“Fuck that,” Maddox growled out, and Sylvester nodded furiously.
Staring between them, a lump formed in my throat. “But what can we do? We’re stuck here, and when we leave, we’ll go back to the city to try to take it back.” I couldn’t say what we were all thinking, that we might just fail, that we didn’t have the numbers necessary to take the city back.
We might not make it. We might die.
And if we died, that would leave my brother still breathing, and that just felt wrong.
Sylvester rubbed his cheek and his chin, mulling it over. “It isn’t like much planning is being done right now with those two here.” Lincoln and the doctor. “Maybe we could go, finish things with him, come back and then plan our retaliation against the DeLucas.”
“You mean go back to the city to kill him and then come back here like it was just an errand or something?” Maddox questioned, his dark eyes glinting in the sun. “I like it. I say we go now—”
“No,” Sylvester said. “Nightfall. We can’t just waltz back into the city in broad daylight. It needs to be after dark, and we’re only making one stop.” Those pretty blue eyes found mine, holding my stare and catching my breath all at once. It was a look that told me, wordlessly, he would do anything for me, and honestly, I couldn’t ask for more.
“The Grand Hotel it is,” I spoke with a grin, my heart beating faster now.
Oh, dear brother. I’m coming for you, and when I do, you’ll wish you never came around.
Chapter Seven – Maddox
Sylvester was off talking to our father on the porch. The door to the cabin was shut, so I couldn’t tell exactly how it was going, but I could see our father furiously shaking his head. He didn’t want us to go back for such a silly thing, I bet, but I didn’t think it was silly, and neither did Sylvester. And Lola, well… we all knew what Lola thought about her dear brother.
The fucktard.
Lola had gone to speak with Viper. Doc was nearly done stitching Mike up; it was just a waiting game to see when he’d come back to us. If.
Regardless of when Mike woke up, he’d be useless in taking back the city. Too injured, too full of pain. He’d have to stay here, even if he woke up right this instant. He’d hate it, of course, but we couldn’t take him with us. He’d be our weakest link, and a mini-army like us was only as strong as its weakest.
I moved my eyes to the man in the kitchen. He’d stopped eating a while ago, but he must still want to eat, because he kept looking through the cabinets in the kitchen as if new food would magically appear.
He was impressive, I’d give him that. There was a careful, meticulous way about him, strong and silent, like he was always ready to go on the offensive, to attack, to kill. He was half man and half beast, unlike anyone I’d ever met, I think. Not exactly like us, but not too different, either. He didn’t say much, this Lincoln, and when he did, he was usually rude as fuck.
I liked him.
I liked the guy, and I wished I could see him in action. I bet his kills were messy.
Because he was a killer. He had to be. When you yourself were an animal, you tended to recognize the signs in other people, and I recognized them in Lincoln. My father had never really spoken of what happened between our families in the past, but I knew, when you were as powerful as us—and apparently them—loyalty ran deep. So did favors. What was between the Scotts and the Lucianos was not like the frightened loyalty we had from the city. It was unspoken, and it was unbreakable.
I found myself gravitating toward him, curious enough to know more. He was a man in his thirties, rippled with muscle, wearing all black. He would fit into our family just fine; I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d fit into his.
Probably not. Just like my father, I bet his family was all about the logic and the thinking and blah, blah, blah. They probably didn’t like animals and brutes like me.
Lincoln glanced at me, his eyes dark, possibly even darker than mine. His hair was also a pitch-black color, though unlike mine, half his head wasn’t shaved. His hair was short, a bit unkempt at the top, like he didn’t give a shit what he looked like. Dark stubble on his face, he gave off the impression he really didn’t care.
Lola clearly liked it, with how she’d acted around him, ogling him and not even trying to hide it. I bet if we told her it was alright, she’d throw herself at him like a sex-crazed, hormone-ridden teenager.
Okay, I liked him a little less after that thought.
“What the fuck are you staring at?” Lincoln broke the silence of the kitchen, those dark eyes squinted at me.
