Page 165 of Never Fall for an Angel

Pushing the door open, my gun drawn, I nod to Levi, who keeps an eye out behind us. Stepping through, my boots crunch on the layers of broken glass, animal feces, and used needles covering the floors.

The walls are busted with holes and graffiti. The carpet is gone, and old sleeping bags line the floor.

“Looks like it was a drug hide-out,” Levi grumbles, stepping in behind me.

“Makes sense,” I murmur, keeping my gun aimed as I push through to the bedroom at the back of the house.

We search the house, finding nothing but a few stray cockroaches that skitter off the moment they see us. The place fucking reeks, the LA sun doing nothing but making it worse.

“Clear,” Levi calls from the other bedroom.

“Basement,” I nod towards a door off the kitchen.

He pushes the door open, and I head down, careful not to slip on the mountains of trash covering the steps.

What I find at the bottom has my dick falling to my toes.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Levi breathes, his gaze raking over the room.

“Someone’s been living here.”

“Could be homeless.”

Stepping over to the bed, I rip the tattered comforter off.

“I’d say this is our place,” Levi grits, but I’m too busy staring at the large dark brown blood stain in the center of the mattress.

I’m going to fucking kill him.

“Fuck,” Levi blows out a breath, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Now what?”

I cock a brow.

“Find what we need . . . and then burn it to the ground.”

An hour later, we’re parked up at the top of the hill that overlooks the valley below. Thick plumes of black smoke grace the evening sky as firefighters do their best but fail at putting the fire out.

I lift the cigarette to my lips, numb on the inside.

“You alright?” Levi asks, hands in his pockets where he leans back against the front of the car.

Yes. No.

“I will be.”

Once I get my hands wrapped around the neck of the man who ever dared to touch my wife and watch the life bleed from his eyes, I’ll be the happiest man in the world.

Until then, I’ll burn down everything else in my path to get there.

“Help!”

“Has anyone ever told you how fucking annoying you are?” I snap, but Screamin’ Pete doesn’t even acknowledge me over his incessant shrieking.

“Help me!”

I’m this fucking close to reaching for my gun.

I pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Listening to this asshole for the last two days is giving me a migraine.

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