Delilah sighs. “No, Ben. It has to be self-defense, or you’ll end up in prison. Now who’s being stupid?” She lifts her chin. “I’m not arguing with you anymore. When you’re done being pissed at me, come and say goodbye.”
My target flinches when she slams the door behind her. I scoff. Whoever this girl is, she has Benjamin by the balls.
I switch to the camera located in Delilah’s room. It’s the same as Benjamin’s, with only a bed, a nightstand, and very few personal effects or decorations anywhere.
If you ignore her beauty.
I’ve grown up around money and women who know how to use it to their advantage. Clothes, cosmetics, and medicalenhancements. If it can be bought, I’ve seen it done. Delilah’s attractiveness doesn’t faze me.
The fact that she’s important to my target is the only reason I allow myself to watch her for a few minutes. She walks over to the bed and sinks onto a mattress covered with a threadbare blanket. Then she grabs a snow globe with a castle inside, running her fingers over the smooth glass.
Her brow furrows as she stares at the object, and she purses her lips. I watch her face, intrigued by how expressive it is. She doesn’t try to hide her emotions from showing. Such a liability.
I click the button to shift back to Benjamin’s room. When the screen displays an empty space, I quickly run through the different cameras to locate him. The hallway, stairwell, and the living room show no signs of my target.
My lips thin at his sudden disappearance, but the second my laptop brings up the feed from the kitchen, my pulse kickstarts. Benjamin stands in the doorway with his hands fisted at his sides. Frank Goldstein, his foster parent, reaches into the refrigerator for a beer and straightens, twisting off the bottle cap and taking a long drink.
“What the hell do you want?” he asks, his words slurred.
Benjamin steps further into the kitchen and over the debris scattered across the uneven linoleum floor. The countertops are littered with empty beer cans, crumpled snack bags, and the cabinets hang at an angle, about to fall off. My disgust is nothing more than a passing thought as my target’s voice fills my ears. There’s a resolute thread to his tone that shoots adrenaline into my blood.
“You know why I’m here,” he says.
Frank waves a hand. “Your little girlfriend?” When Benjamin nods, the older man grins. “What about her?”
“Stay away from her and the others.”
The middle-aged man snorts. “Or what?”
Benjamin takes a menacing step forward, and I jump to my feet. Although my orders were only to watch the bastard son of the late Harold McKenzie, I’m pretty fucking sure the founding families don’t want him to die.
He won’t on my watch.
If he dies, I’ll have signed my own death warrant.
I pull up my hoodie to obscure my features before I race down the rickety stairwell, out the back door, and across the street toward the house I’ve been surveilling for the past few days. The soles of my boots pound against the pavement before the noise is muffled by the overgrown grass covering the backyard. Thoughts swirl in my mind with all the possible outcomes of this confrontation and none of them are ideal.
The firearm in my waistband calms my thundering pulse. However, stealth is necessary in this situation. Not that a gunshot would be surprising in this shitty part of the city.
I reach for the knife in my boot, my fingers curving around the handle with a familiarity that’s a result of the terrors still haunting me.
Tonight, I’ll be someone else’s nightmare.
A masculine roar is followed by a crash as I rush up to the back door that leads into the kitchen. Through the window, I scan the shit show that could get me in trouble with The Order—and more importantly, my father.
Frank has Benjamin pinned against the refrigerator. Every time he punches the young man, the bottles inside rattle from the strength of the impact. My target gets in a solid hit, but it’s not enough. If I don’t intervene, he’ll be dead in minutes.
I grip the doorknob just as a streak of blonde fills my gaze. Delilah rushes into the room, her hair whipping out behind her, jade eyes wide and shimmering with rage.
In one fluid motion, she grabs a cutting knife off the counter before sinking it into Frank’s back. He bellows like a woundedbear, his head thrown backward. The young woman rips out the blade with a grunt and stabs him for a second time.
The savage beauty of her stuns me.
My lips part as I suck in a breath, ignoring the shouts of pain from Frank and the warnings Benjamin gives through labored pants. Delilah darts in front of my target and takes up a defensive stance while facing her foster parent. Tiny drops of crimson splatter onto the floor, and another rivulet of blood snakes its way down her raised forearm, painting her skin with violence.
She’s fucking magnificent.
“If you touch him, I’ll kill you,” she says. Her voice is so quiet I can barely make it out, but the fire underneath is scorching. “I mean it, Frank.”