Maybe I was just on edge with everything going on, but I felt the urge to get into a fight. To spill some blood. Surely a man like Lincoln could understand that. “I don’t know,” I said, moving to grip the counter. We stood with five feet between us, both of us posturing.
“Stop it.” His muttered words were spoken as he turned his back to me, resuming his search for more food in the cabinets. It wasn’t like this place was well-stocked beforehand. It wasn’t as if we were expecting to come here, otherwise the refrigerator and cabinets would’ve been full with stuff that wasn’t meant for a nuclear apocalypse.
I thought about saying I do what I want, but figured that might come out sounding childish, even if it was true. So instead, I said, “What do you do, when you’re not making house calls like this?” I doubted this was a daily occurrence; families like ours tended to stick to their own unless they absolutely had to do otherwise.
Plus, with Lincoln, I couldn’t imagine him being so controlled all the time. He had to let loose, somehow.
With his back to me, he simply said, “I kill people.”
Now that was something that interested me immediately. “Oh, yeah? How?” We had our own hitmen, our own enforcers—that’s what Roman and Carter did, when Carter wasn’t busy playing as Lola’s talent manager or whatever. They were our go-to guys for the silent kills.
Now, Lola? Her talents weren’t good in the dark. No, she made much more of an impression when you knew she was coming.
Lincoln turned to face me, leaving the cabinet wide-open behind him. His black eyes were narrowed. “A lot of ways. Use your imagination.”
“I’m no stranger to killing.”
He waited a moment before muttering, “I bet.” I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. He was totally standoffish, acting like speaking to me was the worst thing he’d had to do since he was fucking born or something.
I folded my arms across my chest. “How many?” Didn’t know why I was so curious about him; I just was. I was and I couldn’t help it no matter how much I tried. And, anyway, he was a good distraction while Sylvester spoke with our father about our little plan for tonight.
It was stupid to go back into town just to kill Lola’s brother, but it had to be done. It had to be done now, or else… or else it just might never get done, and if I died while knowing that motherfucker was still out there, I’d be fucking pissed.
He laughed at me. “I don’t keep track. There’s too many.”
Too many? My fury over being laughed at simmered somewhat when he said that, and I couldn’t help but wonder just how many people this man had to kill in order to lose count. I mean, in a shootout, okay, you didn’t exactly keep track of who got whose bullet and all that, but to not have a vague idea, I mean… just who the hell was this guy and what did he do for a living?
Lincoln could clearly tell I wanted to know more, for he went on, “Just know that my family deals in death in more ways than one, and be glad that you guys are on the nice list.” The way he spoke it, it didn’t sound like too many families were, like it was something for us to be proud of.
I was just about to say our families sounded a bit alike—we had a shit list, too—but it was then that Sylvester pushed into the cabin, his blonde brow furrowed and a frown on his face. He came over to me, glancing at Lincoln before saying, “I need to talk to you.”
Lincoln threw his hands up in the air, mo
ck surrender. “Don’t worry, I got the hint. I’ll go check on Doc.” The obscenely tall man left the kitchen, heading toward the hallway on the other side of the living room.
Sylvester watched him go, waiting until we were alone to speak again. Our father, I noticed, remained outside on the porch. I could see him through the kitchen window, leaning on the railing. It looked like he was staring at something small in his hands, a picture. The picture Fang had gotten for him in his office, I’d bet.
A picture of our mother.
Our mother, who just so happened to be a DeLuca, back when the bad blood between us was still bad, but not as much.
“I…” Sylvester paused, reaching a hand to the back of his neck and rubbing it, looking uneasy. More uneasy than he’d looked when we had spoken to Lola about her brother and how we’d searched high and low for the fucker.
Something about his expression didn’t sit right with me. “What’s going on?”
“He doesn’t think we should go back for her brother, but he said he wasn’t going to stop us.”
I stared. “That’s good, right?” Having our father against us was not something either of us wanted. He could not approve of our decisions, but beyond that, they should be ours and ours alone, not ours pending his approval.
