For fuck's sake.
“It’s kind of ironic that The Doc gets sick,” Izak chimes in, typing away on his laptop.
We’ve all been working endlessly, trying to seek out the last of those who were connected with The Lion. I hate to admit it, but my brother did a good job weeding most of them out.However, there are a few more names Luca was provided after we tortured the last man to death.
“Aww, does the princess have a poor immune system?” Tyson teases.
With lightning speed, I throw my scalpel in his direction, cutting open his cheek to make a point.
“What the fuck?!” Tyson explodes from his chair as my scalpel clatters to the floor, and I can’t help but smile, licking my lips eagerly as he crosses the room with bloodlust in his gaze.
Tony’s hand clamps down on his shoulder, pulling him back. “Rein it in. You boys can’t keep beating the shit out of each other when you grow bored.”
Tyson jerks out of his hold, pulling back his fingertips from his cheek, revealing blood. I don’t drop my shit-eating grin, purposely antagonizing him to blow up again. It’ll be self-defense if he attacks me, right?
“This is because Lorenzo was too fucking clean before he left,” Sky grumbles, flipping a knife in his hand.
My jaw tics, irritated when I hear any praise toward my brother, because I hate admitting that he’s thorough. Business has gone swimmingly since he left, which is code for boring.
After a recent incident that involved my brother’s woman, we’ve increased everyone’s protection fee, and unfortunately, they’re playing nice and paying it. I wish someone would at least go off the rails and provide us with some excitement.
One thing I can trust in this line of work is that something will always go to shit sooner rather than later.
I sneeze again, internally grumbling. All four men look up at me.
“I’m fucking ready to fight tonight,” Tyson announces enthusiastically.
Since Tony got his ass handed to him by Dmitri Volkov, the hounds rotate as Luca’s champion. All except Izak. It’s not thathe’s incapable of fighting—he does it with a terrifying accuracy when it’s required of him—he’s just not as bloodthirsty as the others.
“Why don’t we get this new fucker to fight tonight?” Kage asks as he arrives with blood splatters on his mask. Evidently, his mission went exactly how we speculated.
“The poor little doc has caught a cold. It might not be a fair fight,” Sky says sarcastically. I glare at him. The truth is, I do feel like shit; my body is aching. It's humbling and ridiculous at the same time.
Kage removes his mask and turns to me. “Then don’t make us sick. Fuck off.”
I don’t expect him, of all people, to be scared of a little cold. Then again, I didn’t think I’d fall victim to something so trivial. Yet the discomfort of it brings me a sick pleasure.
“He’s right, actually. We don’t need you tonight, and Luca is preoccupied with Ara,” Tony says.
That’s the other boring thing: although I’m meant to be up Luca’s ass, he’s hardly called on me. He’s become more possessive around his woman. Tony is the closest as her personal guard, but Luca doesn’t permit any of us into his home. He’s immensely besotted with his woman.
Maybe there’s something in the water since my brother is exactly the fucking same.
“Well?” Tony prods.
I look at him again. “You’re serious? You’re sending me home for asick day?” I ask in disbelief. I look at the Rolex on my wrist; it’s not even eight in the evening. Then again… Romi’s become used to my schedule. She’s usually locked herself in her room by no later than three in the morning just to avoid me. But if I arrive early tonight, I should be able to catch her off guard.
I cough, intentionally this time, and brush my hand through my hair. “You’re right. Wouldn’t want to give it to anyone else.”
Sky chuckles and shakes his head, as if reading my motives.
I’ve never taken a sick day in my life. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve actually been sick. But I’m suddenly relishing in the idea, if only to torment myCattivellaat home. And if she’s not there, I’ll hunt her down and drag her back myself.
12
ROMI
I’m wrapped up in a ball under two blankets. All the windows are closed, yet I swear there’s a breeze circulating the room. Borris is curled into the second blanket with me as I grumble my complaint at the reality TV show I'm watching.
