Page 57 of Claimed By Rage

Best that Ezra thinks Jimmy ran off on his own?—

“There is killer on loose,” Ezra murmurs, sounding displeased. “You know this.”

—or that Jimmy died to some stranger with a death fetish.

Catching killers is only my forte when there’s money involved or the boss puts in the hit. We don’t know who this new player is, and until bodies start dropping on my doorstep, I’m not too concerned. “I’ve heard the rumors. Only women are being targeted. Jimmy might be ugly, but he’s not the guy’s type.”

Ezra grunts. “Jimmy could be practice dummy. We need to find body. Confirm death. See if there is connection between victims.”

I stay silent. Technically, he hasn’t given me an order. We don’t really play detective in the bratva—we shoot first and askquestions later. Or, weusedto. Having a new Queen could change things, but those decisions are above my pay grade.

Apparently, they’re above Ezra’s too. Once I don’t supply him with any new details, he moves on from the serial killer topic and goes back to Jimmy. “We need to tell family. Mother is nice woman. Go see her today. And call the Kolzovs to reschedule meeting. They will not be patient.” A woman’s voice in the background says something aboutflowers.Ezra grunts again. “Bring flowers to family. Put on best face.”

I glance across the room at Celia. “I’ll go tonight.” I hate dropping her off back home so suddenly, but visiting a bereaved family member sounds like a shit job. Dragging her with me won’t exactly endear her to me. I’d rather she sit at home alone than watch me pat some old woman’s back in fake concern for her missing son.

“You will gonow.I have canceled other meetings. This is most important. Kolozovs will wait until tomorrow, but not after.”

Shit.It will take me at least thirty minutes to get to Celia’s house, then another thirty to wind my way through the streets to Jimmy’s. The fucker still lived with his mom. She should begratefulthat he’s no longer around to leech from her saggy tit like overgrown devil spawn.

There’s no way I can take Celia home without Ezra finding out about it. “I don’t know shit about flowers, Ezra.”

A pause, then, “ask your woman.”

Fuck.Of course he knows about Celia.

“Yes, sir.”

Ezra hangs up the call, and I watchmy womanfawn over a bundle of pictures dangling accordion-style from Terrance’s wallet. The man must have a dozen kids. She smiles and compliments each one, her laugh bubbly and bright, her enthusiasm genuine.

If that’s how much she likes a stranger’s kids, I can’t wait to find out how much she’s going to love our own. My heartbeat trips as I imagine Celia sitting in a rocking chair with one toddler bouncing on each of her knees, while I hold up a picture book for her to read aloud. Or the opposite. Maybe I’m the one with two kids in my lap, and Celia is sitting across from us near the fireplace, rocking a baby in her arms, the most beautiful smile on her face as she pours her love into something we’ve created.

That’swhat I’ll give Celia.

The family she’s always wanted.

I picture her with a rounded stomach, our hands meeting over the swell of her belly, and everything in my body feelsfuzzy.

“Are you ready?” I ask, taking her by the hand. She’s still smiling when she turns to me, but there’s a shine in her eyes that wasn’t there before. She hastily looks away, thanking Terrance again before slipping her hand from mine.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Her voice catches, and I follow her out the door and onto the street. She’s walking fast enough that I have to jog to catch up.

“Celia.”

She ignores me.

“Celia.” I grab her arm and spin her around.

Tears track down her cheeks, and she chokes on a strangled sob. “D-don’t get mad,” she squeaks, patting both of her cheeks. “I’m sorry, they’ll stop soon, I’m so sorry?—”

I pull her into my arms and mentally curse Terrance to every single level of hell there is. “What did he say to you?” Cupping her face, I search her eyes. “Did he hurt you?Touchyou?” My voice clips, a rumble vibrating through my chest. “I’llkillhim.”

“No!” Celia clutches my neck, pulling my face down to hers. Our foreheads meet and she clenches her eyes shut. “No, he didn’t do anything! This is my fault! I’m just—I’m a mess, okay? Just take me home.” There’s a pleading whine in her voice.

Whatever is going on in her head must be serious if she’s turning tomefor comfort. She doesn’t evenlikeme. I’m not flirtatious Rebel or mysterious Ruin.

I’m the man who keeps hurting her because as much as I can get off on her pleasure, I also enjoy her pain.

But apparently even that has its limits, because seeing Celia like this when itisn’tmy fault, when I’m not the one who is causing her pain, makes my world go haywire. I keep my voice as steady as possible. “What’s wrong, Celia?”

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