Page 32 of Azrael

He settled beside me on the couch, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his freshly showered skin.“I’m sure it was.Clarity and Janessa don’t hold back.”

“No, they don’t,” I agreed.“But I appreciate that.I’d rather know what I’m walking into than be blindsided.”

Azrael nodded, his dark eyes studying my face.“Any second thoughts?”

The question hung between us, heavy with meaning.I considered it seriously, knowing he deserved honesty.

“Not second thoughts exactly,” I said carefully.“But questions.Concerns.The usual stuff when your life takes a completely unexpected turn.”

His mouth quirked up at one corner.“Fair enough.”

I shifted to face him more directly.“Tomorrow you said we’re going to my mom’s house?”

“Actually, I said I was going.I want to look around, see if there’s anything that might give us a lead on where she went or what happened.I’ll take two of my brothers with me.But you are going to remain here, just in case someone is watching her house.”

I narrowed my eyes, wanting to argue, but something told me to hold back.“And then you have that meeting at the club?”

He nodded.“I’ll try to let you know I’m back before the meeting, but I can’t promise I’ll have the time.”

Fine.It looked like that was all I would get from him on the matter.I’d just have to learn to live with it.Something told me this would happen again in the future.Not the exact same scenario, but him going off and me left wondering what the hell was going on.

Chapter Nine

Azrael

The side door of Mazida’s modest home wasn’t locked.Not a good sign.I pushed it open with my gloved hand, the hinges complaining quietly as I stepped over the threshold.Havoc moved in behind me, his bulk filling the narrow entrance while Gator brought up the rear.The air inside felt wrong -- stuffy and tinged with something metallic that settled in the back of my throat.Club business had taken me to plenty of disturbed homes over the years, but something about this one had my senses on high alert before I’d even seen the damage.

“Clear the rooms,” I muttered, my voice barely audible.This wasn’t my first rodeo with the Devil’s Boneyard, and certainly not my first time walking into the aftermath of violence.The fact the police had been here meant the place should have been secured.Had someone come back after they’d left?

Mazida’s neighborhood was quiet -- a collection of aging single-story homes with chain-link fences and patchy lawns that had seen better days.Nothing about the outside of her home had suggested trouble.No broken windows.No kicked-in doors.Just a garden gnome tipped on its side near a withered bush.

The hallway stretched before us, narrow and dim with late morning light filtering through closed blinds.Family photos hung crooked on the walls -- Mazida and her daughter, Zara, at various ages.A high school graduation.A birthday.Normal life moments now tilted at unnatural angles.I saw a few with a man who had to be Zara’s father.The home in the background didn’t match this one, which made me think Mazida had moved here after losing her husband.

“Someone didn’t want any attention from the neighbors,” Havoc said, his voice gruff as he pointed to the intact front door lock.But the issue was that itwasn’tlocked.I knew Zara wouldn’t have left this place open.Someone had definitely been here.But why?If they already had Mazida, what else could they have wanted?

I nodded.“Whoever came in knew what they were doing.”

We moved deeper into the house, our boots making little sound on the worn carpet.The layout was simple -- living room and kitchen to the right, bedrooms down the hall to the left.I signaled toward the bedrooms, taking point while Gator positioned himself to watch our backs.

The first bedroom door stood half-open.Mazida’s room.

The scene inside told the story we’d feared.Clothes scattered across the floor like fallen leaves.An overturned end table lay on its side, a vase shattered beside it, ceramic shards mingling with a paperback novel and a pair of reading glasses.The bed was unmade, sheets twisted and halfway to the floor.

“Someone got dragged outta that bed,” Gator observed from the doorway, his Cajun accent more pronounced in the tense moment.“How the fuck did the police not see this as a crime scene?”

“They didn’t want to,” Havoc said.

I moved to the dresser, where Mazida’s purse sat untouched, her phone beside it, screen cracked but otherwise undisturbed.Cash still in the wallet.Credit cards present.This wasn’t a robbery.

“Whoever did this wasn’t after money,” I said, taking mental inventory as I carefully picked through the items.

Havoc moved to the closet, sliding hangers across the rod with practiced efficiency.“Doesn’t look like she packed anything.If she left, it wasn’t willingly.”

I nodded, still examining the dresser top.A bottle of prescription medication.A framed photo of Zara.A hairbrush with strands of dark hair caught in the bristles.Normal, everyday items that suddenly felt heavy with significance.

“Check the drawers,” I instructed, moving toward the bathroom.

Havoc flipped open the top drawer of the dresser, rifling through folded clothes with the efficiency of a man who’d searched more homes than he could count.“Nothing unusual here.”

---