“Yes, but… I think there’s something wrong,” Sylvester went on. “He didn’t seem like himself. He… didn’t sound like himself, Maddox.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” If Sylvester wanted me to put two and two together, he’d be waiting a hell of a long time. He was the smart one, not me. I was Mad Maddox, the one who charged in and did things without thinking, the one who would bathe in the blood of his enemies if he could.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I think there’s something he’s not saying. I don’t know what it is.”
“Okay, well, noted, I guess, but everything else is good to go,” I said. “We leave at dusk, get back there, find her brother, and skin his ass.” I’d never skinned anyone before, but I’d heard it was a painful thing. I knew Lola wanted to do it herself, but a part of me couldn’t deny the wanting I felt deep inside, the desire to get a go at the motherfucker.
Aiden Harding deserved all the pain in the world and more for the hell he put her through.
Not saying I was an angel, not saying I treated girls right, but what he did… there’s no excuse. There’s no coming back from raping your sister for years upon years to the point that your parents took her to the doctor and had him sterilize her all so she would stop getting pregnant and having abortions.
No. Hell was too good a place for that fucker.
The drive back was long and quiet. Sylvester refused to turn on the radio, which left the car silent, save for the potholes we hit. I sat in the back with Lola, the space between us too much. She wore a far-off look, and I knew she wasn’t fully there.
She was thinking about her brother, the confrontation that would shortly happen. I wished I could peer into her head and see what she was thinking, if she had a punishment in mind. How slow she planned on making his death, how messy, how bloody.
A guy like that deserved to be torn into a thousand pieces, screaming all the while.
We’d actually taken Lincoln’s car, so we wouldn’t be immediately recognized. Sylvester had lost his suit for once, donning a t-shirt and jeans, practically matching my outfit. At a quick glance, we didn’t look like the Luciano sons.
It didn’t matter. We would get into the Grand Hotel, keep our heads down, and head up to the penthouse suite, where Aiden Harding was staying until further notice. Sylvester and I had our guns, because now was a stupid as fuck time to be without them, but Lola had nothing. Nothing but the metal mask laying on her lap, reflecting the streetlights above.
We’d left the wilderness a while ago, now in the suburbs. Soon enough, we’d be in our home city, and right after that, at the hotel.
I didn’t know what to say to Lola as Sylvester drove. She didn’t quite look all there anyway, so anything I might’ve said would’ve probably just hit dead ears, but still. I wasn’t good at this shit. I didn’t do feelings like this. At least, not before her. Not really.
Sure, I’d had some fun. Mina had been one of my go-to girls for years, and even though she’d always hoped for more, I constantly shut her down. Fucking was all I really wanted, a release that wasn’t killing.
But with Lola… fuck, with her, it was the whole fucking deal. I wanted to help her, wanted to make everything right for her. I wanted to kill every sick fuck that looked at her wrong and, of course, make her brother die screaming. I wanted to alleviate some of the pressure she felt on those shoulders, help her in any way I could.
I’d never wanted that before, and the hatred I’d felt for her for killing Mario had lessened to the point where it was barely there. How the fuck that was possible, I didn’t know. I didn’t get it. If you asked me to explain the reasoning behind my feelings, you wouldn’t learn jack shit, because I had no idea.
It just was. My feelings for her crazy ass had come out of nowhere. Me, Maddox Luciano, in love with a serial killer. Other than the fact she’d killed my baby brother, it was fitting. Who else could handle me beside someone who was off the rocker herself?
Would our father let us keep her? Would he be able to overcome her killing of Mario eventually? I had no clue, and I didn’t want to think about it. I’d never wanted a girl so badly before. I’d never wanted to protect someone else as much as I did her—even though I was well aware the girl didn’t need protecting. She could handle herself.
Maybe my father was acting strange because he’d realized Sylvester and I wouldn’t let her go. Never mind Viper and his connection with her… that wasn’t something I wanted to think about right now, let alone ever.
