WES
“You need to make another selection, Wesley.” My father states, his voice grating my nerves.
Nodding in agreement. “Yes, I understand.” Rising from the dinner table, I inquire, “Have we heard anything about Bethany’s whereabouts?”
“She’s dead, Wesley. There’s no body, but we’re assuming she’s dead, and even if she isn’t, she’s of no use to us. Choose someone else,” he orders with finality.
Walking over to my mother’s side, I bend over and kiss her cheek. I feel her smile. My dad is an asshole to everyone but her. For her, he’d steal the moon and decimate planets.
“I’ll have someone selected before the end of the night. I’m still not interested in Samantha,” I declare, preparing to leave for the Tombs. We have two special guests waiting.
“No Davenport will ever marry into an original bloodline. Finish collecting your intel and be done with that worthless line.”
For once, we’re in agreement. With his last directive decreed, he focuses his attention back on my mother, his features softening, and I know I’ve been dismissed.
* * *
“Tellme again what exactly you were planning for our girl?” Owen commands. His usually lighter brown eyes appear coal. He’s so enraged that he’s not basking in the pain of his victims. He’s unhinged.
Reaching for the butterfly knife protruding from Paul’s stomach, he incrementally pushes and turns the blade like a screwdriver. Each twist burrows deeper into his belly button. Paul’s screams would normally be like a philharmonic orchestra where Owen would be the conductor, but where glee would normally be, all I see is rage. Bottomless pits of rage.
Ariah has sunken her claws into another one of my friends. First, Wyatt, and now Owen. I don’t know if I should be mad at her or feel sorry for her.
On a good day, those two together make the guy from YOU top-tier dating material. I wouldn’t be surprised if Wyatt was sneaking into her bedroom before the selection process even started.
I still don’t think she’s the right fit for us. She’s too damn mouthy, even if that mouth looks perfect enough to sink my dick in.
“Ahhhhh!” Rich’s ear-splitting wails draw my attention to my other obsessed friend.
Wyatt has Wolverine-styled gloves raking down the already scratched face of Ariah’s assailants.
“You should pray for death. This is only the amuse-bouche, wait until we get to the main course,” Wyatt growls, sounding more apex predator than man.
They’ve been at this for an hour, and neither of them has asked any questions, confirming that Ariah is a distraction.
Clearing my throat, I intervene. We need answers. Then they can get their pound of flesh.
“We need to move this along. The last thing we need is our dads, mine in particular, to think we’re distracted.” I look at Lev, sitting by the bar, head down, as his fingers fly across the keyboard.
“What do you have?” I ask.
“They were paid through some shell company whose location changes every five seconds.” His head lifts before he continues, “They’re good, but they made a mistake this time.”
Lev’s statement halts Wyatt and Owen. All of our gazes focus while we wait for him to speak. “One of these idiots didn’t use the burner phone to accept payment for this job.”
A delirious ‘fuck’ is mumbled by Paul, interrupting Lev.
The pained whine of Rich blubbers, “You dumb fuck!”
Wyatt silences his rant by slicing off his dick. His words of protest turn into shrieks as his severed appendage rolls off his body, hitting the floor with a quick thud. “It’s rude to speak when someone else has the floor,” Wyatt retorts and nods for Lev to continue.
“Paul here has provided us with an original account number that I’ll be able to trace and work malware onto. The next time this account is accessed, I’ll be able to access whatever device logs in. It’s only a breadcrumb, but it’s more of an in than we’ve had in months.”
Finally, something good comes from Ariah’s presence. But I know we should be able to extract more from one of them before they both are killed.
Striding over to Paul, I say, “If you tell us everything you know, we’ll make your death swifter.”
Owen takes that moment to slam a meat cleaver down, chopping straight through the cartilage and bone of his ankle. Paul’s body jerks, causing more cries, as the knife impaled in his gut cuts deeper.
