Beautiful Nightmare (Dark Dream 2)

As soon as the door opened and a man in uniform emerged with a gun in his hand, I disarmed him viciously, breaking his arm with a great crack like timber snapping. He howled as I twisted that arm behind his back and handed his discarded gun over to Carter. Caroline was there at the top of one curving staircase as I frogged marched the man into the foyer. Her hair was down around her shoulders, face bare of makeup, her body robed in light blue silk. I’d never seen her without the armor of designer fashions and perfectly coiffed hair.

Standing there, she looked younger, almost innocent.

Caroline Constantine wasn’t innocent of anything though.

“Caroline,” I roared, my voice echoing through the grand hall, multiplying tenfold as it bounced off marble floors and vaulted ceilings. “I’m going to give you one fucking chance to hand over Bianca Belcante before my brothers and I show you just how savage Morellis can be.”

As if on cue, there was a crash from the back of the house and seconds later, Carter and Walcott came trotting up the hall into the foyer. They gathered behind me, a fierce wall of brotherhood and masculine fury at my back.

Through the voracious concern and rage taking pieces out of me, I was aware of a warmth in my chest that spoke of awe and gratitude.

To have brothers, blood and found, surrounding me was a dream I’d always thought too impossible to even hope for.

Caroline stared down at us, the only crack in her composure the slightly shaking hand she pressed to her chest. “Ah, two strapping Morelli males. What an honor. I’m afraid I’m not receiving visitors right now, so you’ll have to leave the way you came.”

A harsh laugh barked from my throat. I shoved the disabled guard into Ezra’s keeping and rushed the stairs, taking them two at a time until Caroline was in my reach. She gasped with genuine fear as I crashed into her. Losing her balance on the stair, she fell backward and I caught her with a hand fisted in the collar of her robe, my other hand a fist cocked back ready to land a blow.

“Do you know how many men I’ve beaten with these hands?” I asked, almost conversationally but for the rasp of my growling words. “I’ve beaten street scum and politician’s sons, boys who were barely men and men old enough that one push of my finger propelled them into their graves. Do you know, Caroline?” I dipped down, my snarl eclipsing her entire world view. “I’ve never beaten a woman. Not because of any moral barrier, but because usually, they take one look at the scar on my face and the threat of certain death in my eyes and they agree to tell me everything I want to know.”

“You’re just a thug,” Caroline spat, gathering the tattered remains of her dignity to her. It was obviously hurting her, though. She kept trying to push herself off the floor as she struggled to free herself from my grip. “Bryant’s pet monster.”

“Not any longer,” I promised. “Now, no one is leashing me. No one decides when enough is enough. Can I tell you a secret?” I leaned even closer, my words a hot hiss against her ear. “I was raised in violence and I love to speak its language. Would you like to see how fluent I am in blood and fury?”

She licked her lips once, twice, as if surprised by their dryness. “No. I do not.”

“I didn’t think so,” I said, almost sullenly. “Maybe some other time, but I hope for your sake we never meet again. Because if we do, it will probably be because you tried to steal from me again. And if you ever come for Bianca again, or Brandon, I will tear you apart with my bare hands and a crow bar. I’ll pull off your fingers and toes, crack open the cage of your ribs just to see if there is a heart in there after all. Do you hear me, Caroline?”

Pale brows knit over her arctic eyes. She didn’t want to capitulate, her pride warring with self-preservation. Once, I would have admired her for it. But now, I pitied her. Only a woman with no one to lose would chose pride.

“I hear you,” she said softly.

Fury still boiled hot in the pit of my gut, but looking to Caroline’s face, that pity I felt surged even stronger. There was a strange parallel between Bryant and Caroline, two massively powerful heads of powerful families who had sat so long on their respective thrones that they’d both lost perspective. It wasn’t about wealth and reputation. It was about taking care of family.

Suddenly, like a puncture wound punched into my chest, the rage rushed from my lungs.