Calla and Marcus’ house is a fucking circus when we arrive.Police cars line the street, crime scene tape flutters in the wind, and neighbors cluster on their porches, whispering among themselves.
I park my bike across the street and sit for a moment, staring at the house where Calla laughed and cooked family dinners and worried about homework and piano lessons.Where she built a life so far removed from the violence of my world that sometimes I forgot we shared the same blood.
"You ready for this?"Tempest asks quietly.
No.I'm not ready to see where my sister died.I'm not ready to face the fact that while I was rebuilding engines and being the enforcer for my club, someone was taking her away from me forever.
But I nod anyway and swing my leg over the bike.
Detective Isaacs is a thin woman with deep gray hair and tired eyes.She meets us at the tape, her gaze taking in our cuts with the weary resignation of someone who's dealt with bikers before.
"Mr.Blackwood?I'm Detective Isaacs.Thank you for coming so quickly."
"What happened?"I ask without preamble.
She glances at Tempest, then back at me."Can we speak privately?"
"He stays," I say flatly.
Isaacs sighs but doesn't argue."The preliminary investigation suggests the perpetrators entered through a back window sometime between midnight and two AM.Mr.and Mrs.Peterson were found in the master bedroom.It appears they were killed quickly, execution style."
Execution style.The words slam into me, and my legs give out and I drop to my knees in the doorway, hard.I don't cry.I can’t.My breath won't come, and for a second, I think I might black out.
I clench my fists until I feel blood.Something to hold on to.Something real.
This wasn't some random home invasion.This was targeted.Professional.
"You said it looked like a robbery," I say as I rise to my feet, my breathing hard and unsteady.
"That's what we're telling the media," Isaacs says carefully."But between you and me, nothing was taken.This was made to look like a burglary, but..."
But it wasn't.Someone wanted Marcus and Calla dead, and they wanted it to look random.My mind immediately goes to club business; to enemies we've made over the years.But Marcus was clean.He worked in accounting, for fuck's sake.Never had anything to do with the MC.
"I need to see where," I say.
"Mr.Blackwood, I don't think?—"
"I need to see where my sister died."
Isaacs studies my face for a long moment, then nods."Five minutes.Don't touch anything."
The house smells wrong.Like copper and fear and death.I follow Isaacs down the hallway, past family photos that show Calla's life in snapshots.Her wedding day, the kids' school pictures, birthday parties.
The master bedroom door is open, and I stop in the doorway.There's blood on the carpet; dark stains that tell a story of violence in a home that should have been safe.Calla and Marcus are gone now, their bodies removed, but I can see the outlines where they fell.
My sister died in this room, afraid and no doubt worried for her children.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Isaacs says quietly."For what it's worth, it appears they didn't suffer long."
I nod, not trusting my voice.Five minutes feels like five hours before I finally turn away.
Outside, Tempest is leaning against his bike, his phone pressed to his ear.He ends the call when he sees me.
"That was Ghost," he says."He's calling a meeting for tonight.Word's already spreading."
Of course it is.Violence like this doesn't stay quiet in our world.Someone will pay for what happened to Calla.I'll make sure of it.
"The kids," I say, focusing on what matters now."I need to get to the kids."
