Lazarus (The Henchmen MC 7)

It would take some time, but I was pretty sure I could get to the point where it would be natural to pick up the phone and call any of them.

And, honestly, I was kind of interested in learning some Krav Maga.

"Come on, let's go back up there and see what they have planned for the rest of the day."

Then we did.

And they had a lot planned.

And, albeit briefly, I stopped worrying about Lazarus.

Until the girls all eventually had to file out to go home to their husbands or kids or boyfriends.

I climbed into bed and, after a short reprieve, the worry came back stronger, a tidal wave that grabbed me and pulled me under, not letting me up for air until sometime in the darkest hours of night, the door to Lazarus' bedroom creaked open and he walked in.

I hadn't been sleeping so I hadn't shut out the light.

And as soon as he stepped in, I could see he was covered in blood.

Covered.

It didn't look like a drop of it was his own either.FIFTEENLazarus"Did you at least tell her you were leaving?" Pagan asked when I walked out into the common room, carrying my boots because I didn't want to wake her with my stomping.

I knew I should have. That was the 'right' thing to do. But at the same time, it would only make things worse for her. If I snuck out while she was sleeping, it would give her a good six or eight hours of blissful unawareness where she wouldn't have to worry herself sick or be swarmed with guilt.

Her mind, her body, it needed a fucking break already.

A part of me wanted to put it off, to give her a couple days to heal up, to feel more comfortable at the compound and around my people before I disappeared on her.

But the other part of me was aware that it was just one night. I just needed one night away from her to handle the situation once and for all and then we could go right ahead and give our relationship a real try without those fuckwads hanging over our heads.

I was also pretty sure that if I didn't handle it right then, that Edison was going to go ahead and take matters into his own hands.

He was leaning against the wall beside the door, leg cocked up, head ducked down, seeming casual, but everything about him was tense. He wanted blood. So did I. And Pagan, well, he always wanted blood but especially so in this kind of situation.

"No." My tone was a bit clipped as I sat down to tie up my boots, my hands so tense that it took actual effort for such a mindless task.

I was angry, I realized.

I didn't do angry, almost as a rule.

I especially didn't do angry when I was entering a fight of some sort. It was a good way to guarantee fuck ups and failures.

It was one situation, however, where I didn't think it would matter how much time I would let pass, I would always be hot about it.

Bad enough that Sunny fuck hurt her in therapy on purpose and they all conspired to turn her into an addict, to blackmail her into working for them.

But then to show up and put their hands on her?

Yeah, not on my fucking watch. No way in hell were they going to be able to sleep through the night thinking they got away with that shit.

"The guys and girls know the deal," I added when all Pagan did was raise a brow as he opened and closed his fists, trying to loosen up the scabs on his knuckles from his last fight. "They'll keep an eye on her."

"Are we done chit-chatting?" Edison growled as I moved to stand, rolling some of the tension out of my shoulders. "We have some mother fucking hands to shatter into a thousand pieces."

"Just waiting for Janie to get back to me about some addresses. We're going to start with Chris then hit the father's house and leave the bastard who put his hands on her for last. So we can take our fucking time."

Fifteen minutes later, my phone vibrated in my pocket with three separate addresses and we all silently filed out into the garage, climbed into the SUV, and drove off.

It didn't surprise me that Chris and Mitchell lived in the same neighborhood of sprawling mini mansions that somehow had mostly-green lawns even in the dead of winter. Each house was set far back from the street, many with gated drives of expensive stone. All had impeccable evergreen landscaping, outdoor lighting, and expensive cars.

Chris lived on a corner lot. The house was on the smaller end for the street but was newer than many of the houses around it with its warm off-white stucco with stone accents, large picture window through which you could see a grand staircase with a chandelier that probably cost an entire year salary for someone working minimum wage. He didn't have a gate and there was a black, sleek Lexus parked in front of the two car garage.