Page 41 of Blood Lust

“Thank you.”

She smiled. “No, thank you.”

After she left, I sat there for a moment. My heart broke for the little boy’s loss that he probably didn’t even remember. Then I dove back into my work. The sun was low in the sky when my back screamed at me to stop.

I stood up and arched my back, pressing on the lower muscles.

Staring out the window, I wished I understood Gabriel better. But for the moment, I needed some damn air. After grabbing a bottle of water, I went out onto the patio and sank into one of the loungers. Gabriel was still on my mind, and I couldn’t sit still.

Restless, I went back inside. Wandering aimlessly, I trailed my fingers over the back of the couch, along the lamp tops, then did the same with the walls and along the picture frames. When I reached the end of the master suite hallway, I saw a sliver of light coming from the door across the hall from Gabriel’s room.

Like a magnet, that doorway pulled me closer. Chewing on my lip, I stood before it and debated whether I should go in or walk away. Finally, though I knew deep down it was wrong, the urge to know what he was hiding got the better of me.

Tentatively, I reached out and slowly pushed. The door swung open, and I gasped.

“Oh my God, Gabriel. What the hell is in your head?” Two steps into the room, glass crunched under my feet, and I winced.

The walls had pressed-foam mats covering them, industrial lights with protective cages around them hung from the ceiling, and there was destructioneverywhere. Broken chairs, smashed lamps and vases, and demolished furniture that was no longer recognizable. Plates, glass, picture frames—anything you could think of was trashed. There was a stack of mismatched plates on a metal table, and a sledgehammer leaned against it.

“What are you doing in here? I told you not to come down here!” he snapped from behind me, and I screamed. Because I was startled, I stumbled back, and a glass shard cut into the bottom of my foot.

“Get out!” he shouted, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed the broken glass on the floor.

Shaking, I pushed past him and rushed down the hall. Fuck this shit. I was leaving. I didn’t make it far before I was swooped up so fast, my head spun.

“Judgement Day”—Five Finger Death Punch

Several hours earlier….

Vittorio and I pulled up to the warehouse we owned outside Davenport, Iowa. We had purchased it years ago to keep our activities spread out. It wasn’t smart business to constantly have our dealings going on in our backyard. It brought too much attention to us.

After backing up against the side of the building, our men got out of the vehicle and looked around. The rest of our soldiers riding in the SUV behind us also got out. Pietro went into thebuilding, then came back out and spoke with the others. When they deemed it safe, they opened the back doors of our Escalade, and we got out. Then we all went inside.

“Gabriel, it’s good to see you, my man,” Phil said as he stepped forward and gripped my hand in a firm shake. Vittorio stood back near the front of the truck with Pietro and two other soldiers Vittorio had brought, Dean and Ricky.

“You said this was a good one and that it would be worth my time. I trust you,” I replied with an easy smile. I’d been doing business with Phil since the time I’d been asoldato. He’d never steered me wrong, and he knew my tastes.

He gestured for his associates to open the large shipping container. It was currently on a container chassis and hitched to a white eighteen-wheeler. I didn’t ask how he got it because I didn’t care. What I was interested in was what was inside.

The doors swung open, and I raised my brows in surprise.

“Nice, right?” Phil grinned.

The container was filled with smartphones and other computer equipment. It was easily in the millions of dollars. If one had the right contacts, which I did, it was a goldmine. “That it is,” I agreed.

We haggled over a price, finally finding one we could both agree on.

“Payment the same way as before?” I asked.

“That works,” he replied.

“Vittorio, make it happen,” I told my brother, who then got to work on his phone. Phil’s men closed the back of the container.

As I went to shake Phil’s hand, shots rang out, and we dove for cover. Phil, one of his guys, and I ended up under the container chassis and behind the wheels. Glancing out into the warehouse, I saw the bodies of my men littering the floor. Vittorio, Ricky, Dean, and Pietro were under the front of the trailer by the truck.

They silently met my gaze, and Pietro gave me a questioning thumbs-up to which I nodded. Vittorio’s jaw clenched as he and I exchanged a glare of shared fury.

“Motherfucker!” Phil cried out as he held his bleeding calf and fired into the warehouse rafters. The shots seemed to come from multiple places on the catwalks, which told me this was planned out well and we were surrounded.

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