Page 8 of Death By Chocolate

Youric exhales. “And I told you; your big ass needs medical attention.”

I step to him. “I see her, first.” I’ve never been possessive of a woman, but Dani warning me off, the woundedness in her eyes, pulled at him. For the first time, I wanted to kill to protect a woman, my woman.

“No, X. You’re not family.”

He doesn’t see it coming. I shove Youric in the chest with one hand. “Fuck family,” I roar. “Dani has a hole in her chest because of me.” I can’t hide my guilt, the anguish that she’s fighting to stay on this side of the veil. “That woman fought, ten toes down, Glock’s smokin’, for my piece of shit life. Damn, she’s one magnificent bloodthirsty bitch, Youric.”

“Your type, huh?”

“The crazier, the better,” I huff. My rage simmers, remembering how she held our ground, a deadly storm, fierce in her defense—of me, but anger steams in my veins. “Real talk. I owe her.”

I want her.

Youric nods in understanding. The glint of a steel blade tip retracts at his wrist. Healer, my ass. Only a surgeon on staff atThe Governor wears a wrist gauntlet with loaded blades under a black lab coat with The Governor’s crest on the pocket.

“That’s your freebie. Touch me again, I’ll sever your brachial artery.”

“Oh,” I smirk. Mother would be heartbroken.”

“If you can find her,” he shoots back.

“Say less.” Silence follows. It’s always there between us. I don't know what he thinks of me. I have zero fucks for opinions. But it pushes my sanity to the brink that now that we know of each other’s existence, there’s no impulse, urge, or need to be more than what we are—estranged. Our mother, Izabele Voschanka, aka Voss, upon her infiltration into the U.S., is a curious creature. More mercenary than maternal, she still accepts the occasional contract kill. I think of her as R.E.D.—reckless and extremely dangerous. Of her three sons, Youric is the oldest, followed by Zaid, then me. Three sons, three fathers, all deadly. Mom has a type—temporary, tattooed, and terrible at parenting. Youric, Zaid, and I didn’t grow up together. Separated from birth, yet we all got the same thing—neglected.

Time doesn’t heal shit. Instead, the years are spent burying all the fucked up shit life throws at your face in an unmarked grave. Thing is, when you have nothing, when people tell you you’re nothing, you learn to leave, to walk away with nothing. That shit gets buried, too. Too soon, the graves, all with dead pieces of you, outnumber what keeps you living. Growing up without a connection to anyone, Youric knows family is who steps up, who commits. And Dani, poured out blood. Now that’s family.

I drop my hands to my sides. “Give me something, Youric.”

This is my attempt at tact. Dani’s fighting for every breath. I won’t jeopardize her care by punching my brother in his fucking eye. If she’s out of my sight, he needs to understand that if anything goes awry, this motherfucking clinic goes up in flames.

Youric tracks his finger through his long mane, unsure of what to share ‘cause he’s certain I’ll blow regardless of what he says. “She’s out the surgery,” he offers. “I removed the fragments of a small caliber round.”

Frowning, I look at him. “Odd.” I close my eyes, remembering the brief glimpse I'd gotten of our attackers. Nine men, faces obscured by black ski masks, nothing familiar about their builds or movements. But the last man, he wanted me to see him. I’d made my fair share of enemies in my line of work – mercenary work could be a cutthroat business when operating in certain circles. But this felt different. More personal somehow.

My brother raises one brow. “Not if you want to take the person alive. Her micro-Kevlar suit helped to minimize the damage.”

A bullet-repellent custom-made red suit. Fuck, Dani’s defense game is next, next level. But that’s not the realization floors me. No, it is the public kidnapping attempt. And with an audience of women and children? Why? Who orchestrated the show? Another question occurs to me when a scream splits the sound barrier, disrupting my thoughts.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Dani screams over and over.

Sprinting to the frosted glass doors separating the administrative from the clinical spaces, I’m in reach of the handle.

Youric grabs my arm. “What the fuck, X?”

“I will see her, brother. With you standing or flat your ass.”

“Who’s guarding who?” he hisses. “Stay here. A bodyguard is with her.”

I look down at his hand, then into expressionless brown eyes. “Let go,” I growl.

He backs away, clearing my path. My Murder Me Barbie is awake. The urge to lay eyes on her borders on obsession. One thing I never second-guess is myself. I burst through the doors,knowing she prefers me over the fucker who has her screaming. I want Dani. She’s mine to protect. Until I find the coward who attacked us, no one can be trusted.

4

DANI

TEN YEARS AGO…THIS WILL BE THE DAY THAT I DIE

Ihate the color white.

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