Gideon Fox and Jenna Sloane had it coming, and where justice failed, rough justice prevailed.
It’s what we do. Clean up the mess from the streets when the courts fail.
Their bodies were left beside the road. The vultures will dine well tonight. They will be discovered but will never be mentioned in the news. They never are.
They will fade into oblivion and become a footnote in a past court case, with the odd person wondering what became of them.
They will not be missed.
My chest tightens. One person is sorely missed, and I am struggling to deal with that.
When Sunday walked away from me, she took what’s left of my heart with her.
She will never know.
She deserves better than me. I want better for her.
I have never dealt well with emotions. Preferring to keep things bottled up. Nobody can hurt you then. I’m guessing it’s the outcome of a troubled childhood. A father who dominated our mother, who reacted with his fists rather than love and understanding. It’s only when we got the courage to fight back that things changed.
The rage inside me burns like a ball of fury, and the Reapers is the best place to deal with that.
Sunday doesn’t deserve this life. She’s a sweet girl and so pretty my heart stops beating when she smiles my way. One wink from her and I forget to breathe, and it’s probably a damn good thing she left because I couldn’t keep away from her if I tried.
Inevitably, my nights ended up in her bed. Holding her, my blend of loving her. But I never showed it. Never told her what was burning in my heart because she deserves better.
But I miss her so damn hard, it physically hurts my heart.
* * *
We head homeunder the cover of darkness, and as I park up, Blade peers at me with concern.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure.”
I jerk my thumb toward the trail leading to his new house.
“Go check on Aspen. She’ll be wondering where you are.”
I turn away and he barks, “Razor.”
“What?”
My expression is blank, and he sighs heavily.
“You know where I am if you need to talk.”
“Sure.”
I pop my shoulder.
“I know.”
“Razor.”
Another voice, familiar and more authoritative, diverts my attention, and Ryder approaches, his expression grim.
“I need a word.”
