Stolen Love (Beauty in the Stolen 3)

After rinsing off the blood in the shower, I dump my clothes in the trashcan and pull on a white shirt and black slacks. White and black seem to be Damian’s favorite, if not only, colors. I opt for going commando rather than fitting a pair of my brother’s briefs and put my own boots back on. Combing back my hair with my fingers, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My stubble is three days old. I look every bit the rogue I am. I can do with a shave, but being presentable is the last thing on my mind.

Urgency drives my steps back to Damian’s office.

He sits behind his desk, looking up from a laptop when I enter. “That looks better.”

“Any news?” I ask, clenching and unclenching my hands.

“It’s too early.” He points at the chair facing the desk. “Sit. Bouncing on the balls of your feet isn’t going to help.”

I take the chair while he gets up and walks to a liquor tray on the other side of the room. It’s set up like that on purpose. Crossing the floor takes time. It makes whoever sits in the visitor’s chair wait. It doesn’t only emphasize the size of the ridiculous hall he calls an office, but also his rank. His worth.

He uncaps a bottle of scotch, pours four fingers into two glasses, and carries them back to his desk. He places one in front of me before taking his seat again. “You look like you can do with a drink.”

My smile is wry. “Merry Christmas.”

He raises his glass and takes a sip.

“Thank you for doing this.” He didn’t have to. He owes me nothing. On the contrary.

Swirling the liquor in his glass, he shrugs. “My secretary will be pissed off that her office has been turned into a hospital. Of course, I’ll have to set her up here.” He waves a hand around the space. “Her bony ass in my office will irritate the fuck out of me. I’m not sure I can handle eight hours of her close proximity every day.”

I look at the void behind us. “If you put her next to the liquor tray, you won’t even notice she’s here.”

“You haven’t heard her voice. Believe me, I’ll know.”

I take a sip of the drink, savoring the burn. “We’ll be out of your hair as soon as Cas is stable enough to move. You’ll get to keep your office all to yourself.”

He considers me. “What did she do?”

Betrayed me. Ratted on me to the cops. Faked her death and came back one year later to kill me. Why the fuck?

“Or shall I rather ask,” he continues, “what did you do?”

That answer is simple. “Fell in love with her.” And fucked up her life in the process. I don’t have the answers yet, but she wouldn’t have been in this shitstorm if she’d never met me.

“Ah.” He studies me from under his lashes, his eyes tightening in a fleeting gesture of comprehension.

I take a closer look at grownup Damian. He’s the youngest of the brothers, but of the four kids, he’s always had the most darkness inside. There’s something in his eyes, something a lot more twisted than the sins I carry in my soul. It’s a deviant kind of cruelty, the kind reserved for the devil.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” I say.

His expression is unreadable. “So have you.”

“I take it you’ve kept up.”

“It’s hard not to when it’s all over the news.”

Right. He can pretend he doesn’t give a fuck, but he kept tabs on me just like I did on him. Even if he sits there in the pristine throne that overlooks his legally obtained empire, he didn’t obtain his kingdom without getting his hands dirty.

He raises a brow. “The Phantom gang. Some say you’re a killer for hire now.”

Point proven. Damian must have the right, or rather wrong, connections if he can keep tabs on me that well.

“Quite the career change,” he says, tracing the rim of his glass.

I retired, but I have no moral objections against the job he’s accusing me of practicing. After one killing, what’s a few more? Tearing Ruben’s windpipe out could’ve easily set that wheel in motion. “As I said, we’ll be out of here as soon as we can. I understand that this—me—isn’t the kind of trouble you want.”

“I’m by no means a stranger to trouble.”

At least he’s not pretending to be someone he isn’t. “Why did you help me?”

Leaning back in his chair, he steeples his fingers. “Blood will always be thicker than water.”

In our case, some blood will always be tainted. Animals are born good. The Hart brothers certainly weren’t. Not all of our warped actions can be blamed on our less-than-ideal childhood. Our darkness runs in our genes.

“Leon?” he asks. “What’s he been doing since the gang split up?”