become the most crucial part of the equation.

With her uncommon beauty and impressive mind, shemakes me question everything I’ve become—a man consumed by vengeance and hardened by the cruel effects of violence. I know I can’t let myself become distracted, but my fingers still thrum from burying themselves inside her. I’ve never worn lip balm, yet I would gladly paint my mouth with her pussy’s scent every morning.

I study the abandoned fishing warehouse around me, its decaying walls, the salty scent of the ocean heavy in the air and mingling with the pungent aroma of rotting wood and rusted metal. The wind whistles through the cracks in the building’s facade, the eerie sound accompanied by the distant cries of the seagulls circling above and soft mewls of kittens.

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