Page 55 of Forbidden Eyes

I turn to look and see a twenty-something smackhead swerving over to me, no smokes in his hand. There’s a blade there instead. Fucking dick. The mood I'm in he's about to get fucked up beyond recognition if he tries that on. I watch, though, letting him make his play and enjoying the thought of beating this frustration into something. He'll do. Hell, anything would do at the moment, and his goddamn fingers flicking that blade about, and his attempt to look cruel and threatening, only increase my thirst to get rid of this energy that’s building.

"Wallet," he shouts, still flicking the blade.

I put the phone away and pull my cash out, holding the roll of it up for him as I put my tequila down. "Come get it."

The asshole dives at me, his junkie brain thinking he's got something good out of a drunk customer. The cash leaves my hand at the same time as I snatch the blade from his grip, his body smashing into the wall in the process. I don't know what fucking happens then. It's a goddamn blur of hazed minutes, all of them full of power, hate, and brutality. His body is used to fuel something. Frustration maybe. Hurt. I don't fucking know, or care, but the look of him when I finally get my shit together and back the fuck off to get my tequila isn't fucking pretty.

He coughs and splutters, blood coming out of his mouth and two of his limbs at angles they shouldn't be at. I wipe the beads of sweat from my head, spitting his stench out because I've been so close. Fuck it. Junkie assholes deserve this kind of heat. All of them hanging on corners, trying get high over anything else. My erratic thoughts filter back to my dead brother, the same kind of look on his face when he was as high as this cunt. I fling the blade and shake my head back into gear, as I stare at his mutilated frame and sneer. I fucking hate them. All of them. No matter how much profit we make off that side of the business. They're weak. Useless. Addicts.

A goddamned stain on the planet.

Just like my brother.

My hands scrub at my face, and I swallow some more booze, watching the dick in case he dares to try standing. He won't, couldn't, but that doesn't mean I'm not inclined to finish him off after I've drunk some more. Cunt. Stupid fucking cunt. What else has he done to get high? Who else has he hurt? Thoughts crash into my head about Fia and what she’s trying to achieve, how she's trying to rid the streets of this scum. It's not something I've ever considered before I met her. I’ve always been as happy to profit off their crap as Cane, but I guess anything is better than dicks like this walking around. Maybe. I don't know.

I snarl and lean back on the alley wall, bringing my drink to my lips, and then the goddamned phone vibrates in my pocket again. I snatch at it, pissed at whoever is interrupting my night, and glare at the screen. Nine missed calls. All from Sophia Vico. I’m not calling her back. I can’t. Won’t. She’s gone. I put her on a plane and sent her the hell away from me. It was the right thing to do.

The only thing to do.

My back slides down the wall, ass hitting the grimy floor beneath me as I stare at those numbers and letters on the screen and drink some more. Nine missed calls. What the fuck is so important that she’s tried to get hold of me nine times? My lips slow my drinking down, my mind starting to think about any trouble she might be in. I half snort. The only trouble she’s gonna be in is her daddy being a cunt to her. That’s not something I’m messing with. Unless he’s hit her. My frown drops into place, anger rolling through me at the thought and waking me up from the stupor I’m wallowing in.

I’m pressing redial before I’ve given any merit to the goddamn move.

“Carter?” she says, relief in her voice.

“Yeah.”

“You’re okay?”

“Questionable at the moment.” I look around at my surroundings, garbage bins and piss stained walls covering the small side alley, a nearly dead guy still gurgling out his last breaths. This is far from okay. “What’s the problem, Fia?”

“My dad. I… I’m sorry. I tried not to say anything, but he just knew.”

Fuck.

My head knocks against the wall, eyes closing down everything but those words.He just knew. Meaning he knows, and my ass has just become his only fucking target for the next millennium.

I sigh and drink some more. Might as well get fucked up now that this shitstorm is a definite. Stay out all night and drink myself into the oblivion that’s coming anyway. At least I know what that text from Quinn was really about now. “I don’t know what to do, Carter. He’s coming for you, and I don’t know how to help.” No, nor do I. Apart from going to confront the situation head on.

I should have fucked her if getting her off is enough to put me on Vico’s hit list anyway. I smile, amused at the thought and more than interested in that plan forming in my mind. What does it matter anymore? If I’m gonna have my ass handed to me, I’m at least having all her ass on a plate before I do.

“Where are you?” I ask, pushing myself up the wall to get off the floor.

“With Uncle Quinn. I wanted to warn you, but he said you were gone.”

“Did he hurt you?"

“What? My dad. No, he would never…” She trails off, clearly thinking about the fact that he might. My lip curls, annoyance starting to mingle with loathing at the thought. “I’m fine, Carter. I think. I knew I couldn’t just let him come after you, but I’m not sure what’s next.”

“Can you get here?”

“Where’s here?”

“The only place that makes any goddamn sense. The place where I tasted you for the first time.”

Her small gasp makes me chuckle, and I start walking around in circles, kicking up garbage, and thinking of that hood and her lips, the taste of strawberries. “I want your ass here. With me.”

“You do?”