Me, sharing the girl who’d taken hold of my heart and refused to let it go? It didn’t seem right, but at the same time, it was all we could do. It was almost like this girl needed us in different ways. Sylvester to ground her, me to run wild with her, and Viper to remind her of her humanity.
And all of us to love her.
“There is something I didn’t tell you,” Lola started, turning her gaze away from the passing houses and glancing down at her lap, at the metal mask there. She traced her fingers along the teeth of it, lightly running them over the silver steel.
Sylvester’s eyes were on her in the rearview mirror, and he asked, “What?”
I couldn’t say anything, needing to know what it was. Was it about her brother? Did she lie when she said he didn’t do anything to her? Oh, that fucker… I was going to enjoy hearing him scream, and if any fool got in the way, I’d kill them too. I’d kill the whole fucking city if I had to.
“I was… out of it,” she paused, breathing heavily, “after seeing him. When I left his suite, I… I went to a club. I needed to. I had to.” Explaining her inherent need to kill to the two people who didn’t need an explanation. “It was almost closing time for the club, and I found someone. I don’t remember his name, but I went home with him.”
My heart hammered in my chest for all the wrong reasons. “Did you—” I stopped myself from finishing that question, not knowing if I wanted to know if she’d killed him or fucked him. What would I do if she did? The guy was already dead, so it wasn’t like I could kill him again.
“No,” Lola muttered. “I didn’t sleep with him, and I didn’t kill him.”
Oh, well, that wasn’t too bad then. If she didn’t fuck him or kill him, why was she even telling us this? There was nothing to know, nothing to be sorry for. Everything was one hundred percent fine—
Her next words cut into my thoughts: “I killed his two roommates.”
I couldn’t stop the confused “What?” from leaving my mouth, which earned me a slightly guilty look from Lola. “And the original guy? What did you do with him?” If she didn’t kill him, I already knew, so I didn’t know why I had to ask.
She left him alive, which meant there was a witne
ss, which meant the police might be looking for her. Fuck.
Sylvester put it all together faster than me, saying, “Why didn’t you kill him too?” His knuckles were white on the wheel, and he made a right turn that was a bit sharper than it should’ve been.
Lola’s shoulders went up and down once. “I don’t know. Anytime I went out on the hunt, it was easy for me. I was into it. I knew who was a predator and who wasn’t—” Her implications that Mario was some kind of predator grated on my nerves, but I let it go. “—but this time things were different. I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking clearly after being with my brother. The guy I went home with wasn’t like my other kills. He was too nice. I couldn’t do it.”
“So you killed his roommates instead?” My question came out a bit harsher than I’d meant it to, but once it was spoken, I could not take it back. “How do you know they weren’t nice, too?” Man, with how she was talking, it was almost like she’d discovered a conscience nestled deep within her.
Almost.
“They were sleeping, so it was easier,” Lola answered me, for once not grinning like a madwoman as she usually did while she talked about killing—her favorite pastime. “I never really felt the urge to kill just to kill before, but my brother brought it out of me, I guess. I… don’t know what else to say.” She bit her bottom lip, as if waiting for us to judge her.
As if we would. As if we fucking could.
We’d both done some pretty horrible things before. Growing up as a Luciano, it came with the territory. If we judged her for what she’d done, we’d have to turn the mirrors on ourselves and do the same. And who the fuck wanted to do that?
I inched closer to her, grabbing one of her hands. Comfort wasn’t my forte; Sylvester was much better at being sweet and all that, but since he was driving, it was up to me. Eh, I’d figure it out.
Those big, blue eyes turned to me, shadows dancing across her face. Such a pretty, gorgeous thing she was, and I knew she hated it. Hated the way she looked, hated her face and how perfect it was, the natural smoothness of her skin, the fullness of her lips, the way her light blonde hair framed her heart-shaped face perfectly.
Violent Heart: A Dark Reverse Harem (A Death So Sweet Book 3) Page 13
