She intrigues me. All her fire and her refusal to accept anything Wes or Lev dish out? It makes me look twice, something I haven’t done in years. But I can’t allow myself to be that vulnerable again. I’ll marry and procreate with anyone we choose, but loving them is not on the table.
“Sebastian! Did you hear me?” Vivian wails. I’ve had enough of her bullshit to last me five millennia.
A knock on my office door cuts off my pending words.
“I strongly suggest you accept your dismissal, use your fucking vibrator and imagination, and take your fucking leave,Vivian,” Owen grits out, striding in her direction, stopping only once he’s standing in front of her and whipping out his knife faster than she can react. He holds it to her pulse point at her throat. “Or you won’t like the outcome.”
To say Owen has been on edge is an understatement. Ariah’s kidnapping has impacted him and Lev in similar but different ways. Lev buries himself in every database and computer programming software to try and activate Ariah’s tracker even while out of range. Owen, well, he has no true outlet until we find people to carve up. His other outlet is off the table.Sex.He refuses to entertain anyone else.
A squeal interrupts my thoughts, and I turn in time to see Owen has Vivian scurrying to the door. She pauses at the threshold, turning, her eyes imploring me.
“Goodbye, Miss Taylor. I hope never to have to see you again,” I state, and water wells in her eyes, pooling before escaping down her cheeks, and with one more glance she finally exits the room.
“Too bad she decided to leave. I always wanted to see if she truly has a heart,” Owen quips.
Shaking my head–crazy knife-obsessed fucker– I return to packing the last of my belongings.
* * *
“It’s beenthree fucking days! What do you mean you still haven’t found her? Why can’t we find anything new?” Wyatt shouts as he punches the bag.
We’ve had to bring him in here at least twice a day before he kills someone. The punching bag swings from the momentum of his strikes— left and right hooks in rapid succession– causing his pale skin to bloom red, not so much from exertion, but from his constant state of rage. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Wyatt so angry.
Owen isn’t faring much better. I’m unsure how many more people he can slice up to get answers.
“I mean, until the chip comes back online, we won’t find her that way. I’m already running facial recognition on the driver of the van, and we’re tracking Madeline down now,” Lev states from his spot on the couch.
He looks haggard— his usually stubbled beard fuller from lack of shaving. The most the man has done in the last seventy-two-plus hours is shower and occasionally eat. He’s still not Team Ariah, but he wants her out of the clutches of whoever took her.
Owen steps into the room, wiping the remnants of blood from his hands.
“What did he say?” Wes asks, moving to the side so Owen can get to the bathroom.
The faucet turns on before Owen replies, “He wouldn’t say much else other than we’ll never find her in time.”
“This is getting out of hand. Why won’t anyone talk?” Wyatt mumbles as he hammers his fist into the punching bag, making the ring holding it to the ceiling creak at the impact of his blows.
“Take it easy on the bag,” Wes quips.
His jibe grabs Lev’s attention, causing him to stop typing and train his gaze on Wes. “Why? Are you worried he’s honing his skills for when he finds out about what happened in the hallway with Ariah?”
Oh, this is going to be great.
“What scene in the hallway?” Wyatt’s face swivels mid-swing. “What. The fuck. Is he. Talking about, Wes?”
“What the hell, Lev?” Wes gripes, tossing his empty energy drink can at his back.
Shrugging, Lev tips his head to the side, and the can sails past. “What? You didn’t tell them?” he asks, a full-toothed grin lining his face, knowing the chaos he just unleashed.
I should step in, but this is just the outlet Wyatt needs. I unbutton the top buttons of my shirt and loosen my tie. This should be good.
“So what? I touched her pussy. How is that any different than what you and Owen did?” Wes retorts.
I lift three fingers to rub the lines of my forehead.I know Wes isn’t always the wisest but talk about throwing gasoline on a fire.
Sighing, I groan, “Are you trying to die in here tonight, Wes?”
Wyatt’s growl is almost feral. His lip lifts above his teeth, canines pronounced as his shoulder and neck muscles ripple. If I believed in the paranormal, I’d think he was shifting into a fucking wolf. The man might actually Hulk out.
